#i really like how this turned out now that a few days have passed (i recorded this last week. work and life is chaotic rn)

[ao3-deviance]

(After MUCH waiting, I present Part 2 of this Hair Care ficlet)

(Also on Ao3 now)

Kirishima was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, reading over one of the conditioners Bakugou had gotten him, when the blond knocked twice before coming in without waiting for a response. It was seven in the morning. 

"You're up. Good." Bakugou nodded. Kirishima smiled sheepishly. He didn't necessarily make a habit of sleeping in, but compared to Bakugou--who woke up at five every day to go running--he guessed he slept in kind of late usually. He'd tried to wake up earlier today, knowing the blond would want to start early. 

"Did you wash your hair yesterday?" Bakugou asked, coming over and sitting across from him, pulling the bleaching kit over for him to read over. 

Kirishima blinked. "Yes?" He said unsurely. 

Bakugou glanced up, frowning. "Shit. I forgot to say yesterday. It's better to not wash it a couple days before you bleach it, helps build up oils so the bleach doesn't irritate your scalp as much." 

"Really?"

Bakugou nodded, looking down at the kit again with a frown. 

"I don't really want to wait until next weekend though," Kirishima frowned. "Can we still do it anyways? I won't wash it before next time. It doesn't usually bother me too much anyways unless I leave it on too long."

"Don't ever leave it on longer than the box says, idiot," Bakugou grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But fine, it's your head. Come on, let's get this started. How many times do you bleach it normally?" He grabbed the bowl Kirishima had put beside the stuff to start mixing, nodding at some of the other supplies as he pulled on some gloves. 

"At least two," Kirishima admitted sheepishly. He hated taking up Bakugou's whole free day with this, although the blond didn't react beyond a nod.

"Alright. Put the towel around your shoulders. I'll part your hair in a second." 

Kirishima did, sitting and watching the blond work at getting the bleach ready. It was a little strange but mostly the silence was comfortable. Bakugou gestured for him to turn around, sitting behind him. Kirishima felt hyper-aware of him as Bakugou grabbed his brush. 

Kirishima's mom used to brush his hair all the time, though it had been sometime now. He liked having other people play with his hair. And this was Bakugou. He leaned back into the touch after the first pass of the brush through his hair, slumping his shoulders.

Bakugou was efficient but Kirishima noticed he was also careful, easily getting the few tangles out of his hair without pulling. Then he parted his hair into four sections, tapping Kirishima's shoulder for the other to offer up his hair clips one at a time. He smiled softly to himself. It was nice, working together like this without having to speak. Just like when they fought together as a team. Coupled with the early morning, the quiet of the dorm, the steadiness of Bakugou's movements...Kirishima hummed lowly, closing his eyes and just following the other's silent direction. 

Kirishima had opened his balcony door earlier since he knew the bleach smell was strong, and the breeze it brought in was nice as he felt the first touch of the wet brush to his hair. He tried to sit still, feeling the familiar tingling in his scalp. He would have to remember next time what Bakugou had said about not washing his hair a day or two before. The blond really knew everything, it seemed.   

It felt like it took no time for Bakugou to finish applying the bleach. Much quicker than Kirishima when he tried to do it himself, but then, he was always having to check in the mirror and twist all kinds of ways to make sure he got all the spots. It probably would go quicker with Bakugou's help, actually. He grinned. Maybe they could spar this afternoon after all. 

"Thirty minutes," Bakugou said, his voice almost startling Kirishima since they'd been so quiet. He turned around to see Bakugou discarding the gloves and setting a timer on his phone. "Then we can do the next coat after you wash that off." He smirked. "Heh, going to be weird to see you as a blond." 

Kirishima blushed. "Man, blond really isn't my color. Suits you better." He grinned. "Hey, ever think about dying your hair? Coloring your hair would be super easy. You could do, like, orange tips or something, like an explosion!"

Bakugou opened his mouth, face growing redder, before he closed it again. "I'm not dying my hair," he finally spoke, sounding strained. 

"Awe, but it'd be super cool, man," Kirishima tried, not really thinking he'd get the other to agree. "Or what about red tips?" He was surprised though by the lack of an immediate 'no.' He looked up to see Bakugou biting his lip, refusing to meet his gaze. 

"Let's just finish your hair, hair for brains," Bakugou shifted, eyes landing on Kirishima's laptop. "Let's watch something, kill the time."

"Sure, sure," Kirishima agreed. 

They existed comfortably within their rhythm. Kirishima went to wash out the first coat once the timer went off and by the time he returned Bakugou was already ready with some gloves and the bleach again. Honestly they were going much faster than Kirishima had ever managed, but even more so, Kirishima appreciated just having some time with his best friend. 

With the second bleaching, his hair got lighter, and then it was time to apply the red dye. 

“No, not yet,” Bakugou said as Kirishima reached for the box of dye to hand to him. “Purple shampoo first.” He handed Kirishima a bottle. 

Kirishima blinked down at it. “Purple shampoo? What does that do?” 

“Neutralizes the yellow tone. Helps the color. Just trust me.”

“Aye, aye!” Kirishima agreed easily, teasing. Bakugou rolled his eyes, but he had a fond look on his face and Kirishima's heart squeezed. 

After the purple shampoo was used, then it was time for the dye. 

“Okay,” Bakugou said, reading the box. “Maybe with the purple shampoo, you'll only need one application, but we'll see.”

“Can't believe how fast we're managing this,” Kirishima said as Bakugou started to separate his hair. His eyes closed and he titled his head back a little into the blond's touch. “Usually takes me forever just to get through the bleaching.” 

“I'll bet,” Bakugou muttered around a hair clip between his teeth. “Surprised you never miss a spot.”

“I do sometimes,” Kirishima admitted. “That's part of what takes so long. I'll think I'm done and then have missing pieces I have to fix.”

“Ugh.” Bakugou's nose scrunched in distaste. “That sounds irritating. Just let me help you. Fucking stupid to waste the whole day on this shit.” 

Kirishima smiled, tilting his head up even more so he could catch Bakugou's eyes. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

Bakugou grunted, not directly responding, but Kirishima didn't need him to. He closed his eyes, feeling Bakugou applying the dye methodically. He hummed to himself, an age-old theme song to some hero cartoon he used to watch as a kid, and he smiled when he heard Bakugou humming the back up vocals but still didn't open his eyes. 

You're welcome. I appreciate you. You are cared for, Bakugou's actions said without words. Kirishima soaked up Bakugou’s care as much as his hair soaked up the dye. 

Once the dye was done, Kirishima turned around to see a couple foil pieces in Bakugou’s hair in the front. 

“Oh? Are you really dying your hair?” Kirishima asked, surprised. He didn’t even know when Bakugou had had a chance to do that. 

“Just the front couple pieces,” Bakugou said, face a little red, and he refused to meet Kirishima’s gaze. 

“Nice! I’m excited to see it; I’m sure you’ll look awesome!” 

Bakugou grumbled to himself but didn’t argue, instead turning back on the show they were watching and sitting with his arms crossed. Kirishima grinned to himself, brushing against the other as they balanced the laptop between them. 

Spar or not, it was a good day.

Hair Care, Pt. 1

Kirishima combed his fingers through his hair, turning his head side to side and sighing at the black roots. He needed to redo it again. He dropped his hands to the counter, grabbing his headband to push his hair back and cover his roots. He'd run to the store after classes and get some more dye. It wasn't the quickest process, especially since he had to bleach the black first, so he would basically have to spend his whole off day from school doing it.

He took the teasing about being late and not having his hair styled with a shrug and a smile. Everyone was good natured about it and he just claimed to have woke up too late to style it, wearing the headband to keep it out of his face. He was sure most of the class could probably guess that he dyed his hair, but he still enjoyed the illusion, like maybe he was actually brave and not just pretending by slapping on color from a box.

"Oi, Shitty Hair," Bakugou called out as usual as they were dismissed from class.

Kirishima couldn't hold back a grimace. Bakugou always called him that, but on days like this, it tended to hit a little too close to heart. He managed a slightly strained smile.

"Hey, man. What's up?"

"Let's spar tomorrow. We've got an off day so we can use the gym all afternoon."

Kirishima frowned. "Ah, sorry. I can't tomorrow."

Bakugou's brow scrunched. "You got plans already?"

"I mean, kind of?" Kirishima winced. "Not exactly fun plans, just a chore I got to do. It'll take a couple hours at least."

Bakugou sighed longsufferingly. "Fine, what is it? I can help and it'll go faster. Then we can spar."

"Um." Kirishima hesitated. "It's not...really something the amount of people can change how fast it goes."

Bakugou scowled, turning away. "Fucking whatever, okay, if you didn't want to just say so." He started to stomp off with his shoulders high, tense. Shit, he'd hurt his feelings.

"No, wait, I do want to!" Kirishima called out, snatching his bag and rushing after him. "It's just," he exhaled. "It's my hair, alright? I've got to dye it again, my roots are growing out," he admitted, kicking his feet against the ground. "Not exactly something fun though. Or something worth bragging about."

Bakugou cut his eyes at him from the side. He seemed contemplative now instead of mad. Kirishima startled when he suddenly reached out, fingers grabbing a lock of Kirishima's hair and rubbed it between his fingers.

"That's why your hair's shitty," he said.

Kirishima flinched this time, looking away and feeling a bit of a burn in his eyes he tried to ignore. He grabbed his arm with his opposite hand, slumping. Yeah, he knew Bakugou had rude nicknames for everyone, but he hadn't thought Bakugou meant it when he called him Shitty Hair.

"Fuck, no, that's not--" Bakugou blurted out quickly. Kirishima peeked at him to see the blond actually looking a little flustered. "My mom knows all this shit about hair and I kind of picked some of it up on accident. Your hair's dry from the bleaching and the dye. You don't use the right conditioner. That's what I meant."

Kirishima blinked. That was the most he'd ever heard Bakugou say at one time without yelling.

"Let me help," Bakugou asked. Then he scowled. "No. No choice. I'm helping you," he stated, turning and grabbing Kirishima's wrist to tug him forward. Kirishima helplessly followed.

His mom and dad hadn't had any experience with hair dye so Kirishima had just had Google and the box instructions to follow. He wasn't against getting some advice from someone who knew what they were doing though. He had noticed his hair was dryer and more brittle, he just hadn't known there was an option to fix that without stopping dyeing his hair.

At the store, Bakugou stalked to the hair section, scanning the boxes. "What do you usually get?"

Kirishima pointed to one of the boxes on the bottom shelf, fire engine red.

"You can't just use any shit" Bakugou tsked, as he looked at the back of the box. "This one's fucking awful. Never use permanent dye, that's why you get roots so bad. Use semi permanent. You have to redye it either way, but this way it'll fade more evenly and be less noticeable, just might be darker overall if black's your natural," Bakugou explained, grabbing a different dye and shoving it in Kirishima's arms. He didn't say anything about the hair bleach Kirishima grabbed, so he guessed that wasn't bad. He turned to the register.

"The fuck you going?" Bakugou called out, further down the aisle.

Kirishima held up the two boxes. "To buy these? We're done, right?"

Bakugou's eyes bugged and he sputtered. "That's it?" He stressed. "What about oil? Leave in conditioner? Treated shampoo?"

Kirishima blinked, tilting his head just a little. "What?"

Bakugou groaned. "This is why your hair is so dry, damn." He dragged Kirishima down the aisle to some hair oils. "You at least need coconut oil. Argon is good too."

"Okay," Kirishima said slowly. Bakugou looked over them quickly before grabbing a green bottle of coconut oil.

"Leave in conditioner helps too," Bakugou explained. "Some of them can even help your dye last longer." He grabbed another. "Please tell me you at least use shampoo for dyed hair."

"Of course!" Kirishima defended, pointing the brand he usually got.

Bakugou looked apocalyptic. "2-in-1 shampoo?!" He practically screeched.

Kirishima winced. "I thought that was good? Extra hydration?"

"I'm exploding that when we get back," Bakugou informed him, grabbing a different bottle. He grabbed another conditioner as well.

"I need two conditioners?" Kirishima asked as he followed him to the register.

"One for in the shower to wash out, one's leave in," Bakugou said gruffly, grabbing the boxes from Kirishima and throwing them all on the belt. Kirishima was getting out his wallet when he realized Bakugou was paying.

"Hey, wait! It's for me, dude, I can pay!"

"It's a lot of extra shit you don't usually get, I'll get them this time," Bakugou said, accepting his change. He smirked. "Once you see the difference, you'll see why it's worth it."

"I'm kind of starting to think you like doing this kind of stuff," Kirishima said as they headed back.

"You need to take of your hair. It's part of your image as a hero." Bakugou said, and Kirishima could see a bit of a blush cross his face. "You're also apparently a dumbass."

Kirishima laughed. "I appreciate it, Bakugou."

"Whatever. We'll get started tomorrow morning. Should be done by lunch."

"Thanks!"

.....

(To Be Continued)

[wosov]

A tough pill to swallow - part 2

content warning:

blood (minor mention)

poor mental health

The relief you felt once you were out of Leah’s car was immediate but short-lived as you turned the corner to the changing room. You could quite clearly hear voices and although you couldn’t quite make out who they belonged to, you knew it would be too much for you to cope with. So, off you went to the bathrooms to hopefully get changed and allow yourself some time to hopefully shake out of this mood. After all, nobody deserved to be on the receiving end of that. 

Meanwhile, Leah had quickly gotten out of her car and managed to catch up with Beth and Katie. She needed advice and they seemed the best people to be able to offer that to her. So, with a deep breath she explained everything that had gone on. Your terrible mood this morning, the screaming match you had gotten into. The fact that the dark circles under your eyes made you look like you hadn’t slept in a week and that you just seemed to be getting more withdrawn by the minute. 

Katie and Beth listened intently both seeming to become just as concerned as Leah. Beyond everything, you had found a place in every single heart of your teammates with them looking out for you as one of their own. 

Katie was the first one to offer her thoughts. “Le, if i’m being honest the kid has seemed off lately.” Katie takes a deep breath before continuing on with her opinion. The seriousness in her demeanour, a stark contrast in her usual brash personality, made Leah really pause and listen. “I have to ask, do you think she is on drugs?” 

This question was not what Leah was expecting and Katie guessed it too, so she carried on trying to justify her thought.

“I mean it’s that the past few days she was really hyper and upbeat. Like unnervingly so and it… I guess it just made me wonder because I know her usual self is happy and cheeky but what I saw from her, I have only ever seen when people have been drunk or high. And now she just seems depressed and like she is going to snap at the slightest thing.” 

Katie’s words really made Leah stop and think and she hated to admit it but her theory did make a lot of sense. It would account for your strange moods and your more recent irritability. But this thought didn’t fill her with the comfort like she thought having a possible explanation would do. Instead it filled her with dread at the conversations she would have to have with not just you but the staff as well. And Katie sensed the unease building in Leah.

“Hey, I am probably wrong, y'know. It was just a thought I had, especially given how young the kid is. She may be trying to experiment or feeling pressure to fit in, I don’t know.” Katie desperately tried to make the situation better.

It was Beth that chimed in next with a sensible suggestion. “How about we all keep an eye on kiddo and ask the others if they have noticed anything before we confront her. If we go in all guns blazing then it will make the situation 10 times worse and we don’t even know what type of situation we are dealing with yet.”

Leah and Katie both agreed to that and they resumed their walk inside, mutual silence filling the air. 

After Katie had gone off to find Caitlin, Leah and Beth headed to the locker room but when they noticed you weren’t there confusion covered both of their faces. The only other logical place where you could be was the canteen and they knew you weren’t there, having passed it on the way to their current location. Leah quickly dumped her stuff into her locker before muttering to Beth that she was going to go check in the bathroom. Beth just nodded in response and began to get ready for training. It wasn’t long before Leah came back empty handed but just as they were about to start coming up with different places to search, the whistle blew signalling to the start of training. This filled Leah with worry, thinking you were going to be late for training so she didn’t know whether to be pleased or more concerned about you when she saw you were already kicking a ball about on the field away from where everyone had started to gather. 

It didn’t take long for Renee to realise this and after yelling a quick “Kiddo c’mon” you tossed the ball to the side and made your way over. All without lifting your head to meet your teammates. There were no cheeky jokes or remarks, no playful shoves or smirks. Just complete silence. 

Leah was definitely more concerned now. 

As they were nearing the end of their morning training session, the girls were in good spirits, playfully shoving each other and laughing. That was until Kyra made the decision to completely miss the social queues you were giving off and shove you. Fair enough her actions were completely innocent and on any other day you would’ve shoved her back and probably started play fighting in one way or another. But today, you weren’t expecting it and fell straight onto your front, your hands getting covered in mud as they reached out to break your fall. 

Kyra, still not picking up on your discomfort, started laughing and trying to start joking about with you. But you had well and truly snapped. Everything had suddenly come to fruition and you no longer felt in control of your own body. It all happened in an instant, one second you were on the floor the next second you had shot up from the ground before pushing Kyra over aggressively. 

As you stood over her, fists clenched and breathing heavy, you had no other feelings other than pure unfiltered anger and that anger needed a place to latch onto. Unfortunately for Kyra, it was her. 

The only other of your teammates that were in close vicinity were Laura Wienrother and Caitlin Foord and all they could think to do was watch on in shock and disbelief that your usual cheeky self would be capable of something like this. That was until Kyra (still in utter shock) managed to get back on her feet and you just completely lost it and swung at her. The action of your fist hitting Kyras face caused Laura to scream out in fear and Caitlin tried to restrain you in response. Key word being try, as you quickly fought free of her hold. However, Laura’s scream soon alerted the rest of the squad to the heated situation that was quickly unfolding back on the field and Leah had no hesitations before she was running over to grab and restrain you. She didn’t know what had happened to set you off like this, she just saw Kyra’s bloodied nose and your bloodied fist and she just took it upon herself to minimise the impact of your meltdown. 

She found herself quickly grabbing you by the waist in order to restrain you from causing any more harm to anybody else or yourself, begging you to calm down. 

As the others ran over to see what was happening, 

Kim was the one who quickly took charge of the situation. She made sure Kyra was being taken care of and had people to accompany her to the medical room before getting Katie to help Leah to restrain and calm you down. 

It took several minutes until you were no longer trying to actively claw your way out of Leah’s grip and the others weren’t sure whether you had calmed down or simply ran out of energy to carry on in your state. Either way, they were glad you seemed calmer and knew they had to get you back inside the changing room so you could clean up. But as Kim took in your current appearance she knew that would be easier said than done. 

You were currently catatonic, leaning heavily against Leah and unmoving. She was rocking you whilst whispering comforts and reassurances in your ear, although unsure whether you were actually hearing her and her arms were still securely wrapped around your small, fragile body. As if she was scared you would snap and try to flee again. Katie just watched on feeling helpless at the adamant pain you were in. 

Kim, however, was quick to nudge Katie to grab her attention so they could start coming up with a plan to get you inside and cleaned up. She took in how your small frame was starting to shiver and turn blue in the cold mud and knew they had to move fast. 

Kim and Katie swiftly formulated a plan to carry you inside and as Kim went over to explain the plan to Leah, Katie knelt down and took one of your hands into hers, stroking it gently. 

Once Leah was informed of the plan, she quickly started to move out of the way so Katie could pick you up with Kim helping Leah up from the cold mud coated ground. 

The walk back inside was surrounded by an uneasy silence. Communication was shared via somber glances and heavy sighs as Kim and Leah followed Katie from behind, with Kim casting her arm over Leah’s shoulder.

Leah felt despair watching Katie carry your fragile body indoors. She had no idea what was going on with you let alone how to fix this, All she knew was that she needed to fix this and fast.

As the people requested on the poll - ATPTS part 2 is now out.

Not fully proofread so I am sorry for any mistakes included.

As always, I love getting fic and hc requests for anything WOSO related, not just for our poor little chaos kiddo.

[jensthwa]

mountebank chem: epilogue (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x afab!rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 7.08k

WARNINGS & TAGS: attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov (both yunho's and reader's), use of fem pronouns for reader, the morning after and the day after that. reader and yunho are very in love is lowkey kind of gross everyone, kissing, fluff, dream-talk, yeosang talk too! a little bit of angst if you squint, decision making and finally standing up for yourself is hard and reader is doing their best, soohyun being a good brother and making reader cry, gyuri being a little shit, wooyoung being a little shit, seonghwa being a good friend, happy endings let's goooo.

NOTES: hi everyone! here's the epilogue i promised! like i've said in a few asks that i've gotten, there's a little bit of the next story here, just something so you all have context of it before going in. i don't know when that one is going to be up (i'm not really far along with it) but either way i want to thank all of you for the patience and the wait! i really loved writing mbc:'). this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: february 20th 2025.

taglist: @kyunlov, @tinyelfperson, @0115degrees, @daniela-f-uwu, @ultrapinkvoidbouquet, @kyeomooniee, @fairylover68, @sushiinmidnight, @qveenbunni, @calmoistorm, @potatomountain, @svintsandghosts, @lemonkait00, @blue5ummer, @fancypeacepersona, @hyukssunflower, @i-love-ateez, @alsomimi, @e3ellie, @st3ft0n3s, @hotteokkay, @xylatox, @honeybeehorizon, @hwallazia, @mady-66.

masterlist - part one - part two. part three. part four.

When Yunho wakes up, rested and naked, the room is dark. 

He turns to the side and the curtains are, of course, down but the thing is that he doesn’t remember closing them the night before. 

When he turns to where you’re supposed to be, the bed is made on your side and you’re not there. 

Strangely enough, he doesn’t panic. He is sure of what you both have, he trusts you enough to know you didn’t run away from him, from you two, again. 

Also, he can smell a mix of coffee and the turpentine-like smell of paint as he gets dressed with his boxers and the slacks he was wearing the night before after picking them up off the floor and going to the bathroom to wash his face. 

He pokes his face out to the living space and there’s a make-shift tarp on the floor, the furniture is moved around to make space for you and an easel. You’re sitting down on a wooden stool, painting away and he wonders if he just missed that last night or if he genuinely just passed out and didn't notice this much change. 

He clears his throat “Good morning, princess.” 

You jump a little, turning your head to look at him and there’s paint on your face and your hand when you wave at him. 

“Hi, Jeong.” 

“Seriously?” 

“What?” 

He chuckles “No cute nickname? Just Jeong?” 

“Well, that is your name, isn’t it?” You turn back and he catches that you’re pretending to focus on your painting, but you’re repassing the same painstrokes as before. 

“We’re going to have to work on it,” he lets out a sigh that turns into a yawn. “Sorry that I slept in on you. What time is it?” 

“Around three.” 

“In the afternoon?!” Yunho looks around for his phone but he locates the clock in the wall first and he confirms your words. “Princess, why didn’t you wake me up? We could’ve spent the day together…” 

“I rather you rest,” you shrug and he takes a few steps until he’s behind you, his hands immediately reaching out to touch you. He can’t help it, he wants to physically fuse into you but he compromises with nature and just massages your shoulders. “You have sectionals in two weeks, right?” 

He frowns at the reminder, a tiny smile on his lips a second later. 

“How do you know that?”

You stop the brush on the canvas and then look at him again, eyelashes batting with fake innocence. 

“I kind of bribed my assistant so she could bribe yours and now your general schedule is on my phone…” 

He fakes a gasp and he marvels in the pout he gets in return. 

“I needed to know when you were leaving the dorm this week!” 

“So you could drop the gift?” 

“Mhm,” you say, puckering your lips to ask for a kiss. He pretends to go for it and he truly pats his back for having a little of self-restraint when he dodges you to pretend he just thought about something. 

“Oh! That reminds me…” 

You huff in annoyance and interrupt whatever he’s about to say. 

“How did you know my room number and who let you in?” 

“I paid the receptionist and showed him proof that we were together,” he explains like it’s nothing and you huff again, amused this time. “Told him I wanted to surprise you.” 

“That’s so irresponsible.” 

Yunho reaches the box he left on the coffee table last night, opens it and pulls the polaroids out. 

“You dropped this off without any explanation! What are these?” 

When he turns around, you’re already painting again and he gets a five second look in his direction before you return your attention to your art. 

“Oh.” there’s a smile on your lips Yunho loves, although he’s not sure if it’s because you’re doing what you love or if you got reminded of something. “I was hoping you asked me about it. I, um, stayed at a resort during New Years, in Gangwondo.”

“Is this the first time we spent Chrismtas and New Years away from each other?” 

“Not the first time,” you muse and then shrug, “but definitely the first time in a long time, huh?” 

“I didn't like it.” 

“Why?” You look at him again and he sits on his knees on the couch like a neglected child, looking your way. You seem to find it endearing, because you laugh. “Because you didn't have anyone to kick under the table this year?” 

“That has never happened.” 

“Liar. Anyway, they have this winter festival that goes all the way until mid January and they have this… Traditional and modern fusion media dance performance that made me think of you. So I took some pictures of the dancers.” 

“So you just put them in the box because you took them while thinking of me?” 

There’s shyness painting your tone when you reply “Yeah.” 

His heart thumps happily inside his chest and he gets off the couch. 

“I love you.” 

You laugh again “I love you too, Yunho,” and, as you shake your head a little, you look in the kitchenette direction with your lips pointed at it. “I ordered some breakfast that you can heat up or you can give me… Twenty minutes and I can change and we can—” 

Yunho revels in the squeak of surprise you let out when he closes the distance, leans in and catches your lips in a short but firm kiss. 

“We can stay in all day if you want to.” He says and you kiss his lips one more time. 

“Okay,” you seem happy to have that option so he sees the moment you make the decision to not push going out at all. “There’s some clothes for you in the walk-in closet. I ordered them when I ordered all of this,” you point at the mess on the tarp and the floor, “I figured you might need them.”

“Thank you, my love.” He whispers and he pecks your lips before reaching for your nearly empty coffee cup. 

“There’s also one for you in the—” 

“I want this one,” he says, a sly smile on his lips and one of his hands returns to your shoulders to massage them. 

He takes a look at the canvas for once and he notices that, what he thought was a solid background color and some structure, has actually started to look like the view in front of you both, with the Namsan Tower in the back. 

“What about the CD?” 

“Hm?”

“Your gift,” he reminds you, “there’s also a CD.” 

“A mixtape, with songs that make me think of us.”

Yunho blows some air and he doesn’t have to look down to see you’re frowning at the sound “You’re a romantic.” 

“Do you want to die?” 

He laughs but doesn’t address the threat at all. Instead, the focus is on your art “The painting of us and the kids is beautiful,” he can feel your skin under his palm heat up at the compliment and it makes him smile. “This one is too.” 

“It all just flows so much smoothly when I don’t have to think about work or being home,” you admit, your body relaxing into his when he takes a sip of the cup and brings it around for you to do the same. “I want to stay here, with you, forever.” 

“And we can,” he murmurs into your head, leaving a kiss on your temple a second later. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I want to move out,” you say, your tone full of wishfulness and Yunho takes in a breath at what that could mean for you, “I want to quit my job.” 

“And what do you want to do for work, then?” He asks, already supporting the decision. “You want to paint?” 

You shake your head, looking up at him, a wishful glint in your eye “I want to be an art teacher.” 

“Oh?” 

“Do you want to work for your father?” 

“Not in a million years, I— Princess, don’t get mad for what I’m about to tell you, okay?”

You turn in the stool, looking up at him with an inquisitorial brow until he crouches down on the floor to meet your eye. 

“My plan has always been to pretend to work and go along with him until I graduate college. Then, I want to move away. I want to… I don’t know, get disowned?” 

Eyes widening, you take in a sharp breath and then cough into your hand. 

He offers you the cup so you can take the final sip out of it. 

“It’s part of why I went along with the PR relationship in the first place.” 

You nod and he gulps, staring as you get lost in thought for a second. 

“Why would I be mad?” 

“Because I sort of planned to use you?” 

“Not really, though. You wanted to use the relationship they threw us into?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s understandable, then. I… I understand.” This time, you’re the one gulping and he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “I, um, I’m not sure if I actually can go against my parents wishes and never see my brother again, Yun.” 

He shakes his head. “If you think for a second that Soohyun is going to give a fuck about your parents feelings, you’re wrong. I… Me and Gunho are not as close as I want us to be, you know? But we talk about things.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Sometimes,” his laugh lasts a few seconds only and then he clears his throat. “If there’s something I'm sure of, princess, is that your brother loves you with all his heart. If you want to step away from the family business, from your parents, he… He’ll understand.” 

You nod again. 

“And I’m not saying any of this because I want you to do the same things I want to do but I—” 

You interrupt him “What do you want to do?” 

“Huh?”

“Do you want to work as an engineer?” 

“Yes,” he breathes out and you smile, “but I also want to dance. Have an academy, maybe, but I need money and experience and a name.” 

“You already have a name.” 

“I need to make a name for myself, princess,” he explains and you nod like you already knew, because you probably did. “Get a stage name, maybe.” 

“Ha!” you laugh and he raises his eyebrows, amused by your reaction. “Maybe… Yunho the rakehell? Yunho… Oh! Yunho the bitchl—” 

“Stop that!” 

It seems like that joke is never to die down and he’s glad, he’s glad that he doesn’t take genuine offense in it anymore and he’s glad it makes you laugh in a way he wants to record and play on repeat forever. 

Grabbing his face, your thumbs brush against his cheeks and he can swear he has never felt so at ease until now. This, waking up and going out of the room to find you doing what you love. You, looking at him with some much love, it's hard to believe it took you both so long to leave your pride behind and work it out. 

“You are worth it, Yunho,” you whisper and he knows right away you’re referring to the fight you both had at the office, “and I have no idea how we’re going to make it, but we are. Of that I’m sure, my love. I trust you,” you brush his hair back and off his forehead, “I trust us.” 

He holds your face as well, the pad of his finger passing over the dry paint on your cheek.

“I trust us, too.” 

Before he can react, you’re smooching his lips again and he melts into the encounter, the passion of last night bleeding into his movements once again and painting him red when he gets on his knees and pulls you into his lap in a smooth motion. You yelp and laugh and then you moan into his mouth when his hands find your ass and his fingers dig into it through the jeans you’re wearing. 

Huh. 

You’re wearing jeans. 

They look so natural and good on you that he didn’t even notice it’s the first time he seeing you in jeans. 

“Again?” You ask, already winded and clinging onto him for dear life in a way that makes him laugh. He pulls back and finds you shyly smiling at him but it doesn’t really help your care that he can see right through the act. 

“Can you blame me?” 

“Yes, actually.” 

“Y/N…” 

“It was a joke,” you grab his shoulders to shake him to no avail and then before getting up you lean in to kiss his cheek in a manner so sweet that makes him all giddy, like a fool in love. Maybe because that’s what he is. “Take a shower.” 

“Take it with me.” He says, without thinking about it but one hundred percent meaning it. 

“I already showered.” 

He makes sure to scrunch his nose and make a funny face “Did you really?” 

It’s not really a surprise when you turn around from your painting and swipe your brush across his mouth. 

“I smell amazing and you smell like shit. Go and shower, Jeong.” 

He enjoys ticking you off a bit too much. Either way he laughs, the taste of paint on his tongue when he does and, when he gets up and goes to the bathroom, he hears the soft sound of your giggle and his heart feels full.  

And then you get him back like ten minutes later, by turning off the light in the bathroom and almost giving him a heart attack at the sudden loss of it. He breathes out an exaggerated sigh and, when you turn them back on, he turns around and watches you through the glass divider. 

Unfortunately for you, the glass is frosted from his chest down, but you lean against the marble counter and eye him suggestively nonetheless. He continues with his shower as if this is the most normal scenario ever for the two of you. 

It feels like it, anyway. 

“Can I help you, princess?” 

“Tomorrow I’ll go home,” you start, not a question or a request, but a fact. “I’ll go home and I'm going to sit with them all at dinner and let them hear what I’m going to do from now on. They don’t need to know that I’m going to take classes—” 

“You are?” 

Humming, you nod once and then twice after a second of looking at the floor, determination in your stare when you look up at him again. “I’m going to get a bachelor’s in art education, maybe just art first. It’ll take time but…” You shrug. 

“But you’ll be doing what makes you happy.” He finishes for you. 

“Yeah,” you return softly, “and I'll be detached from my family’s hip eventually.” 

“One will argue,” he says, closing his eyes to avoid shampoo to get into them, “that you’re already pretty independent.” 

“While doing my work and my brother’s work, sure,” you smile, “but not when it comes to living on my own.” 

An idea crosses his mind and colors his cheeks, so he hums “You’ll be lonely.” 

“I already feel that way at home… But I do love the idea of having a space all for myself.” 

He hums again and then wipes the water from his eyes to send you a look. 

“How much do you love it?” 

“Jeong,” you say, laughing when you finally get what he’s suggesting, “we’re not moving in together.” 

He pouts. 

“Yet.” 

He smiles at you again. 

“Besides,” turning around, you let out a tired sigh when you catch the paint on your face and then you open the faucet to clean it off, “then Yeosang would miss you too much and he’ll blame me. I don’t want your friend to hate me.”

“He would never—” 

You don’t let him dismantle your excuses “What is he up to with that documentary, anyway?” 

He closes the shower and reaches for a towel the next second, not even bothering fully covering himself up when he gets out and you send him a look through the mirror, one he can’t decide if it’s in reproach or if it’s charged with something else. Probably both. 

But he plays coy and tries his best to answer your question as he secures the towel around his hips. 

“He’s doing this documentary about dance, he’s been working on it for a while. Obviously I’m the star of it,” he watches you roll your eyes and he bumps your arm with his in retaliation. “But my co-stars are taking all of his attention now. It’s kind of annoying.” 

“And he finds them— your co-stars I mean,” your eyes roll again, “at the club?” 

Yunho barely helps the laugh that spills out of his lips.

“No, um, that’s a completely different story. He keeps saying that he needs to film this one girl for the documentary but we all stopped believing him when he almost got beat up for filming her,” he explains, his hands brushing his wet hair back, “and he went back to do it again anyway.” 

Your hip connects to the countertop again, your back to the mirror “So he’s in love?” 

“I don’t think so. I think he’s… Intrigued.” 

“Is she an exotic dancer or something?” 

“What?” 

“What?” you return, shrugging, “nothing wrong with stripping for a living.”

“I know, that’s not what I meant—” 

“Do you have something against strippers, Yunho?” Your eyes narrow at him. 

“N-no, of course I—”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“Princess…” He breathes out another laugh, a nervous chuckle this time. “Stop teasing me.” 

Your frown slowly breaks into a smile and he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“But you look so cute when you’re flustered!”

He stops messing with his hair to grab your hips and make sure you have nowhere to go, trapped between his body and the cold marble behind you. 

“I’m not cute,” he says, low, almost in a whisper, “and I showered.” 

“Yunho… Are you not hungry at all? You have to eat something.” 

He wants to laugh again but he stops himself, his hands roaming your front and slipping to your legs when he kneels a little “Hm, I’m starving.” 

Gasping when he kisses your middle through your shirt, you push him away with feign distress written all over your expression. 

“Jeong!” 

He gets back up again “What?” 

“Are you going to be this much of a troublemaker when we live together? I have things to do!” 

He stops, his hands holding your hips still and then you gasp again when he tugs and presses you against his body. 

“You said when.” 

You gulp “I know what I said.” 

“You’re making plans for the future and I’m in them.” 

“Well,” you titter with a nervous glint in your eye, but your chin is up the next second, “you know what? Yeah. Yes, I am, because I love—” 

He presses his lips against yours before you finish your sentence and when he pulls away you push on his chest again. 

“Annoying.” You say but you don’t mean it and he laughs, his arms going around you before you melt into his embrace fully. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Mhm.” 

You think about it, he can feel you thinking as he rocks you both from side to side “No,” you finally say, in a whisper and then your next words come out firmer. “No, I need to do this on my own. I would love to see you later tomorrow night, though.” 

“Hm, I have practice and then I promised to help Gyuri move in with Wooyoung but I can tell them that I’m in love and busy.” 

“No, no,” you pull back, smiling a little, “Can I… I mean, I can help.”

He smiles as well “You want to?” 

You nod. 

“She has a bunch of shit but San is moving most of the stuff because, partially, it’s his fault she has to move, so.” 

“Hm, how so?”

“Gyuri and his girlfriend live together, for years now, and now they want to move in with each other so Gyuri is forced to live with the embodiment of mischief while she finds an apartment she can afford.” 

You laugh “I don’t think it bothers her that much.” 

“Why?” He frowns and, at his question, you give him an incredulous look. “Why?” 

“Baby, oh my God.” 

He lets you go and you push him away fully, getting out of the bathroom. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” 

“Figure it out, dummy!” 

He’s truly, genuinely and utterly confused, but the smile on his face hardly goes down as he watches you sit down in front of your painting again, from the bathroom door’s threshold. 

And his heart aches for the pain you’re probably going to endure the next day. 

When you enter the code to your front door, bag in hand, it’s almost lunch time. You didn’t let them know you’ll be returning today but you’re sure the way your suitcase falls at the dining room’s entrance is enough to alert them. Soohyun jumps a little, your mother lets out a scream and your father looks up from his phone slowly, gives you a look, and then looks back down. 

“Oh, great, you’re back. Y/N, next time would you please let me know when you’re showing up so I can schedule your appointments accordingly— Kim Y/N!” 

Your mother's scandalized scream is not what surprises you. What surprises you is the hug Soohyun gets up to give you, a tight squeeze that you smile into and then make a face at when he pulls away. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to just you. “Don’t let her tell you otherwise.” 

Nodding, you finally face your mother whose jaw is almost hitting the floor by now. Your father, as usual, is unbothered and tapping his fingers against the glass of the table, impatiently waiting for his food. 

“Why do you mutilate yourself like this? And without notifying your team, nonetheless! We’ll have to… Get you some hair extensions for the shoot that you have—”

“No.”

She pauses, her jaw ticking and her eyebrow raising in warning. A few months ago, the mere thought of upsetting her would’ve sent you into a panic attack. Now, you stand your ground and curve your lips with pride, lift your chin up with courage and hold the handle of your suitcase a little tighter because you need it, because your hands tremble a little. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said no,” you repeat yourself and your tone gains you your father's attention. “I’m sure the public can survive a haircut, mom. Can you?” 

“Kim Y/N do not talk to me like that!” 

She steps your way and your brother steps a side, giving you a wide eyed look that can only mean a here she goes again and you purse your lips to stop yourself from nervously laughing at it. 

“You cut your hair, you leave for three months and come back all… All chubby,” oh, my god, “and you dare to speak to me that way?!” 

The mention of your weight does send a little panic cruising through you. It has your father huffing from his seat and your brother snapping his head rapidly in your mother’s direction, a frown creasing his eyebrows and you can tell he’s about to say something but you stop him with a shake of your head.

And then you laugh. 

You taste something bitter in your mouth and you can see the exact moment she notices her words are not affecting you the way they usually do. 

“I think it’s time I move out,” you start, with a tiny, sardonic smile on your lips, “and I also think it is also time you think about the way you speak to me, mother. And I think you,” you turn to your father, “need to think about all the times you allowed her to talk to me that way.”

Your dad looks up, raises his eyebrows, hums and then looks back down again. 

“Sure thing.” He says. 

“What is happening right now?” your mother asks, a nervous chuckle coming out of her and after that she moves her hand, dismissing your point and turning to go to her seat again. “You’re talking nonsense. Go upstairs and wash. You’re obviously not having dinner, I hope.” 

She’s always doing it on purpose, bringing you down like that on purpose, but right now? Right now she craves vengeance. You notice it in the way she looks for your reaction when she looks up. 

“I am having dinner. Not here, not with you, not anymore.” 

Your mother sighs, rubs her forehead with her thumb and her index “Kim Y/N, I beg, stop terrorizing me and—” 

“She’s moving in with me.” 

You turn to Soohyun, he gives you a look to signal you to follow his lead. 

“She’s a little bit too grown up and independent to live under your roof still, mom. Dad?” He asks and your father looks up. “Don’t you agree?” 

“Well,” your father cleans his throat, his back hitting the back of his chair as he thinks it over, “she is capable of being on her own. Besides, her room can make a wonderful office for you, dear.” 

“Her room is staying hers because she’s not going anywhere!” Your mom stands up again, voice dark and tone painted over with something you’ve never even heard before. Not coming from her, at least: Fear. “Why do you suddenly want to move out? Is there…” She closes her mouth and then gulps, breathing out a laugh the next second. “Are you running away with someone, Y/N? Is that it? Did you fall in love on your little trip? You’re promised to someone!” 

“Promised? I am not promised because we’re in the twenty-first century, mom!” 

“To Yunho, Y/N! Don’t be stupid and tell your little fling to get lost!”

“Mom…” Soohyun warns but she laughs again, indignant. 

“What? She knows this already. How would the Jeong’s feel if—” 

“I don’t care what they feel!” 

Your voice resonates in the room, it shuts everyone up, it makes your mom take a step back and your father blocks his phone, finally interested in what’s going on. 

“I am with Yunho.” 

Your mother smiles a second too late at what you said and opens her mouth, but you interrupt whatever nonsense she’s about to spew out. 

“I am with him but not because you or his mother planned it. I’m not trying to fullfill your little fucked up fantasy—” 

“Y/N!” She gasps at the cursing but you continue nonetheless. 

“I am with him because I love him. I love him and he loves me and we are together because, against all odds, we ended up bonding and finding comfort and solace in each other. We made the choice, we did,” you insist on it, to let her know that it doesn’t matter if you two being together is exactly what she wanted, the final say is on you and Yunho alone. “I have something you two could never have and that’s companionship and true understanding that’s not rutted in power or in money. He… He made me realize we’re so much more than this.” You move your hands in the space between you and the rest of the room and your father hums a bitter sound in return.

“This,” your father gets up from his seat, hands going in the pockets of his dress pants and eyebrows raised with a sardonic edge to them that pisses you off, “is your family.”

“I know and that makes it worse,” you nod and the slow anger showing in his expressions grows just a tad bit more, so you go on before anyone else can interrupt you again. “Here’s what’s going to happen from now on, dad; If you want me to, I’ll keep working at the company, but Soohyun's responsibilities are solely his from now on,”  you turn to your brother and he gives a fake pout but then he nods. “My job is simple, my job should allow me to focus on what I really want and, once I get what I really want, I'll make sure to find someone who can fit my spot so seemingly you won't even notice I'm gone.”

“I thought that what you wanted was to work for this company, Y/N.” Your father says.

“I thought so too,” you murmur back to him before shrugging, “but now I’m not so sure.” 

A bit of pregnant silence passes. The air feels thick now that you told them your terms, your plan or what you allowed them to hear of it anyways. Like you told your boyfriend, there’s no need for them to know that you want to take classes or teach. 

You’ll just do it. No need for their approval.  

But your mother still grasps at the control she had on you three months ago. She holds on to it, desperately and, if you were someone else and the situation was any different, you would probably admire the strength it takes to stay this egotistical and delusional until the end. 

She doesn’t seem to understand that her only daughter is running away from her. You’re not sure she cares, either and it hurts because, deep down, you expected to walk off with redemption on her side. 

Sometimes, there’s no redemption at all from the people who hurt you. 

And that’s also okay. 

“Are you done?” She asks, looking around. “Are you all done with this nonsense?” 

Taking in a breath, you try to tell her that what you said it’s what’s going to happen but she is not having it. 

“No,” her finger is up and you raise your eyebrow at it, which gains you a raise on hers in return. “No. You’re not looking for a replacement and no you’re not moving out. That’s insane, Kim Y/N, that’s—” 

“What’s my favorite color?” You interrupt to ask her and she stops, opening and closing her mouth while searching for an answer. “What’s my favorite sweet?” 

“You don’t have one.” 

“I do, I actually have two. What’s my favorite book? Movie? Song?” You turn to your dad this time. “What’s my favorite marketing strategy? Do you even know that one?” 

Silence. 

“You don’t know me enough to want to keep me here. I understand why you might think you do, but you don’t. Because, guess what? I’m an adult.”

Your mother opens her mouth and closes it again when you shake your head. 

And although you’re not speaking to her anymore, you keep looking at your mother straight in the eye and you’re able to catch the exact moment she realizes she lost. 

She lost. 

“I’m an adult with a paying job and savings you didn’t need to know anything about. So you either take it or leave it. Dad?” 

“You want me to decide now?” 

You let out a bitter laugh “You can do whatever you want. Just know that I’m not settling for anything else but what I told you. I can either train someone or you can fire me and I can look for a new job,” you explain, “but either way I’m out of here.” 

Your mother sighs and then mutters under her breath, but you catch it “What is everyone going to say?” 

“I don’t care,” you tell her again and at the response she looks up, startled, like she didn’t expect you to keep going. “Now, I hope you have a lovely lunchr.”

You’re positively shaking when you step into the hallway and through the front door again, with your suitcase in your hand still and no actual plan on where you want to go. Maybe back to the hotel?

Mind reeling, it finally registers the fact that your mother turned to your father and pleaded him to do something for the sake of the family's image just before you stepped foot outside of the house. It was a screech of don't let her go, do something! laced with clear selfish concern. 

You feel panic rising, closing your throat up and you feel lost, lost in what you just did, lost in what it actually means for you. 

“Hey, hey.” Soohyun catches up to you quickly, his keys in his hands, his breath jagged like he escaped your mother’s claws because that’s probably what happened. “Sell out! You needed to signal me when you wanted to leave, dumbass!” 

His eyes linger on your trembling hands when he takes the suitcase from you and you do your best to steady them. 

“You didn’t have anything to eat.” 

“I know. Where are you going?” 

“To… I don’t really know. Yunho’s dorm?” 

Soohyun laughs. 

“You have a house, you know.”

“I think I’m very much homeless right now. I’m getting trapped and probably thrown in a cell if I go back inside.” You swallow tightly as the realization washes over you. “She’s so mad.” 

“My house,” he clarifies, rolling his eyes. “I told them you’re moving in with me, didn’t I?” 

“Soohyun…” 

“I meant it,” there’s something soft in his eyes before he turns to open the main gate so you can both walk up to his car. “You can stay with me. Like you said, you’re grown and I won't have to look after you anymore.” 

“Pfft,” that brings out a genuine laugh out of you, “anymore.” 

“I remember running behind you in the garden because you couldn't keep still the second you learned how to walk!” 

You look at him with a pout as he opens the trunk, throwing your bag in it without any care in the world. 

Like an older brother would. 

If your eyes turn watery, you make sure to swallow back the emotion before he can figure out why. 

“Can I have my own room?” 

“You have a room there already,” he admits, shrugging. “I mean, I thought about you when buying the apartment. Guhno usually stays there but I’m sure he can take the couch when he comes over and— Aw, Y/N!” 

By the time he closes the trunk, you’re already crying. A little, enough for him to notice it. 

“I don’t want to hear it. Open the door.” 

“I’m so telling Yunho you cried!” 

“Leave him out of it!” You push his shoulder, quickly getting into the car when he unblocks the doors and he does the same. “He’s staying over whenever he wants, by the way.” 

Soohyun laughs, his eyes wide when he turns to you “Not a chance in hell, Kim Y/N.”

“Okay, then your boyfriend is not staying over either!” 

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” 

You muse, trying not to laugh “I’m telling Gunho oppa you’re denying your love to my face.”

Your brother lets out a sigh and then you squeak when he pulls your hair, playfully, before looking at you with the most sincere stare Kim Soohyun has probably given anyone ever. 

“I’m really proud of you, kid.” 

Pouting again, you look away and through the window as he pulls out of the curb and into the streets, the house you grew up in quickly fading into the background and your heart thumping hard against your ribs. 

“Are you crying again?” 

“Ugh,” you turn to him, tears running down your cheeks and a smile pulling at your lips, “you’re so annoying.” 

Your clothes are now in your room at Soohyun’s (and yours) apartment, in the walk-in closet. Your brother's taste is nothing short of luxurious and obnoxious and the room is decorated in a way you would never think of decorating it but he swears he has someone who can fix it for me if he wants to.

He forgets that you already know Seonghwa but it's okay, because when you show up at Gyuri’s old apartment, you make sure to find him to tell him just that. 

“I've literally told him that we both know Yunho and each other. Wasn't he the one who gave you my number?” Seonghwa asks, mouth hanging open a bit in surprise. 

“He did, yes.” 

Seonghwa huffs in amusement and you shrug a little “Well, do you want me to work in your room?” He asks after a few seconds and you smile, considering. 

“I think I’m going to do it myself, Hwa.” 

At the nickname, his smile widens and he nods. You think he’s about to say something else, however your attention drifts from your newfound friend and your eyes search for Yunho in the middle of the room, on the floor, as he takes a piece of furniture apart. 

He’s wearing a dark grey crewneck that makes him look so deliciously good you can’t barely help your staring. There’s not one ounce of shame on your body and you’re sure it shows on your face because Seonghwa laughs besides you. 

“So I didn’t paint over the tree,” he says and you frown, turning to him, “but I take you reconsidered my point anyway?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“It’s not going to happen,” the mockery in his tone while he tries to make an impression of you doesn’t offend you because you can see the intention behind it and it makes you laugh, roll your eyes and close your arms over your chest, like a child who just got caught. “It’s not going to happen, my ass. Look at you!” 

“So I was wrong, who cares?” 

“I do, I love being right.” 

“He does,” Wooyoung comes into view from the kitchen, a drop of sweet doing his temple and into his cheek that Seonghwa wipes away like it’s nothing. “But I can say I called it first, remember? I’m never wrong.”

“You most certainly are,” Hwa says and you laugh at the expression Wooyoung makes to his friend, offended. Seonghwa turns to you. “He’s wrong most of the time.” 

“Okay, that’s it, you’re helping me with the weird spice rack she insists on taking.” Wooyoung takes his elder arm and pulls, making you laugh and Seonghwa gasps. 

“You’ve been working on that all afternoon!”

“She installed it herself so it’s all wonky, Hwa.” 

Gyuri screams from behind a pile of clothes. You can't even see her even though you know she's standing up. “It is not wonky, Jung Wooyoung!” 

Pursing your lips so you don't laugh at her predicament, you watch as Wooyoung silently communicates to Seonghwa that the space rack is, in fact, wonky and then you jump a little when arms close around you from behind. 

“Stop complaining, Woo, you're going to have the pleasure to install it however you want later.” Yunho's voice is close to your ear and you hug the arms that hold you, melting into the embrace. 

Gyuri laughs sharply when she registers what he said and Wooyoung makes a face at your boyfriend “I hate it here.” 

“Sure you do, Wooyoung.” You nod at him, joking even though you don’t know him that well, and Seonghwa joins the tiny laugh you let out at the face Wooyoung gives you. 

“I truly did not need a new addition to the group if I was going to get bullied by them as well.” 

You fake offense, laughing a second later and Yunho swats a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he passes by you both and into the kitchen again. Seonghwa rolls his eyes before following Wooyoung into the kitchen as well. 

Yunho breathes out, his lips finding your cheek “How are you feeling?” 

Turning to him, you smile a little. You know he’s asking about what went a little earlier today. 

“I’m good, baby,” you whisper back, leaning in a little and kissing him tenderly on the lips. He reciprocates but when you pull away you can see the concern in his eyes. “I promise. I already knew how she was going to react.” 

“Me too but that doesn’t make it any less fucked up, Princess.” 

“I know,” letting out a sigh, you turn to the living room again and the corners of your lips lift at the mess. “But I’m out of the house and I’m alright now.” 

“My mom texted me to congratulate us.” 

“Oh?” You don’t turn to him again but your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did you answer?” 

“No,” he breathes out a laugh, “but I should.”

“We can’t run from them forever, Yun,” you feel him nod against you and, finally, you turn around completely to face him. His hands find your waist, his lips curve as he watches you over and you do the same. “Also, you’re banned from my house.” 

His smile drops. 

“Huh?” 

“Soohyun doesn’t want you sleeping over.” 

“What did I do?” 

You hear someone laughing behind you and Gyuri comes into view a second later “You’re the official boyfriend now, Yunho, you lost your sleeping over privileges.” 

“I never had them to begin with!” 

“Well—” The sound of glass breaking stops her in her tracks and she goes a little pale at what it means. “Call the police, I’m committing a murder and then turning myself in.” 

And then she disappears into the kitchen as well. Faintly, you can hear Seonghwa laughing. You hold onto Yunho, fingers threading softly into the strands of hair on his neck. 

“They’re not helping us when we move in together.” 

Yunho laughs. 

“When we move in together we’re going to hire professionals.” 

“Exactly.” 

“And Seonghwa can do the interior design of the main part of the house but we can handle our room and studios by ourselves.” 

“Mhm.” 

There’s that slight glint of concern that crosses his expression again when you take in a deep breath, but you shake your head so he can let go of it. 

“We’ll be okay, Yun. We are okay.” 

You watch him swallow tightly but then he nods. There’s a lot you both should be concerned about right now but, as you hear Wooyoung scream from the kitchen and a loud smack against the wall nearest to you, you both silently decide to be in the moment. 

It doesn’t really matter what hardships you go through, as long as you’re together. 

“Against all odds,” you insist, “we’ll be alright.” 

I love them and I'm so sad to let them go but hey! that's life! If you read all the way down hear, thank you so, so much. Don't be afraid to go into my askbox to make comments, suggestions, etc! I will take everything into account for my other stories. Thank you!

© jensthwa, 2025.

[oceansoul001]

Couple of random thoughts regarding KCD2 last conversation with Hans.

[Spoilers!!!]

1. You can have this conversation either still in Suchdol (after talking to Sir Hanush) or in the Devil's Den post credits. They don't differ beside last topic ("What are your plans now?") that is removed if you choose the latter.

2. Generally there is not much of a difference between romance and non-romance paths. Romanced Hans tells you everything that the non-romanced does, just adds a few unique sentences. You can probably notice switch of tone in "What are we going to do about the wedding" topic, for the romanced lines: "I'm not sure what to do... after what happened, you know...? I mean... me and you... I suppose we'll just have to wait and see how things turn out..." I find this reaction very believable given the situation, I recon they both need some time to sort things in their heads, as the ongoing siege/bringing reinforcements didn't leave them much time and space for reflection. So I am very okay with them not discussing the topic further at this point. And, I know this might sound strange, but I also really like that there are no love confessions at this point, I greatly dislike it when games throw them at me after literally one night spent together with someone.

BUT. Directly after this part comes the non-romance part where Hans worries about his bride being ugly and then proceeds to talk about naming his son after Henry, and I don't know... I mean, yeah, we all are aware of the fact that Hans most probably still has to get married, and have an heir, and it does not matter at all whether something happened between him & Henry, or not, but is this really the thing he would casually say at this moment...? Okay, maybe he would, it's Hans. But what is even more bizarre to me is my Henry, who is happily babbling as if nothing has changed at all, even though like a minute ago he was this awkward mess thanking Hans for "the encouragement". So what I'm trying to say is, I would prefer at least for Henry to act/respond differently in the romanced version and remain more awkward throughout this convo. But maybe I'm overthinking this! 😅

3. Another difference in the romance path occurs when discussing Hans' injury, as only in this version Henry asks if he can take a look at the wound later, and I think it is so sweet. Very minor detail, but I love it. ❤️

4. The thing that I definitely don't like is asking Hans about his talk with Hanush, and Hans responding with "You don't need to know everything", like??? My guy. Please. You've just shared with me probably the most intimate and secretive moment OF YOUR LIFE, and now you don't want to tell me some shit about Hanush, even though it is not even a secret and like everyone in Rattay already knows (your own words!). I don't get it at all, why in the romance path this still requires a speech check and why is Hans so weird about not telling me "everything", even though mere hours ago he was ready to die from grief if I don't come back 😭

5. Speaking of dying, romanced Hans can say the following at the beginning of your conversation: "I'm glad nothing happened to you. That would have killed me", but it only happens if Sam does not survive. So not in my game, as I would never leave my brother behind. Hans can also admit that he was jealous of Sam, which for me was very clear during the game, but also under the condition that Sam does not survive.

6. Last, but not least - I wish we could have another conversation with romanced Hans after couple in-game days pass, after we both have had a chance to collect our thoughts. Nothing groundbreaking, just something short and sweet, and you know, maybe get the possibility to share a kiss in our room at the Devil's Den when we want... I know it might sound greedy, or silly, after all we've just got this perfect, almost unreal relationship at all, but nothing can stop me from dreaming. 🥹

Happy to hear your thoughts on the subject! ❤️

[cosmicwavelengths]

girl dad! bucky barnes x reader

minors, DNI! - 18+ only a/n: hello! i saw a prompt/headcanon on here about bucky being a dad and it inspired me to write this! tbh i’m not exactly sure what timeline this takes place in, but imagine all the avengers are together (and alive). this ended up being a bit longer than expected lol, so i hope you all don't mind too much. enjoy!

tags: fluff/smut, pregnancy/getting pregnant, dad! bucky barnes (he is the best dad ever), mom! reader, bucky is overprotective (duh), both reader and bucky have their insecurities going into parenthood, sam wilson, tony stark, wanda maximoff, and steve rodgers (mentioned), baby nicknames (angel, babydoll), f! reader nicknames (doll, baby)

cw: smut (implied breeding, mating press), hickey/love bite (reader receiving), tooth rotting fluff, bucky barnes, descriptions of pregnant bodies and stretch marks (body talk), bucky is still working through his trauma/PTSD with his experiences as the winter soldier

wc: 1.9k | masterlist

bucky wasn’t so sure he ever wanted to have kids. it had felt like almost a lifetime (literally) since he last interacted with his own blood relatives, and his memories of this were faint given the amount of brainwashing and memory wiping he had to endure while acting as the winter soldier. he never quite thought about what life would be like with kids, until you mentioned it one day.

it sorta… slipped out. bucky had your knees pressed into the mattress, folding you into a mating press and pounding into your sensitive pussy. one of his strokes hit the deepest, most sensitive spot of your spongy walls causing you to writhe under him and whine out: “bucky, put a baby in me?”

bucky freezes above you, eyes wide open in shock. “fuck, doll, do you really mean that?” he asks, bringing his flesh hand up, rubbing his thumb gently against your cheek.

you gaze up at him with your soft doe eyes. “please?”

bucky groans, sliding back in. “shit, your pussy is so good, doll. keep squeezing my cock like that and i’ll make you a mommy.”

and that’s how you ended up pregnant!

the moment he found out you were pregnant, he insisted on doing everything for you. thirsty? he’s refilling your large water bottle. hungry? he already ordered in your favorite take out. he had always been like this, but it seems like his protectiveness dial turned up to an eleven when you began carrying your child. his child.

you blink and a few months had passed by. by the end of your second trimester, your belly had grown in size, much to your dismay. of course you had expected this, but a deep seed of insecurity was planted within you seemingly from nowhere. you were racked with negative thoughts of how much your body had been changing, especially as your tummy gains new stretch marks. but bucky never failed to remind you everyday how beautiful you are to him and how he can’t wait to meet the baby soon.

part of bucky was worried that he wouldn’t be a good dad. sure, he had been reading parenting books and getting advice from wanda and tony, he carried a lot of baggage from his time as the winter soldier. bucky has a recurring nightmare that he would be accidentally activated as the winter soldier again and hurt you or the baby, which forces him to wake up in a cold sweat. on nights like these, you hold bucky gently as he falls back asleep, confident that he would never do anything to hurt his family.

one day, you started to create a registry for the baby shower you were planning together. you added the usual things: diapers, wipes, a baby monitor. one day, you went into the document to find that bucky had added some… interesting things. you weren’t quite sure what an “automatic baby feeder” was or where to get “ivory soap.”

bucky was astounded at the amount of baby things that exist now. devices to track the baby’s oxygen levels, baby cameras, sound machines - none of this was around when he or his sisters were born, so shopping was quite an exciting experience for him. when you were feeling up to it, he loved to take you around the city to stroller pop-up shops, admiring how high-tech they’ve gotten in the past 80 years. however, the price tags were… not as thrilling. he fumbles with a tag, brows furrowed: “nothing ever cost this much back in my day,” he grumbles, which you playfully roll your eyes at.

eventually, bucky recruited sam and steve to help baby-proof the house. you didn’t realize that so many baby safety items existed (and you’re sure that tony stark quietly contributed baby proofing items of his own creation), but you realized the baby was going to be more than okay when you locked yourself out of the kitchen cabinets more than a few times.

your little girl was born at 3:00am on a tuesday. bucky would never admit it to you or anyone, but he cried when he first laid eyes on her. he thought he had known what love is between you and the rest of the avengers, but meeting your baby girl had unlocked a new level of love he never knew existed. she was perfect, and no one could take that away from him.

if you thought bucky had been overprotective with you… just wait until you see him with his baby. he practically stared holes through the doctor as he conducted the reflex testing. when she was startled and began cry, bucky took a warning step closer to the doctor and began staring harder, if that was even possible for him. “bucky, honey, let the doctor do his job,” you gently remind him, stroking his arm. “i don’t want him to hurt her,” he grumbles crabbily. he briefly contemplated asking tony for a stark armored car or security to escort you all back from the hospital, but you had talked him down from it.

once you’re home from the hospital, he barely lets the baby out of his sight. without fail, he always reaches the crib first when the baby begins to fuss at night. you suppose you shouldn’t be entirely surprised given that he’s a relatively light sleeper, but by the time you were able to get to the doorway of your bedroom he was already holding her, humming a light tune and rocking her gently back to sleep.

soon enough, she began to roll over on her own and crawl. it broke bucky’s heart to hear her cry when she did tummy time, so he’s more than happy when she progressed past that stage.

one day, when you were all sitting in the living room, you watched her carefully as she stumbled to her feet again. “do you think today will be the day?” you question, watching her attempt to regain her balance. “i’m not sure, doll, she’s been trying for a while now,” bucky answers, still staring down at his tablet. he was concerned that you had been behind on this milestone, so he took it upon himself to research any potential causes. maybe she saw something she wanted,  and slowly, she took one step. two. then three. you watch with wide eyes. “bucky!” you quietly whisper, so as not to distract her. “look!”

and there she was, his baby walking on her own. bucky tosses the tablet away, leaning over with his arms out. “come to daddy, pumpkin!” he quietly encourages, face growing into a wide smile. she excitedly shrieks, clapping her hands and walking towards him faster. she collapses in his arms with a giggle. you cheer, clapping your hands together and tearing up. bucky hugs her tightly with a smile, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “she’s growing up so fast,” bucky says, voice shaking with emotion. “i can’t believe she’s walking already.”

soon, that unsteady walking turned into running and running quickly. bucky may be a super soldier, but he’s still 106 years old. and somehow, he can feel every one of those years. he swears he has his back turned for one second and she’s putting his flip phone in her mouth, taking off into another room. sigh. 

some time passes and she starts to develop her own little personality. she loves to play in her mommy’s clothes and shoes. she giggles when you lightly dust her little nose with one of your clean make-up brushes. however, she’s grown to be somewhat sassy and stubborn, which you swear up and down she got from her father. bucky chuckles at that. “that’s my girl.”

don’t even get him started on her first day of kindergarten. poor bucky practically begged you to let her stay at home another year. “c’mon, doll, does she really need kindergarten? she’s already so smart, maybe we can talk them into letting her skip up to first grade next year.” you laugh lightly, reaching over to pat his hand, “this will be good for her social development, bucky.” though he was dreading it, the first day of school snuck upon you. bucky leans against the door frame as he watches you help her put on her little red dress and matching red shoes. bucky’s heart broke extra the way she excitedly ran into the school, realizing that she was growing up far faster than he thought.

most weekends, bucky insists on staying in with her, playing dress up, having tea parties, and watching princess movies. if bucky was honest, he wasn’t the biggest fan of most of these things (particularly the princess films, but you reminded him that she was far too young to watch mad max). bucky would wait longer between haircuts, knowing how much his little girl loved to run a comb through it. there’s nothing he loves more in life than spending time with his little angel.

as bucky did to you, he spoiled his daughter to death. even before she was born, bucky would come home with little outfits for her even if it would be years before she could fit in it. “i saw this at the store and i couldn’t resist,” he says, holding up the little teddy bear onesie and smiling sheepishly. “i couldn’t help but imagine our little boy or girl wearing it.”

the moment she was born, bucky promised himself that he would give you and his babydoll the world. turns out, such a promise carries a hefty price tag. as she discovered more of herself, she wanted to try out dance, basketball, playing piano. bucky was more than happy to foot the bill, even with the ulcer-inducing costs that come with raising a family in new york city. but nonetheless, bucky would hang the moon and stars for his family.

bucky loves to watch you and her have ‘mommy and me’ play dates. he chuckles lightly as his angel attempts to push him with all her might out of her bedroom. “no boys allowed!” she shrieks behind the closed door, breaking into giggles after. he smiles watching you help her make pancakes one lazy saturday morning. 

behind closed doors, bucky wants to spoil you in more ways than one. you’re such a good mommy to their little angel and he can barely restrain himself from practically pouncing on you after a long day out.

“fuck, baby, i love you so much,” he grits out between deep thrusts. you reach up to hold onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his flesh. “please, bucky, i can’t take anymore!” you whimper out, a warm feeling blooming at the base of your stomach as you try not to cum too early.

“you’re so good to me, lemme give you another one. a son, maybe?” you flush, gazing into his crystal blue eyes with that same look that got you pregnant a few years prior. you slide your hands up behind his neck, lacing your fingers with one another. you nod rapidly, “give it to me, bucky. please cum inside me.”

he leans in, sucking a deep red mark into your neck. “your pussy is so perfect, like it was made for me. now, hold still while i fuck another baby into you. let me give you that son that you deserve.”

and, unsurprising to no one, bucky’s seeds were planted well. you’re pregnant… again.

[kikidoesfanfic]

Not so opposites attract

>On Ao3<

For the @steddiebingo Kissing Booth prompt 'don't know they're dating' I went with the kids not yet knowing they were dating/relationship reveal

Sidenote, there's a moment where they think Mike is being homophobic, he's not he's just Stevephobic.

Will has been hovering around Eddie all day.

First at the arcade, then at family video, and now Steve can see him from the kitchen where he's finishing up calling in their pizza order.

He looks like he has something to say, or maybe ask, this nervous little crease to the upturn of his brow before he closes his mouth again or looks away. Steve hasn't pointed it out, sure Eddie has noticed on his own, and he seems content to let Will get wherever he's going on his own time.

Unfortunately for Will he hasn't been all that subtle.

"Can you ask whatever you wanna ask already!?" Dustin says, with the patience of a wrecking ball. The rest of the kids are looking between Will and Dustin now, waiting to see what happens.

"It's fine Will, you can ask," Eddie says, and ah, Will must have seen something when they went to pick up him and El earlier. It's not that they've been hiding that they're dating from the kids exactly, or well, not really. But they hadn't known how they'd react, and they just knew Dustin would be a smug little shit about them 'getting along' so they were waiting for the right time and then suddenly three months had passed...

They haven't been hiding it though, haven't toned down their affectionate touches or fond looks, Eddie still calls him Sweetheart and Baby and any other little pet name that comes to mind, and Steve still reaches for his hand at every opportunity and is never more than a step or two away from Eddie's personal space unless he has to be.

So when they'd picked up El and Will, Steve definitely remembers leaning through the van's window to plant one on Eddie. He'd known he would be a few minutes, Joyce needing to know their plans and the kids trying to negotiate a last minute sleep over, plus Steve's a clingy guy, sue him.

Eddie's hand had also sat on Steve's thigh all the way to Mike's place, so it's not like Eddie isn't right there with him.

"Are you..." Will starts, glancing at the rest of the party around the table, "are you and Steve dating?"

Silence.

And that would be Steve's cue, distractedly thanking the pizza guy and hanging up he heads into the dining room to stand behind Eddie's chair. They'd already talked about this, so Steve slides a hand onto Eddie's shoulder and has a moment to internally panic before Eddie reaches up to tangle their fingers together and answers.

"Yeah," he lifts their hands and shakes them, and Steve watches as Dustin's mouth flaps soundlessly open and closed.

"WHAT?" Dustin shrieks, and the noise seems to startle Mike out if his frozen shock.

"Ew, why?" Mike's face screws up into a disgusted grimace, Max leans across and punches him in the arm, hard. "Ow what the hell Max- it's- they can't be dating." He turns to Eddie and Steve, "you guys can't date."

He'd practically spit the last word, Eddie flinching and letting go of Steve's hand as it lands.

"Ah..." Steve can see the way Eddie's smile slides off his face, a slightly mean looking cocky smirk taking it's place immediately after that's more suited to the halls of Hawkins high than Steve's dining room. He's not the only one who's expression changes, Will looking stricken as he stares at the side of Mike's head. Eddie stays quiet, and that's the most disconcerting part, let's Steve know how hurt he is.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Steve squares his shoulders, making himself look bigger from his place standing behind Eddie's chair.

"You want to try that again, Wheeler?" Steve's voice comes out even, solid, probably the only thing helping him keep it that way is knowing Eddie is off kilter. Most of the kids still haven't said a word, looking between Steve and Mike like they're watching a tennis match.

"It's gross," Mike says, as if it's helping his case. This does get a reaction from the others, voices loudly overlapping in their haste to tell Mike off. Dustin, Steve notices, is silent.

Mike looks around, frantic at the sudden burst of noise, until he sees Will's face.

"No! I didn't mean- guys can... I didn't mean it like that." Mike stutters out, he looks back to Eddie and Steve, eyes darting between them both. Steve tilts his head to the side and raises a single eyebrow, waiting for more, because his explanation wasn't enough for Eddie's shoulders to relax from the stiff looking position he's sitting in. "Will I didn't- I don't care if someone's gay, it's because it's Steve."

And oh. That feels... not great.

***

Eddie is... stuck.

His words build up behind his teeth, until he has to swallow them back to form a lump in his throat and a heavy stone in his stomach.

He can feel his face contort, an angry mask, in front of these kids that he'd thought- he'd told Steve there was nothing to worry about.

Steve becomes an imposing presence behind him that Eddie can practically feel radiating defense, wants to look because he knows his Steve is striking when he gets all protective, but he can't drag his eyes away from Mike Wheeler. As if this beanpole of a kid is suddenly a threat.

"You want to try that again, Wheeler?" Steve says. And gods his voice, so steady and not quite dangerous, never quite gets there when it's one of his kids he's talking to, but there's something there that Eddie wants to taste. Too bad he's currently busy feeling like all the air is being sucked from the room to follow through.

"It's gross," Mike says, and Eddie manages not to flinch this time, because fuck that. He's had worse spat at him by highschool bullies twice as mean as Wheeler could ever dream of being. So what if it's different coming from someone you thought you could trust not to-

The kids erupt into sound, Eddie lets his eyes dart around at each of them, lingering on Will's devastated face. Well shit.

Mike backtracks, stumbles through explaining until he finally says: "I don't care if someone's gay," and Eddie feels himself exhale, shoulders tentatively collapsing down until: "it's because it's Steve."

He vaguely hears a few angry hisses of Mike's name, but it takes a minute to sink in as he blinks, because now Eddie isn't hurt. He's angry.

And feeling the way Steve practically shrinks behind him, warmth of his hands glancing along Eddie's back as he grips the back of the chair in a no doubt white knuckle grip, just stokes the fire.

"Oh then... never mind I guess." Steve mutters, "it's-"

"You want to try that again, Wheeler?" Eddie interrupts, a mirror of Steve's own defense of him but sharp and shark like, because he knows Steve was about to say it was 'fine'. And it's very much not, as far as Eddie is concerned, thank you very much.

"He so lame, and he's such an asshole, and Eddie is cool!" Mike says, heedless of Eddie's tone, and that sets the kids off squabbling again.

"If you think I won't s-"

"Mike's right," Dustin says, cutting Eddie off, and he feels his heart dump itself into his stomach. Because what? Where's the smug little shit they'd been expecting? "Not about Steve," he waves a hand in dismissal, Eddie thinks these kids should stop giving him heart attacks for at least the rest of the day. "But that you guys can't possibly be dating."

"Just because half of you were too dumb to notice it before now, doesn't mean they can't be dating." Erica says, pure derision in her voice, "El, Max, and I have known for months."

"No! There's no way. They're nothing alike." Eddie reaches back to grab Steve by the sweater sleeve. They'd had this conversation and he's not going to rehash all their insecurities because of some twerps reacting impulsively. "Eddie hates jocks, and rich people, and the music Steve listens to, and the movies he likes, and Steve knows nothing about Dungeons and Dragons." He says the last one like it's a cardinal sin, and something inside Eddie sighs from the depths of the grave the Munson Doctrine had dug him. "He wears polos!"

And Eddie will hear no slander against Steve's preppy little polos.

"Maybe he's the one who shouldn't like me, hmm? I know nothing about sports, my hair care routine involves a 3-in-1 that includes body wash, I live in the trailer park, and all the music I listen to could make someone's brain melt out their ears." Eddie says, and he can practically feel the way Steve is ready to interrupt, reaches back with the hand not stretching the cuff of Steve's sweater to press his fingers blindly against his mouth. "Nope, shush sweetheart, I'm busy teaching some children a lesson." Steve huffs against his fingers, but stays quiet, lets Eddie's fingers stay prodding him in the chin. "Have you considered surface likes and dislikes don't determine compatibility? Or that if all you have in common is the kind of music or hobbies you enjoy your relationship is going to crash and burn?"

Dustin still looks skeptical, but less so now, mouth a flat considering line. Mike though.

"But him and Nancy, he-"

"Yeah yeah Michael, we're all aware he dated your sister. Considering they're friends and they've both moved on maybe you should too, hm?" He stands, placing his hands onto the dining room table, still clutching Steve's sleeve so he's forced to follow along. "You're awfully fixated on something that happened years ago, for someone happy to make use of Steve's car, and eat his pizza, and take up room in his house."

"I can see it," Lucas says, probably an attempt to diffuse the tension, "the opposites attract thing."

"They are not opposites though, not really," El says. "They are both protective and kind, brave, more the same than different."

"It's obvious," Erica says, "that idiot," she points at Steve, "runs himself ragged looking out for everyone. And then that idiot," she points at Eddie, "looks out for him. They've been doing it since before they were even dating."

Observant little shit. That was practically the exact line Eddie had first used to get into Steve's pants and everything. 'Oh Steve, you're all burnt out from looking after everyone, maybe it's time you let someone look after you.' An eyebrow waggle and a belt loop tug later and they'd ended up furiously making out with Eddie's hand down the front of Steve's jeans in the bathroom at the Upside Down family barbecue. Eddie can't meet Erica's eyes, collapses messily back into his chair instead.

It's not Eddie's fault he'd noticed as far back as his first foray into the Upside Down that Steve prioritises literally everyone above himself. God damn selfless shirtless hunks running around Anti Hawkins like they didn't have holes chewed into their stomaches and half their skin missing from their back. But he digresses.

"We're getting away from the point, here," he lets go of Steve so he can steeple his fingers and sprawl on his chair as close to his Hellfire throne as possible. "I love your babysitter, so either get on board," his eyes cut to Mike's, staring him down, "or get out."

"Ugh fine." Dustin says, "but you'd better not break each other's hearts, I'm not choosing sides if you divorce."

"You should apologise." Eddie hears Will say lowly to Mike under the din of the other kids giving Dustin shit. Unfortunately for Eddie- or maybe fortunately, to be determined- what he'd said catches up to him when Steve says, small and hopeful behind him:

"You love me?"

Tilting his head back Steve's awestruck face comes into view, and wow if he'd known it'd put that look on his face he'd have said it sooner instead of agonising over how too soon too fast too intense it was.

"Yeah, Steve, I love you." He reaches up his hands, cradles Steve's cheeks and tries to bring him closer to kiss him but the chair back is too high, and this angle sucks, and-

Suddenly he's tipped backwards along with his chair, biting back the yelp that threatens to burst forth as his fingers dig into Steve's suddenly much closer cheeks.

"I love you, too," Steve speaks practically against his lips right before he kisses him. It stays chaste, likely in deference to all the children around, but man does it get Eddie's heart pounding all the same.

There are still apologies to be heard- Eddie's sure one conversation isn't going to kill the bee in Mike's bonnet, the little asshole, and Dustin could use a talking to about being supportive when your friends come out to you before the whole Will situation presents itself- and he should probably talk to Will... and maaaybe to all of them about letting go of the bitter crap Eddie had spouted during his third senior year.

But right now Eddie is too busy admiring the way the man he love's biceps flex as he holds him up on his chair, and with stopping himself from jumping the guy's bones for basically Spider Man kissing him and making one of his nerdy childhood dreams come true.

So yeah, later, he's busy.

[sturniololuvz]

Can you make a story on how the triplets little sister is super insecure about her weight and she’s always trying to turn down food and constantly on a scale. But then she faints in front of the triplets from not eating food, and she finally tells them the truth? Also I loveee your story’s!🫶🏼

okayyyy tw: this study will have the things the anon asked for.

“Heavy on My Mind”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : Ed, passing out, think that’s it.

Y/N had always been good at hiding things. She smiled in their videos, laughed at their jokes, and made sure her brothers never worried about her. But lately, it had become harder to keep up the act.

The number on the scale dictated her mood every morning. If it was lower, she felt a little lighter—both physically and mentally. If it wasn’t, she spent the day consumed by guilt. She started skipping meals, pushing food around her plate, and making excuses.

“Not hungry.”

“I ate earlier.”

“My stomach hurts.”

Chris, Matt, and Nick never pried too much. They trusted her. But trust didn’t stop the dizzy spells, the headaches, or the exhaustion that followed her everywhere.

Today, it finally caught up to her.

They were filming in the living room, arguing over something stupid for the vlog. Y/N was standing next to Chris, laughing along even though her vision was starting to blur. She blinked a few times, trying to focus, but the world was tilting—spinning—until suddenly, everything went black.

“Y/N?—Yo! What the—”

Chris barely caught her before she hit the floor.

“Holy shit—Nick, help!” Matt’s voice was frantic.

Nick was already there, kneeling beside them. “She just collapsed—what the hell?”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her body feeling weak and disconnected. She could hear their panicked voices, see their worried faces hovering above her.

“Y/N, what the fuck? Are you okay?” Chris’s voice was unsteady.

“I—” She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Matt said, shaking his head. “What’s going on? Why’d you pass out?”

She hesitated, but there was no point in lying anymore. Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered, “I haven’t really been eating…”

Silence. The kind that felt suffocating.

“What?” Nick’s voice was barely above a whisper, his expression a mix of shock and concern.

Chris’s grip on her tightened. “Y/N… why?”

Her breath hitched. “I just… I don’t like how I look. I feel like I need to lose weight. So I’ve been trying to eat less, but I didn’t think—” She broke off, unable to finish.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. “Dude, are you serious? You think starving yourself is the answer?”

Nick exhaled sharply, his eyes glistening. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want you guys to worry,” she admitted.

Chris shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. “Of course we’re gonna worry, Y/N. We love you. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

Matt pulled her into a hug, and she felt his arms tighten around her like he was afraid to let go. “Y/N, you don’t have to do this alone,” he murmured.

Nick reached for her hand, squeezing it. “You’re literally perfect the way you are. I don’t know where this is coming from, but I swear—if you could see yourself the way we see you, you’d never think this way.”

Chris, still kneeling beside her, rubbed his hands over his face, trying to process everything. “You’ve been skipping meals? Not eating at all?”

Y/N sniffled and nodded. “I just… every time I eat, I feel guilty. Like I don’t deserve it.”

Chris’s face twisted with heartbreak and frustration. “That’s not true. That’s never been true. Your body needs food. You need food.” His voice softened, but his eyes were pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t do this to yourself.”

She let out a shaky breath, guilt settling deep in her chest. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” she admitted. “But I—I feel awful all the time. And I guess I didn’t realize how much it was affecting me until now.”

Nick sighed, shaking his head. “That’s because your body is literally begging you to take care of it. You deserve to eat, Y/N. No matter what.”

Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his voice gentle but firm. “We’re gonna help you, okay? Whatever it takes. We’ll figure this out together.”

Y/N blinked back more tears as she looked at her brothers—her family, the people who loved her no matter what. Maybe she wasn’t alone in this after all.

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Matt let out a relieved breath. “First step? You’re eating something. Right now.”

Nick stood up, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’m making you food, and you’re not arguing.”

Chris smiled softly, nudging her. “And after that, we talk about how we make sure this never happens again.”

Y/N swallowed hard, but for the first time in a long time, the idea of eating didn’t feel like failure. It felt like a step forward.

Maybe, just maybe, she could start seeing herself the way they saw her.

[astralfortune]

Side Story: The First Dinner

I'm sorry. I know I should be writing the game but writer's block has once again taken its hold on me. I wrote this in hopes of breaking free.

Also, Avery doesn't exist in this. RIP

It’s still hard to believe the four of them are actually debuting soon. Moving out of the trainee dorms and into their own shared apartment feels surreal to Taeyang, just a month ago the agency told him he might be let go. But here he is, in charge of their newest group. He’s not sure why he was chosen and he doesn’t think he’s the right person for the role, but he won’t let that stop him from trying.

There’s more at stake for Taeyang than just having a lackluster debut. He’s not sure about his group members, but he has something to prove with this chance.

The whole day was spent unpacking and setting up the bedrooms. Taeyang decided that they can save the other rooms for another time, what’s more important is having a place to sleep and get settled in. Choosing roommates was a surprisingly easy task, Elias immediately wanted Xavier as his roommate leaving Oliver to room with him. Taeyang didn’t mind the arrangement, Oliver seemed like a good kid from the few times they’ve interacted so far.

The more pressing issue now is dinner. The kitchen hasn’t been touched at all, so there’s no utensils or cookware anywhere. Taeyang glances at the stack of boxes sitting on the kitchen floor looking like a monument of their future problem. Should he order out and get something delivered to celebrate? It might help break the awkwardness between everyone. Or maybe…

He glances down the hall where the bedrooms are located. Last he checked, Oliver was napping on his bed while Xavier and Elias went out for a walk. Something about a weekly tradition the two of them have. Which means this is the perfect time to execute his plan and make a good first impression as a reliable leader.

“Let’s get to work.” Taeyang murmurs to himself, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the first box to open. There’s no need to get everything out right now, just a few things for dinner tonight. Taeyang pulls out the plates and silverware, a few pots and pans. He’s never really cooked anything beyond some simple dishes, but quantity before quality should be fine in this case, right? There’s still time to learn what the others prefer to eat in the future. Taeyang checks the time, he’ll need to be quick if he wants to surprise everyone.

On top of paying for their rent, the agency also provides the group with a monthly stipend they all can use for food or any necessities they might need. As the leader, Taeyang was given control of the account and looking at the modest amount deposited, he knows he shouldn’t spend too much. The grocery store is fairly empty this late into the evening, which makes it easier for Taeyang to find the ingredients he needs to cook. Taeyang is well aware of his own privilege in life. He’s never had to worry about prices or sales before and looking at how much meat costs… he’ll have to learn budgeting and money management soon.

“Looks like I’ll have to use my own money to pay for this.” Taeyang sighs as he places the beef in the basket. “It’s a special night, it’s okay if I splurge a little.” The next few minutes are spent gathering the last few items and paying for everything. Thankfully the apartment is close to the grocery store, so the cold walk back is a short one.

Now that Taeyang is back in the kitchen, he places the bags on the counter. Nothing else to do but start cooking.

The next couple of hours pass by quickly for Taeyang, he does his best to make a variety of dishes and sets the table properly. He may have burnt a couple of things and started over a few more times than he’d like but everything turned out presentable enough in the end and that’s good enough for him. Xavier and Elias returned not too long ago along with a box of cookies for Taeyang and Oliver. Elias gave Taeyang a look he couldn’t quite decipher when he saw the leader cooking in the kitchen but before he asked, Elias had already retreated into his bedroom to change.

“Should I get the others?” A voice pipes up from behind Taeyang just as he placed the last dish on the dining table. Taeyang turns around to see Xavier, head tilted slightly in question. He’s never been sure how to interact with Xavier, despite being the same age. Elias is the only one who seems to be able to read the stoic man.

Taeyang nods gratefully, “If you don’t mind. I’d like us all to eat together. You know, to celebrate our debut.”

“It’s no problem. And thanks. For making dinner. I think it’ll be fun.” Xavier says with a small smile before turning and walking to the bedrooms. Taeyang blinks. Maybe Xavier isn’t as intimidating as he looks.

The rest of Fortune is herded back into the kitchen and they all take their seats. Xavier and Elias next to each other on one side, Taeyang and Oliver on the other. The air between all of them is awkward. Besides Xavier and Elias, their relationship with each other isn’t quite friends but also not acquaintances. While they were trainees, everyone was both an ally and rival. Competition to debut is fierce and while it’s encouraged to help each other out, that would also mean that your chances of standing out become smaller. How could you be real friends with someone who could take your spot in a moment?

Elias is the one who breaks the silence with a smile. “So, leader, you gonna make a toast or do we just eat?” Taeyang flinches slightly. That’s right. He’s the leader. He’s supposed to be the one to bring everyone together and create a comfortable environment.

Taeyang clears his throat. “Right. Uh, I didn’t get any drinks. I should have thought about that.” He shakes his head, it wouldn’t look good to start rambling. “Anyways, I just wanted to make something nice to celebrate our debut. I know we don’t know much about each other, so I hope this can be a good first step. I want us all to be on the same page, since you know, we’ll be working together for the next seven years. So here’s to us…?” He cringes internally. Did he really just end his speech like that?

The three stare at Taeyang and he thinks he’s already messed up before they’ve even started. It’s Oliver who laughs lightly first. “I guess it’s a bit too much to ask for you to become the perfect leader right away. It’s okay, I’m pretty sure we’re all thinking the same thing, right?” His eyes turn to the two across from him. It’s Xavier who nods in answer and Elias who speaks up.

“Yeah, sorry I put too much pressure on you. I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously, though. We’re all on the same boat, so we should be working together to make sure it sails smoothly” Elias grins. “Since we’ve got all the formalities out of the way, should we eat? I’m… curious about how all this will taste.”

Taeyang sighs in relief, watching his members fill their plates. He’s lucky that they all seem to be just as nervous about this as him. “I tried making a little bit of everything. If there’s anything you don’t like or can’t eat, this is probably a good time to say so.”

But before he can take some food for himself, the levity that was in the air suddenly freezes over. He looks over to Elias, who has that same look on his face from earlier. He’s chewing slowly and using his fork to pick at the food, as if scrutinizing it. Then he swallows and stares at Taeyang with cold eyes. “You said you made this?” Next to him, Taeyang can hear Oliver cough slightly then clear his throat before drinking water.

“Um, yes?”

“It sucks.”

What? What happened to working together? Just when he thought everything was going to be okay, he screwed it up just as quickly. Taeyang looks to Xavier for support. It can’t be that bad, right? Xavier smiles apologetically back and pushes the plate away from him.

Is this what betrayal feels like?

“I can’t do this.” Elias shakes his head. “Give me a few minutes, I’m fixing this disaster.” Without another word, Elias goes to the kitchen and starts up the stove while muttering under his breath.

It feels like the ground is crumbling underneath Taeyang. He should have just ordered out like a normal person who knows their limits. “Sorry about him. Elias’ parents are professional chefs so he’s a bit picky about food.” Xavier speaks up. “Don’t take it to heart, Taeyang.”

“But still… I wanted to do something nice and make a good impression. As the leader-”

“Don’t rush it. You’ll make your mark soon enough. For now, focus on getting to know us. That’s more important than proving yourself.”

Oliver pats Taeyang’s shoulder. “Xavier’s right. How about we all rely on each other before we leave everything to you?”

Taeyang is silent as he takes in their reassurances. He really does have a long way to go before he can call himself a leader, much less an idol. One step at a time. He doesn’t have to prove himself right away. Not to them and not to himself. But there’s still one question on his mind.

“Was it really that bad? My cooking, I mean.”

Xavier and Oliver exchange looks before nodding in agreement. “It was pretty terrible.” Oliver answers for both of them.

Taeyang groans and buries his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never cooked a proper dinner before. This is so embarrassing.” He doesn’t dare look up at the two. But the sound of someone laughing in what sounds like amusement makes him. It’s Xavier. Xavier is laughing. Out loud. With a smile.

“You’ve never made dinner and you thought you could do it for four people?” Xavier says after his laughter dies down. “I want to try doing that too. I wonder if yours or mine will be worse.”

“What the hell? Was that Xavier? Did you actually make him laugh like that?” Elias glares at Taeyang as he replaces the plates of Taeyang’s cooking with his own with the grace of a professional waiter. “That’s so unfair! I’ve known him longer than you and already you made him laugh! That’s it. Taeyang, I’m banning you from cooking. Not only are you a shit cook, you made Xavier laugh before I did!”

Taeyang blinks. “You’re not actually mad at me?”

“What? Of course not. It’s not your fault I have a refined palate.” Elias pauses. “Wait, no. I take that back. I am mad at you. For stealing my best friend!”

Oh.

Taeyang feels his smile turn sly before he can help it. “Well, if you want him back then you better do your part in making our debut a good one.”

Elias gasps in shock but he recovers quickly and matches Taeyang’s expression. “Deal. If it’s for Xavier, I’d do anything. Make sure to hold up your end, best friend stealer.”

Dinner may have been a disaster but the result ended up being better than what he expected. Taeyang is truly fortunate to be put into a group with these three.

[kumkaniudaku]

Spring Semester

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.3k

PREVIOUS

MASTERLIST

Chicago was so much better in the Summer. Had Asia visited when the sun was out, and the sights and sounds of a bustling Michigan Avenue felt like all-consuming magic, she might've changed her tune. Reflecting on the past was futile. Time had passed, discoveries had been made, and a chance to tag along with Savannah and the crew for her first industry conference in the city she might've lived in had things gone differently placed Asia squarely at the intersection of fate and opportunity. 

With a notebook in hand and her partner-in-crime's blessing to ditch part of their packed schedule for a solo mission, Asia sat at the back of a convention center ballroom listening to a young creative take a captive audience through a year's worth of award-winning work. The moderator described him as a promising creative director with a knack for turning cultural insights into resonant campaigns. If given a chance, Asia would've beefed up the fanfare just a bit but understood that to really give him his flowers, you had to know him beyond the office. 

"I imagine a full regional move like this was scary. Now that you're almost two years removed from the shock of it all, how'd that leap of faith propel you forward." A thought-provoking question. Asia couldn't stop herself from leaning in to hear the answer. 

On stage, Kelvin chuckled a bit into the mic. "It scared the shit out of me!" Ever the crowd favorite, his candid joke turned the audience into a giggling group, finally able to shed the uptight corporate image everyone felt obligated to maintain. He followed up. "Sometimes you gotta be a little scared – a little uncomfortable. I was actually really happy where I was before here and almost changed my mind. But, I needed to grow. A person close to me taught me how important it is to do things for your personal growth. It's gonna feel awkward in the moment, but just do it. Nike, I hope you heard that. We're on the same wavelength. Have your people call my people!" 

Pride began to swell in Asia's heart as she listened to Kelvin navigate questions about his craft from all angles. She'd been watching him from the sidelines. A highlight reel of his accomplishments flashed across her LinkedIn almost monthly. On Instagram, she caught glimpses of the life he'd built in the midwest. She knew he enjoyed trips to foreign lands and social events like a rockstar. She'd occasionally congratulate him in a private message, and he'd respond to her in a text to re-emphasize that he wasn't "one of her internet friends." For a few days, they'd pass back and forth surface-level conversation until things tapered off and they returned to their separate ends of the world. It worked for them. Though routine happy birthday and congratulations texts were far from where they'd been, it kept them connected hundreds of miles away. 

Hours later, and finally free from interrogation on the most significant stage he'd ever been on, Kelvin hovered over a curved bar, sipping tequila from a glass and swiping through networking requests on his phone. The last day and a half had brought him a bevy of high-powered faces and names vying for his attention. A particular face with a globally recognized athletic footwear company in her resumé disarmed his senses, preventing him from noticing the body encroaching on his personal space until a careless bump jostled his glass and the contents inside. 

He snapped his head in the direction of the offender with ire in his eyes, only for his eyes to widen when he took a gander at who'd committed the offense. "Asia?" 

"I'm glad you could tell it's me. I lost my name tag from earlier in the day," she joked. 

"Why do you keep trying me like I'm old and senile or something," he laughed. "Come here!" 

Their embrace carried with it grunts of effort and squeals of happiness as they rocked side to side between conference attendees, not caring who they offended in the process. Several seasons and necessary growth kept them apart. A reunion of this magnitude couldn't be contained behind polite handshakes and quiet speech. 

Kelvin pulled away first, lightly positioning Asia further away to get a better look at her smiling face and new haircut. He lifted his hand to trace a Betty Boop-esque swoop on her forehead. "I saw the pixie on IG but, damn. It's way better in person. Look at you growin' up on me." 

"Kelvin, please," Asia scoffed. "I know you not talking. I see you with the grown man watch and glass skin. You better be fine!" Her compliments earned a bashful smile as thanks. "Chicago treatin' you right?" 

"As good as it can. I can't complain," Kelvin shrugged, still grinning. 

Asia nodded and pointed to his glass. "You got time for another one of those with me?" 

He had plenty of time. If not for Asia's emergence from a sea of boring people, he would've slinked out of a side exit and disappeared for the night. Awards season was tiring when he was just a name in a long list of credits thrown online. Now that he was the focal point of every discussion and industry publication write-up, he barely had enough time to relax. As always, though, Asia's smile gave him a little extra boost to stick around for one more. 

Out on the veranda under a setting sun, they stood side by side, joking and laughing without a care in the world. Asia caught him up on the latest office happening, being sure to share that Linda had finally learned to make her own tea and now brought Asia a cup every morning instead. Savannah and Chris still bickered like a married couple. Ty found time to boomerang after Sid's departure left them down an account lead. Kelvin listened with a smile, mostly paying attention but still finding it impossible not to stare at her between stories. 

Asia felt the same. As he updated her on life in the city, she admired how he moved with the confidence of a man on a pre-destined path. He was still sweet and silly, continuing to find inventive ways to pass off a desire to touch as a haphazard, totally innocuous action. She listened intently for any mention of a partner, hoping for the best but preparing for some incredible young lady to appear in one of his stories. When nothing of the sort came through, Asia attempted another method. 

"So, how's it been for you out here? Thinkin' about sticking around?" Asia cooly sipped the last drops of her mocktail while she watched him smirk in her direction. 

"Yeah, I am," Kelvin answered truthfully. "I'm hitting my stride, and I think this is the spot for me until further notice." Following her lead, he tossed back the remaining alcohol in his glass and then shrugged. "But, if you're trying to ask if someone is keeping me out here, no. Six months ago, I would've had a different answer." 

Asia nodded. "That's fair. Me too. Eight months ago, but still. Didn't stick."

"So, you found yourself," he asked, a slight inflection betraying his attempt at indifference. 

"It's a process, but I'm closer than I was before." Asia watched Kelvin nod his understanding, waiting for him to say something to fill the silence. When nothing came except a growing smile, she stepped up. Extending her hand, she waited for him to grab it in confusion. "My name is Asia Scott," she started. "I'm not from here, and I don't live around here, but I think you are…incredible. I've never met anyone like you, and I don't think I ever will. So, if you're free over the next two days, I'd love to take you out and get to know you better. Because I think I look...a lot different outside my work clothes."

Asia's Alicia Keys reference made Kelvin guffaw loud enough to disturb what looked like a very important meeting of minds across the way. He looked back at her with her hand still in his and conceded to the moment. "Okay," he answered, shaking her hand back as if they'd only just met. "I'm free right now. How about you lead the way."

EPILOGUE

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @thevelvetwhispers @wowitsafemale @kindofaintrovert @sexysativa605 @jvzmine19 @turn-thy-paige @lapateeserie @simplyzeeka @supremechae @palmstreesallday @blackmoonchilee @ovohanna24 @prettypynklemonade @gwenda-fav @itsash-okay @sparklytemi @blackchickinthedesert @miyuhpapayuh

[gauzemer]

Chapter 3: Dumpster

2708 words

According to Google Maps, it takes forty-two hours of uninterrupted driving to reach Thirtymile, Oregon from Gotham, New Jersey.

Jason manages to do it in only forty-four, but in his defense, he’d never been to a Buc-ee’s before, so that was at least three extra hours right there.

He follows I-76 out of the Eastern seaboard in what’s mostly a straight line, the distance only punctuated by occasional toll booths where he pays in cash, doling out ten dollar bills where ones and fives would do. Road maintenance is serious business, he reasons, and nevermind his extensive criminal record– he has a civic responsibility. He refills the tank when it dips towards empty, likewise refills his coffee at gas stations, makes sure to text Dick whenever he passes a billboard that promises “HELL IS REAL” in big red letters.

Dick might text back. Jason stops checking his phone somewhere around Akron.

Gradually, his playlists run out of music to shuffle through. It’s around the fourteen hour mark that he realizes his speakers relay only silence, that he’s been humming a chorus to a song for miles now with only the car’s engine for backing. He finds he doesn’t mind it– he drives in silence for a few hours. The lights over the highway cast rolling shadows on his face, like waves lapping up against a shore. Above them, he can see satellites, clouds, and, when the highway lights fall into disrepair, real stars, small and scattered and distant.

It’s nice.

The Buc-ee’s stop in Colorado, of course, sends him an hour out of the way, but it’s worth it. It’s so worth it. They have that stupid fucking beaver on everything. “On everything,” he tries to impress upon Dick after he gets in the car absolutely laden with be-beavered merchandise. “They have Buc-ee’s napkins, Dick. They put him on napkins.”

“Uh huh.”

Jason turns to look out of the back window as he leaves the parking lot. It’s, like, three in the morning. There’s definitely no one else here. He checks anyway.  “How are you not impressed by this?”

“Because I’m an adult human with a functioning brain,” Dick deadpans. Even hundreds of miles apart, the sound of him rubbing his temples is practically audible. “It’s a gas station with a mascot, Jay, it’s just a gimmick.”

“They had brisket.”

Dick pauses. “Was it–”

“It was good, yeah.”

Dick sighs, and Jason grins, hoping the expression makes it through the phone. “You’re almost there, though?”

“Yep.” He drives out of the parking lot and makes for I-25. “Sixteen hours out.”

“Jesus, haven’t you slept?”

He hasn’t, and he doesn’t bother to lie now. Dicky would have him out in a heartbeat. “You know me,” he finally says, his smile fading. “I’m just planning to crash when I get to Oregon.”

“Do you have sixteen more hours of driving left in you?”

“I’m fine,” Jason says, which he knows doesn’t really answer the question. He doesn’t sleep, is the thing. He doesn’t need to. Sleep is only a cheap imitation of death, and he’s already been ruined by the hard stuff. Besides, he’s so hopped up on Buc-ee’s coffee he’s not sure he could if he tried. “I’ve got, like, straight caffeine in my veins right now, man, I’m wired.”

“Doesn’t caffeine give you nightmares?”

“That’s melatonin.” He downshifts, pulls onto the highway. They did try melatonin, in the first days, until al Ghul told him he didn’t have to sleep if he didn’t want to. More time for training. He would stop when he needed to. All was as it should be. “I’m fine on caffeine.”

“If you say so.” Dick doesn’t sound at all convinced, but that’s alright. He doesn’t understand, but, then, Jason hasn’t explained himself. How do you even begin to have that conversation? “I’m tracking you on our maps, by the way, I can be there in, like, an hour if anything happens.”

The thought comes from way out of pocket: like what, Dick? “Nothing’s going to happen.”

The silence on the other end rings with disbelief. “You think you’ll be safe to crash when you get there?”

“Yeah, why?”

“The trap–”

“I’m not worried.”

“Why?”

God, the sky is beautiful out here. He’s starting to look forward to Thirtymile– no streetlights, no highway lanterns. Just the split-open depths of the cosmos. “I can handle whatever he throws at me,” he lies. “We always have before.”

Dick stays silent. Again, the thought comes in from out of pocket: not always. “Bruce is worried,” he finally says, clearly trying to make it sound like Bruce is the only one. “He’s stress-prowling.”

“I’m honored.”

“Jay–”

“I’m gonna get back to driving,” he says, which isn’t technically a lie this time. It’s dark out. Maybe sleep deprivation actually is starting to catch up to him, because he’s kind of looking forward to the nothingness of zoning out. “I’ll call you next time I get gas, alright?”

“Can’t you drive with me on the phone?”

Jason hesitates before hanging up. Is that concern he hears? ��What time is it for you?”

“It’s… like, five.” There’s a pause as Dick checks. “Five eleven.”

“Go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.” Read: I’m worried about you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jason reassures him. Read: yeah, well, I promise I won’t die without telling you this time. “I mean, I’m going to Oregon, but I’m not– you know what I mean, I’ll see you soon.”

Dick doesn’t answer. When Jason looks down, he sees that the call’s been disconnected. He’s lost signal.

The trip through the Rockies passes in a haze. For what must be half a day, Jason falls into a sort of road hypnosis. He doesn’t think of anything, except occassionally about Ra’s, or about Gotham, how strange it is to be away from the city. No one here knows Jason Todd. His name isn’t written on memorial hospital wings or park benches, not on college scholarships or debt forgiveness payments or gravestones.

He’s never been buried here.

Some part of him reckons it’s good to be away from Gotham. He could start again out here, if he wanted to. It’d be easy.

Isn’t that such a common refrain, though? Lots of things are easy. Even the hard stuff gets easy, if you’re desperate enough. Synth keens. Electric bass guitar snarls. In Ab major, Penelope Scott has the audacity to ask him what the plan is.

Jason pushes down on the accelerator and keeps going west.

When he finally makes it to the coordinates in Thirtymile, it’s a little past eight in the evening, or at least, he thinks it is. His internal clock is all kinds of fucked up. He was right, though: even in Oregon, it’s winter, and with the sun down, the uninterrupted sky stretches out forever, dizzying and deep, dusted with stars. He doesn’t even care about the mystery of the property– as soon as he arrives, it becomes an afterthought. He parks the car in the tinder-downy brush of what might be a sugarpine and then clambers through the sunroof just to stare.

There is no music. There is no interruption. The creaking insects are all gone away for parts unknown, and the lonely wind rustles through the deadwood skeletons without them for company. Somewhere, Thirtymile Creek trickles through a path it carved centuries ago. He can hear it. Even in the reverent stillness, the water moves. Jason closes his eyes, and lets the silence fill him up until he goes silent, too, and for the first time since he left Gotham, he breathes.

Expectation fogs outwards, disappearing under the vast sky.

When he’s had his fill of being empty, when his body starts to go numb, Jason finally takes his sole bag of supplies in hand and gets out of the car. The cabin Ra’s has left him is a modern little thing, with a slanted roof and plenty of black-tinted windows he can’t see through, but it looks like it’s been here for years at least. It’s weathered, a little ragged– abandoned, but not unloved. He trudges up the moss-stained wooden stairs to the unassuming front door, and finds it to be unlocked when he tries the handle. “Okay, Ra’s,” he says quietly as he pushes it open. “Don’t fuck me on this, old man.”

The door creaks, of course, but nothing happens. No one jumps out to attack him. Neurotoxin doesn’t immediately spray in his face. After a moment of groping blindly in the dark, Jason flicks on the lights.

The house is little more than a bedroom and a bathroom. There’s a couch by one wall, a fridge tucked into a corner by what appears to be a free-standing stove. There’s no television, only cases and cases of books with titles he can just barely read from here: The Last Mastodon, The Plumber’s Guide to Light, After the Revival. Sylvia Plath is shoved haphazardly beside Shel Silverstein. It’s all poetry.

Jason closes the door behind him and locks the deadbolt in place, still looking around warily. The curtains are closed. The fridge is empty. The couch, after forty-four hours, is inviting– but he’s here for a reason, and it doesn’t take him more than a few minutes to see an envelope with a familiar red wax seal lying on the countertop.

He puts his bag in the bedroom (and oh, god, that bed is so tempting) and riffles through the bathroom, which mysteriously seems to have clean running water all the way out here, before he attends to al Ghul’s message. This letter is much heavier than the last, and when he breaks the seal, he’s rewarded with a veritable sheaf of paper, all of it covered in sprawling calligraphy. Jason slides down the wall and sits on the floor to read.

Jason,

Do forgive me for not stocking the kitchen with perishables. I was not sure when this day would come, and I did not know if it would spoil before you arrived. Besides, I recall that you weren’t much for eating when you were in my care. Why sup on what cannot fill you? Tantalus might have learned something from us.

I digress. If you are reading this, then our time together has already drawn to a close– that is, I have departed, and this is all I will be able to leave you. The house is yours, of course, as is the surrounding acre of land to do with what you will. You will find the deed to both in the safe hidden behind the collection of Audre Lorde, the combination to which I have included in this letter.

I suspect that this is all you will accept from me, after our strange, turbulent history, and I have made my peace with that notion. As you have no doubt guessed by now, I have given you this place with ulterior motives. Forgive me– unlike myself, my selfishness does not die easily. I did not tell Talia of this place. It is ledgered on no map of its ilk. You are the only soul I have entrusted it to.

This house is built on a Lazarus Pit.

The words blur together. Fear surges headlong with fury, the adrenaline causing his heart to beat once, painfully, before it goes still again as he grips his chest. Jason stares through the letter, his jaw clenching, his teeth beginning to grit together. “You son of a bitch,” he mutters to himself. “You motherfucker.”

You will find it soon, I am sure, and then perhaps you will understand. I have my doubts, but there is no one else on the face of this earth like us, Jason Todd, and I mourn the fact that I must depart before you come into your inheritance.

Alas, I have frittered away too much of my time already. I am tired. You are here now, and that is what matters. All is as it should be.

From wherever I am now, be well. Give her my love.

There is no signature.

Jason’s not sure how much time he spends on the floor, just that he can hear a sound that the Joker might make in between landed hits, except he’s probably making it himself. It’s the kind of noise you only get to make once in your life. It’s the sound you make when you realize no one’s coming.

Ha. Been there.

He crumples the letter in hand and throws it across the kitchen. Even in death, Ra’s can’t leave well enough alone. He’s still fucking crazy. Jason stares at it balefully without blinking, wiping off his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Fuck,” he finally spits out. “God. You– you–”

No one’s listening. Ra’s is dead, and the letter can’t say anything else.

Jason gets out his phone and calls Dick.

The phone rings, and rings, and Jason gets sent to voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message. Dick’s probably on patrol, so he stands up and goes to look for the safe while he cools off. He needs to be calm while he decides what to do next. He needs to be rational. He needs to not lose any more of his entire shit than he already has.

Fuck, he’s getting a migraine.

The safe is right where the letter said it would be. The door swings open almost eagerly. There’s a manila file with the deed in Jason’s name inside. There’s a corked glass phial of what could probably be flat lime soda, but which he knows can only be water from the Pit, which he reaches for and then thinks better of, just in case it bites. There’s a sheet of paper, too, covered in what can only be described as the code of a madman, emerald-green symbols running thick, vertical interference over what might be black print, like someone cross-wrote a message in two different languages with their nondominant hand.

“Because of course you wouldn’t just leave me a note like anyone else,” Jason mutters. “Had to be fucking dramatic and shit. Asshole.”

This paper doesn’t say anything to him, either.

He puts it back in the safe and tries calling Dick again. The phone rings, rings, ri–

“Did you get there?” Dick asks him without preamble, way too close to the mic. Jason fumbles his phone and drops it on the couch. “Are you okay? Are you– Jason?”

“I’m here,” he reassures him, his voice croaking hoarsely. Fuck, it’s good to hear Dick’s voice. “Yeah, sorry. Hell of a night.”

The wind in Bludhaven whistles across the connection. “Did you get ambushed?”

“Kind of.” He’s breathing again. He always fucking does this when he talks to Dicky. Stress response. Prey-based camouflage adaptation. He swallows, but it only makes his headache worse. “You were right. He left me some nice real estate.”

“And?”

Jason doesn’t say anything.

“Jay–”

“There’s a Pit,” he finally manages, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Under the house. Ra’s– he left a letter.”

Dick’s silence is duly horrified. “Oh.”

Jason nods before remembering that Dick can’t see him. “Can you–” His voice cracks, and it takes him a minute to continue. This is fucking pathetic. “Can you still come get me?”

“I can.” Dick’s voice is soft and level, like he’s trying to gentle a scared animal. It’s appropriate. That’s basically what he’s doing. Jason sits on the couch and rests his head in his free hand, lets his eyes fall shut. The darkness is a relief. “I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Yeah.”

A rustling noise. Nightwing’s moving. “Three hours.”

“Three hours,” he repeats. That’s so fucking long– at least someone’s coming this time. “Okay. I’m gonna try to sleep.”

“Are you safe?”

The old question rings in his head: are you a danger to yourself or others? He’s not angry. They’re just doing their job. He’s too tired to be a danger to anyone right now, anyway. “I’m fine,” Jason says blearily. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Dick reassures him. “I’ll see you–”

Jason hangs up and tosses his phone away, lays down. After forty-four hours, he’s gone before his body finishes falling. He dreams of Thirtymile creek.

In his head, the water sluices ever forward.

I'll Eat You Up (I Love You So)

Chapter 1: Feel Better

Summary: Ra's al Ghul's body is found under extremely fuckin' weird circumstances. Jason is normal about it. 2197 words.

Somewhere deep and forgotten in the reaches of the Swiss Alps, the snarling Head of the Demon, the dreaded Ra’s al Ghul, is writing a letter.

It is not the first letter he has written tonight, but he is fast approaching the end of the matter, and he knows with certainty that this letter will be the last. It will join the stack of fine stationery he has created on his desk, and it will be found in the morning, after the alarms have sounded, after his security detail has searched the compound, after he has disappeared in earnest. It is all arranged. The letters are the last piece of the jigsaw image, and they fit neatly into the hole that Ra’s perpetual life will leave.

Talia is prepared for her role as the grieving heir apparent, but even so, hers is the letter at the bottom of the stack, the ink now fully dried. There is a letter to young Damian Wayne, so that he will understand when he is older, when the time comes. There is a letter to the boy’s father, Bruce, who Ra’s was never able to sway– he does not trouble himself to attempt the feat now. The time for it is long since past, the letter likewise already finely sealed. Ra’s could not take the sentiment back now if he tried.

Besides, he does not need understanding from the Wayne family. Not anymore.

Ra’s slips his fine pen back into its inkwell and studies what he has written upon this final and most crucial letter even as he prepares the wax for its seal. There is much he wishes to say, but there are eyes upon him, both in this compound and in this delicate world. This will have to do.

He does not doubt his decision. He has not always been a good man, he knows, both by way of being more and less than good and likewise more and less than a man, but in this, at least, he has done right. He nods to himself, and then he pours the wax, closes the letter, and stamps the envelope simply with his signet ring as it cools. 

There. He places it gingerly upon the pile with the other letters. The work of six hundred years, finally done.

Ra’s taps the letters together and gets up from his fine desk chair. Yes. The work is done– and now, there is only one task remaining. For a moment, he stands in silence and watches the wild snow whirl past the window, blanketing the compound in pure droves. He does not breathe. He does not blink. After six hundred years on the fine and leveled face of this world, he is at last able to think of nothing at all.

And then, as he leaves the room, one final thought presents itself: that it is a good night to drown.

Under the heavy, foreboding clouds of Gotham, a tinny bass guitar rumbles and crashes out of a phone speaker in a shitty apartment, and the room’s sole occupant sings along  to the best of his ability as the introduction ends: “I don’t wanna feel better /”

This is, of course, Jason Todd, dressed in his boxer shorts and doing his best to make a smoothie out of whatever the hell he’s found in his freezer. Most of the food he’s pulling out is in plastic bags, and it’s all too covered in ice to really discern the shape of, so it’s a very slow process, and it’s not going well. He’s currently trying to tell if this latest item is cooked chicken or pieces of banana.

Shit. Oh, god, he really can’t tell, but he’s got a fifty-fifty shot, right?

“No one’s ever gonna love me like that again / I don’t wanna get over it / I wanna sit with you–”

“Hang on,” Jason mutters to himself, pausing the music so he can consider the contents of this bag more seriously. Whatever it is, it’s been cut into little discs, which implies that it’s a banana, but it could also be some of Alfred’s really fancy chicken that he stole a few weeks ago. Jason frowns.

He still empties the bag into the blender.

He’s examining what’s probably a bag of strawberries when his phone pings with Dick’s ringtone. He doesn’t check it at first, not until it pings again, and then with Tim’s ringtone, and then with Bruce’s, all in quick succession– the family group chat is raucous with recent activity when he finally abandons his smoothie to look.

DGrayson: I have news

DGrayson: Starting a video call I need everyone to be so extremely cool right now

RDrake: I’m cool I’m cool what’s up

BWayne: Ra’s al Ghul is dead.

What the fuck? Jason stares at the screen for a long time waiting for someone to tell him fucking anything else, but no one does. He opens Dick’s video call.

Tim is, predictably, already losing his shit, and has, predictably, angled his phone camera so that everyone can see up his nose. Jason steps in halfway through him freaking out. “–fucking way. There’s no way, this has to be a– a trick or something, there’s–”

He turns off his microphone and lets Tim finish his thought as he closes up the blender and presses the button to start it. “Like, have we gotten the autopsy report? Do we know anything except where he was found?”

Bruce and Dick seem to be coming in from different rooms of the house, with Bruce in front of his display in the cave, and Dick coming in from… his old room, maybe? He’s clearly using his laptop, because his microphone is shit. “Tim, can you cool it?”

“I’m cool! I’m so cool!” 

Jason’s smoothie is about as smoothie-d as it’s going to get, so he turns off the blender and activates his microphone. “What happened?” he cuts in, because he’s clearly the only one who’s capable of taking this seriously right now, nevermind that he’s in his boxers. He puts his phone down on the counter and angles it so everyone can only see his top half, anyway. “S’this a power play? Is there someone new we need to be worried about?”

Bruce’s face might be carved in stone, but he’s wearing a very strange expression, and he doesn’t answer for a minute. In his absence, Dick takes point. “It looks,” he says carefully, “like it was a suicide.”

That shuts Tim up, but Jason only squints. Hm. “You guys aren’t convinced, though.”

Bruce’s expression gets weirder. He still doesn’t say anything, though, so Dick continues, his voice still oddly careful. “His security detail found him floating dead in a Pit yesterday morning.”

Oh, yeah. That’s why they’re being weird– mystery solved. Jason starts looking for a clean cup to pour his smoothie into. “Isn’t that kind of like blowing your brains out with a hairdryer?”

Over the camera, Bruce’s neutral expression splits into confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Because you’d, like, put it to your head, but it’s a hairdryer, so you’d…” He stops just shy of demonstrating. “It doesn’t work, is what I’m saying.”

Everyone is staring. “What?”

“Jason,” Bruce says levelly, “can you please put some clothes on?”

Jason grumbles, but that’s a pretty fair request, all things considered, so he turns off his camera and goes to find some pants. He can hear Tim through the phone, still trying to puzzle everything out. “Do you think maybe someone, like, hurt him and he tried to get the Pit to bring him back?”

“The official autopsy found water in his lungs,” Bruce tells him as Jason opens the door to his bedroom. Paper rustles over the phone. “Quite a bit of water, actually, but I’ve checked the report. All the evidence points to death by drowning.”

“Which shouldn’t be possible,” Dick clarifies. “Right?”

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Bruce echoes pensively. “It shouldn’t be possible at all.”

Jason picks up a pair of worn jeans from the floor and starts to put them on. There’s a spattering of blood around the hem of the left leg, but that’ll probably come out with some bleach. It’s fine. He’s able to take advantage of a quick lull in the conversation. “Why do we think it was a suicide, anyway?”

“Because he left notes.”

Shit, that’s pretty convincing. Jason makes his way back to the kitchen. “Which I assume we know because we got one?”

“Yes, I got one.” Paper rustles again, and Jason checks his screen just in time to see Bruce hold up a wax-sealed envelope. “So did you.”

Jason turns his camera back on so they can have this conversation face to face– or, at least, as face-to-face as the phone will allow. “We weren’t penpals or anything,” he preempts, but Bruce’s face only grows stonier. Jason rolls his eyes, but he thinks back, considering. “If you’ll recall, Bruce, we’re not exactly on speaking– wow, I haven’t talked to him in years.”

Ra’s is– was, apparently– a weird guy. Impeccably put together (and maybe responsible for Jason’s post-resurrection bisexual identity crisis), but also six hundred years old and obsessed with wiping out most of the planet, so, yeah, pretty weird. Their relationship, or whatever it was, could probably best be defined as ‘cordial,’ like a father towards his daughter’s boyfriend, except the daughter in question was an ancient, toxic fountain of youth. Pretty standard stuff.

Scratch that, actually. That makes it sound like Jason was sleeping with the Lazarus Pit. Gross. Reiterated: for several reasons, gross.

Jason opens the cabinet, wrinkling his nose a little at the thought, and pours his smoothie into a cup that’s mostly clean, just a little dusty. It’s weird thinking that Ra’s is gone, especially in light of the circumstances. “Isn’t he pretty notoriously hard to kill?”

Dick pipes up before Bruce can speak. “There’s still a lot we don’t know–”

“There is,” Bruce agrees, “which is why I’d appreciate it if everyone could make their way over so we can discuss this.”

Tim immediately raises a hand. “Can I be excused if I’m on patrol?”

“Tim–”

Jason sips his smoothie. Fuck yeah. No chicken. “Yeah, I’m actually hosting my book club today, so…”

Dick hides a grin, and Bruce doesn’t roll his eyes, but he very clearly wants to. Double nice. “If you won’t be here, I reserve the right to open your mail.”

Checkmate. Damnit. He scowls, and hangs up before anyone can stop him. “What are we, Communists?” he says aloud to himself as he opens his messages.

Dick is already typing.

DGrayson: JFC drama queen are you coming over or not

JTodd: yeah obviously

DGrayson: oh cool nice

DGrayson: so are you ok?

JTodd: yeah why wouldnt I be

A pause. Jason finishes his smoothie. Look at him go, getting his daily servings of fruits. He’s crushing this.

DGrayson: do you want that alphabetically or chronologically?

JTodd: very funny

JTodd: yeah im so ok im the oldest guy i know

JTodd: *okest

DGrayson: you’re just historically weird abt hole stuff

JTodd: .

JTodd: Dicky do u want to rephrase that rq before I screenshot it

DGrayson: don’t you dare

Jason takes a screenshot.

DGrayson: youre the one who fucking named it the bad decision hole

DGrayson: do not pin that shit on me

JTodd: too late

He immediately sends it to the family group chat.

DGrayson: how could you do this to me

JTodd: easily lmao

JTodd: yeah fr I’m fine tho

JTodd: fuckin weird as hell that he drowned I didnt know you could do that

DGrayson: weird as hell indeed

DGrayson: do you want to see the autopsy report when you come over?

JTodd: are there photos

DGrayson: yeah

JTodd: are they gross

DGrayson: yeah he’s all pruney and junk

JTodd: fuckin bet

JTodd: yeah I’ll be there in like 20

Jason tosses the empty cup into the sink, grabs his earbuds off the counter, and makes his way out to his motorcycle. He’s so fine. The Lazarus Pit is like an old ex, one that he didn’t even sleep with– which is to say he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t. It’s fucking nothing to him. He puts his earbuds in and presses play on his music, and lets the distorted bass guitar snarl like a junkyard dog as Penelope Scott’s singing-speaking voice drowns out anything he’s definitely still not thinking about. For the first time in days, his mind is stillwater placid as he mouths along. “I don’t wanna feel better / I’d do anything to miss you again / I don’t wanna get over it /”

He does not think about Ra’s al Ghul, or, indeed, about his Lazarus Pit as he turns the engine and starts at a breakneck speed towards Wayne manor. There’s just the silence of the wind and the rabid bass guitar. “I wanna get under it instead /”

Jason Todd thinks of nothing at all until one final thought presents itself: that Dick is absolutely going to kill him for not wearing his helmet.

[ping-ski]

i got a few asks on what my process looks like, how i do a specific thing, brushes/program etc... so um take this speedpaint for now bcuz i dont have much free time for a proper explanation rn (sorry for the quality ack)

elapsed time: 7 hr 18 mins (between work + audhd lol)

[featherymainffins]

Trying to remember where I first encountered humanity as a horror to see if this has a root the same way you can trace literally all of my thirst for fictional characters back to WITCH, but ngl I genuinely cannot remember anything like that.

[harmonizewithechoes]

It’s my middle child’s 3rd birthday today 🥺

3 years ago my partner was deployed overseas and couldn’t come home for the birth because the military didn’t want to spend so much time quarantining their soldiers. Fortunately I had help as my parents were watching my son (at the time just a month shy of 2) for a few days before my due date and we had moved across the street from my partner’s parents when we found out about the deployment. So I had his mom with me at the hospital holding up her phone while we got to have a rare video call with my partner as we welcomed our daughter into the world after a very quick labor. I then had two months with our two very little kids by myself before he came home. It was an incredibly hectic time and I’m still not quite sure how I was able to get through all of that but here we are with the sweetest little 3 year old (let’s call her C) we could have asked for 🥰

C loves to play dress up and she has specific characters she’ll play as where you can’t refer to her as her name or she’ll get mad. She’s not C she’s Dr C or Baby or Baby Kitty or Princess Bucket (this was her first character and yes she does put a bucket on her head as a crown). Her favorite game to play is hide and seek and she loves dance parties and drawing and she’s obsessed with her 1 year old sister. We love C so much and I’m so excited to see how she grows and changes and learns over this next year ❤️

[orcelito]

I was on call for nearly 7 hours between streaming my samurai game, watching anime, and then just chatting some. Which was really great for getting my mind off things!!! Hung out with a good assortment of friends, which was pretty great.

Though. Now I'm alone again. Which I usually enjoy. But it also has me remembering why I was on such a long call to start with...

I have therapy tomorrow, and I don't know whether I should mention this. She's primarily my grief therapist, so it'd maybe feel weird to spring something else on her... but I don't know...

[mggslover]

Stuck

In which reader finds herself stuck in an elevator with her colleagues.

Pairing: Hotch x Reid x Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, p in v sex, overstimulation, masturbation, breast play Word count: 5,4k A/n: I'm ovulating, so you know what time it is 🤭 I'm really nervous to post this, so I hope you will enjoy!

“Oh, you guys are such babies!” You laugh as Spencer and Derek refuse to step into the elevator, explaining how they’ve been stuck in one before. 

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Spencer chimes in. “There are six elevator deaths per year. Not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalization.”   

You roll your eyes at his comment, just as Hotch walks toward the elevator. “See!” You exclaim. “Hotch is joining us, and he saved you last time. We’ll be fine.” You add cheerfully.

“You’re coming?” Hotch asks, holding the elevator door open. You nod, pulling Morgan and Reid with you by their arms. 

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolts, and the soft ding of the doors opening fills the space.

[sloaneispunk]

“teacher’s pet” (mdni 18+)

teacher!in-ho x you

when in-ho’s wife tragically passed, he found comfort in a certain student in his class. how far was he willing to go with a student?

✮⋆˙ ──── ୨୧ ──── ✮⋆˙

in-ho had a perfect life. stable job, great friends and a loving wife.

he loved his wife unconditionally, they had the perfect relationship. they rarely argued, and the sex was amazing.

but his life came crumbling when he received a phone call from the hospital. his wife had gotten into a car accident.

in-ho was lost after that, for a few months he stepped down from teaching. he spent his time trying to find his happiness again. it was hard, he was stricken with grief, he thought there was nothing else for him in life.

eventually in-ho felt like he should get off his ass and do something.

he met with the principal of the school he was teaching at, wanting to get back.

he thought of it like a distraction, just something he could look forward to in the daytime.

✮⋆˙ ──── ୨୧ ──── ✮⋆˙

it was the first day of school, students were pushing and shoving to get to class.

you entered the classroom with your friends, seeing a new, unfamiliar teacher at the front of the classroom, taking your seat at the back.

“good morning class, my name is mr in-ho, i’ll be your new math teacher this semester.” the teacher announced as he turned to face the students.

“hey, he’s pretty hot.” you turned to look at your friend with your mouth hung wide open, slapping her on the arm as you both laughed.

lesson went on as per normal that first day, mr in-ho spent the hour introducing himself and getting to know everyone.

as the bell rang, signalling the end of class, everyone packed their bags frantically.

“that’s all, i’ll see everyone tomorrow.” mr in-ho said.

as the students got up to leave, a loud thud was heard from the front of the classroom.

“get up, nerd.” you heard.

you sighed, walking towards the girl who had been tripped by another student, helping her up as you glared at her bully.

“fuck off, what do you want?” you asked, taking a protective stand in front of the poor girl.

the bully said nothing, simply turning on his heel and leaving.

by now, all the students had left, leaving you, the girl, and mr in-ho behind.

“t-thank you.” the girl said, bowing her head as you frowned.

“you don’t have to thank me. he shouldn’t be doing that… are you okay?” you asked.

she then nodded, giving you an awkward smile as you scurried off.

“hey, what’s your name?” you heard a voice call out from behind you.

“oh, i didn’t realise you were still here.” you replied, seeing the new teacher behind his desk, packing his bag. “i’m y/n. y/n l/n.”

“that’s pretty.” he commented, offering you a small smile.

“thank you.” you blushed.

“that was really kind, what you did there.”

“oh, yeah, he has been really mean to many students. poor girl just didn’t have anyone looking out for her.”

“you’re a good girl, y/n.”

oh.

“t-thank you?” you chuckled nervously.

“what’s your next class? maybe i could walk you there.” mr in-ho said as the two of you stepped outside into the hallway.

“english. but i think i’ll be the one leading you.” you joked, causing him to let out a laugh.

✮⋆˙ ──── ୨୧ ──── ✮⋆˙

that night, in-ho went home feeling better than he had been the past few months. he felt like he had really connected with his new students.

they were so kind, so gentle, so sweet…

no, you were.

you were so kind, so gentle, so sweet.

the interaction he had with you kept replaying in his mind, he couldn’t think about anything or anyone else.

you reminded him of someone he used to know, and that fueled him.

the next day, he went to class as per usual. however, he didn’t take your class until noon, which meant he had to wait patiently for your class.

by 11am, he got pretty bored he had to admit. in-ho felt like he was just going through the motions, teaching the different batches of students that came in one after another.

however, when the clock striked 12, oh he was excited.

what he was excited about? he didn’t know.

he then heard a familiar laugh echoing through the halls. he turned to the door, waiting expectantly for you to come through.

the door flew open, revealing not only you to his dismay, but your group of friends surrounding you. he couldn’t make out what you were laughing about but he was incredibly intrigued.

“good afternoon.” you said cheerfully as you gave him a small wave before you took your seat.

in-ho felt a wave of flush run through him, he cleared his throat and ruffled his hair. “good afternoon, y/n.”

“oo, someone already made a move before the rest of us.” your friend teased, nudging your elbow playfully as you rolled your eyes.

time passed quickly as in-ho taught his first lesson to your class. he had found himself stealing tiny glances of you as he walked around, trying his hardest to not make it obvious.

his heart was beating so quickly he thought he could pass out.

maybe he was being delusional, or maybe even hallucinating, but he swore at times when he stole glances, you were already staring. and that made him nearly choke on his words multiple times.

after class, he stayed behind again, hoping that you would somehow approach him, striking up a conversation.

but you didn’t.

someone did approach him, but it wasn’t you. it was your friend.

“so… where did you teach before this? do you like it here? how is it like teaching our class?” she bombarded him with questions.

you took it as a sign to leave.

as you walked out, you turned for one last look. but to your surprise, you were met with the eyes of mr in-ho, as soon as he had been caught, he looked away, pretending to be interested in the conversation.

“see you tomorrow, mr in-ho.” you called out. but before he had the chance to reply, you had left.

somehow, you felt jealous. jealous that he was talking to someone like you first did. but why did it matter? he was just your teacher afterall.

✮⋆˙ ──── ୨୧ ──── ✮⋆˙

that night as he got home, in-ho dropped all his things. he practically ripped open his shirt and unbuckled his pants as fast as he could.

god, he couldn’t get you out of his mind.

he thought of your soft voice and your innocent face as he started to stroke himself.

‘fuck.’ he cursed as he started to go faster, his mind racing with images of your face.

he could almost hear your voice calling his name again. he replayed your laughter over and over again like a broken record.

in-ho went to sleep that night with you and only you on his mind. he knew he was fucked.

✮⋆˙ ──── ୨୧ ──── ✮⋆˙

weeks went by and in-ho found himself getting bolder and bolder.

within a month, he moved on to not so subtle touches.

as he paced around the classroom teaching, he took your seat at the back of the classroom to his advantage. he tested waters initially, brushing against your arm as he walked by.

when you seemed okay with it, he tried to deepen the contact.

he would place a hand on your shoulder as he passed you. when you didn’t move away or seemed uncomfortable, he knew he hit the jackpot.

his touch started to linger for longer than it needed to. somehow he craved touching you more and more.

what made him more desperate was the fact that he could smell your perfume whenever he walked anywhere near you.

it messed with his head in the best way possible.

furthermore, he started to notice how his actions took a toll on you. whenever he gently touched your shoulder, you would draw your legs together. was he really turning you on?

if he had happened to see you in the hallways, he would call you by name, greeting you, even starting small conversations.

he loved how everytime he did so, you light blush would creep onto your cheeks and you would struggle to meet his gaze, looking anywhere but into his eyes.

if this continued, he didn’t know how much he could take. all the cock-teasing, the small interactions.

he wanted more.

✮⋆˙ ──── ୨୧ ──── ✮⋆˙

( bungee jumping off their own - 2001 )