#one month it was zero and i was really down bad for the guy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ssa-dado · 4 months ago

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Burgandy Swim Cap

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: meet-a-cute but you're mainly just ogling at Hotch as he swims in a speedo. Summary: You know those encounters that last, like, five seconds where literally nothing happens but still manage to blossom into a full-blown crush? Yeah. That. Partly because you're chronically single. Partly because you’re starved for attention. Mostly because you saw him in a speedo. A tight speedo. A tight, half-metallic speedo. A tight, half-metallic, very low-waisted speedo. So really, it’s not a crush, it’s cause and effect. Also… he’s a dad. Too. Warnings: objectification of the Hotchner body (called out twice for not having an ass, affectionately), implied age gap, sexual jokes and cuss words Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: I genuinely don’t know how to tag the reader... but she’s giving me fleabag energy… so, uhmmm, let’s roll with that. Huge thanks and smooches to @hotchology for developing and proofreading the snippets I dropped in your dms at 11 pm unprompted 🧎‍♀️

masterlist(s)

It’s not your fault you’re staring out the cafeteria window that just so happens to overlook the pool. You’re literally facing it. What else are you supposed to do - dislocate your neck inhumanly to look the other way?

That window was meant for people-watching.

Specifically, for anxious parents to spy on their kids mid-paddle without interrupting the lesson every time little Aiden coughs. It’s not your fault you’re childless and currently repurposing the feature to ogle burgundy-swim-cap guy in lane four.

You’re just… respecting the building’s original design intent.

You needed the distraction. Desperately.

Because beside you, your friend is once again delivering the extended director’s cut of that five-minute interaction with the guy she’s allegedly, absolutely, 100% over.

The conversation happened three months ago.

You know this.

Because she has broken it down line by line for three months.

Every pause. Every blink.

So maybe you are a bad friend. Possibly a terrible person. Because while she unpacks every microscopic detail of his “Oh, I’m sorry I stepped on your toe”, you’re mentally calculating burgundy-swim-cap guy’s exact height.

From twelve feet up. Through water. And glass.

And okay… maybe it’s not just the height.

Maybe it’s also the length of his... arms.

Arms.

His arms.

Long, sinuous things slicing through the water like art. Like poetry. Like that one ballet you pretended to enjoy but secretly napped through.

This is different. This is science. You’re just appreciating form. Physics. Hydrodynamics, anatomy, geometry… all the -ometrics.

You’re not objectifying. You’re observing. A selfless academic pursuit, really.

Especially when he glides under one, two, three lane dividers in a single breath, back muscles shifting and flexing with each kick.

And God… his back. You can’t stop staring at it.

Wide. Solid. Disproportionately large, especially considering the man has absolutely zero ass. None. Negative ass. Just ten uninterrupted feet of legs. Stunning.

But it’s the manners that do it.

Because the moment he reaches the ladder and sees the lady from lane one headed there too?

He pauses. Actually waits. Even though he got there first. Doesn’t try to squeeze past her or pretend he didn’t see - no, he stops.

Gives her space. Gestures her to go. Looks away, even.

Eyes politely drifting up the tiled wall, to the stands below you where the suburban invasion of moms has taken hold, to the bright flags swaying just behind the cafeteria window -

Until he lifts his head a little too high.

Fuck… did he just catch you mid-stare? You can’t tell. The goggles - those hideous, mirrored cheap goggles - reflect everything and nothing at once.

Maybe he sees you.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe your face is just a blurry little ghost in his periphery.

Either way, your entire body goes hot and rigid. You peel your eyes away - casually, discreetly, nod to your friend to pretend you’re still listening to her - but not entirely.

You still watch. You have to.

Because he’s about to rise from the pool. And you need to see it.

For research purposes.

For the sacred cause of scientific accuracy. You have to confirm if your earlier measurements were correct the moment he steps out of the water.

They weren’t.

Because he’s bigger. So much bigger.

You can’t tell exactly by how much, though, because the moment his biceps flex - thick and veiny - as he hauls himself up the ladder, your brain just… packs its bags and leaves.

Bye.

All higher function is instantly rerouted to the way the water clings to him - refuses to let go, even gravity is struggling to move on.

(Honestly? Fair. You wouldn’t want to let go either… you’re actually kind of jealous.)

Jealous of how those droplets trace his body - how most of them drip obediently, following the grooves of his muscles, but some linger. They pool in the thick mat of dark curls across his chest, clinging for dear life.

And why wouldn’t they? He’s covered in them.

A slick, glistening mess of wet hair clings to his pecs - dark curls matted down and glinting under the pool lights, looking so soft and stupidly biteable you could probably get arrested just for thinking about it.

Then the curls start to gather. Real organized.

Forming this tidy relatively thin line that runs straight down the center of his chest, gliding over the elegant suggestion of abs - not shredded, but sculpted. Classy, if that’s even possible.

The line of hair dips past his belly button and practically screams into your long-gone neural functions: lick here.

(And you would. With honor. For science. For the flag.)

Because then the trail spreads at his waistband, curling out along his obliques, a pair of sirens luring you to the main event: his very, very low-waisted speedo.

Duo-chrome. Black and something... metallic. Wicked.

The black half pretends to behave.

It lies to your face, “Look at me, look at me,” it says. “I’m discreet. I’m functional. I’m keeping things tasteful.”

But it’s a filthy little traitor. Because right next to it, the metallic side is doing everything but staying subtle. It wasn’t camouflaging a damn thing.

Topography: fully visible. The contour. The definition. The godforsaken outline.

Traceable. With a pencil.

Or your tongue.

Preferably your tongue.

Preferably slow. Possibly kneeling. Definitely grateful.

Because whatever anatomical miracle is happening beneath that lycra – truly might be the eighth wonder of the world built between two hipbones.

These are sickeningly good dick proportions.

Burgandy Swim Cap guy peels off the ugly goggles.

Be fucking damned. That is a hell of a face.

The suction rings frame his eyes - tender little indents where he clearly strapped those goggles too tight.

He’s a try-hard.

A confirmed overachiever - you can tell. It’s in the way he did those laps earlier - efficient, ruthless, mechanical - and in the speed too. Like every stroke was on a timer. Like there was something at stake.

Is burgundy-swim-cap guy training for something?

Maybe he’s a professional swimmer.

Maybe he’s training for a triathlon. The 2012 Olympics in London. A shot at some world record no one else cares about.

Maybe he’s an eldest son.

Maybe he’s got a dad who never said “I’m proud of you” without a follow-up critique.

Maybe he’s still trying to earn praise that never came.

Maybe it’s daddy issues - maybe it’s mommy issues. Issues… in general.

Maybe he’s spent his whole life needing to be exceptional just to feel enough.

Maybe he’s been through a heartbreak. A divorce. A loss.

Maybe he just has a lot of feelings and refuses to talk about any of them unless he’s actively swimming them to death.

Or maybe he’s just that guy - the kind who doesn’t do anything unless he can do it at 120%, even when no one’s watching. Especially when no one’s watching.

Maybe he holds himself to impossible standards because he doesn’t know how not to. Who swims like this because it’s the one place he can fail in private.

Who knows. Who cares.

He’s just a guy.

A man.

A stranger you’ve never even spoken to.

You don’t know his name, his voice, anything.

And yet, there’s something about him.

Something in the slope of his nose, in the way his flushed cheeks are still chasing the rhythm of his pulse, in the rise and fall of his chest. It’s not bodybuilder-big, not exaggerated - but it feels massive.

Maybe it’s just because it’s him.

Because every breath he takes stretches that hairy chest just a little wider, a little broader, until the space around you feels like it’s shrinking, like there’s not enough air left in the room that isn’t his.

You’re fine. You are totally fine.

You’re also clenching your thighs for absolutely no reason. None.

Until - he removes the burgundy swim cap.

Now you do have a reason.

Because beneath it is this obscene head of raven-black hair.

Thick. Damp. Unruly.

Some of it’s clinging to his forehead, but the rest is sticking out in a thousand different directions like it doesn’t give a single shit about streamlining or aerodynamics.

He looks deliciously messy.

But he doesn’t let it stay.

No, he runs his hand through it almost immediately, slicking it back, a man who cannot stand the chaos of hair across his eyes, he can’t stand being out of place.

Control freak. Freak in general.

That tracks.

Still hot.

Hotter.

And still, he doesn’t play to the crowd.

He could - he should - scan the room, make eye contact, maybe throw in a wink or a casual flex. He could at least give a nod to the fact that half the people on this side of the glass are currently 1,461 words deep into mentally drafting smutty fiction with him as the main character.

But no.

He just looks down, slides into his pathetic little (from where you’re standing… sitting.) pool slippers, and rushes toward the changing rooms like he’s late to something.

A loser. An absolute loser.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re completely captivated - so much so that, when your friend finally finishes her emotional postmortem and disappears down the corridor toward the pool, you subtly change seats to get a better view of the hallway.

A strategic move, just in case burgundy-swim-cap guy decides he’s earned a post-swim coffee after all that aquatic foreplay you projected onto him from the safety of your horny little imagination.

Well. You’re getting coffee, at least. You deserve a reward. A hot, mildly burnt one.

You’ve been through a lot.

Except it’s possibly the worst line you’ve ever stood in because you had the genius idea to go for caffeine at the exact same time the children’s swim class ended.

Now you’re trapped - shoulder to shoulder with a damp, shrieking mob of underdeveloped humans all demanding hot dogs, pizza, cheeseburgers, and, from the look in one child’s eyes, possibly the cashier’s soul.

You’ve entered a purgatory of sticky fingers and pure indecision, where time slows and the line somehow clogs even more with every passing second.

It’s not their fault - children are absolute demons in Crocs. They don’t know what they want. They pause. They backtrack.

One child is negotiating for “just the cheese from the cheeseburger, but on a hot dog bun,” and you are watching, in real time, the unraveling of Western civilization.

…You hate that you respect the innovation.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You just really, really don’t want to miss Burgundy Swim Cap Guy if he happens to pass by - maybe in jeans, maybe (if there’s any justice left in the universe) grey sweatpants, or a hoodie two sizes too big.

Something casual. Unassuming.

Something that dares to cover everything you now know is under there - and somehow makes it worse.

Something that’s the reason your mouth is dry and you’re stuck in this line, mentally begging for something warm to wrap your lips around and feel vaguely hydrated again.

You’re trying to be patient. You’re trying not to hate the one kid crying because his juice is too red and his dad fumbling with his wallet.

You’re a monster. The worst kind of person.

These kids are innocent.

They’re not responsible for the slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they fantasy you’ve constructed entirely in your touch-starved brain - just to distract yourself from the fact that you haven’t been held in actual, human arms in months, your last situationship ended because they “forgot they weren’t single,” the closest thing you’ve had to intimacy this year was a barista remembering your name – once - and, okay, technically there was also that one time a man with a van asked if you “liked adventure,” but you don’t count that unless you're feeling especially pathe-

“That’ll be $2.50,” says the cashier.

Snaps you instantly back to the cruel reality where the only thing you're taking home tonight is a stupid plastic bracelet that’s already cutting into your wrist and the lingering scent of disinfectant.

(Good luck taking that away.)

You hand him a twenty.

He looks at you, deadpan, like he’s about to ask if your sad little wallet also holds the answer to the mental math problem he just did in half a second - the kind of calculation only a man with a degree in math or engineering could do, now tragically stuck working in a depressing public pool cafeteria.

Not even a cool street café. No latte art. No jazz music. Just chlorine and despair.

You give him a sheepish half-smile.

The twenty is all you had.

Okay - technically you had 50 cents too.

Maybe.

In loose change that’s probably fused with gum wrappers and lint at the bottom of your bag but explaining that feels like a one-way ticket to having a burnt cappuccino tossed in your face.

It’s 2011. Surely cafeterias still carry change.

…Apparently not.

“Card?” he asks.

You have exactly $1.78 on your card. You know this because you checked this morning, like the responsible adult you pretend to be.

This is bad.

This is humiliating.

This is the exact kind of character-building moment that turns into a core memory your brain will randomly replay at 3 a.m. for the next seven years.

The kids behind you are screaming. (Except one. One child is calmly and confidently negotiating a pizza-inside-a-burger situation with his father, who looks like he lost custody in the divorce and also in this conversation.)

And then there are the dads, too. You can feel them. Judging you.

You don’t even need to turn around.

Which is a shame, really. Because you love dads. You’re hopelessly, helplessly, filthily attracted to dads.

Hot dads? Daddy dads? Men with crow’s feet and deep voices who say things like “I’ll take care of it” and mean it? Slightly emotionally unavailable men with strong forearms, guilt complexes, and unresolved trauma they process exclusively through precision lawn edging and Sunday barbecue duty?

Inject that straight into your bloodstream.

You want them tired. You want them emotionally repressed. You want them to carry patio furniture like it weighs nothing and grunt when they sit down. You want to be a problem.

But these dads?

Their suburban dad disapproval is so potent it might as well be playing on loop over the intercom right between announcements for lost goggles and swim meet fundraisers.

These dads would ask about your five-year plan, nod thoughtfully, then ghost you via a LinkedIn message.

These dads are not for you.

These dads can go.

And so you panic. Sweat. Freeze. Until-

A hand.

A large hand.

Chubby-fingered, hairy, left-handed and wrapped in the crisp white cuff of a very expensive white shirt, peeking out from an even more expensive black suit jacket.

There’s a Rolex on his wrist. A real one.

That same hand, gentle and unbothered, slides a credit card (which looks comically small in those thick fingers, by the way) right into the reader, where $2.50 is already floating on the screen.

“I got it,” says a voice.

Oh.

Oh no.

It’s deep. Unreasonably deep. The kind of voice that should be illegal before noon.

And soft, too, absurdly soft for how deep it is because the vibrations travel straight from your ear to your… there. There, there.

You turn. Slowly.

And there he is.

A man.

(Surprise!)

Not just a man – a Man. Capital M, bolded, underlined, possibly trademarked if your bank account could handle the licensing fee.

He’s in a suit. In a full suit. Black jacket. White shirt. Burgundy tie.

You blink… wait is that- no way.

It’s him.

It’s Burgundy Swim Cap Guy.

Now in Burgundy Tie.

He matched.

Goddamn it. What a loser. What a hot, meticulous loser.

Oh, Burgundy Swim Cap man.

Yeah, let’s get that correction in there. Man.

Because up close, in proper daylight and expensive tailoring, he’s clearly way older than he looked in the pool. Deliciously older kind of old.

… And here you thought he was your age. (You were wrong. Again.)

All the better.

You barely recognize him in this polished version of himself - drenched in a cologne that costs more than your monthly grocery budget and somehow isn’t obnoxious.

It’s that expensive.

It’s not that aquatic bullshit guys in finance wear.

No. It’s warm. Inviting. Woodsy. A little smoky.

Expensive in the way that makes you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale until you black out while pretending you weren’t about to fall in love over his clavicle. (Yeah… too specific?)

And beneath it - just a trace - chlorine.

God help you.

You’re going to die here.

He even has a cowlick. A perfectly smoothed cowlick.

The kind that clearly took time, effort, wrist action, and probably a round brush.

He blow-dries.

He has a routine. A regimen. He has systems.

He’s probably terrifying in the morning. The kind of man who folds things. The kind who knows where his passport is right now.

Now, now.

But now he’s looking at you, brows thick, slightly furrowed.

Do you have something on your face? No. Can’t be.

No, you’ve just been staring at him like a feral raccoon. You still haven’t spoken.

…right.

“…Thank you,” you manage, barely audible - just as his phone starts ringing in his jacket pocket.

Drowned out by technology. Your gratitude swallowed by a default ringtone, who would have ever guessed.

He pulls the phone out, and just before he lifts it to his ear, you catch something - someone’s voice on the other end. A name? His? Yes they’re calling him it must’ve been his. Something clipped, ending in -chh or -shhh.

Josh?

Oh. Huh.

…Kind of disappointing.

You thought his name would be more... posh. Like something that comes with personalized cufflinks and generational trauma

….but Josh? That’s a guy who texts “you up?” at 11:48 PM from his blackberry pearl.

You hoped for more… syllables.

Whatever. What really surprises you is that Burgundy Swim Cap Man-slash-Josh-slash-Posh doesn’t say a word during the call. Not one.

He just holds the phone to his ear and stares - intensely - at a spot inside the glass food display. Not blinking. Not moving.

You’re genuinely concerned for the sandwich he’s glaring at. (It’s about five seconds away from bursting into flames.)

And you - you ache for that stare.

You want it on you. Burn it into your skin. You’d commit actual, punishable crimes for that kind of violent visual attention.

“Garcia, send me the files. We’ll brief the team as soon as I arrive,” he says - voice all business, clipped, calm, so authoritative it almost makes you bite your lip on reflex.

Then the phone disappears back into his pocket like it’s never existed, and without missing a beat: “An Americano, please.”

…Why doesn’t this surprise you? Could he be any more predictably boring? Go on, order a plain bagel and a side of unseasoned guilt while you’re at it.

But his eyes flick to the pastry shelf instead.

Brows furrow, slightly, sexily, offensively; he’s clearly doing some kind of emotional calculus about whether his swim earned him the moral right to a treat.

(He probably didn’t get many growing up.)

“And, uh… can I get the rainbow muffin to go?” he says, pointing with his chubby index finger toward the kids' menu.

You follow it (like an idiot).

And there it is. The muffin. Rainbow-sprinkled. Rainbow dough. Probably tastes like chemical vanilla. Pastel wrapper. Comes with a bubble blower, too.

A muffin. With a toy.

…This man.

You hate him. You want him. You’d marry him on sight.

He picks up the phone again. Dials. Calm. Efficient.

“Hey, can you pass me to Jack?” he says.

The frown - just a flicker ago, all sharp lines and no-nonsense jaw - melts. His face softens like he’s been flipped to a different setting and you actually flinch a little because how is that the same face?

“Hey, buddy.”

Oh. God, his voice. It goes soft. Stupidly soft.

“I’ve gotta be at work a little earlier today,” he murmurs, gently gripping the phone. “But I got you something… did you finish your homework?”

May you be absolutely, irreparably damned.

He’s a dad.

“Good job, buddy. I’m coming home soon, okay? Got you a surprise,” He glances down at the rainbow muffin. A little fond. A little sad, even. “Yes, you can do movie night with Aunt Jessica if I don’t manage to be there tonight…”

You wander how many other movie nights he missed.

“Yes, buddy,” he chuckles (you want to bite through drywall), “No, I didn’t forget the popcorn this time. You can have them with Aunt Jessica, she knows where they are… Yes, with salted caramel too. But don’t eat too much, alright?”

He pauses. Adds, with a soft little dad scold, “Make Aunt Jessica have some too this time. Save a few for Daddy, okay?”

Daddy.

Your knees give out.

No, not literally. You keep standing. But spiritually? Morally? Muscularly? You’ve dropped to the floor.

And then, casually, cruelly, he reaches for his coffee. With his ringless - yes, ringless - hand.

Not that you’re thinking about it. Not that you noticed. Not that you checked. Twice.

“Alright, buddy, I gotta go,” he says. His voice lowers again, not serious, just softer. Like he doesn’t want to hang up but he’s used to having to. “I’ll see you tonight. Be good, okay?” And then he smiles. To his phone. Like his whole face is a love letter.

Dimples. Of course. Of course this man has dimples. A loser dad with dimples.

“Love you too, bud”

And that’s it.

Phone call over.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But now you’re locked in that awkward limbo of mutual acknowledgment - the cursed micro-social contract that binds all humans in public spaces: you made eye contact, you must now exchange a minimum of one sentence to confirm shared reality.

He turns to you.

You are sweating. You are visibly short-circuiting.

No one is saying anything.

Fuck.

You shouldn’t have listened to his very personal call to his very personal son.

You shouldn’t have looked.

You shouldn’t have stared so hard you could recite the ingredients list on that muffin.

Fuck.

His shoulders look even broader in the suit.

Not just handsome - no, broad. Imposing.

Too bad the slacks are hiding his massi-

“The bubble blower’s for my kid,” he says, suddenly.

A preemptive strike. A full-grown man in what has to be his mid-40s, clarifying that he is not, in fact, personally invested in aquatic toy acquisition.

Funny, though - he didn’t feel the need to defend the rainbow pastry.

Interesting.

Bad for him.

“The muffin’s for the dad instead?” You nod toward the sad pastel pile in his hand.

(You’re a bit of a mean flirt - not because you’re heartless, but because it’s the only way you know how to hold on to a little power when someone makes your brain turn to mush.)

If you can’t stop yourself from falling for them, at least you can make sure they’re a little off-balance, too.

“If the dad’s lucky, he’ll probably get just a bite,” he replies, deadpan - like, completely expressionless except for the slight raise of his eyebrows at the end. You don’t even know where the voice came from. His mouth barely moved.

…Ventriloquism, probably.

Then he glances down at the linoleum floor. Smiles, almost shy.

“My son has a sweet tooth.”

Fucking hell.

This man is gushing about his kid to a total stranger in a pool cafeteria. No hesitation. No shame.

You are two seconds away from him flipping open his photo gallery and showing you twenty-five nearly identical pictures of a child covered in chocolate frosting, all while holding the phone in those massive hands.

God, his hands.

You really need to stop noticing them.

“Get a muffin for yourself too,” you say, tossing it out like a joke. Half-meaning it. Mostly-meaning it.

He chuckles, raises a hand, shaking his head. “Oh no…”

“Scared of food coloring?”

“No, no,” he laughs again. “Just…” He shrugs. Doesn’t finish. Leaves it there, hanging.

Is it because he doesn’t think he deserves a little treat?

Or because he’s afraid of getting that crisp, probably dry-clean-only shirt stained with rainbow frosting?

“How much is one rainbow muffin?” you ask the cashier.

(You two are best friends in your head now.)

He barely looks up. Dead inside. “One seventy.”

(This friendship might be one-sided.)

You blink.

$1.70 for frozen dough and a toy that doubles as a choking hazard… meanwhile, your cappuccino cost more than a gallon of gas.

Fucked up economy for real.

Then you glance at the cashier’s hands… he’s already typing it in.

Okay. Take it back.

That’s the real sign of late-stage capitalism: rainbow muffin doesn’t even require your consent to be rung up… but hey, at least you can afford it.

You’ve never been happier to be $1.70 poorer in your entire adult life.

You pull out your card.

He notices.

He pulls his, too.

Two cards. One slit. (Now this reminds you of your browser history from last night-)

“No, please, I got it,” he says - again.

Oh no, a damsel mustn’t pay for herself. (You hate him. You want to climb him like a tree.)

Watch her do it anyway. With confidence and $1.78 in her account.

You both arrive at the card reader at the exact same time.

Hands bump. Wrists brush. The tension is… stupid.

It’s awkward. It’s ridiculous. It’s… romantic?

Maybe.

Or maybe you’re just touch-starved.

Still-

You win.

Swipe clean. Transaction approved.

Victory, feminism, and low blood sugar all in one swipe.

“Enjoy the bubbles,” you say, smiling as you hand him the pastry and the overpriced soapy water.

He takes it, eyes flicking between you and the muffin, and for a second he gives you that look.

That slightly tired, slightly amused look men give right before they tell you you’ve done something reckless. Or charming. Or both.

He looks like he’s about to scold you. Fatherly. Disgustingly (hot).

He doesn’t.

“Sure,” he says, deadpan. “I’ll cherish them.” (Who even uses ‘cherish’ in the 21st century?!) And then, at the very end of it, a smile. Small. Real.

He opens his mouth again, “I-”

A breath.

“I have to go.”

One last smile. Quick. Tight.

And he’s already turning. Already halfway to the exit.

You stare.

Helpless.

Unwell.

For a second, you hope this modern-day Cinderella in a suit might drop one of his wildly expensive Italian leather dress shoes so you’ll have something to hunt him down with across D.C.

Track him by scent and shoe size.

But no. The shoe stays on.

He probably triple-knots them like the terrifying overachiever he is.

He does stop, though - just for a second - to check the time on his very expensive Rolex.

Hot. Unforgivably hot.

This brief, chaotic muffin-flavored detour has probably set him back exactly one minute and twenty-one seconds, and you know he’s internally recalculating his entire schedule down to the microsecond.

And yes, the panic is subtle. But it’s there.

In the clench of his jaw. The twitch of his temple. That microscopic furrow in his brow that says: How dare I entertain myself with flirtatious nonsense when I have 7,000 emails to check by 5 P.M.

Incredible. You’ve rattled a man with a watch that costs more than your rent. You’ve won.

You are going to be insufferable about this when your friend finishes her class.

Forget “stepped on your toe” guy. That man is dead to the narrative.

This dad is going to be the main character of every single conversation you have for the next four months.

You will tell her everything. Every glance. Every gesture. The muffin. The bubble blower. The nonexistent ass. From the moment you first locked eyes with this burgundy-swim-cap man named-

“…Aaron,” the cashier mutters.

You blink. “What?”

“That’s his name,” he says flatly. “Aaron. He comes here a lot.”

The cashier really doesn’t get paid enough for this.

Aaron.

Wow.

Two syllables.

“FBI,” he even adds casually, like it’s no big deal, as he hands a slice of pizza tucked inside a cheeseburger to a damp-haired five-year-old.

So.

Aaron owns a pair of handcuffs.

Government-issued. Handcuffs.

That tracks.

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#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #fleabag!reader

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scho17 · 4 months ago

Text

In some fucked up way it was kinda funny.

Guy on the run goes to Bludhaven to keep a low profile and catches the attention of a vigilante. The universe is laughing at him, surely.

Everything was fine up until a month ago. Really, it was. Danny had obtained his own shitty apartment and yeah, maybe his dead end job made him want to eat dirt more than usual but everything was fine. There weren’t any eyes on him and now there were. A certain bird didn’t know how to leave him alone.

“Can I help you, Nightwing?” Danny says in a flat tone, leaning his forearms against the rails of the fire escape. He isn’t a cigarette type of guy but if ever there were a time this would be it.

“Mhum. I want names, same as always.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “We both know I can’t tell you anything.”

“But you could.”

“I could,” Danny acquiesced with a shallow nod. “And then what? When they can’t get to me, they’ll get to you.” He sighs, feeling infintely tired “in any case, the big bad bat isn’t known for leaving things he doesn’t understand alone, and I’m not really looking to be a lab rat again. Zero out of ten do not recommend. Turns out being vivisected fucking hurts, man.”

“Why won’t you let me take them out for you? Besides, I’m not weak. I can hold my own just fine.”

And thats the million dollar question, isn’t it? Dannys gaze fixes upon the ill looking moon, pallor as he peers through the smog of the dingy city and into the sky. “Because he told me to wait.”

“Who?”

Clockwork.

Clockwork told him to wait. To do the one thing he hates more than anything in the world. To do the unforgivable - to sit idle when they had Ellie. As much as he’d love to spit venom and recite every reason why the GIW needed to be taken care of much sooner rather than whenever Clockwork had in mind, he can’t. He’s - and Ancients, he’ll never forgive himself - scared. He’s scared.

Logistically, he knows he’s strong. Stronger than anyone in any of those facilities compounded. Stronger than Vlad in terms of raw power if not in wiles, he’s stronger than Pariah Dark. Danny has tested his mettle against the worst of the worst and came out on top but he’s still fucking scared. Isn’t that something? Crown prince of the Infinite Realms is scared.

There’s no one to magically make it better. No one to lean on because he’s the strongest, he’s it. And if the strongest can’t stand up because they’re too busy having a panic attack at the sight of a lab coat then really, what use are they?

“I can’t tell you that.” He glances down to the alleyway below them. It’s filthy. Wet newspaper plastered to the pavement, old gum cemented in place like spots on a dalmatian. It looks a lot like how Danny feels most days.

Nightwing frowns. “I can help you,” he says. It sounds painfully earnest, like he believes he really, really, could.

“That's a nice offer, Nightwing, but I can’t take it yet.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

There he is. That’s the boy the bat raised. “Can’t.”

The next time Dick sees Danny it isn’t in Bludhaven.

It’s months later in her sister city, Gotham. Crime Alley, to be specific. It was during the tail end of a joint patrol with the newly minted Robin, Tim, whom he had sent back to the cave early. His eyes snagged on the figure of a young man carrying a child in the middle of the wet season, a thin thoroughly soaked through navy blue sweater clinging to him like a second skin. It was pouring down like the heavens didn’t know how to stop grieving.

It seemed as anguished as Dick was in the immediate absence of Jason. He blinks tiredly and washes the thought away. There’s a little girl cradled in Danny’s arms with hair just as pitch black as his own, burrowing her small face in his neck, tiny arms clinging as the man himself runs his hand soothingly on her back, murmuring apologies into her hair. “I know, I know, I’m sorry Ellie, I’m sorry. It’s okay, it's- We’re out. We’re okay.”

It’s a painfully private moment, one that he feels guilty for witnessing. The girl - Ellie, sobs into Danny’s chest. It isn’t his place to watch, to witness this. All the same, he wishes he could comfort them somehow.

#i dont think im going to continue this so feel free to use this as inspo or to add onto #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp crossover #dick grayson #dcxdp #no i did not beta this im too cool for that #Dani Fenton #Dani Phantom #pre time skip was before Jason's death and then after is post death bc I love miserable NW #someone let him be mentally ill again #er well not again bc he is but let it get that bad Again 2k25 i love seeing him in a constant state of intense stress its good for my healt #makes my hair extra shiny when i go out yk. Gives me that extra kick of life to sparkle in my eyes

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stargazsblog · 4 months ago

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what happens in vegas | ch.1 vegas?

satoru gojo x fem!reader

౨ৎ after a messy breakup, you go to vegas with your best friend, shoko, to forget about everything. a night of partying and drinking, you wake up in a hotel room with a stranger in your bed and a ring on your finger, with zero idea what happened. that stranger? satoru gojo-some guy you barely know. turns out, you two might've gotten married. now you've got to figure out what to do with this mess.

౨ৎ warning/tags: fluff, romance, jealousy, no smut (im sorry), sexual references, some angst, use of alcohol, inspired by what happens in vegas.

note: i’m loving this already…

masterlist

“You know what, Shoko?” you slurred, swirling the liquid in your glass before taking another sip. “He doesn’t even deserve me.”

A few hours ago, you walked in on Sukuna with another girl in your bed. Now, you’re at a bar with your best friend, Shoko, trying to drown the memory.

Shoko sat across from you, arms folded on the sticky bar table. Her eyes narrowed. “Damn right he doesn’t.” She reached for her drink, taking a long swig before slamming the glass down. “You should’ve punch him when you saw him. Or — oh! You know what we should do? We should egg his house.” Her face lit up with the idea, leaning closer. “Or maybe… we can beat the living shit out of him.”

You blinked at her, a little stunned. “Shoko…”

“What?” She shrugged, taking another drink. “He deserves it.”

You laughed dryly, shaking your head. “It’s not worth it.” Your fingers traced the rim of your glass, eyes dropping to the table. “I just… I really thought I was going to marry him, you know?” The words came out softer, almost like a confession.

Shoko’s face softened. She reached over, resting her hand over yours. “I know.”

You sighed, taking another sip, the burn sliding down your throat. “How did I not see it? I walked into my own room and there he was… with her. On my bed.” You squeezed your eyes shut, the image flashing behind your eyelids. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“Hey.” Shoko squeezed your hand. “You’re not stupid. He’s just an asshole.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back in your seat. The music pounded through the speakers, but all you could feel was the ache in your chest. “Yeah,” you whispered. “An asshole.”

“You know what? Where can you go to forget all your troubles and make bad decisions?” Shoko asked, swirling her drink.

“Don’t say Vegas.” You rolled your eyes. She’d been begging you to go for the past month, but Sukuna said you couldn’t go. He was strict, always keeping you on a leash, making sure you never had too much fun.

“Vegas,” Shoko repeated, grinning.

You sighed, biting your lip. “I don’t know… what if I just end up thinking about him the whole time?”

“That’s what the drinks are for.” She took a sip and set her glass back down with a soft clink.

Shoko leaned in, eyes softening. “Babe, I know you’re going through a hard time right now. That’s why we’re going to Vegas. It’ll be a distraction. It’ll be fun. Besides, you deserve a break. Three years with Sukuna? that sounds like living hell.”

You hesitated. She wasn’t wrong. You were always asking permission, feeling more like a prisoner than a girlfriend. Maybe this was exactly what you needed.

“Okay,” you mumbled, nodding slowly. “Okay, fine. But I’m not trying to do anything stupid.”

Shoko smirked. “It’s Vegas, babe. We’ll deal with the consequences when we get back.”

You exhaled, feeling the tiniest flicker of relief. Maybe this was a good idea. Maybe, for once, you deserved to let go.

The moment you stepped out of the cab and onto the Strip, your mouth practically fell open. The lights were brighter than you imagined, stretching high into the sky, flashing and glowing in every color. The streets were alive, packed with people laughing, drinking, and stumbling from one casino to the next. Music thumped from somewhere nearby, and the air smelled like heat, excitement, and a little bit of regret.

“Wow…” you whispered, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. “Why haven’t I come here sooner?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Shoko said dryly, dragging her suitcase behind her. “Maybe because you were too far up Sukuna’s ass to do anything fun.”

You shot her a glare. “Real nice.”

“Just saying.” She shrugged, smirking. “If you hadn’t spent the last three years playing house with Mr. ‘You Can’t Breathe Without Me Watching,’ we could’ve been making bad decisions here ages ago.”

You sighed, but a small smile crept onto your face. She wasn’t wrong. For the first time in a long time, you felt… free.

“Come on,” Shoko said, linking her arm with yours. “Let’s check in, get dressed, and let’s have fun.”

The hotel lobby was super busy. People were everywhere — talking, laughing, and dragging their suitcases across the shiny marble floor. The ceiling was really high, and there were these giant chandeliers that sparkled. You followed Shoko to the check-in desk, trying to take it all in.

Shoko tapped the little bell on the counter, sighing loudly. “Ugh, finally. My feet are killing me.”

While she dealt with the receptionist, you looked around. There was a bar in the corner, and you could hear the sound of slot machines somewhere in the background. Then, you noticed a group of guys standing near the lounge.

They stood out.

One of them had long black hair, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, looking bored. Another guy, taller and super muscular, had a scar on his lip and was sipping a drink while watching people walk by. But the one in the middle… he caught your attention.

He had white hair — like, really white — and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. They almost glowed under the lights. He was tall and lean, dressed pretty casually, but something about him made it hard to look away. He laughed at something one of his friends said.

Then, as if he could feel you staring, he turned his head.

His blue eyes locked onto yours, sharp and curious. For a second, it felt like time slowed down. The noise of the lobby faded, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. He tilted his head slightly, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks, and quickly looked away. What the heck was that?

“Come on.” Shoko grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the elevator. “Room first, drinks second.”

You risked one last glance as the elevator doors slid shut. The white-haired guy was still watching you, his smirk growing before he turned back to his friends.

As the elevator went up, you leaned against the wall, heart racing. It was probably nothing. Just some random guy.

But for some reason, you had a weird feeling you’d be seeing him again.

The elevator doors slid open, and you followed Shoko down a long, carpeted hallway. The walls had fancy gold trim, and the lights were soft and warm. When you reached your room, Shoko swiped the key card, pushing the door open dramatically.

“Ta-da!” she announced, stepping inside.

You dragged your suitcase in and looked around. The room was huge — two big beds with fluffy white blankets, a flat-screen TV, and a massive window that showed off the bright lights of the city. You wandered over, pressing your hands against the glass, staring down at the endless crowd of people and glowing signs.

Shoko flopped onto one of the beds, stretching out like a starfish. “Do you have any idea how much money I spent on this?” she asked, grinning over at you.

You turned and gave her a look. “Shoko, how much?”

Shoko had been kind enough to pay for the trip. Of course, you offered to split the cost, but she insisted—something about ‘wanting to be reckless with her money for once.’

She just shrugged casually. “Does it really matter? What matters is that you’re having fun today. We’re in Vegas, and we’re going to make sure you forget all about that idiot Sukuna.” She paused, then her eyes lit up. “And maybe we can find a sexy man for you tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Vegas men? You do realize those guys don’t want to commit, right?”

Shoko waved her hand dismissively, sitting up on the bed. “Please, babe. It’s Vegas. They’re here for fun, and so are we. Who cares if it’s not forever? You just need someone to take your mind off things.”

You sighed but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your face. “I guess you’re right.”

Shoko grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, cracking it open and offering it to you. “Exactly. Now, drink up, get dressed, and let’s hit the club. We’ve got a whole night of bad decisions ahead.”

You opened your suitcase, only to find a bunch of skimpy outfits neatly folded inside. You frowned, realizing with a sinking feeling that none of this was your doing. It was all Shoko’s idea of “fun.”

“What the hell, Shoko?” you muttered under your breath, pulling out a tight red dress with way too many straps.

As Shoko rummaged through her own things, oblivious to your mild panic, you started thinking. You hadn’t been out in so long. You were 23, still so young, but somehow, it felt like you missed out on so much. The last three years had been consumed by your relationship with Sukuna.

You and Shoko used to have so much fun back in high school — sneaking into parties, drinking. But ever since you met Sukuna, everything changed. He hated you going out, hated you having fun without him. He was too controlling, convinced you couldn’t be trusted to do anything on your own. You tried to argue, tried to explain that you were independent, but he always found a way to make you feel guilty.

You looked over at Shoko, who was already slipping into something that probably cost way too much, and realized how lucky you were to have her by your side. She’s the one who is helping you forget about him, even if just for a night. She always had your back, even when Sukuna tried to convince you that no one else could ever understand you like he did.

“Ready to party?” Shoko called over her shoulder, catching your eye as she twirled around.

You smiled, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

You and Shoko finally arrived at the club, the music growing louder the closer you got to the entrance. The neon lights flashing from the outside made everything feel electric. You couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as the bouncer waved you both in, barely even checking your IDs.

Once inside, the place was packed with people moving to the beat, colorful lights flashing from every corner of the club. The bass thumped deep in your chest, vibrating through your body. It felt like a whole new world compared to the quiet, controlled life you’d been living with Sukuna.

Shoko immediately pulled you toward the bar, practically dragging you through the crowd of people. The bartender, a guy with slicked-back hair and a black apron, gave you a smile as you both hopped onto the bar stools.

“What are we drinking tonight?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the music.

Shoko smiled and leaned in a little too close to the bar. “Two of whatever’s strongest.”

The bartender nodded and quickly got to work, mixing the drinks with practiced ease. As he slid them over to you, you took a sip of the strong cocktail, the burn warming your throat. You cringed at the taste, but it was a good kind of burn. The alcohol hit you almost immediately.

Shoko was talking to the bartender, but your attention drifted. You glanced around, trying to get used to the neon lights and the crowd, and then you spotted him across the bar.

It was him. The guy from the hotel lobby.

For a second, you totally forgot how to breathe. He was leaning against the wall, somehow looking like a model without even trying. His white button-up was unbuttoned at the top, showing just enough of his chest to make your face heat up. The sleeves were rolled up, showing off his forearms, and he wore this silver chain that somehow made him look even hotter. His dark jeans fit really well, and the way he stood, all relaxed and confident, made it hard not to stare. Then his eyes met yours, and it felt like the whole room faded for a moment. He held your gaze a little too long before looking away, and you had to remind yourself to blink.

You turned your head, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

Shoko, always noticing everything, leaned over to look at where you’d been staring. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

“Oh, he’s cute,” she said, her voice almost teasing.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip. “Stop,” you said, trying to brush it off.

Shoko wasn’t having it. “What? He is cute. And I don’t know, he looks like he’s into you.”

You glanced over at him again, but this time, your eyes locked. You quickly looked away, your heart racing just a little faster.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, amused. “He’s totally checking you out.”

You shook your head, but the grin on Shoko’s face told you she wasn’t going to let it go.

“Don’t freak out, but I think he’s coming over here,” Shoko said, her eyes glued to the guy across the room.

You whipped your head around to look at her, your eyes wide. “What do you mean he’s coming over here?!”

Shoko leaned forward slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I mean he’s literally walking with his two legs over here. Wait, hold up, a girl just stopped him.” She paused, watching the scene unfold across the bar.

You stared at her, confused. “What? What’s happening?”

Shoko squinted, still watching him. “Oh, wait, never mind. He’s coming back, and—oh no, his friends are following him too.”

Your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of the situation. “What are you even talking about?”

Shoko, now looking entirely too pleased with herself, glanced over at you. “Relax. He’s coming over. Just… breathe.”

You shook your head, panic rising. “Shoko, what do I do? Oh my god, I think I’m gonna throw up.” You took another gulp of your drink, chugging it down in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves. You’d never done anything like this before. Your whole life had been spent with Sukuna, and you hadn’t exactly gotten a lot of practice with normal, everyday interactions.

Shoko gave you a playful shove. “You’re gonna be fine. Just be cool. He’s just a guy, right? Don’t overthink it.”

Before you could even reply to Shoko, you heard a deep voice from behind you.

“Hello.”

You froze, your eyes wide as you looked at Shoko, who was staring at you with a teasing grin, then at the guy behind you. You slowly turned around, and there he was — the same man from the hotel lobby. He stood taller than you expected, towering over you as you sat at the bar.

You gulped, trying to compose yourself. He was even more hotter up close. His features were sharp, and those intense blue eyes seemed to lock onto yours, scanning you from head to toe. You felt a flutter in your chest as he smirked, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“Well, you look even better up close,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing. His grin was playful, but there was a sharp edge to it. “I’m starting to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

Behind him, you noticed his friends were watching, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before them.

You were completely caught off guard. Was this really happening? This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out at first.

Shoko, always ready to tease you, couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, you two already know each other, huh?”

He chuckled, glancing over at Shoko with a sly look. “Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll become great friends.” His eyes flicked back to you. “Right, sweetheart?”

You felt your heart race, but you rolled your eyes to play it cool, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you were. “Really? Is this how you greet every girl you meet?”

His smirk widened, and he leaned a little closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. “Only the ones I think are worth my time. And right now, you’re definitely making the list.” He gave you a wink, causing a mix of excitement and discomfort to swirl in your stomach.

You sat there, trying to play it cool despite the way his intense gaze made your heart beat faster. Before you could say anything else, he spoke up again.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said, his tone more casual, like it was the easiest thing in the world to offer.

You shook your head lightly, glancing over at Shoko, who raised an eyebrow and shot you a knowing side-eye. “No thank you,” you said, trying to sound firm. “We were actually just leaving.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he took a step closer, his body language relaxed, almost too confident. “Really?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Seems like you two just got here.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could get a word out, he interrupted you. “Just one drink. I promise you, it’ll be worth your time.”

Shoko, still sitting beside you, seemed entertained by the back-and-forth. She glanced at you, her expression clearly saying you’re not gonna turn him down, are you?

You bit your lip, feeling torn. You weren’t exactly in the mood to indulge in this whole situation, but something about his persistent grin made you hesitate.

“Fine,” you said, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “One drink. But that’s it.”

He grin stretched wider, clearly pleased by your decision. “That’s all I need,” he said.

The last thing you remembered was you and the white-haired man talking. But somehow, one drink turned into five, stumbling back to his hotel room, tearing each other’s clothes off., and now… now you were sitting up in an unfamiliar hotel room, the sunlight streaming in through the blinds, your naked body wrapped in the blankets.

Your head pounded, your mouth felt like a desert, and there was something strange on your left hand.

Blinking, you stared at the shiny ring on your finger. It was real, wasn’t it?

“Wait…” you muttered, trying to recall anything about the night. “What the hell happened?”

You turned, half expecting to see your friend Shoko beside you, but instead, you saw the tall, white-haired stranger sprawled across the bed.

His piercing blue eyes stared right at you, head propped up on one arm as he gave you a lazy grin.

“Good morning, wifey,” he drawled.

You both stared at each other in silence.

Then you screamed. Loudly.

“Ah, geez, tone it down, will you?” he groaned, covering his ears as you scrambled to grab the sheets, wrapping them tightly around your body. You practically fell out of bed, heart racing a mile a minute.

“What… oh my god.” Your eyes darted around the room in panic, then back to him. Your gaze dropped to his bare chest, the blanket barely covering half his naked body. That’s when you saw his hand — and the ring on his finger.

“Did we…?” you whispered, voice trembling.

“Did we what?” he teased, wiggling his fingers at you. “Get married? Looks like we did, sweetheart.”

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “No. No, no, no, no. There’s no way.” Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to piece together the foggy memories of last night. “I mean, I don’t even know your name! What is your name?!”

He smirked. “Wow, I’m hurt. You were screaming it last night.” He sat up, running a hand through his messy white hair. “It’s Satoru Gojo.”

Your head spun. “Oh my god, this isn’t happening.” You buried your face in your hands. “This was supposed to be a fun trip, and now… now I’m married to a complete stranger!”

Satoru chuckled, clearly amused by your meltdown. “Well, technically, I’m not a stranger anymore.” He leaned back against the headboard, watching you with that infuriating grin. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure it was your idea.”

“My idea?!” You glared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “There is no way I’d agree to something like this!”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you seemed pretty into it last night. Even called me ‘hubby’ a couple of times.”

You groaned, sinking to the floor as the weight of the situation hit you like a train. What had you done? You tugged the sheets tighter around you, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

“No. No way.” You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that when you opened them, this would all be some ridiculous nightmare.

But when you opened your eyes, Satoru was still there, lounging in bed without a care in the world. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you unravel. You ran a hand down your face, glancing around the room. Clothes were scattered across the floor, empty bottles on the nightstand, and the faint smell of alcohol still lingered in the air. The hotel room was definitely nicer than you expected — sleek furniture, massive bed, and a window view that overlooked the bright Las Vegas strip.

“You okay down there?” he asked, voice dripping with fake concern. “You look a little pale. Maybe you should lie down. Or better yet, we could cuddle. You know… husband and wife bonding time.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

He raised his hands in surrender, though the smirk never left his face. “Hey, just trying to be supportive.”

You ignored him, your heart racing as you stared at the ring on your finger. You tugged at it, twisting and pulling, but it wouldn’t budge. “Oh, come on!” you hissed, yanking harder.

“You’re gonna rip your finger off.”

“I’d rather lose a finger than stay married to you!” you snapped, still struggling with the ring.

“Ouch,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “You really know how to wound a guy.”

You finally stopped, breathless and frustrated, letting your hands fall into your lap. “This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.”

Satoru stretched, the sheets slipping lower on his hips, and you quickly averted your gaze. “Well,” he said casually, “unless we both had the exact same hallucination and these rings magically appeared on our fingers… I’d say it definitely happened.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning again. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Hey, at least we’ve got a great story,” he said, grinning. “Not everyone can say they got married in Vegas to a total stranger.”

You glared at him. “I don’t want a story. I want a time machine.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the pillows. “Sorry, sweetheart. No time machines here. But hey… at least you married someone hot.”

You ignored him, your brain starting to work through the haze of last night. Then it hit you. “Shoko.”

You scrambled to your feet, sheets still wrapped around you, frantically looking for your clothes. Satoru propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with blatant interest. “In a rush, wifey?” he teased, his eyes lazily trailing down your body. “You’re not trying to sneak out on me, are you?”

You spotted your bra hanging off the lamp and snatched it quickly, cheeks burning. He watched you with a lazy smirk, eyes following your every move. Turning your back to him, you dropped the sheets and hurried to hook it on, feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“Wow,” Satoru whistled lowly. “Didn’t know I’d get a private show this morning. If I’d known marriage came with perks like this, I would’ve settled down ages ago.”

“Could you not?” you snapped, fumbling with the clasp. Your hands were shaking, whether from embarrassment or rage, you weren’t sure.

“Hey, don’t blame me,” he said, chuckling softly. “Hard not to look when my wife is putting on a show.”

Your face burned. Yanking on your underwear, you grabbed your dress and tugged it over your head, the fabric sliding down your body as you adjusted it into place. You whirled around, glaring at him. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I’m this entertained.” He flashed you a grin, resting his chin in his hand as his eyes roamed over you once more. “Gotta say, though… you look just as good putting your clothes on as you did taking them off.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

“Never.” He smirked. “But if you want to shut me up, you can just kissed me again.”

You groaned, ignoring his teasing as you spotted your phone half-buried under a pile of clothes. Snatching it up, the screen lit with countless missed calls and texts from Shoko. Heart racing, you unlocked it and scrolled through the messages.

Shoko: OMG I JUST WOKE UP WTF HAPPENED LAST NIGHT

Shoko: WHY AM I IN SOME DUDE’S ROOM??

Shoko: tell me you actually didn’t marry that guy…

Shoko: CALL ME RIGHT NOW.

Before you could reply, Satoru who is now fully clothed, peeked over your shoulder, reading the messages. “Aw, looks like your friend had a good time too.” He grinned. “One of my buddies must’ve kept her company.”

You shot him another glare. “Can you be serious for five seconds?”

“Depends. Can you stop looking so cute when you’re angry?”

You let out a frustrated groan, flopping back onto the bed and covering your face with a pillow. This was officially the worst morning of your life.

taglist: @vehuzzzz @sleepykittyenergy @n1vi @nakiich @artbligh @miizuzu @seternic @luciferlikesducks

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo angst #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader series #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #saturo #what happens in vegas #gojo x reader angst #gojo satoru angst #jjk satoru #satoru x you

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inthelibrarybtw · 2 months ago

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you want me to pretend? | ten

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, jealousy, jordan, rafe crash out, cursing

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.1k

authors note: ten? when did this happen? I'm really thankful for all the love that you guys have given to my blind children. Enjoy another flashback 😚 I intended to post yesterday but I got a fever and went to sleep it off.

09 | 10 | 11

Sophomore Year - October 2022

Sophomore Year - November 2022

Thanksgiving had been the perfect opportunity to finally get together with Angie and fully discuss the topic of Jordan. Ever since the day you two had met, you had been consistently talking to each other. While he had initially caught your attention, now it was a whole different story. You talked all day, every day—well, almost every day.

“So you really like him right now?” Angie asked as she sat down on your bed.

“I feel like we’re becoming really close; we talk almost all the time,” you said with a small smile.

“Almost is not always.”

“Yeah, on weekends he just disappears, but he’s with his family and doing a lot of schoolwork, so that’s why.”

“Wait, so he just doesn’t answer on weekends?”

“We talk, but it's very little on weekends. He reappears on Sunday afternoon, and we talk again. It’s a lot of voice notes, and I like that.”

“Oh, he’s a voice note guy… Huh, he didn’t give me those vibes.”

“Yeah, I like that because I feel it’s more real. You hear the actual tone in which he is speaking, and it’s just really nice to hear him.”

“Maybe at first I wasn’t really sure about him, but I guess he’s not that bad.”

“He is really sweet; we can talk about a lot of stuff,” you smile again.

“You think it’s going to get deeper? Like are you and him, and me and Ethan, going to be having double dates soon?” she teases, and you chuckle.

“Oh, we are already talking about that?”

“Yeah, why not? Ethan and I have been talking for two months, and I think he is going to be my boyfriend,” Angie says, smiling.

“I’m so happy for you; he better treat you right.”

“Same goes for Jordan; he better treat you right. But from the audio you have sent me, he does sound nice, and he was very unexpected, so…” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Yes, it could be something good. I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. We have been talking for just a month, so I don’t know where this is really going.”

“So, Rafe…?” You shake your head softly, “like at all?”

“I…” you stutter for a second.

“Ha!” She pointed at you, “I knew it.”

“I don’t like Rafe; I never liked him.”

“Then why the hell is this on your bed?” She grabbed the jellycat he had given you for your birthday.

“It was a gift; what was I supposed to do? Throw it away? It’s cute; I like it.”

“So, no emotional attachment to that or the person who gave it to you?” You shook your head, not realizing your face was saying quite the opposite.

“Right, so really, really nothing for Rafe?”

“Yeah,” your voice faltered, “nothing at all.” You smiled, but Angie knew better than to believe you.

“Zero? Nada? Nothing? Not even physically?”

“Finding someone attractive doesn’t mean you like them; I told you.”

“Ah, right, yeah.”

“Angie, stop it; I don’t like Rafe.” She lifted her hands in defeat.

“Fine, fine, you don’t like him.”

Sophomore Year - December 2022

Rafe sat down on the living room couch. The house was anything but quiet, but at least the living room was now clean and free of a screaming Emily. His sister had gotten far too excited about her Christmas presents, and with every single one, she had screamed. He understood it, but he was also not in the mood. They all had helped her get her new toys into her playroom. Wheezie stayed with Emily, so that was why he had gone back to the living room. His loneliness didn’t last long.

“What’s that face for?” Sarah asked, sitting next to him.

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“You look all annoyed. I have a wild guess as to why, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“The thing is, I feel like I shouldn’t feel this way. It's not like she’s my ex, you know.”

“Yeah, but you like her.”

“Yes, that much was obvious; thanks for stating it again.”

“I’m just saying it's normal to feel this way. She likes someone else, and you still like her.”

“Are you sure she likes him?”

“I haven’t talked about it much, but she has mentioned it sometimes; not a lot, though.” He sighed.

“Well, according to Kelce, he has gone MIA for weeks, then goes back to talk to her like nothing happened, and he claims it’s just because he’s busy, but no one can be that busy.”

“I feel like your jealousy is making everything way worse than it actually is.”

“Yeah, well.”

“It’s okay, though; I understand it, but I do have to say that you need to eventually move on.”

“I know. I decided that a few days ago, but Kelce told me he thought she liked me, and that threw me off. I just started thinking about that.”

“And you didn’t talk to him about this?”

“Why would I?”

“Right, you don’t talk about feelings with the boys,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

“I have you for that; I don’t need them,” he nudged her with his elbow.

“Aw, look, you are nice,” she chuckled.

“Shut up,” he chuckled back.

“Back to the Y/N thing… I know this is not what you want to hear, but try to meet someone just for the fun of it.”

“If you think I’m gonna get over her by dating someone else, you’re wrong. Before I say this, I know how cheesy and stupid it sounds, but that's just how things are.”

“I’m gonna let you finish.”

“I promise, the second I saw her, it was like the rest of the girls were nothing. I have tried, BELIEVE ME, I have tried talking to other girls and flirting with them, but they are all so… uninteresting, or maybe it is just because I really, really like her. I don’t even know why I like her so much,” he exhales and groans, “I’m so messed up.”

“Wow,” Sarah said, looking at him. “Yeah… you are messed up, but hopefully you will eventually get over her, right?”

“I hope you are right because this is embarrassing. Not even Topper got this down bad for you, and that man did some questionable things when he was trying to date you,” Sarah chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it worked, so…”

“For him. I’m not gonna embarrass myself, even if I wanted to. This problem is so easy to fix.”

“Okay, now you lost me.”

“Jordan. He is my problem. I could literally just kiss her, and voilà, problem solved.”

“Oh geez…” Sarah sighed. “First things first, you would create more problems by doing that.”

“Yeah, but he would go bye-bye.”

“You spend too much time with Emily.”

“She’s the coolest 4-year-old I know.”

“Yeah, because she’s your sister.”

As they started talking about Emily, Jordan and you got forgotten in the conversation, but not from Rafe’s mind. Much to his dislike, he was going to keep being annoyed and jealous about that for a few more months until he eventually called it a day.

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lazysoulwriter · 1 month ago

Text

all of you – pedro pascal .✦ 💗💜💙

requested! thank you. content: bisexual reader, supportive boyfriend Pedro, emotional vulnerability, happy tears, gentle comfort, pride month post, fluff

---

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him.

In fact, that was what made it so hard — the fact that he was so good. So kind. So warm and affectionate and loving in a way that had felt safe from the very beginning.

Which was why the fear felt so out of place.

But it still lived there — in the corners of your heart where other people had left scars. In the memory of past boyfriends who reacted with disgust, with jealousy, with objectification. Who either treated you like a porn category or something broken.

So even though Pedro had never been anything but respectful… your hands still trembled a little when you reached for his one night, the words thick in your throat.

“I wanna tell you something,” you said quietly. “And I know it’s not a big deal to a lot of people, but it has been before, for me. And I just need you to… be gentle.”

Pedro immediately put down the book he’d been reading and gave you his full attention, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Always, baby. You don’t ever have to be afraid with me.”

You took a breath.

“I’m bi.”

There was a beat.

Pedro’s face didn’t twist or change. Didn’t flash with questions or discomfort. He just looked at you, full of something impossibly soft.

“Okay,” he said, with a small nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

You blinked, surprised by how gentle his tone was. And then your chest tightened when you realized—

That was it. No prying. No jokes. No “threesomes” or “you’ll leave me for a woman someday” bullshit. Just… warmth.

“I’ve had really bad experiences,” you admitted, voice cracking. “People either don’t take it seriously or make it into some kind of fantasy for them. I just—I’ve been afraid to tell people. Especially guys I’m dating.”

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened, but gently. He brought it to his lips. Kissed each knuckle.

“I’m so sorry they did that to you,” he murmured. “That’s not love. That’s not seeing you as a full human being. And I do. I see all of you.”

Your eyes filled with tears. He brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs, cradling your face like you were made of porcelain and love.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice low and thick. “And I love that you trust me enough to share this. I don’t care who you’ve loved before. I care that you’re here. With me. Letting me love you.”

You threw your arms around him and cried into his shirt — not from sadness, but from the weight of finally being held right.

A few days later, you got a quiet tap on the shoulder while you were getting dressed.

“Can I ask you something?” Pedro asked, holding his phone sheepishly. “It’s totally up to you, zero pressure, but… I was thinking about making a little Pride Month post. Just something sweet. I’d love to include you, but I’ll only do it with your full blessing.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You want to post about… me?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Because I’m proud of you. And I want to celebrate you. Loudly. But only if that feels good for you.”

You kissed him hard for that one. Then nodded.

And that afternoon, he posted a picture of the two of you cuddling in bed — your face mostly buried in his neck, his lips pressed to your temple.

The caption read:

happy pride month 💕 especially to my beautiful bisexual girlfriend, who teaches me every day what love looks like in full color. you are seen. you are loved. always. 🌈

The internet, of course, lost it.

“Pedro Pascal being an ally is my Roman Empire.” “bisexual gf rights forever 💗💜💙” “he didn’t just say ‘love is love’ he said ‘MY GIRLFRIEND IS BI AND I LOVE HER’ and i’m sobbing” “protect this couple at all costs.”

But the best part wasn’t the comments. It was Pedro, wrapping his arms around you that night, nuzzling your shoulder and whispering:

“Thank you for letting me love you out loud.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

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charliegyrth · 3 months ago

Text

Metabolism Blockers

Gay Gainer Erotica

I was lifting weights when Val walked into the room. He had a big smile on his face and two blue pills in his palm.

I lowered the weights and sat up. “No, Val. Whatever it is, I’m not taking it. I have class in the morning.”

“You don’t wanna hear what they are?”

I did not. To earn some cash on the side, my boyfriend had enrolled himself in clinical trials. He was like a guinea pig for untested drugs. So far, he hadn’t had any bad side effects (aside from extra body hair, which was hot but temporary), but it was only a matter of time before one of those pills really messed him up.

“Just hear me out,” he said, sitting next to me on the bench. “They’re metabolism blockers.”

“And?”

“They slow down your metabolism, which leads to weight gain. And since I know you want us to both chunk out a little…”

A week ago, I’d confessed to him about my lifelong desire to get fat. I thought he’d freak out, but he seemed surprisingly into it. Even though we both ate a lot, we were really skinny. Perhaps these pills were exactly what we needed.

“And how long does it last?”

“Three months,” he said. “What do you think?”

“Okay. Why not?”

He knew I was going to say that. He handed me a pill and kept one for himself. He even had a bottle of water ready.

We both swallowed.

He kissed my cheek. “Exciting. Now let’s sit back and see what happens.”

Nothing happened for three days. By then, I’d completely forgotten about it. Must’ve been too good to be true.

Then on the fourth day, I had trouble buttoning my pants. “Val?” I shouted.

He ran into the room. “Are you bigger, too?” He lifted up his shirt, showing me his wider torso and rounder stomach.

I lifted up my own shirt.

He squinted. “I don’t see any changes.”

“But my pants won’t button.”

He gave me a sly smile and led me to the mirror. His reflection looked different but mine didn’t.

I felt a wave of disappointment.

“Turn to the side, John.”

I did as he said and saw my butt jutting out farther than it ever had before. I’d always had a nice ass for someone so skinny, but now, it was so much better. No wonder my pants didn’t fit. All my new weight had gone to one place.

We both weighed ourselves. We’d each gained sixteen pounds.

“Sixteen pounds in four days?” I muttered.

“That’s what happens when you have zero metabolism, I guess.”

My pants felt even tighter. I was getting hard.

Val, equally excited, led me to the bed. I was late for my first class.

***

I walked around campus that day in my loosest slacks. Everyone treated me normally, but I did notice more guys checking me out in the quad. I felt great.

At lunch, I ordered two meals. Now that I knew the drugs were working, I wanted to speed things along. I pictured myself strutting through the quad, with an ass so big that everyone noticed. Thin body, fat ass. God, that was so hot.

There was nothing wrong with Val growing a gut, of course. I think it would look great on him. I was just glad that my fat was collecting differently.

When I got back to the dorms that evening, Val was bouncing with excitement. “Did people notice?”

“A couple,” I said modestly.

“Me too! One guy said I was ‘filling out.’ And I kept catching people glancing at my stomach.” He sighed. “Let’s eat a huge dinner, okay?”

“Agreed.” I didn’t tell him that I’d also had a huge lunch. Knowing him, he probably did, too.

We went down to the dorm cafeteria and totally feasted. With Val eating with me, I was able to pack in so much more than I had alone.

Back in bed, we were too stuffed to do anything but cuddle and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

***

For the next few days, I woke up to a slightly bigger ass each morning. The gains were pretty steady, too. Four or five pounds a day. This drug was incredible!

And miraculously, the only part of me affected was below my waist. Everything from my knees to my waist was thicker. Perhaps my stomach had gotten a bit softer, but it was still flat.

Val, on the other hand, was softening all over. His numbers matched mine, but his whole body was growing a layer of softness. His arms and legs looked smoother, less muscled. Even his face was thickening a little. His stomach was the most noticeable change, though. Definitely rounder.

We skipped our morning classes to lie in bed together and just explore our bodies.

Val ran his hand across my stomach. “So when do you think the rest of you is gonna catch up to your ass?”

“Never, I hope. I’ve always dreamed of being a big, fat guy, like you’re going to be. But there’s something pretty hot about being skinny with a big ol’ booty.”

He kissed me.

We were planning to go to our afternoon classes, but none of my pants fit. At all. It was impossible for me to leave the dorms. So Val put on his clothes (which were tight but still sort-of fit) and went shopping for the both of us.

He came back two hours later. He’d gone to BXL, the plus-sized store, and stocked up on clothes that were way too big for both of us. That was wise. At this pace, we needed clothes to grow into.

***

By the end of our second week, Val looked incredible. He had the body I’d always dreamed of having. His beer gut was undeniable, spilling over his waistband and spreading out into solid love handles. He’d sprouted a second chin and two round moobs. And his arms and legs had continued to soften. In just a week, he looked like a different person.

Meanwhile, I still looked exactly the same from the waist up. The slightly softness on my stomach was still invisible under shirts. In fact, I didn’t even need to wear any of the new shirts that Val had gotten me. My old ones still fit just fine.

But below the waist was a different story. My thighs were wobbly now and my ass cheeks could no longer fit in my computer chair. When I was on my laptop, I had to sit on my bed so that I could spread out.

The stares that I got when I walked through campus had gone from lustful to curious to freaked out. I’m pretty sure that most people thought that I’d gotten surgery to get this way.

I had to request special chairs for most of my classes, but since the school didn’t have any that were big enough, they decided that the best option was to give me chairs without arm rests, which allowed my hips to hang over the sides. That worked okay.

After the second week, Val and I had stopped intentionally overeating. We were growing so fast that people thought we were sick. That didn’t do anything to stop our growth., though We woke up every morning four-ish pounds heavier. Sometimes a little more.

I started to get jealous of Val’s body. His gains were so well-distributed. People saw him as a typical fat guy. They noticed his belly, but they didn’t get worried about him.

People got worried about me.

Throughout the second month, I started getting scared. My thighs just wouldn’t stop expanding, but they weren’t smooth anymore. One morning, I woke up with clusters of cellulite on my ass. By the next morning, the cellulite had deepened. And the morning after that, it had spread all the way across my thighs.

It was even noticeable through my pants. I felt so damn lumpy.

Val loved it, though. We had sex every night. He always topped now, completely crazy over what my ass had turned into. I enjoyed it, of course. I loved feeling his belly weigh me down. I loved how my legs jiggled under his movements. I’d gotten too big for some positions, though. My thighs had gotten too squashed together for him to raise my legs up, so I had to stay on my stomach and wait for him to spread my cheeks apart before he took me.

The worst change, the one that really put me into an existential crisis, happened at the end of the second month. I was growing a fat pad. Despite having almost no belly at all, the area above my dick had been steadily growing. Now, it was starting to swallow up my average-sized cock. I couldn’t top him anymore even if I wanted. With my growing thighs and fat pad, my dick was surrounded on all sides with fat, and it really freaked me out.

I sat on our bed and started crying.

Val tried to console me. He placed his hanging belly on my lap because he knew that would comfort me. Didn’t work. I just kept crying.

That’s when he admitted something that he should’ve told me before I’d taken the damn pills. “There’s a, uh, side effect that they warned me about. I didn’t think it was that big a deal at the time, but…”

“What side effect?” I demanded.

“Uneven weight distribution. I thought that meant, like, one moob would grow lower than the other. Like mine kind of is. I didn’t realize…” His voice trailed off.

“I’m uneven!” I screamed. “All my gains are below the waist!”

“Not all of them,” he said, supportively squeezing my very minor roll of belly fat. That was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to my legs.

It wasn’t fair! We’d gained the same amount, but he was growing into a beautiful, big-bellied fat man while I had legs so fat that I barely had a dick anymore!

I sobbed into his shoulder.

He held me in his flabby arms. “It’s okay. The three months are almost over.”

Not quite. We had three and a half more weeks. By then, I probably wouldn’t even be able to walk anymore. I was already waddling everywhere.

“I need new pants,” I muttered.

“Already ordered you some. BXL doesn’t have anything in your size. They’ll arrive tomorrow.”

God. My ass had outgrown the big and tall store. I was a freak.

“What can I do, John? What do you need to feel better?”

I wiped my eyes and looked up at him. “Eat,” I said.

“What?”

“If I’m gonna keep gaining like this, I don’t want to be the only one that everyone stares at. I want you to keep eating for the rest of the month until you’re f*cking enormous. That’ll make me feel better about myself.”

I knew I was being petty. I knew I was lashing out. But I stood by what I said. He didn’t tell me about the side effect, and I wasn’t going to be the only one suffering the consequences. I’d get him so big that no one would even notice me.

He kissed me. “Okay. I’ll order some pizzas.”

***

The next morning, we contacted our adviser and requested that we finish out the rest of the semester online. She didn’t argue. I hadn’t broken any chairs yet, but it was only a matter of time.

For the rest of the month, we spent all our time in the dorm. When we weren’t logged into class, we were in the living room. Val ate as much as he could, and when he couldn’t finish anything else, he either took a nap or I fed him myself. In that time, I barely ate anything. Just a pizza or two a day, a fraction of what Val was shoving in.

We didn’t weigh ourselves until the last day of our three-month sentence. I went first, discovering (not surprisingly) that I’d gained 127 pounds, nearly all in my lower half. Sure, I’d finally gotten love handles and my stomach was hanging down a bit, but it wasn’t nearly enough to balance out my legs. It was extremely difficult to walk, and when I did, I moved like a penguin in constant danger of toppling over. My fat pat had swallowed my cock completely. Only the tip was visible, and only when I got hard. And the cellulite… I had no idea skin could be this uneven and cratered.

Then Val stepped on the scale. It immediately broke. And I don’t mean the numbers stopped working. The scale literally cracked in two. He stumbled backwards and almost fell. “Well,” he said, “hope this makes you happy.”

It really did. I'd gotten so distracted by my angry drive to feed him that I hadn’t stopped to truly appreciate what he looked like now.

Massive. Soft. Drooping. His chest was pendulous. His belly was, too. It jutted out a lot but it mostly hung down, obscuring his crotch. He’d developed so many stretchmarks that my cellulite problem felt like nothing. And if I truly looked at his legs, they weren’t that much smaller than mine. His hips didn’t jut out as far, and his ass cheeks were rounded at the top before seriously flattening from his near-constant sitting, but the legs themselves were almost as thick as mine. Almost.

Sex of any kind was pretty much impossible for him now. The best we could do was press our faces into each other’s fat pads and try to suck each other off. (Still really hot, though.)

I pulled him into bed. My ass and his… everything filled up the mattress. In a way, this was what I’d wanted all along. To grow with Val. And we both had, way more than either of us had imagined.

As I held him and gently rubbed his overflowing belly, I thought about the future. Now that the drugs had worn off, maybe we could lose some of the weight and try to go back to a somewhat normal life. That’s probably what Val would do.

Maybe I would, too.

Or maybe I would keep going. Without the drug messing with my hormones, I could keep gaining and hope that the next 127 pounds would help my upper body catch up. Only time would tell.

For now, I just wanted to relax and enjoy the bodies we’d grown. Deep down, I was happy we’d taken the pills. A little freaked out, but definitely happy.

The End.

Thanks for reading! This one's a bit of a departure for me, my first gainer story that completely throws realism out the window. Let me know if you enjoy this one and I'll write more like it. Otherwise, I'll go back to the (slightly) more grounded stuff.

You can find all my stories here.

#gainer fiction #male wg #gainerstories #feeder fiction #gay feeder #weight gain fiction #gainerstory #gainer story #gainer stories #gainerfiction #gaining fat #gaining kink #gaining weight on purpose #mutual gaining #gaining weight #getting bigger

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ssentimentals · 11 months ago

Text

seventeen members as love tropes: choi hansol

forced proximity

'coincidence? baby, they don't exist'

'so, what's your name?'

you blink, turning around to face the guy with who you got stuck in the elevator. he is now comfortably sitting on the floor with his knees tucked closer to his chest, leaning on the wall. the look on his face has zero traces of nerves or anxiety, he's opening bag of chips with a small smile on his face, looking at you like what is happening right now is absolutely normal. is this how an average day goes for him?

'you think this button is broken?' you ask instead, turning back. you push at 'call' button again but no sound comes out. 'we can't actually be stuck here with no connection to the outside world, right?'

'it happens quite often.' my god, so you were right, this is an average day for him. 'but no, this button works, we just need to wait a little. maybe these guys are out somewhere.'

'out where?' you ask, turning back to him. smell of chips starts filling up the cabin and you try to concentrate on it instead of thinking about being stuck here forever. 'should i just keep on pressing that button?'

your voice gets caught in your throat because the guy looks at you with... you don't know what. his gaze is piercing and it's like he's looking right at you, within you, in your soul. it's unsettling, especially when it comes from someone that handsome. in all three months since you moved into this apartment complex, you only met several families and few kids here and there, but never this guy. your brain unnecessarily reminds you that right now you're standing in front of a really handsome guy in old washed out t-shirt and pj pants, while he's at least dressed in jeans and sweatshirt.

'i'm hansol,' he says suddenly, breaking your thinking spiral. 'your neighbor from the forth floor.' he then pats a space next to him: 'come sit? i think it's more comfortable than standing.' you open your mouth to argue when he adds: 'i'll be the one pressing that button, no worries. just come sit down, yeah? you can meditate that way better, no?'

your nose scrunches in confusion. 'meditate?'

it's time for hansol to look sheepish. 'isn't this what people do when they start panicking? i mean- i am not implying that you are panicking right now, but you look pretty worried and i thought- shit, you are not panicking, right? there really is no need to, i promise we will be out of here in no time. i thought if you can sit and mediate then you can-' he shuts up, noticing his rambling and how your eyes grow only bigger with each word he says. after a second of hesitation, he stands up, grabs his chips and comes over to you, shoving them in your direction. 'here. chips.'

there are a lot of things that you can say or do, but your mind chooses to grab offered snack and silently move to where he was sitting. hansol seems to approve, as he smiles a little and leans with his back on the opposite wall so he can still look at you, while insistently pressing the 'call' button. 'so.'

'yes?' you raise your head, slowly munching on the chip. it's salty taste helps you stay here in the moment instead of disappearing in the anxiety.

'i feel like it's my fate, you know? to get stuck in the elevators. like god is trying to tell me something through it, you know? like i don't get stuck just because, i get stuck for something. and then i think-'

it takes you five seconds to realize that hansol is doing this on purpose. he is distracting you so you won't panick and this gesture is incredibly sweet for a random stranger. you're not sure how much time passes, because hansol's storytelling is fascinating (and a bit weird, but in a more 'not ordinary' way than bad). you don't notice how your spine is not rigid anymore, but hansol does. he notices how you slowly relax, hold his gaze more and eat chips more actively. he notices how corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile and how cute you look with confusion written all over your face. in truth, he has no idea what he is even saying, but he can't stop, can't let you remember even for a second that this stupid elevator is not working. his thumb is numb from how strongly he pushes on that 'call' button but he ignores it in favor of staring in your eyes, catching every emotion that sparkles in them. you are cute and you don't even realize it and that makes you even cuter.

'hello? is someone there?' when static voice cuts through, both of you jump a little. 'apologies for this horrible inconvinience, elevator will start working in few minutes. are you alright?'

hansol takes a look at your surprised face and half-finished bag of chips. 'yeah, we are all good.'

pang of regret slashes through him when you hastily stand up and cheer, when cabin finally starts descending. shit, he didn't even manage to learn your name! when elevator door opens, hansol reaches out for your hand and is pleasantly surprised when you take it with a smile, rushing out with the cutest little 'whoop!' he saw in his life.

'i think you are right,' you suddenly speak, making him look up. 'what you said about you getting stuck in the elevators meaning something? i think you're meant to help people like me.'

i think i was meant to meet you, he wants to say but doesn't. instead what comes out of his mouth is: 'you owe me.' at your confused expression, he points at his snack. 'chips.'

'oh. oh!' you exclaim, getting flustered. 'of course, i will-'

'-and your name.' he adds, making you freeze. he watches understanding dawn on you and smiles. 'and your favorite drink. so i would know what to buy for you.'

it's bold. not exactly his style, but his head-to-mouth filter is not working anymore. for a second he thinks he overdid it, but then you blush (so prettily), then smile (so, so prettily) and he knows he didn't mess up. when you step closer and introduce yourself, hansol knows he not only didn't mess up, but also won something out of this whole situation. (and he doesn't know it yet, but this big win? it's your heart. it really is).

a/n: guilty for having this trope as my most favorite one!! and who is better than hansol to write this for, am i right? - nini

my other works are here

#seventeen imagine #seventeen reaction #seventeen fluff #vernon fanfic #seventeen vernon #vernon x y/n #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #choi hansol #seventeen hansol #seventeen scenarios #chwe vernon #svt vernon #svt x reader #svt fluff #vernon imagine #vernon fluff #seventeen vernon imagine #seventeen fic

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katsukis-wifi · 2 months ago

Text

Single For The Summer

☆ katsuki bakugou x f!reader

★ modern au / social media / college au / loosely based on this song

☆ sfw / slow burn-ish / tension + banter heavy / reader recently single

★ word count: ~3k

☆ warnings: cursing, strong language, suggestive references, thirst traps, implied past relationship (reader), lots of yelling via text, one (1) very flustered bakugou

“Spotting sounds fun,” you said, quirking an eyebrow.

“But I already did my upper body sets. Mina said we were doing legs today?”

“She lied,” Bakugou said flatly.

Katsuki wasn’t crazy about social media. He was a young adult, he kept up with the times and all, but he mostly used it to check in on his friends.. When it came to his own profile? Zero posts. Decent profile picture, and the most basic-ass username he could think of: BK0420.

Still, when he had nothing to do, he’d scroll through random videos or tap through people’s stories without really thinking. It wasn’t his thing– but sometimes, it filled the silence.

Today, one post made the silence loud.

He was tapping through people’s stories, not even really paying attention, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

There you were.

On Mina’s story, posing in the mirror beside her, with the same stupidly gorgeous smile he couldn’t get out of his head. You looked–God, you looked insane. Like you knew what this photo was going to do to him.

But the part that really got him?

#singleforthesummer @yn/ln

He muttered under his breath, “What the fuck...”

He pulled his phone away from his face and closed the story for a second, blinking at the wall like it would explain what he had just seen. Then, he tapped back onto the story, clicking your tagged username.

His breath hitched.

Bakugou wasn’t the type to stalk your account on the regular – yeah, he thought you were hot, but he didn’t want to look at your boyfriend’s ugly face all the time.

This time?

No posts. No story highlight. Just a brand new profile picture – which was shamelessly a thirst trap.

You finally were done with that loser.

It was no secret – Bakugou wanted you bad. He never shut up about it. Whenever your boyfriend came up, Katsuki had two settings: pissed, and pissed-er. He made it very clear: he thought the guy was a total dick. Kirishima could probably write a book titled Shit Bakugou’s Said About That One Guy She Dates.

But now?

Now you were single.

Right on cue, a notification lit up his phone.

GC: [future dropouts + katsuki] katsuki: y/n and her troll thing broke up?? kirishima: BRO. KATSUKI. YOU GOTTA GET ON THAT, LIKE, YESTERDAY. kaminari: need to ask lmfao mina did you KNOW y/n was single and just decided not to fill bakugou in?? mina: no, i knew she was single and wanted to announce the good news on her behalf with a hot thirsttrap when she felt ready yk kaminari: LMFAOOO mina: no because let me walk you through my mastermind - i knew fuckass katsuki would never hit her up unprovoked even if he knew she was single SO i figured a hot story was the perfect excuse katsuki: ????? when did they split mina: like a month ago? thats when she told me at least

Bakugou’s jaw went slack.

A whole fucking month?! And no one thought to fill him in?

kirishima: MINA….A MONTH????

Katsuki dragged a hand down his face, then dropped back onto his desk chair like someone had punched him in the chest.

He glared at the screen again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

What the hell was he even supposed to say? “Hey, you looked fine as fuck on Mina’s story, we should hang out”? Jesus.

He was in genuine disbelief.

mina: ok hate me all u want but she was lowkey pulling hella huzz and i didn’t wanna mess up her game sero: not for nothing bakugou is a little late to the game LMFAOOO mineta tried to hit her up like three weeks ago when he heard. also she posted about it on her spam account a MINUTE ago

“Fuck all the way off…” Bakugou muttered out loud.

What the fuck was a spam account?

And why the fuck was he not following it to see these VERY IMPORTANT life updates of yours?

katsuki: what’s the @ ? katsuki: I’m so fr if one of you doesn’t put me on, you’re all dying

Bakugou never ended up sending you that message.

It’s not that he didn’t want to – he just genuinely had zero idea what to say. He had plenty of encouragement; his friends constantly advised him on how to approach you. But honestly? You being single didn’t take the pressure off. It just made it worse.

And Mina wasn’t helping when she reminded him, “If you don’t make a move on her, someone else will. Trust me. She’s shown me.”

So now?He didn’t have to worry about your sorry-ass ex-boyfriend anymore.

He had to worry about how many guys were slumming it in your DMs.

Great.

This was the issue that had taken over Katsuki’s mind. Doing chores, he wondered what to say to you. When he saw his friends, he asked them if there were any updates on you. When he lay awake at night, he contemplated what could come from a bold message to you. Even now, at the gym, mid-workout, getting himself situated at the pull-up bar, he was still thinking about it. About you.

And then a familiar voice cracked through his headphones.

“Oh my gosh, Bakugou!” He shot up an eyebrow and turned around, scanning the area for the voice when he very quickly noticed a pink silhouette speeding toward him, waving happily.

“Oh-em-gee, what are you doing here? This is such a fun coincidence!” Mina waved her hands around while she spoke, making dramatic expressions and overcompensating for something she was obviously hiding.

He stared at her, deadpan, “You stupid or something? I come here at the same time every day. You know this, idiot.”

He turned back around, reaching up to start his set, but kept half an ear open. If she wanted a favor or a sparring partner, she could just say it.

“That’s so true! That’s so true,” Mina nodded frantically. “I must not have realized it when I showed up! You always work out at this time!”

She was lying. Badly.

“Why are you talking to me right now?”

Mina’s eyes widened. Then she crossed her arms and let out an over-the-top huff, pouting as she stood. “Jeez! Sorry for wanting to have a chat with my good friend at the gym! Gosh!”

“Yeah, well, if you really just wanted to chat, you wouldn’t be acting so damn weird. Do you need something from me, or are you just-”

“Girl! You left me at the stairmaster! What the fuck?!”

Another voice cut in from behind him – and Bakugou froze. Completely caught off guard.

Mina’s annoyed pout shifted into a mischievous grin as she tilted her head and waited for him to let go of the bar and turn around.

“Sorry!” she called back, chipper. “I just went to use the bathroom and you’ll never guess who I ran into!”

Bakugou dropped from the bar, already snapping his gaze back at Mina, when he saw you trailing behind her with a pissed off look…and a really flattering gym set that made him question his entire life.

“You’re fucking dead,” Bakugou said, just loud enough for Mina to hear.

She ignored his comment, stepping aside like she was presenting a prize on a game show to make some space for you.

“Ta-da!” she whispered under her breath.

You finally caught up, giving Mina a flat look before turning your attention to the guy she “ran into” – only to freeze for a half second when you realized who it was.

“Oh,” you said, catching yourself mid-step. “I didn’t know you worked out here.”

Bakugou stared at you like you’d just roundhouse kicked him in the jaw. That set? That stupidly flattering gym set? He didn’t even believe in fate, but this felt like the universe had beef with him, clearly.

“Yeah. Every day,” he replied, trying to sound normal and absolutely failing.

You blinked. “Well, that’s cool. I just started tagging along with Mina a couple of weeks ago. It’s more fun to with a friend, y’know?”

You gestured vaguely, then crossed your arms under your chest like you wanted him to break eye contact.

Mina clapped. “Ugh, this is such a great coincidence! My two good friends, in the same place, lookin’ cute and sweaty – we should work out together! Or stretch! Spot each other! I’m just brainstorming!”

Bakugou gave her a look like he was mentally setting her on fire.

You, on the other hand, were trying to suppress a laugh. “Spotting sounds fun,” you said, quirking an eyebrow. “But I already did my upper body sets. Mina said we were doing legs today?”

“She lied,” Bakugou said flatly.

You shrugged before turning to Mina, “You lied?”

Mina placed a hand over her heart, gasping dramatically, “You two are literally so rude to me. You hate me. I know it. I try to orchestrate one beautiful moment of friendship and all I get is slander.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Bakugou muttered.

You tilted your head, studying them both for a moment. “Is that why you were acting weird? You knew he’d be here?”

He didn’t answer immediately–just stared at you like he was torn between punching a wall or sprinting out of the building. Then he scratched the back of his neck and muttered, “Yes. And she’s just annoying.”

You smiled – small, but real. “Thought so.”

A beat passed. You gestured at a bench near him. “Were you planning on using that?”

He blinked. “Uh–no. You can. Or we could…I mean–” He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “Wanna finish our workouts together?”

Your brows raised slightly. Not a total surprise, but close.

“Only if you don’t wanna train alone,” he added quickly, looking away. “Not trying to invade your space or anything.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind!” you said, a little too fast. You caught yourself, smoothing it over with a calm shrug. “Yes, sure, why not?”

Mina looked at you two like she was watching her OTP become canon in real time.

But then– buzz buzz.

Your phone lit up. You glanced at the screen and sighed. “Shit. I think I have to cut this short – it’s my boss. Work thing.”

Bakugou’s jaw twitched, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

You gave him an apologetic look, gave Mina a little wave, then turned, phone already to your ear as you walked toward to exit.

Mina stared at you as you left like she’d just watched the final scene of a canceled show.

“NOOOOO,” she groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the bench. “COME BACK! MY DREAMS WERE LITERALLY COMING TRUE.”

But you were already out the door, not even looking back at the pair of them.

Bakugou sighed, picking up his water bottle from the ground and dragging a hand down his face. “You planned that whole thing, you’re not fuckin�� slick.”

“I was so close to greatness,” she groaned. “I could taste the sexual tension between you two. It was delicious. Like protein powder if it were crack.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away. “You’re actually so fucking weird. Remind me never to ask you to be my wingwoman.”

“Not true,” she grinned. “You have zero game! None! But, it’s fine– I’ll be officiating your wedding when my work here is done, thank you very much.”

Bakugou scoffed and muttered something that sounded like a threat.

Mina only beamed wider.

GC mina: just want it on record that I watched bakugou and y/n EYEFUCK each other at the gym and end the conversation like nothing happened. katsuki: that’s NOT what fucking happened kaminari: excuse me???? context. Asap. mina: [blurry chaotic photo of the two of them mid-convo.] Live footage, ur welcome all. kirishima: OHHHHH SHIT!!!!! katsuki: you’re actually psychotic. when and why the fuck did you even take that mina: doesn’t matter. You both looked hot. It’s actually a crime against humanity that the two of you didn’t start macking on the spot. kaminari: i’m dead she was right there and you still got no play??? yeah…this is going to take longer than we thought chat katsuki: she literally had to leave because of a work problem I invited her to join me and she said yes. sero: ok?? if she wants you so bad then dm her Or even easier Just request her spam mina: DUDE JUST FOLLOW HER SPAM She’s so fucking funny on there and she’s always posting HOT selfies. katsuki: Yeah, not doing that. She’s gonna think I’m a fucking creep. mina: It’s not creepy, you’re just a pussy, She posts the best shit. I literally shed a tear whenever her selfies grace my eyes kaminari: nah cuz if it were ME I would never let her walk out that gym without at least a number. katsuki: i was literally in the middle of my workout trying not to blow up the place. Can we drop this shit? sero: if u don’t dm her i’m gonna do it and ask her for lunch Or i’m gonna steal ur phone and do it on your behalf katsuki: do either of those things and we can fr square up. don’t try me. kirishima: pause. You invited her. she said yes. And you STILL don’t wanna message her….. broplease i’m losing hope REF DO SOMETHING!!!! katsuki: i swear to god i’m not in the mood She had to leave for work shit, that’s all. I wasn’t trying to make a fucking move. mina: you can all just ignore him because he’s LYING THROUGH HIS MF TEETH. Yall were both giving each other that look. I saw it. it moved my heart katsuki: bro WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT

Some days had passed since the last encounter you and Bakugou had, an event your good friend Mina was still living vicariously through.

“I just think you two look super good together,” she said, fanning her hand wet nails dramatically. “And, I promise you, there’s no harm in sending him a flirty little message. I’ll even give you his number if you want, I’d never steer you wrong.”

You laughed, glancing up from your phone as you both sat criss-cross on the floor of her dorm. She painted her nails with precision while you aimlessly scrolled.

“Okay, but I just broke up with Neito, what, two months ago?” you said. “I’m gonna look like a bop.”

Mina scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Okay, I love you, but literally no one was rooting for you two. Like, you know you were out of his league, right?”

You shrugged, flicking your thumb down your feed, “Hindsight’s 20/20.”

She clicked her tongue and leaned over, peeking at your screen. “$5 says you’re looking at his socials right now.”

You angled your phone away, “No.”

She raised a brow.

“.....Yes. Maybe. Shut up.”

She grinned smugly. “See? You like him. And he doesn’t even have any pictures posted! That’s how I know it’s serious– you’re pressed over a guy with zero selfies.”

You groaned and threw your head back against the side of her bed. “Girl– he’s hot, obviously, and we’re into each other or whatever. But he’s also like… a human grenade? He’s so intense. What if I text him and he blows up? I’m so serious, by the way.”

“You literally couldn’t be more wrong,” Mina said, chuckling as she slapped your arm lightly. “He’s one of my best friends. He only acts like that because he doesn’t talk to women. He gets all…intense. But he’s not a scary guy.”

“Yeah, maybe not to you,” you muttered, eyes flicking back to your phone. “Like, I feel like he could either kiss me or yell at me at any given moment, and I wouldn’t know which until it was happening.”

“Oh, so you’re complaining about hot sexual tension?” she teased, laughing out loud as the words left her mouth. “That man wants you. I’d show you receipts, but he’s my friend, so just trust me. He wants you and doesn’t know what the hell to do about it.”

Right then, your screen lit up with a new notification from your spam account.

Someone had just requested to follow it.

You blinked.

Bakugou Katsuki.

“Mina.”

“What?”

“He just requested my spam.”

Mina nearly dropped the nail polish. “YOU’RE LYING.”

You scrambled to accept it, hands shaking. “I didn’t even know he knew I had a spam. My name’s not even on it.”

“Bitch, I barely knew you had a spam! This man is so deep in the trenches.”

You both stared at the screen like it had asked you a riddle.

“Maybe he followed by accident?” you offered weakly, already pulling up his profile to confirm it was real. Tagged in three posts. No bio. Same profile pic.

“Don’t even start with that,” Mina said, pointing her nail file at you. “Explain how you accidentally follow a locked spam with no name on it? He is invested.”

You didn’t respond to her, refreshing your screen until anything new appeared.

Bakugou Katsuki liked your post.

You tapped it.

It was on old mirror selfie. From months ago. You were posed provocative, all confidence and angles, captioned: “like if u want me.”

Suggestive. Flirty. Bold.

You blinked. “Mina.”

“Please tell me good news, I love good news.”

“He liked a thirst trap. From November.”

“Oh my GOD!”

You grabbed her by the wrist. “That means he scrolled. Like, really scrolled. That post isn’t even recent!”

“He’s digging,” she gasped. “He wants you so bad he’s literally excavating. Katsuki Bakugou is clicking through your spam account with sweaty gym fingers, doing research. I used to pray for times like this.”

Your heart was racing, you could barely even look at your phone.

“What should I do?” you asked. “Should I post something? Should I hit him up?”

“You do nothing,” Mina said immediately, eyes wild as she shook you by the shoulders. “You should wait and let this man COOK. He’s plotting on you right now. He followed your spam and liked a single thirst trap from the archives. You don’t interrupt a man mid-plot.”

You laughed–half crazy, half sick with nerves. Your thumb hovered over your phone again. Nothing new.

Then: a message notification slid across the top of your screen

BK0420

didn’t know u looked like that off-campus.

you always post like that? or were you just hoping i’d see that one?

You screamed.

Mina screamed.

And somewhere, not far away, Bakugou put his phone face down on the bed. Heart pounding like he just ran a fifty-yard dash…and immediately regretting everything he’d ever said in his life.

#my frst fic on this acc so nervous #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #bnha fic #mha fic #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you

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sixosix · 2 years ago

Text

and his voice is a familiar sound | scaramouche

forced proximity + childhood friends reuniting, humor, kissing and tension. suggestive implications and suggestive humor, a bit of scara’s mommy issues, wc 5k

ft. a down bad jealous bf scaramouche, bffs heizou and kazuha, and aether bc aether always has to be there

“If I ask you to come with us for a vacation, would you say yes?”

Your bedroom was already too cramped for one person, with what you could afford with your money after quitting your part-time job. It made it incredibly difficult for all parties involved when you invited someone over, especially when that person had no concept of personal space. You barely looked up from the pages of your book, humming halfheartedly to whatever Heizou is saying. You heard vacation and instantly decided to not waste your time.

Heizou must have sensed these thoughts, too, because he forces himself into your field of view by nearly climbing over your lap. “Hey, look at me. Would you say yes?”

“Heizou!” you hissed, pushing him off before Heizou could wrinkle the pages of the book that’s definitely overdue for borrowing time. You started to think about taking another part-time job if your friends kept inviting themselves over and invading your personal space.

Heizou looked at you, his face doing a complicated combination of a frown and a smug grin. “Come on. You never join us on trips…”

“For good reason,” you said, gesturing to the lapful of Heizou you are currently getting bombarded with.

“You’re so mean,” Heizou laughed, thankfully getting off your lap. He refused to let go of you, however, immediately wrapping an arm over your shoulder and pressing up against your side. This must be one of his techniques to make the people he was questioning feel restricted. It was working. “How will you get yourself to settle for a nice, young man with that attitude? What are you even reading?”

“I grabbed whatever book had a pleasing cover so I can tune your nonsense out.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“What?” Heizou clapped the book shut and turned to you with the eyes of a reprimanding mother. “I swear I’m being serious. Can’t you consider it for even a minute? You’re breaking my heart. Plus, Kazuha’s the one who’s inviting us out.”

Hmm. What a compelling argument. Heizou knew that no one could ever say no to Kazuha. You wouldn’t really care if your absence would break Heizou’s heart, but Kazuha’s disappointed eyes were enough to put a god to their knees.

You zeroed in on Heizou’s wording. “Who’s ‘us’?”

Heizou started listing each with a raise of a finger. “Just Kazuha and Aether—and a friend we met recently. Kazuha invited him.”

You frowned. You didn’t know Aether visited again. “How the hell did Aether get invited?” Then, upon careful reflection: “And who’s the new friend?”

“If he was around, why not, right?” Heizou laughed, carefully setting the overdue book aside from your view. “The new friend’s Scaramouche. Have you met him before?”

What a strange name. Kazuha always managed to befriend people from all over, like a child bringing home turtles and a new species of bugs. You made a note to look him up. “Never heard of him.”

He hummed. “Said he came from Sumeru but he looked pretty Inazuman to me. Funny guy. He’s like a disgruntled baby brother.”

“And you only met him, what, recently? Why is he invited to our group already?” you asked, like the territorial person you are. How come it seemed like you were the last to know about this guy?

Aether was alright. Aether came back every few months to check up on everyone and got roped into all kinds of things with your friends, so you knew him well enough already. You liked his long braid. Heizou and Kazuha had been your friends for as long as you could remember being a college student.

Heizou grinned, patting your head. “Scaramouche’s nice, I promise. You wouldn’t even notice he’s there.”

At your dubious stare, Heizou amended, “C’mon, do you think I’m the type to befriend an asshole?”

Yes, but Heizou wasn’t the type to befriend a major asshole whose opinions he vehemently disagreed with, and he thought belonged better in jail, so you had to think about it for a bit. At the very least, this new guy didn’t seem like a criminal.

Your friends loved traveling, with Kazuha mostly being the culprit, but you liked staying inside most of the time. They never forced you to go with them, so why was Heizou being suspiciously persistent today?

“I think he’s your type,” Heizou finally said, caving in.

“You’re trying to hook me up with him?”

“Not exactly… but you two would seem cute.” He went silent for a thoughtful moment. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed if you slept together.”

You made a face.

Heizou laughed brightly. “Alright, alright. You can go back to being the good poster student you are if you promise to think about it. Seriously. Kazuha’s moving to Liyue soon—he’s probably inviting us out because of that.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, reaching around for your book.

You would. What Heizou said about Kazuha made you remember that there are only a few weeks left until this is all over—then, after that, you all might go your separate ways. That thought floated around your mind for a little while as Heizou made himself comfortable on your bed, sighing before he dozed off.

You sighed, shuffling to give him space. “If this is your way of trying to make me get laid, try to at least be subtle and not weird me out before I even meet the guy.”

You stalked Kazuha’s Insta to search up this Scaramouche guy and nearly dropped your phone.

scaramouche11206. It was empty, entirely useless for your research. Scaramouche’s profile was a public account, had zero posts, and had four people he was following. It was Kazuha, Aether, Heizou, and a Vahumana Darshan update page.

You checked the tagged posts, and your jaw dropped to the ground.

Scaramouche was Kunikuzushi.

Heizou was taking a group selfie in the image, his tongue stuck out and winking while the camera showed two other men. On the left was Kazuha, with his ever-polite smile, then on the other, with the all-black getup was what the tags said was scaramouche11206.

It was a little difficult to tell why you were enamoured with the masked face with a short hime cut for a moment, but the piercing stare to the camera couldn’t be mistaken. It was a minute of staring before it clicked. This was your Kunikuzushi.

You dialed Heizou before you could even think about it.

“What…? It’s five a.m.” He sounded like he just woke up, “What’s up?”

You swiped back to the image of Scaramouche, as if staring at it any longer would imprint each pixel to your brain and bring him to life before you. “Hey, where’s Kazuha? Tell him I’m going.”

YEARS AGO.

Summer. The cicadas rang in your ears. They chirped about as you and Kunikuzushi trudged further into the forest. Sunlight peeked through the leaves, splashing Kunikuzushi’s beautiful face in a delicate glow.

Komorebi. Shadows scattered on the ground. Kunikuzushi lifted his head and turned to you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His voice was quiet, but even with the wind and the singing cicadas, you could hear him loud and clear. You could pick out his voice from a crowd. Your heart would know where to find him.

“I like looking at you,” you said. “I like you.”

He accepted the answer and continued walking. You beamed. Usually, Kunikuzushi would scoff and bat your words away, hiding his flustered face. But he didn’t.

Longing. Kunikuzushi turned back to you, stopping in his steps. You nearly bumped onto his back. “Do you like me enough to marry me?”

Was this a marriage proposal? You tried to think of you and Kunikuzushi, walking down aisles and reciting vows, and almost laughed. But then you tried to think of anyone else. You tried to think of a life without Kunikuzushi.

You thought of Kunikuzushi with anyone else and nearly threw up in his face. “You’re the only one for me.”

“Even if I hurt you?”

You frowned. “You would never hurt me, Kuni.”

Kunikuzushi’s expression crumpled. He could never hide anything from you; he was too expressive, eyes round and lip trembling. Your heart sunk to your stomach. You reached for his hands and forced him to look at you. “Kuni, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

He looked at the ground. “I said I didn’t want to live with her anymore. I didn’t really think Mom would make Aunt Nahida take me.”

The cicadas faded. The world fell into a hush. Your grip on his hands grew weak. “What?”

Kunikuzushi didn’t have a good relationship with his mother; you knew that. They were complicated. They always fought and he grew up to loathe her. You knew that. But you didn’t think…

You breathed in deeply. It was not Kunikuzushi’s fault. It was not Ei’s—and definitely not Nahida’s fault. It was just the way things go sometimes.

You forced a laugh, hoping to ease the troubled expression on his face. “Were you proposing because you’re moving away?”

Kunikuzushi blushed. “Shut up.”

Your face softened. He was always so cute when his face was as red as the red by his eyes.

Kunikuzushi inhaled sharply, taking your hands and looking at you with a determined glint in his eyes. “If I were going to ask you out, I would do it better than anyone who would try to marry you. So don’t entertain them.”

The trip’s plan was basically swimming when you could, staying at a hotel, driving out of the hotel to eat somewhere cheaper, and it would be stretched out for a few days. All in all, it didn’t sound too bad. With the type of people you were going out with, you were expecting a lot more drinking (Kazuha) and near-death-related activities (Aether). Although Heizou said it was Kazuha’s trip, he was apparently mistaken.

“It was originally for Scaramouche and his family, but his mother had last-minute changes and couldn’t go,” Kazuha explained as he helped you fit your luggage in the trunk of Aether’s car. “Scaramouche said it would be a waste and told me to invite my friends.”

“Woo-hoo, Scaramouche’s mom!” Heizou cheered.

“When we met her, it seemed like you hated her,” Kazuha mused as Heizou climbed inside the car. You were in the passenger seat while the two were shoved in the back. It seemed that even if you moved to a bigger apartment, you’d end up suffocated by Inazuman men either way.

“Hard not to after hearing Scara’s contempt for her. I’m an empath or something.”

Aether adjusted the side mirrors. “Are we forgetting anything?”

“Where’s the Scaramouche guy?” you asked.

Heizou cast you a sly smile. “He’s already at the hotel, probably buying us other rooms.”

At least another thing about him hadn’t changed: he’s still disgustingly rich. You did some digging about the hotel, and it was the kind of place you could only dream of even looking at. You suddenly felt severely underdressed for a five-star hotel, with only sweatpants, a duffle bag, and a dream.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” Kazuha said, and weirdly enough, you caught him looking at you curiously from the sideview mirror.

“No?” Heizou crossed his arms behind his head. “I doubt Scaramouche’s the type to willingly share a room with anyone.”

Aether scoffed, laughing under his breath. “Definitely not with us.”

You looked outside to hide a smile. It seemed that your Kunikuzushi hadn’t really changed drastically. This made you feel better about meeting him again.

“What made you change your mind?” Heizou asked.

You sighed and fell into step along with him as Kazuha and Aether went on ahead. There are families crowding the lobby, draped in gold that matched the fabric of the chandeliers overhead. Their jewelry was brighter than your future. Even the floor smelled expensive.

“Scaramouche did,” you mumbled.

Heizou’s brows lifted to his hairline. “Oh?”

“I mean—I don’t know, I’m not sure yet.” You were absolutely sure, but it’d be embarrassing if he didn’t recognize you at all, and Heizou would think you were just lying. It had been years.

Heizou tilted his head. “Well, whatever it is, I’m rooting for you. And if he fucks up, I know how to pack a punch.”

You didn’t doubt it. Heizou definitely knew how to pack a punch.

The hotel was so fancy and so meant for only rich kids that you and Heizou stood out like sore thumbs by looking around. Some woman your age walked past, her chin high and her steps light. You and Heizou looked at each other, then tried to mimic the same grace as you pair sashayed towards the desk.

“What are you idiots doing?” Aether asked as you reached them.

“Fitting in, unlike you,” Heizou said.

A new voice cut in. “Took you losers long enough.”

Scaramouche turned around after speaking to the clerk, his mouth in a thin line and his stare piercing. He also stood out next to the men in polo with his fingerless gloves and gold rings. He looked like he belonged better on an Inazuman fashion magazine cover than on a hotel vacation with a bunch of losers.

Heizou beamed. “Scara!”

“Hey,” Scaramouche said, then his eyes landed on you.

It was hard to tell if there was any reaction on his face because Heizou went up to him to ruffle his hair, stealing away his attention.

“Thanks for inviting us out. I didn’t know you were the type to want to snuggle with his friends.” Heizou waggled his eyebrows as Scaramouche pushed him away with a hand to Heizou’s face.

Scaramouche wrinkled his nose. “I am not sharing a room with any of you three. You snore, Kazuha snores louder, and I would wake up to Aether’s leg on my stomach the next morning.”

“That was one time,” Aether muttered, blushing.

“How many rooms are reserved?” Kazuha asked.

Scaramouche sighed, craning his neck. He had a really nice side profile. “Still two. The other one with a king and the other with two queens. I was supposed to have the first, but you didn’t tell me you were inviting someone else. This shithole’s booked full now.”

Your gaze fluttered away as they all turned to you. You bit your lip, frowning. Did Scaramouche not recognize you? He was acting like he didn’t. He was treating you like he would any stranger. That upset you, but for the entire car ride, you were also preparing for it. It probably would’ve hurt worse if you hadn’t mentally prepared yourself.

Heizou grinned, slinging an arm over Scaramouche’s shoulder. “I suppose you have no choice but to share a bed with us.”

“No.” Scaramouche picked up his luggage and started rolling away. “Heizou, Kazuha, Aether, you share the king.”

The three men turned to you instead, surprise visible in their expressions. It was exactly because Scaramouche decided to share a room with you, whom he never acknowledged since you arrived.

You wanted to protest. If Scaramouche didn’t recognize you and opted for a choice that didn’t involve sharing a room with anyone, you’d rather sleep on the floor in Kazuha and the others’ room. But Scaramouche was already stepping inside the elevator and was holding the door for you.

You held your gaze to the floor the entire time as Scaramouche pointed at a room and told the three they would sleep there. Scaramouche flashed the card against the door of your room, then stepped inside.

“This one’s ours,” Scaramouche said. You couldn’t detect any hint of emotion.

The room was bigger than the two rooms at your apartment. It had two beds, as Scaramouche said, and a TV across. The room was cold as fuck. You shuddered, and Scaramouche remained unbothered with his layers of clothes that probably cost more than you.

As Scaramouche set his luggage on the bed closest to the window, you gathered the courage to not make this trip any more awkward.

You breathed in deeply. “I’m Y/N—”

“I haven’t forgotten.” He arched an eyebrow as he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at you. “Have you forgotten about me?”

“No, no, of course not,” you said. “I could never forget you, Kunikuzushi.”

You stiffened, thinking it was a mistake and there must’ve been a reason he was called by another name, but you took a look at him and got distracted. His face relaxed when you said his name.

I could never forget you. It was sickeningly true. You can never forget about Kunikuzushi. He was your first love. He was so cute with his wide eyes; and he was very clingy, too, which made him all the more endearing.

But looking at the present Kunikuzushi, with his intense stare and permanently bored expression, he was hot, and you started to think that maybe your type was just Kunikuzushi.

Horror settled in your stomach as Scaramouche flashed a wicked grin.

“Then you wouldn’t mind sleeping with me, would you?”

“He said what?” Heizou cackled, hitting the wall as he threw his head back, laughing.

Scaramouche meant it as sleeping in the same room, but he could have— no, should have worded it better. Scaramouche laid down on his bed right after and went on his phone as if he didn’t say anything at all. You blurted some half-baked excuse and left the room to cry about it in your friends’ room.

When Scaramouche said their room was assigned a king bed, you didn’t expect it to fit five people—and Scaramouche said he wanted it for himself? The bed was incredibly big, almost in a lonely way. You have never seen an Alaskan king bed before, but now, sitting on the edge of it, felt as if you could fit your entire apartment on it.

Kazuha was in between Heizou and Aether, their backs resting on the headboard. They were about to sleep, too, but as soon as you burst in, they settled into position and listened intently. Except Aether, kind of; he was texting his sister, who was demanding a room tour.

“I never thought he would be this bold. I mean, demanding to share a room the moment he laid his eyes on you? Wow,” Heizou said, looking terribly criminal with his expression.

“It is surprising,” Kazuha mused. “I’ve witnessed how women flock to his feet and how he bat them all off like he never saw them.”

An unpleasant feeling washed over, which was weird because why would you be upset? Of course they’d flock to him—with a face like that. He had the looks and the personality that would garner him a lot of masochistic fans if he were a character in a drama.

“Does that happen a lot?” The way you spat it out spelled exactly how upset you are.

“No need to get so jealous, now. After that display, I’m positive that he wants as much as you want him,” Heizou laughed, falling forward and resting his elbows on the mattress. He moved his chin to his palm. He looked like he was going to ask if you wanted to paint nails and curl hairs the next second.

Your face felt hot. What was this conversation? You’d much prefer painting nails than talking about this. “I don’t want him!”

Heizou arched an eyebrow. “No?”

Even Kazuha looked doubtful, which was enough of a blow.

“I’m just confused,” you insisted. “You know what happens when you’re in a room alone with an objectively attractive guy? You get confused.”

“I get it,” Aether said, setting his phone aside to share his insight. “This is your sexual awakening.”

“What? No!”

“It definitely is,” Heizou agreed. “Why else are you crying about this to us?”

There was a sense of impending doom at realizing that Heizou was brewing some horrible, horrible thoughts in that head of his. “To stop feeding into my madness!”

Heizou clicked his tongue. “How do you think he feels? His childhood best friend came back to his life looking like that—I’m surprised he hasn't eaten you right up yet.”

You didn’t know what was more horrifying: Heizou implying he thought you were hot, or him implying that he thought Scaramouche thought you were hot.

Your face must’ve looked like a constipated mix between flustered and horrified; Kazuha chimed in to tell Heizou, “You should be more careful with your words. I’ve never met anyone as possessive as Scaramouche.”

“It’s already a miracle he even remembers me. He wouldn’t get jealous. I doubt he actually wants me that way,” you sighed.

“Oh, but you want him that way?” Heizou asked.

You wanted to slap that expression off Heizou’s face. “Of course I do. He was so cute when we were little—I already liked him then. I didn’t think he’d grow up to be so…”

“Sexual awakening,” Aether said again.

“Ow,” Aether whined when you hit him square on the head.

Reluctantly, you returned to your room. Heizou, Kazuha, and Aether told you to get your shit together and face this not-sexual-awakening like a man. Kazuha didn’t say it, but you could feel that he was also thinking it. And if he ever said it out loud, you’d tell him to go fuck off to Liyue already.

Scaramouche was awake. The door clicked shut, and you faintly felt like those heroines locking themselves up in a room to hook up with someone who they didn’t think was the murderer on the front page right now.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

You tried not to let your surprise show, but Scaramouche was staring so intently that you would’ve failed miserably either way. “The other room.”

The longer you looked at him, the more you realized that Kunikuzushi felt like a fever dream. Being only a few feet away from the guy you used to be so fond of, now grown and had an air of haughtiness that would’ve been a turn-off had it been anyone else— it was doing things to you.

“Are you scared of me?”

You laughed and nearly choked on it when registering that Scaramouche was still looking. It wasn’t something like embarrassment. It was more like laughing unabashedly and then sensing that your hallway crush walked past. Maybe it was a bit of embarrassment.

“No. No, I’m not scared.” You moved to sit on your bed, eyes trained on the wall. “You didn’t tell me you were back.”

“You changed your number. You moved out.”

“Oh.” You did do that. Your apartment was very far from your home.

“And I figured you forgot about me or wanted to forget about me because of what I did to you.”

“Oh.” You wanted to say that he didn’t affect you that much. Life goes on; you meet new people and lose them every day, and all that. But Scaramouche was affecting you that much, especially when he’s only a few feet away from you, looking like he wanted you to pounce him.

Scaramouche grinned lopsidedly. “But I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

What the hell does that mean? Your heart skipped a beat. Did he figure it out? Were you that obvious with your thoughts about pouncing?

Scaramouche stood up from his bed, moving towards yours slowly. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

You tried to avoid getting too close by leaning back, but he kept drawing his face closer, bending towards you. You’re one last tilt away from him pinning you down on the bed.

“No,” you blurted before you could even think about it. It was a little difficult to think about anyone else when you were a breath away from kissing. “Why?”

Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed, electric indigo. “Do you still have a crush on me?”

“You’re asking too many questions.”

“We’re catching up. This is how it works, doesn’t it?”

No, it was definitely not how this worked. Your neck was starting to ache with this awkward angle, and he hadn’t even answered your question.

“Do you?” he repeated, hovering above you.

You gave up on the painful angle and laid flat on the bed, frowning up at him. You crossed your arms to achieve the stance of someone who will not back down easily. “How are you so sure I even had a crush on you?”

“You’re telling me I’m wrong?”

What was this? Some fucked up game of 21 questions, but Scaramouche was too high and mighty to follow the rules? You didn’t know what to say to that. You wisely decided to stay silent, glaring up at him.

You probably didn’t look intimidating at all. Scaramouche smiled, much less sharper. Almost fond as his eyes flicked down to somewhere below your nose. “Am I still the only one for you?”

Okay. You would back down easily if he kept looking at you like that.

“You didn’t hurt me, Kuni.” You sighed. “You never could.”

Scaramouche straightened, his face carefully blank. It was much harder to read him like this. You sat up, wanting to ask if it was the wrong thing to say. You couldn’t get the words out because he lunged for a kiss.

You might have gasped. You might have made some embarrassing noise while a laugh rumbled from the back of Scaramouche’s throat. But that was all thrown out the window the moment your eyes fluttered shut and you lost yourself in the sensation of his warm mouth on yours.

He pushed closer, and you were pulled back on the mattress, his arms on either side of your head. Your eyes flew open when Scaramouche nipped at your lip. As if suddenly remembering where and who you were, you forced his chest back and gaped.

“What?” He looked irritated you interrupted him.

“At least say it back!”

“You didn’t even say it,” Scaramouche said, one eyebrow raised.

“I like you, Kunikuzushi.”

Scaramouche turned red and then looked humbled that you saw it. “I still like you, too.”

You looked at him up and down. You asked, but you didn’t want to hear the answer. “And you didn’t have anyone while you were in Sumeru?”

“Of course not,” Scaramouche scoffed. “You think anyone there was worth my time? You think I’d settle for less than you?” He scowled. “How about you? Nevermind, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I’d do it better than any of them.”

You laughed, tugging him close with your arms around his neck. If anyone were to come in, they would assume the worst. Then again, maybe Scaramouche had plans to indulge in the worst.

wake up! let’s eat breakfast at the restaurant we saw yesterday!

ask scaramouche. so he can pay for us

Despite the freedom and space of lying on separate queen beds, you and Scaramouche were huddled and pressed close. And despite books in your bag, you were occupied with huddling and pressing close against Scaramouche. You were lying on his chest while he had an arm resting on your stomach.

As soon as Heizou’s texts appeared on the top banner of your screen, you looked up, and Scaramouche looked like he was going to murder someone.

“It’s a joke, probably,” you said. “They don’t see you as a wallet.”

“It’s not a joke,” Scaramouche said. “I don’t really care about that. You and Heizou close?”

“He’s the one who introduced me to Kazuha and the others.” You sat up from the comfortable position and stretched.

“So you’re close.”

“Oh, very much so.” Then you laughed at Scaramouche’s thunderous expression. “Idiot. Why are you jealous? He’s not the one I’m sharing a room with and was making out with last night.”

Scaramouche’s gaze cut down to your neck. He looked extremely pleased.

You and Scaramouche took the elevator down, holding hands throughout. You felt a little giddy. What must this look like to everyone else? They’d all assume you were out with your boyfriend. As you reached your friends, Aether had just started the car. Kazuha slipped into the passenger seat, and Heizou waved at the both of you.

Then Heizou gasped. Aether turned to you and gasped as well.

“What happened to you? You look like you were mauled by a tiger,” Aether asked, scandalized.

“If the tiger had a short hime cut and a thick wallet, maybe,” Heizou mused. You flipped him off and climbed inside the car. Heizou laughed and sat beside you.

Aether frowned. “What kind of tiger would that be?”

You groaned, burying your face in your palms and wishing that lightning would strike you down. You needed coffee. Or a beer. Maybe if you bat your eyelashes and kissed him on the lips, Scaramouche would buy you bottles of wine.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a figure forced himself in between you and Heizou. Scaramouche worked fast. He glared at Heizou and tugged you away from him.

Heizou’s eyes went wide. “What’d I do?”

“Know your place, Shikanoin,” Scaramouche said. You just wanted to at least not be half-sitting on his lap, but he was proving a point and didn’t let you budge.

Kazuha smiled. “I warned you, Heizou.”

“Damn,” Heizou said. He looked exhausted. He was the one who suggested you and Scaramouche hook up in the first place—did he not expect his intuition to be right this time? “Didn’t take you for the clingy type. Two more days of this?”

“This is not some fling,” Scaramouche hissed. “You think I don’t take this seriously?”

You smiled as your heart fluttered. Scaramouche could be so unintentionally sweet sometimes, not that you’d tell it to his face, because he would grumble and hide his face. You rather liked his face. It was pretty, and you knew that if you tugged his hood down, you’d see a bruise on his neck as well.

“Didn’t take him for a romantic as well,” Kazuha said, thoroughly entertained.

“Wait, are you actually a thing now?” Aether made a face. “What the hell happened in that room?”

Scaramouche smirked. “You sure you wanna know?”

a/n it was already so hard for me to not turn it into a heizou fic dude. That entire first part was so unnecessary i was just hopelessly infatuated. BUT ANYWAY!!1 thank you so much for reading i hope u liked it <3 if u do, leave a comment or a reblog so i can see your thoughts :DD

also, another note: on the day i wrote this fic the insta acc of scara didnt exist. so if it does by the time youve read this fic, its pure coincidence and i have nothing to do w it. or maybe i did, because i came up w the name HAHA

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin drabble #wanderer fluff #genshin impact #kunikuzushi x you

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heartsaturn · 9 months ago

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“i’m wearing tennessee orange for him” - lh43

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which, blood doesn’t run thicker than water

warnings: nothing (??), intended lowercase, set in luke’s last season at umich, awkward!luke and a bit of shy!luke, ends in a bit of a cliffhanger so i’m open for part two requests if anyone wants it

a/n: woah !!! sara actually write a fic ?!? ik ik it’s crazy. this was requested by my one and only @daniiiboo, i deeply apologize for taking five years (a few MONTHS 😓) for this to come out. i still don’t really like this fic but i like it enough to post it.

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if one thing is true, it is that ohio state hates university of michigan. the feeling is definitely mutual. the two schools have been rivals since before you can remember. all you know is that you cannot associate with someone from michigan. you were raised a buckeye, and you will stay a loyal buckeye, right?

well, being a loyal buckeye is really damn hard right now.

it is not an abnormal thing for you and your friends to go and support the sports teams at your school. most of the time, it was football games. sometimes, it was hockey games. and now hockey season is starting. the stadium buzzes with energy at the first rival game of the season. it’s the beginning of october and the beginning of fall, which you believe is one of the best times of the year. the air finally starts to become crisp after a blazing summer. it couldn’t be a better time for a hockey game. so, you and your friend decide to go to the game for the atmosphere.

just here for the atmosphere, you try to remind yourself now. you also happen to be questioning in your mind why a hockey player just tossed you a puck. a michigan hockey player. there is no way that he thought you were a michigan fan because, first of all, there is a very minimal amount of michigan fans. you’re literally at your home arena. second of all, you and all of your friends are wearing ohio state gear. who does this stupidly gorgeous wolverine think he is?

while all of your friends start squealing because of this boy’s gesture, you sit there in shock. you look at the puck that rests in your hands. you don’t snap out of your confused daze until one of your friends nudges you.

“you think he’s cute?” she asks with a small smile on her face. her words are teasing and her smile is smug.

of course, you think he’s cute. how could you not? he is tall, has curly hair that you can see peaking through his helmet, and you note the little smirk that he had on his face as he skated away from you.

“he’s not bad-looking,” you answer. you can’t stop a small smile that grows on your face as you look down at the little gift.

during the game, you and your friends find out that this boy’s number is 43 and his last name is hughes. you can’t deny that your eyes follow him almost the whole game. you try not to let them wander, you really do. upon finding out his last name and jersey number, your friends are able to find his instagram account.

“you guys are actually insane,” you say with a snicker.

“we just found your future boyfriend on instagram, so you're welcome,” one of your friends teases sassily.

the game goes on and the whole arena is filled with chants and overwhelming school spirit as ohio state finishes off the game, winning 4-3 in overtime.

this is not good for luke. his mind has gone into a spiral of what went wrong and what the team could have done better when he remembers his bold actions during warmups. the truth is, luke isn’t some cocky hotshot hockey player. he is just an awkward college student who happens to be pretty darn good at the sport he plays. luke is charming and charismatic. he knows this, mainly because he has been told by other people. he just isn’t all that confident in using these abilities quite yet.

luke can already feel the regret bubbling inside of him because of his previous actions, certain that he has zero shot with this girl. what are the chances of him even seeing her anyway? well, apparently very high because he does see her again.

you had let your friends encourage you to wait outside the locker rooms to see if you could find the boy that they so desperately want you to meet. and then they left you. they left you wandering outside the locker rooms anxiously by yourself. in their minds, it was a way to get you alone with luke. in your mind, it was downright mean. the only people who really stand outside the locker rooms are family members and girlfriends, which you are neither of. you feel out of place and you honestly hope that luke comes out of the locker room just so that you don’t have to hover awkwardly for much longer.

then, your prayers are answered because out walks the same hockey player that had so shamelessly thrown a girl on the opposing school’s team a puck earlier. only this time, the boy looks much less intimidating. he actually looks quite friendly. when he walks out of the locker room, he is talking with one of his teammates. he looks exhausted and a bit beaten up from the loss that his team just faced, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive in your eyes.

luke sees you and immediately recognizes you. he couldn’t forget such a pretty face. honestly, that is probably the only reason that he gained the confidence to toss you a puck in the first place. seeing you smiling with your friends and looking so gorgeous while doing it made luke so desperate to try and flirt with you.

now, luke is a tad stunned. he sees you and just freezes for a moment. he decides to approach you after a few seconds of you not noticing him.

“hello,” you hear a male voice say after clearing his throat. you spin around to see the captivating wolverine from earlier.

“oh, hi..” you reply softly. both of you seem too shy to speak to the other properly.

“thanks for the puck,” you speak up, now looking up at his taller frame.

“oh yeah, no problem. i’m sure you get that all the time being as stunning as you are…” luke says back. his demeanor is still very bashful. although, he can feel his confidence swell as the conversation flows on because there is no way that he is losing his chance with you.

you find his attempt at flirting a bit amusing but still sweet. his continuous attempts to impress you and try to hold the discussion with you are honestly adorable.

“not usually, and not by anyone i would want to get to know anyway. i could make an exception for you though,” you respond, a pleased smile finding its way to your features.

“do you want to get to know me while we get lunch then?” luke asks. very smooth transition, luke. very smooth indeed.

“our schools are three hours away from each other you know…” you say. your words are meant to be taken almost as a warning. not just a warning to luke but to yourself as well.

“i have a feeling i’ll be in it for the long game,” the boy simply replies with a little grin and slight shrug. his casual answer eased you a bit and let you know that he wants to make it work out if you also want to.

you have literally known this boy for a whole two minutes of your life and you are already thinking about if you could go long distance with him. i guess he really did catch your attention on the ice.

“i’m luke by the way,” he says.

“y/n,” you reply.

you don’t dare to tell your family what school luke goes to if you guys do end up making it work.

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word count: 1269

#🎀 𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬!!#heartsaturn #hockey #nhl #nhl hockey #new jersey devils #new jersey devils x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #lh43 #lh43 x reader #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #umich hockey #x reader

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knight-of-flowerss · 3 months ago

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MDNI +18!!!!

TRUCKER!CREGAN BLURB!!

MASTERLIST

Imagine,

🛻•Trucker!Cregan driving on a long empty road that stretches for miles without a single car insight when something catches his eye, a pretty little ass bursting out of some tight jean shorts as a body peeks out of the hood of a pulled over car.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan slowing down and eventually stopping at the side of the busted car. The body removes itself from the hood and turns, aware of the large shadow that came upon them, masking their skin from the sweltering sun.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who adjusts his worn jeans to hide his thick bulge before getting out of his truck after you agreed to let him help you.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who calls you darlin' as he messes about with your car (idk car stuff sorry guys 😔). He definitely doesn't miss the way your thighs squeeze together softly and your teeth catch your bottom lip.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who wipes his oil covered hands on his jeans before moving one to the small of your back as he brushes by you, not failing to press his bulge into your plump ass.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who, well, fucks you against the hood of your car when he got the chance, I mean, why wouldn't he want to see your ass rippling from his hard thrusts??

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who finally, actually fixes your car as you lay limp in the passenger seat, his cum oozing out of you.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who goes into his truck and grabs a pad and pen that he always keeps there and hurriedly jots down his number, oil smudging most of them. He stuffs it in the back pocket of your shorts, snapping the thin fabric of your thong before shutting the door and going back to his truck, driving off and just letting you collect yourself. What a gentleman, I know.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who lowkey forgets about you. He has long nights and early mornings and has to drive hours upon hours, and without a call or even as much as a text from you, you slipped his mind.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who completely forgot about you until he saw you in a dive bar almost two months later, and his only thought was 'bitch'.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who downs a few beers before walking over with a confident swagger to you. He greets you, cold but seemingly warm. Then he questions you, asks why you didn't call him, message him, anything. Was he that bad of a fuck to you?

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who quickly downs another beer after you giggle in his face, pulling out a piece of paper and showed him how most of the numbers where pretty much unreadable. Was that a six? Wait, no, an eight? Fuck, maybe it's a zero. To be honest, Cregan had a few too many to even remember his own number so he was just as confused as you.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who doesn't really apologise but you know he's sorry as he drags you to the gross toilets and sets your hips on the sink, shoving his head in between your thighs and diving (hehe see what I did there… yk… cus they're in a dive bar… ykw nvm 😔) straight in and lapping up all your sweet slick.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who has your juices dripping down his beard as he forces his lips onto yours as he ruts into you, basically ripping the sink off of the wall with the force.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who makes you repay him for eating you out earlier (yes, I'm sorry, in my head Trucker!Cregan is NOT a respectful dude 😭 I mean, bro literally left you on the side of the road, what do you expect). In his eyes, eating pussy is a chore, even though he did get hard when he tasted you, but no! no! He was just horny! (That's what he tells himself (girl just admit you love to MUNCH)).

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who grips your hair in a ponytail as he guides you up and down his cock while he drives to his next stop. Fuck your car or whoever you came with, Cregan needs to fuck your throat and he needs to do it now.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who fucks your throat as he gets close, accidentally speeding up, the truck gaining momentum before having to swerve violently as he starts to merge into the neighbouring lane, nearly crashing into a car.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who cums abruptly down your throat from the adrenaline, accidentally keeping your head trapped there, gagging on his cock as thick hot seed spurts down your throat.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who finally pulls you off his cock, having you sputter and cough, his cum dripping down your chin.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who basically just treats you as his own personal sex doll, seeing you nothing more than holes to fill whenever his balls get heavy. I mean, with the amount of times he's filled you, you're bound to get pregnant soon…

🛻•Trucker!Cregan who I might write about more with a pregnant!reader..👀 and maybe even more different reader ideas cus…🫣

Lemme know if ya'll want more!! I actually really enjoyed writing this but I do admit I was a bit lazy with it.. 😅

Please I BEG send asks and stuff about Trucker!Cregan or any other Cregan AU's I do, I wanna be y'all's fav AU Cregan writer.🙏🥲

I also feel like I've read something similar to the start of Trucker!Cregan fucking you on your car hood but I've searched everywhere and literally cannot find anything!! Also I only read on Tumblr so that's the only place it can be. If anyone finds the author, tag me in it or tell me their tag/the name of the fic so I can give creds here!!

(Also just realising I might have read a fic like this that wasn't Trucker!Cregan but a completely different character…)😅

Also, I'm working on a Cregan fic.. (I KNOW I KNOW DONT SCREAM AT ME I KNOW I HAVENT FINISHED MY THOUSANDS OF OTHER ONES BUT HEY, SUE ME!) and it’s inspired by both Twilight and @aeralux 's Lucerys Velaryon fic 'I'd rather be with you' (girl you’ve been inspiring me sm recently what) so if I ever finish writing it, maybe go give it a read?..🌚)

Dividers are made by @k1ssyoursister who has permanently left Tumblr but their beautiful dividers are still up so go ahead and support them even though they aren't on Tumblr anymore!

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

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oracleviolet93 · 4 months ago

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Time Of The Month

Summary: Logan returns home to see that you started your period.

Pairing: Worst!Logan X Fem!Reader

Authors Note: Hi guys!! This is my first time writing for Logan or anything inside X-Men/Deadpool/MCU! Plus it’s my first time writing anything involving Character/Reader so I hope I do good!

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, period talk, No use of Y/N, cuddles, Worst!Logan being domestic. Mentions of Wade and Blind Al. Pet names (Baby, Kiddo, Sweetheart, etc.) Drugs (Cocaine MENTION only), Drinking (It’s Logan come on!) Smoking (AGAIN, It’s LOGAN we’re talking about here! Lol) Age Difference (Reader is 21+)

Logan sighed as he walked into the apartment building he lived in. Another long day at the construction job that Wade got him as soon as he got settled in this universe. Nothing glamorous or anything but it was something.

When he walked up a few floors he heard loud arguing about who stole whose cocaine. Logan shook his head as he kept walking, “This is why I moved out…” He thought.

7 months ago, Logan met you when you first moved in. Something about your calmness and quietness lured him in and the two of you spent time together, getting to know one another. Logan found it amusing that you were a gamer and yet, liked to read and relax in the quiet as well.

You meanwhile eventually found out everything about Logan, how he was a mutant, a former X-Man and not from this universe, which you found fascinating. What really surprised Logan was how you accepted him after he told you what he did in his old universe.

“But you saved this one, didn’t you?” You asked him as he told you everything.

“Wade and I did but-“ Logan began to say but you cut him off.

“Logan, you proved that day that you changed, that you are an X-Man, THE X-Man, you’re a different person then when Wade first pulled you from your old universe.” You said.

“Sweetheart…” Logan sighed as he just hugged you close.

“I really don’t deserve her…” Logan thought as he was almost to his and your’s apartment, as he was getting close however something strong caught scent and he stopped for a moment. “Ah shit…” He thought as he walked again. “Time of the month.”

Soon as he walked in to your shared apartment, he saw you laid down on the couch with your Nintendo Switch and Headphones on focused on your game. “Must be locked in or whatever she calls it.” He thought as he went to the kitchen and got a mug out of the cabinet and put some milk in it and put it in the microwave for a minute or two. After he got it out, he went and got a pack of Hot Chocolate and mixed it up then went over and put it by the coffee table where you played. Then he went to your room and got changed out of his work clothes and into a wifebeater and sweatpants and walked back out and got a beer out of the fridge and sat down in the arm rest and lit up a cigar and watched you.

You were locked in as you played a round of Fortnite Festival. Since you woke up and found out you were on your period, you didn’t feel like doing anything but lay around and play on your Switch. You decided on Fortnite Festival since you needed to advance your battle pass and your favorite way to do it, other than Zero Build was by playing Festival. So that’s all you did today minus take a nap as well. Soon as the song was over, you laid back and sighed and noticed the hot chocolate.

You turned off the noise cancelling on your headphones and looked over and saw Logan. “Hey you! When did you come in?” You asked smiling at him.

“Just a few minutes ago kiddo, bad this month?” Logan asked taking a puff of his cigar.

“Yeah.” You said softly. “I didn’t even get out of my night gown today, I’m so-“ Logan cut you off there.

“Don’t apologize bub, you can’t help it.” He said gently but tiredly.

“I didn’t even make dinner yet.” You sighed.

“C’mere.” Logan smiled softly as you put down your Switch and walked over to Logan and sat on his lap then he put up the arm rest so the two of you were cuddling. “I’m not mad baby, we’ve been over this. You don’t have to worry ok?”

“I’ll try not to.” You said as Logan kissed your forehead.

“Good.” He said as he pulled you close and you wrapped an arm around his torso.

“God you feel nice right now.” You mumbled into his chest.

“You do too kiddo.” Logan smiled as he rested his face on your head for a second before taking another puff of his cigar. Normally you HATE being around people who smoke, but with Logan, you find it comforting for some reason.

“Long day?” You asked looking up at him.

“As usual, didn’t help I heard Al and Wade arguing over cocaine on the way up.” He said and you started giggling.

“How many times this week?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I don’t live with them anymore so it’s none of my business and I don’t want to know.” Logan said rolling his eyes.

“How about I Doordash something for us and we spend the night listening to music or watching a movie.” You suggested.

“I’d like that kiddo.” He smiled softly as he lifted your face up to look at him and the two of you shared a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Logan.”

#logan howlett #james logan howlett #fanfic #worst!logan howlett #worst!logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction

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hwangism143 · 7 months ago

Text

all i want for christmas

synopsis the three christmas parties minho spent loving you and the one where he finally told you.

pairing non-idol!minho x fem!reader

genre holidays, best friends to lovers, fluff, comfort, 3 + 1 format

warnings mentions of foods, fires, cheating, physical violence (jokingly), swearing, pregnancy ;) , kissing, not proofread

word count 4.3k words

now playing all i want for christmas - mariah carey

a/n wow. so. i'm back. i genuinely missed you guys so much and im so happy to write again. i felt really guilty for just disappearing but this might be my only fic for a while. im sorry if it's bad im genuinely so out of practice.

"i don't need a lot for christmas, there is just one thing i need"

zero.

Love was a dreadful, terrible thing. Minho knew firsthand.

He also knew that love could be beautiful. It existed everywhere.

It existed when Minho would feel a smile break out on his face when he would step through his door to the sound of his cats. He knew it existed in the way Chan always made sure that Seungmin had eaten and Jeongin wasn't too hard on himself. It existed in the way Hyunjin wore his emotional scars with pride and in the way Changbin's face would scrunch up adorably as soon as he saw his girlfriend.

But love must be a horrendous thing if it could someone as deserving of it as you through such excruciating pain.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

year one.

Minho always associated loving you with Christmas. It was mainly for two reasons: because you loved Christmas, and Christmas was when he realized he loved you.

Minho had become your best friend on the first day of college when you stumbled into him while looking for your batchmates after orientation. It was almost fate (despite Minho considering fate to be bullshit), the way he held onto your shoulders to make sure your face didn't hit the floor and you gave him a weak, petrified smile.

"Computer Science major?" he asked, and your quick reply in the positive laid the foundations of your unbreakable friendship.

Minho knew he loved you for a long time. But the realization of it dawned on him during your annual Christmas party when the two of you were in your second year of college.

You were absolutely fanatical about Christmas. Despite Minho's protests about your fascination being sickening, he secretly found it extremely endearing. You had confessed to him once, how your love for Christmas stemmed from the fact that you only saw your father during Christmas due to his demanding job of a military's medic.

That was the day Minho vowed to make sure nobody could ruin your Christmas.

You went all out Christmas decorations at your apartment. Your Christmas tree was huge and adorned with ornaments of various shapes, sizes and colours. Minho came early to help you and your roommate Kyujin with the Christmas baking, considering how last time the two of you tried to bake it took swatting towels and spraying water to get the smoke detector to stop.

But you were most excited to introduce your boyfriend to the rest of your friend group.

Minho wasn't happy about it, but he was happy for you. You loved the idea of romance but for some reason that Minho could not fathom, thought yourself undeserving of receiving the romantic variant of it. But your first boyfriend, whom you'd been seeing for three months, quickly changed that.

You were practically bouncing up and down on your toes as your mutual friends trailed into your tiny apartment.

"Y/N!" Jisung squealed as he barreled into your arms.

"Sungie!" you replied in equal enthusiasm.

Minho's heart melted watching you, his best friend, and Jisung, his roommate, getting along so well. In fact, sometimes he felt third wheeled by his two favorite people who wouldn't have known each other if it wasn't for him.

"Tonight," Jisung declared proudly, "I will serenade Minho with a tear-jerking rendition of 'All I Want For Christmas'."

Jisung stood on top of your couch, arms spread out proudly. He sent Minho a boisterous wink and Minho tried to hide a chuckle while rolling his eyes.

"The only tears shed will be because of Jisung's pathetic voice," grumbled Hyunjin, Jisung's best friend, already dreading the moment when he would have to drag his drunk and sappy ass back home.

Your cheeks turned pink in a poorly contained laugh while Hyunjin just gave you a shrug, only the three of you privy to Hyunjin's comment. Minho saw your face and found his own flushing, quickly blinking to make sure nobody noticed. Jisung shot Minho, you and Hyunjin an accusatory glance, but your little smirk caused him to look away in annoyance.

"I will not date you, Jisung," said Minho in an overly dramatic voice. Jisung pouted and this time, the whole room burst into laughter until Kyujin yelled a string of obscenities at him to get him off the couch.

But throughout the whole debacle, Minho's eyes only belonged to you. He couldn't help but wonder, how would you feel about dating him? These feeling had been brewing for long, even before you started dating Taehyun What's-His-Face. Minho knew he had feeling for you, but today he would realize just how deep they ran.

"You okay? Your cheeks are red man. Like, tomato red," asked the ever vigilant Chan.

"Oh, um, yeah. I'm good," replied Minho nervously, hoping that Chan didn't notice.

"Yep," said Chan, clearly unconvinced, his eyes still narrowed on Minho.

Minho did not get nervous easily. He was calm, stoic, composed. But around you, he was a ticking time bomb. You made Minho feel like a thousand dazzling fireworks had lit up in his stomach. You made him want to be spontaneous, silly and scream from the rooftops that he liked you and wanted to be with you.

You made Minho feel things he had never felt before, and it broke him everyday watching you feel those same things for someone who wasn't him.

Minho's eyes looked for yours, you slipping away sometime when he was contemplating his lost love. He finally found you, leaning against Kyujin bedroom door. Your loose sweater hung off a shoulder and pointer finger of your right hand was caught between your teeth. In your other hand was your phone which lit up when you opened.

God, you looked ethereal.

Until your eyes flickered up and down, you blinked multiple times and your brow creased while your bottom lip quivered. Minho had known you long and intimately enough that something was very, very wrong. Before you even looked up at him, your eyes conveying a silent cry, Minho was striding towards you like a man on a mission.

"Minho," you choked out, and he whisked you into Kyujin's room, giving a concerned Kyujin watching everything a tight nod as he did.

"Minho, Minho, he -" you were sobbing, gasping in wretched breaths that made it feel like a knife was twisting into his heart.

He watched you nearly terrified, rubbing your back soothingly. Minho murmured sweet nothings into your ear to get you to calm down and explain to him what had happened as his on heart raced at nearly a thousand miles per hour.

"What happened sweetheart? Y/N?" Minho asked, his voice laced with worry.

Wordlessly, you handed over your phone to him as you buried your face into his shoulder.

[7:32 PM]

taehyunnie: look y/n, i hate to do this on christmas but

taehyunnie: i have had something come up

taehyunnie: so i won't make it

[7:34 PM]

taehyunnie: quite frankly, we should break up

taehyunnie: i don't think either of us is in the right mental state to date right now.

taehyunnie: sorry.

Minho was seeing red. How could someone do something like this to you? You, who was perfect to the extent where even your imperfections were perfect? Minho was about to ask you what day you would like for him to murder Taehyun when you interrupted him.

"He's not wrong," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I was so excited to date someone that I probably got to clingy and scared him off."

"That's not true," said Minho shaking your shoulders, "That's not true, anybody would be tripping over their feet to date you."

And as Minho repeated those words to you like a chant, over and over again until you believed them as much as he did, he felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Guilt simmered in his stomach because of the thoughts he was having.

Amidst the winter chill and your broken cries, Lee Minho realized that he was hopelessly and damningly in love with you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

year two.

The second year Minho spent Christmas with you, things had changed. Minho's hair grew longer, curling at the base of his neck and you forbade him from cutting it. You had let go over your initial heartbreak from the events of the previous Christmas and for some reason, deluded yourself into thinking that you were unlovable.

The only thing that barely changed was Minho's love for you, apart from maybe how it increased in magnitude.

"You should tell her, you know. Or else you'll end up regretting it," remarked Hyunjin wisely.

The ever so observant boy was the only one who knew about Minho felt when it came to you. Even then, he didn't know the uncharted depth of how much Minho loved you. Just that he hopelessly and unequivocally did.

Minho glared at him in response, snatching a brownie from Hyunjin's hand, and began eating it as Hyunjin grumbled next to him in vain.

Minho was well aware that he was right. But he (foolishly), thought he was sparing you pain by miserably keeping his feelings to himself.

Minho hated and adored every second of loving you. He hated how stifling it was, not being able to whisper soft words of romance in your ear late at night and wake with you in his arms the next morning. But he adored how his heart picked up pace at just the sight of you and how he felt weightless at your featherlight brushes of his arm.

To put it simply, loving someone from afar was as temperamental as the oceans; the tides were hauntingly beautiful and gorgeously devastating but they were impossible to escape from.

An ugly metaphor, felt Minho, who had yet to master the art of swimming.

Minho sat on the couch, Hyunjin and Jeongin playing Mario Kart on one side of him and Chan and Kyujin engaged in an intense game of Uno on the other side of him. You were off socializing as you often did during your annual Christmas parties, but Minho knew you would come back to him.

You always did.

Minho set up shop at five in the morning that day with you. Kyujin had a Christmas dance recital that day, and you both were one set of hands down. From morning, the two of you diced, rolled and baked, dusted and decorated, troubled each other and even had a little tickling bout followed by a pillow fight (and plate of burnt snowman shaped cookies).

This was the future that Minho wanted, you by his side engaging in mundane activities with lazy, soft kisses peppered to each others lips every dya.

He watched, sick with envy, as Changbin scooped up his girlfriend Chaeyeon in his arms and start pressing kisses to her face while she squealed. Minho watched in dread and unease at all the couples around him engaged in extravagant acts of romance and subtle domesticity, dreaming of when, if ever, that would be you and him.

He was so distracted by the torrential current inside him that he hadn't noticed when Kyujin and Chan shifted their game to the kitchen island and you had sat down next him.

"Hi," you told him softly.

Minho blinked rapidly a the voice he would recognize anywhere, the one that beckoned him in his dreams and went silent in his nightmares. Behind you, Jisung and Seungmin were brazenly building a stacked tower of cookies which Minho knew would fall and create a mess unless prevented, but he chose to ignore it.

"Hey," replied Minho, turning around to drink in your entire figure.

"I'm happy I've detached from romance, Minho," you informed him as your arm brushed his, "I don't think dating's for me and..."

Your voice trailed off and you turned to look at him, look into his eyes with an oddly melancholic smile that was contradictory to your earlier statement of happiness.

"I think I'm finally healing."

And under the Christmas lights with you in your Santa hat with the tip of your nose tinted pink from the cold, Minho had never loved and lost more.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

year three.

Christmas this year was filled to the brim with nagging from your end about why Minho refused to find a girlfriend despite your self-proclaimed temporary vow of celibacy. It was also the year that Minho realized the importance of the time he had with you.

"Come on Min," you groaned at Minho as he pulled up his sleeves and start kneading the cookie dough, "You'll love Sullyoon."

No, he wanted to say, I love you.

Instead, he responded with, "If I'm off with a girl, who'll make sure Jisung, Kyujin and Hyunjin don't end up burning down the apartment?"

You just laughed and made your way from behind the counter to the dining table, where Minho was busy at work. After he was done, you took the dough, neatly rolled and cut the cookies into shape and propped them in the oven. Minho was busy setting up a Christmas movie in the living room and you sat next to him, closing your eyes and resting your head on his shoulder.

Minho would have tensed, if it weren't for how habitual he had become to these touches form you he was the recipient of after practically moving in with you.

Kyujin moved out of the apartment after she got a part time job at a dance institute about a half hour away from where you both lived. She needed the easy commute, and rent was not that difficult to pay for you due to your comfortable internship since sophomore year of college at a reputed tech company.

Minho, the only other person who was in the internship program with you, basically lived at your apartment. He had his own bed, clothes and even toothbrush at your apartment. He stayed nearly five nights in a row, going back to his actual apartment over the weekends to make sure that Jisung was alive and feeding himself more than just chicken breast.

This new development caused Minho to think that maybe, just maybe you harbored feelings for him the way he did for you. The two of you basically functioned like a live-in couple, so much so that your neighbors would mistake Minho for your boyfriend more often than not.

That's why Minho couldn't understand why you were so insistent about him meeting Sullyoon.

The party started soon after. Seungmin begrudgingly wore a Santa hat on his head and Jeongin clicked a picture of him at every possible occasion. Hyunjin and Chan introduced their girlfriends and everybody positively loved Karina and Lisa. Jisung gushed to everyone about the current guy he liked, Yeonjun, and Changbin informed his friends that on New Years, he planned to propose.

In the midst of it all sat Minho and you, arms looped around each other, both feeling love of different magnitudes.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You were dragging Minho to meet Sullyoon, evidently sitting in your room, despite his protests. You were wearing a long, billowy dress with a checkered pattern of red and white boxes that Minho teased made you look like a picnic blanket. But the truth was he loved it, he loved you and he did not love being taken to meet another woman by the one he was in love with.

"Have fun!" you grinned and shut the door behind yourself, waltzing away with immense satisfaction.

Minho let out a defeated sigh and turned around to see the fabled Seol Yoon-A, affectionately called Sullyoon. He could tell why you were gushing over her. She wore a red dress with a small bow, had pretty doe eyes and was beautiful no doubt.

But nothing in Minho's head could compare to you.

"So," Sullyoon laughed sweetly, "She threatened you to be here too, huh?"

"Yep," responded Minho curtly and in defeat.

Sullyoon got up and made his way to him, arms snaking around his shoulder and for a terrifying moment, he didn't want her to stop. Not because he enjoyed it, but maybe because this would help him get over you, you who would never love him the way he loved you.

But then the scent of Sullyoon's vanilla perfume hit Minho and it was nothing like your fragrant lilac mist. It was nothing like you.

Minho gently moved Sullyoon's arms from they were and took a step back. Sullyoon raised an eyebrow and studied him. She then snorted and sat down on the bed again.

"Ah. So you are in love with her," she said matter-of-factly.

"I-what-," Minho stuttered, unable to figure out what to say to such a statement.

Sullyoon sighed and patted the space beside her. "It's obvious you know. All men are stupid." And under her breath she added, "Thank god I also like girls. Much more mature."

Minho sat down, Sullyoon gave him a knowing look, and he told her everything. He told her about how he met you, how he realized he loved you and how he thought you might like him too. He told her about your favorite color, the way you always wore two extra rubber bands because one always seemed to break.

When he was done with it all, Sullyoon gave him a comforting pat and said, "You are in some deep shit, Minho."

"How would you know?" he scoffed.

Sullyoon shit eating grin turned sad, "Because I went through the same thing you did."

This time it was Minho's turn to survey Sullyoon, to try and understand what she went through that made her so intimately understand his situation.

"I was hopelessly in love with my best friend, but I didn't tell him for two years. When I finally did, I found out that even though he didn't completely feel the same, he was willing to give it a try. Loving him was the best year of my life. And he fell in love with me too. We were attached at the hip and I will never forgive myself for what happened."

Minho had a bad feeling that this story did not end happily. He swallowed a lump in his throat and asked, "What happened?"

Sullyoon had a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. "I held Felix as he died."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

year four.

[5:23 PM]

sullyoonie-tunes: so. today's the day, huh.

[5:24 PM]

You (Minho): today's the day.

[5:27 PM]

sullyoonie-tunes: MY BROTHER IS NO LONGER BITCHLESS

sullyoonie-tunes: not insinutating that y/n is a bitch of course

sullyoonie-tunes: YOU'RE the bitch

sullyoonie-tunes: she's an angel

sullyoonie-tunes: pls dont kill me

[5:30 PM]

You (Minho): are you done???

"Hey, who are you texting?" you asked Minho, settling down next to him on his bed.

"Ah, Sullyoon," he responded.

You smiled at him, pulling his blanket over the two of you and weaving your fingers through his hair. "When did you two become so close?"

Minho snorted, "When I got her a girlfriend." And now she's getting me one, he left unsaid.

"Oh, I adore Haewon," you smiled, setting your head on Minho's shoulder.

Minho decided that if he was ever going to confess his feelings to you, it would be during Chrismas. You loved Christmas, he loved you, and what would be more perfect than that?

Over the course of the last year, you and Minho were offered permanent jobs at the company you were interning at. Minho had officially moved in with you, and had learned to live with the fact that he could only love you from a distance, completely unaware of the turmoil you felt about your feelings towards him.

Minho had also developed a strong friendship with Sullyoon, who he truly saw as a younger sister. He helped her meet Haewon, and she helped him dissect every move you made to glean information that would support Minho's hypothesis of you maybe liking him back.

Minho had expected his love for you to pass, to ebb and flow away with the changing seasons.

Instead, it blossomed into something he would forever live with. Minho was madly in love. To him, you weren't just a love.

To him, you hung to moon, stitched the stars onto the sky and gave the cosmos every diaphanous colour it glowed with.

The doorbell rang five times in rapid succession and Minho leapt off his bed. "He's mine," he laughed, watching you struggle to get out of the cocoon you had made for yourself in his blanket.

"Well he clearly loves me more," you retorted, catching up to Minho at the door who, ever the gentleman, opened for you.

Chaeyeon smiled at you and behind her was a beaming Changbin. In his hands he held two things. A large bag in one hand and a carrier in the other. You and Minho urgently ushered the two inside and Chaeyeon placed a gift on the kitchen counter.

"Meet Seo Sun-woo," said Changbin proudly, and you and Minho gushed over Changbin and Chaeyeon's two month old son.

Ever since Chaeyeon had announced she was pregnant after her and Changbin's wedding, a sense of reality dawned upon your entire friend group. You had to grow up, become mature and fend for yourself in this world. Gone were the days when you and Minho would party hop playing beer pong. Now, you both stayed up talking about your future and you hopes, dreams and aspiraitons.

You dreamt of making a name for yourself in the tech world, starting a company that would teach disabled kids coding and give them opportunities to work for gigantic tech companies. Minho dreamt of you and with that came the silent promise of adopting your dreams as his own.

"I want kids some day," you said as you held baby Seo in your lap. This year's party was quieter, much more secluded and only had your direct close circle of friends, "with Chris and Lisa expecting twins and even Hyunjin adopting a dog for Karina, it feels like everyone is growing their family."

Minho pouted. "Am I not growing your family?"

You laughed, "Minho, you've always been home."

Minho gave you quite possibly the widest smile until he heard a tin can fall to the ground and a set of four groans erupt from your bedroom. "Look, we're practically raising Jisung, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin."

You sighed in affectionate annoyance. "In between them and SonnieDoongieDori, I think that's enough family expansion for now."

Another crash came from your room and you both shared a knowing look. You either got the situation under control, or something broke.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

"I feel dead," you moaned, falling onto the sofa after cleaning up well into the night. The party had ended with Lisa unceremoniously vomiting on the floor and everyone ushering her out and enquiring about her state of well-being.

"Let's go, I have one last present for you," Minho coaxed you out of your shell in the sofa, his own heart pounding incessantly.

"Just give it tomo-"

"I'll dump the litter box in your-"

"Fine," you groaned, "Ten minutes and then we start our Home Alone movie marathon."

Minho nodded, to anxious to argue, "Deal."

Both of you stepped out onto the balcony where the cold nipped at you. There were still couples strolling outside and children hurling snowballs at each other. Christmas lights covered virtually every apartment in sight, red and green lights glowing in tandem.

"What is it?" you asked, looking around him for maybe a box or a letter. Minho stood frozen in the anxiety of every way you could say no to him, until you nudged him back to reality.

Minho coughed. "It's not so much a thing and more of something I have to say."

"Oh."

Minho looked at the way your hair curled at the bottom, grazing the hem of your sweatpants. He looked at your jackets' cuffs, stained with chocolate when you both were lathering Nutella over a layer of cook. He looked at your face, full of beauty and kindness.

But mostly he looked at you, strong, gracious, and lover of Christmas.

Minho thought that confessing his love for you would be the hardest thing he's ever done. Instead, it came as naturally to him as snow falling on the streets of Seoul in winter.

"I love you," the confession fell from his lips. "I have loved you for four years and I will spend the rest of my life loving you if you'll let me. You understand me on a level that nobody else ever has. I love you Y/N, and I have never known anything else the way I have known that."

A song started in him that time, a scratchy beat of hopeful terror that started from his toes and came up to his heart.

"Plus, the cats won't accept anyone apart from you as their mother, and that includes Lix," he added for good measure.

You stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, and Minho felt his initial confidence wearing off. That was until you launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. Minho wrapped his arms around you, a sigh of relief escaping form his mouth.

"You don't know how long I've loved you for," you mumbled into his sweater.

And everything came to a beautiful crescendo when the nights Minho spent tossing and turning, the four years of assumed unrequited agony did not go in van because you loved him.

You loved him.

That night, Minho held you tightly in his arms underneath the blanket and was at a complete disregard of Kevin's plight in New York. He pressed kisses to every exposed surface he could find, your giggles louder than the shenanigans the character was playing on TV.

"This festival is my whole world," you told him with love brimming in his eyes.

Minho then finally told you three words that he believed summed up everything he felt towards you for the entire time he's ever known you.

"And you're mine."

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