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junghelioseok · 1 year ago

Text

miss taken.

↳ you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ fluff | smut | teacher!au | single parent!au | e2l ◇ 20.3k [1/1]

❛❛ our kids are bitter rivals and the only time we ever meet is when we’re both called to the principal’s office and whatever maybe i think you’re kind of cute but your kid’s a monster and ALSO someone keeps buying the last everything bagel at my favorite coffee shop 2 minutes before i get there in the morning and has heard about my plight and has started leaving me bragging notes about it ❜❜

notes: fic number two in the serendipity series is here at last!!! this took me like a million and a half years to finish because Real Life happened but here we finally are! also, i changed the type of bagel that the story is centered around, because i honestly didn’t come to like everything bagels until relatively recently and i will still only eat it if it’s part of a bagel sandwich because? just having cream cheese or whatever on an everything bagel feels kind of unhinged to me! but that’s neither here nor there and no one is here for my bagel opinions so! hope you enjoy the story!!! 💕

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dilf!jk, some kissing and hand stuff, ✨sexual tension✨ but nothing too terribly explicit tbh

Silence has never sounded louder.

You drum your fingers against the armrest of your chair, nails clacking against the cheap plastic. On the wall, the second hand of the clock completes yet another revolution, and you glance over when your companion sighs, plucks off her reading glasses, and sets them down on the desk beside the placard that houses her title: Principal Pamela Baker, Hybe Academy.

A woman nearing her fifties, Pam has sandy blonde hair cut into a neat bob and an enviable ability to pull off any lipstick color, no matter how bold. You’re lucky enough to call her both a friend and a mentor, and when she mutters a curse under her breath, you chuckle. “Late again,” she huffs, offering you a wry smile before leaning back in her seat and casting her gaze skyward. “Typical.”

“You know what these corporate types are like, Pam,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “They have zero regard for anyone else’s time. He was twenty minutes late to our parent-teacher conference last semester, so don’t take it personally.”

“Believe me, I know plenty of men like Jungkook Jeon,” Pam says with another sigh, this one heavier and longer than the last. “I even married one, you know. But that was before I came to my senses and divorced his ass. Best decision of my life, right after getting my tubes tied.”

“Three kids was enough for you?” you tease, and Pam snorts out a laugh.

“More than enough,” she replies. “What about you, though? Thinking of having another kid anytime soon?”

“I don’t think so… well, not anytime soon, at least. Ask me again in—”

The sound of a doorknob turning stops you in your tracks, and a moment later, the door to the office swings open with a dull click.

“Principal Baker. Miss {L/N}.” Jungkook Jeon is standing at the threshold in a wool coat the color of charcoal, the buttons of which are undone to reveal the undoubtedly designer suit underneath. His dark hair is parted neatly across his forehead, still sprinkled with lingering snowflakes from his journey here, and you bite back the urge to remark on his tardiness. Instead, you stand when your boss stands up, mustering up every ounce of professionalism you possibly can.

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, giving his hand a firm shake before gesturing to the empty chair beside you. “It’s nice to see you again. Please, take a seat.”

You incline your head in Jungkook’s direction as he lowers himself into the plastic chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor in protest as he adjusts his position. “Hello, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for finally joining us.”

If Jungkook notices the snarky inflection of your tone, he doesn’t let it show. He merely levels you with a cool gaze, blinking lazily before turning to your boss. “Excuse my tardiness,” he says, smoothing down the lapels of his black jacket and straightening his slate blue tie. “I got here as fast as I could. Where is my daughter?”

Pam gestures toward the door. “Daeun is down the hall in the library, under Mr. Kim’s supervision. I thought it best if we spoke without the children first.”

The dark-haired man hums. “What happened, Principal? You were rather vague on the phone.”

Pam nods, and you exchange looks before she turns her attention back to Jungkook. “Yes, well, as I explained on the phone, there was an incident. Daeun forcefully took her classmate’s book during the free reading period, and refused to return it when asked.”

At that, Jungkook casts you another glance. “I see. And I presume the classmate was Miss {L/N}’s daughter?”

“It was,” you confirm, taking care to keep your tone even despite the irritation simmering in your belly. “This is the second time Trixie’s been targeted by your daughter, Mr. Jeon. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his lips twisting into a displeased frown. “I'm not sure I like what you’re implying, Miss {L/N}.”

The iciness in his voice is unmistakable, but you have fifteen minutes’ worth of annoyance festering in your belly—annoyance that has amplified with every second that he made you wait. That, combined with his behavior last semester is enough to stir that annoyance into full-blown anger. He’s been short with you every time you’ve called to talk about his daughter’s progress in class, and you very nearly canceled his eight o’clock appointment to meet with you during December’s parent-teacher conferences. You remember pulling up his contact information nineteen minutes after eight, thumb hovering over the call button on your phone when he finally burst into your classroom. No preamble, and no apology. He just sat down, as if nothing was amiss, and began asking about Daeun’s grades in math.

It’s no wonder you’ve never heard so much as a word about a Mrs. Jeon. The nosy part of your brain wonders about Jungkook’s home life on occasion, and the more vindictive part relishes in the fact that he’s no doubt a single parent. Any woman would have to be a saint to put up with Jungkook Jeon, you reason, because as far as you’re concerned, he’s the devil.

The devil dressed in head-to-toe Armani, who is currently fixing you with a look that could temper steel.

“Mr. Jeon.” Pam, as always, is quick to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled over her office. “No one is implying anything here. We just want to have a frank, civil discussion about Daeun’s behavior, and see if you can think of anything that may be causing her to act out. A recent change in her life, perhaps? Something new that she hasn’t quite adjusted to yet?”

You take a deep breath, releasing it through your nose before putting your professional mask back on. “Her shift in behavior was extremely sudden,” you chime in, watching out of the corner of your eye as Pam inclines her head in agreement. “Laughing when Trixie and another classmate slipped and fell on the ice, and now this? I don’t believe for a minute that this change came out of nowhere—something must have caused it. Daeun is a smart girl, Mr. Jeon. She’s outgoing and a little rambunctious, but she’s always been kind to her classmates in the past. Today’s behavior was incredibly out of character for her.”

A beat of silence passes, as your words fade into silence. Then Jungkook shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he turns his full attention to you. “We keep talking about Daeun as if she was the only child involved in this incident, Miss {L/N}. Why don’t we talk about your daughter instead? Trixie, is it?”

And just like that, your mask begins to splinter at the edges. “Trixie was reading quietly at the table when Daeun approached her,” you reply coolly. “She didn’t instigate anything, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Jungkook huffs out a humorless chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “I think you, of all people, might be a little bit biased.”

Fury flares in your belly, hot and bright. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon,” you manage between clenched teeth. “I care about all of my students equally, and treat them as such. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, but your boss stops him before he can utter a single syllable. “I think that’s enough for today,” Pam says, rising to her feet and stepping around her desk to shake Jungkook’s hand. Even in heels, she only comes up to his chest, and you would have laughed at the height disparity if it weren’t for the rage still bubbling through your veins. “Like I said before, the girls are just down the hall with Mr. Kim. If you’ll follow me…”

Pam ushers Jungkook out of the office, chattering mindlessly about the cafeteria renovations that are underway—funded in large part by Jungkook himself, you’re certain. As much as you’ve grown to dislike the man, you know that he cares deeply about education and donates a rather large sum to your school every year. Trailing after them by a few paces, you listen as Pam points out a row of plaques hanging on the wall, honoring distinguished students and teachers alike.

The library, when you reach it, is empty save for three figures seated at one of several rectangular tables that occupy the middle of the room. Taehyung Kim, the copper-haired librarian, springs out of his seat upon your arrival, and you wave tiredly as he approaches with a warm, affable grin.

“Welcome!” Taehyung says, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses before extending a hand for Jungkook to shake. “You must be Daeun’s dad. I’m Taehyung Kim, the librarian here at Hybe.”

“Jungkook Jeon.” Then Jungkook’s gaze flits past him to where the two children are seated opposite one another. Daeun is a slender, petite girl with dark hair braided neatly down her back and round, brown eyes that are narrowed in concentration as she colors in a picture of a lion. Quietly, Jungkook strides over to his daughter, kneeling down beside her chair until he’s eye-level. “Hey, Daeun,” you hear him murmur. “What happened today, hmm?”

You, meanwhile, join your own daughter at the table, sitting down in the chair Taehyung abandoned and taking in the paper and coloring utensils scattered across the surface “Hey, jitterbug,” you murmur. “Were you nice to Mr. Kim while I was gone?”

“Tae read us a book about butterflies,” Trixie replies, shrugging her little shoulders. “He taught us about migration.”

You chuckle. “Migration, huh? That sounds interesting. You want to tell me all about it on the drive home?”

Trixie nods, her pigtails bobbing in time with the movement. Then she glances over to where Jungkook is instructing Daeun to pack up her backpack, tucking books and notebooks neatly inside while Daeun collects her crayons and puts them into a sparkly little pink case. “Are we going home now?”

“Soon, bug,” you promise. “I just have to finish up with Mr. Jeon and Principal Baker, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie says agreeably, returning to her drawing. Pam gestures for you to join her and Jungkook near the library doors, and you meet Taehyung’s gaze as you brush past where he’s pulling a few books down for a display. Good luck, he mouths, and you suppress the urge to make a face. Instead, you mouth a quick thanks back, offering Daeun a quick smile as well before joining her father and your boss at the door.

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, casting a surreptitious glance toward Daeun and Trixie before lowering her voice. “I don’t think you should ignore this behavior from your daughter. If there’s something in her home life that is making her act out, I can recommend a few counselors who would be more than happy to speak with the two of y—”

Jungkook shakes his head, a lock of dark hair coming loose from whatever gel he’s used to style it. “With all due respect, Principal Baker, I don’t appreciate my parenting abilities being called into question. I think it’s probably best if Daeun and I take our leave.”

Pam sighs. “Mr. Jeon, I don’t mean to offend. But Daeun did take a book out of Trixie’s hands.”

“And I’ll be sure to discipline her for that,” Jungkook replies. “But if this is all over a book, Principal, I think the solution is simple. I can easily buy her whatever book she needs.”

“I’m not so sure it’s about the book itself,” you point out. “Tae—I mean, Mr. Kim—has multiple copies of Charlotte’s Web available for the students.”

Jungkook hums and turns up the collar of his wool coat, pulling it snug around his throat. “Nonetheless, I think we’re done here. Daeun, we’re leaving.”

The six-year-old looks up from the book Taehyung has checked out for her and immediately runs over to grab her father’s extended hand. “Are we going home?” she asks quietly, and he nods.

“Yeah, we are, sweetheart. Come on. Say bye to your teachers.”

Obediently, Daeun waves to you and Taehyung before bidding Pam goodbye as well. Jungkook offers you a stiff nod, and Pam resignedly offers to walk the duo out. They depart together, and you watch as they disappear around the corner of the hall before turning to Taehyung with a heavy sigh. Trixie is still engrossed in her coloring, and you lower your voice as you join Taehyung where he’s begun re-shelving books from a cart of returns.

“Thank god that’s finally over,” you murmur.

Taehyung glances both ways, ensuring the coast is clear. “Yeah. That Jungkook guy is a total wang.”

///

By the time you pull out of Hybe Academy’s parking lot, rush hour has well and truly begun. Silently, you curse Jungkook’s tardiness as you merge onto the main road and almost immediately come to a complete standstill amongst the traffic. Glancing back in the rearview mirror, you take in the sight of your daughter, buckled neatly into the backseat with her face pressed against the window.

“What color are we looking for today, bug?”

“Red,” she replies, her nose scrunching against the glass. Every day, your daughter picks a color and counts the number of cars she sees in that particular shade. She’s taken to keeping a running tally on the refrigerator—working toward the answer to a research question that only she understands. Her work is accompanied by a variety of figures and diagrams as well, which she’s plastered across the remainder of the refrigerator door and are slowly encroaching on the freezer door as well. You’re pretty sure she’ll need a larger surface soon enough—the wall of the hallway leading to the bedrooms would probably suffice—but until then, you have no plans to interfere with her creativity. If anything, you sometimes wish you could see the world through a child’s eyes again—to view every new experience as an adventure, and delight in the simple things. It’s one of the many reasons you love working at Hybe, even if you do have to deal with the occasional entitled parent.

Unwillingly, your mind wanders back to Jungkook Jeon. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, even if you’re reluctant to admit it and refuse outright to say it aloud. He’s blessed with the kind of face that angels could rhapsodize about—his dark, expressive eyes set above a strong nose and an enticing mouth. His jawline is sharp as a knife, and you’re fairly certain the devil himself sculpted his thighs. Even beneath the drape of his expensive suits, you can see the definition of his musculature as clearly as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. You wonder—more often than you’d like to admit—how his workplace hasn’t deemed his suits obscene. Maybe he needs a dress code, you think to yourself, easing off the brake as the cars in front of you begin to inch forward. Baggy clothes only from this point forward. The more skin covered, the better.

“Oooh! Found one!” Trixie exclaims, tapping the glass vigorously. “And look, there’s another. It’s a darker red, though.”

You hum and nod toward the traffic up ahead, where you can glimpse the corner of a cherry red bumper. “What about that one up there? That makes three, right?”

In the mirror, you see your daughter nod. A few minutes pass, the two of you calling out when another red car is spotted, and traffic eventually eases up enough that you can continue your way home.

“So, what did Mr. Kim teach you about butterflies?” you query as you make a right turn. “Something about migration?”

Trixie nods absently, still fixated on the cars driving by in the opposite lane. “Yeah. They go south for the winter to stay warm.”

You glance at her reflection in the mirror again. “Must be nice.”

“Yeah.”

Up ahead, the light turns green. You hit the gas, debating whether to bring up Daeun or not, but your daughter speaks again before you can dwell on it any further.

“It’s weird,” Trixie says, her face still pressed against the window and her breath misting the glass. “Daeun was never mean to me before. We weren’t friends, not really. But now it feels like she’s picking on me on purpose and I don’t know why.”

Something in your chest splinters at the tone of her voice—subdued and small. She’s dragging a finger through the fogged up glass now, tracing the crooked outline of a butterfly, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again.

“We’ll figure it out together, then, jitterbug. Now, why don’t you start thinking about what you want for dinner?”

///

Mornings are always a little chaotic in your home. Trixie is sprinting around the entirety of the two-bedroom apartment looking for her favorite scrunchie, a half-eaten piece of toast clutched in one hand and her backpack swinging from the other. In the kitchen, you’re going through a mental checklist of all the places your daughter could have possibly left the accessory while sipping on your morning coffee. The mug nearly slips from your hand when your pet cat, Taco, slinks past your legs on her way to her food bowl, and you hiss out a sharp curse.

“Fuck!” Hot liquid dribbles down your knuckles. The calico cat gives you an unimpressed look, and you glance both ways to make sure Trixie is out of earshot before wagging a reprimanding finger. “Manners, Taco. You’re better than this.”

Taco merely flicks her tail and turns back to her own breakfast, rebelliously batting her water bowl with a paw before settling down to eat. Sighing, you finish the remainder of your coffee and rinse out the mug, listening as Trixie darts in and begins rummaging through the silverware drawer.

“Bug, I don’t think your scrunchie’s in there,” you remark, earning yourself a shrug in response.

“Can’t be too careful,” she says in a startlingly accurate impression of you, and you can’t decide whether to laugh out loud or roll your eyes. Coming up empty, your daughter runs off again, and you return your attention to your bag, rifling through the folders and assignments within. “Aha!” you hear in the distance, and smile. Trixie comes bounding down the hall a few seconds later with a sparkly holographic scrunchie in hand, and you obligingly help her wind it around her ponytail as she wriggles in place with excitement.

“Ready to go?” you ask once finished, and she nods eagerly. “Have all your homework?” Another nod. “What about those books you have to return to Mr. Kim at the library?”

Trixie heaves a dramatic sigh and fixes you with a look. “Yes, Mom. Can we go now?”

You chuckle and extend your hand for her to take, heaving your bag onto your opposite shoulder. “All right, all right. Let’s go.”

Locking the front door, you and Trixie take the elevator down to the ground floor of the building and exit out into the wintry air. Your car is parked on a nearby side street, and immediately, you see that the windshield is coated in a light layer of frost. Sighing inwardly, you head toward the trunk where you store the ice scraper. Trixie releases your hand when you pop open the lid, and you turn to watch as she skips her way down the sidewalk. “Sure you don’t want a ride to school?” you call.

She stops, her nose wrinkling. “It’s lame to go to school with your teacher, Mom.”

You feign offense, slapping a hand to your heart. “Oh? I’m lame now, am I?”

“Don’t take it personal,” Trixie replies, shrugging. “All adults are kinda lame.”

With that, she waves and darts the rest of the way down the sidewalk, making her way to the bus stop at the end of the block. You watch her go, waiting until she safely joins the other half-dozen kids clustered on the corner beside the stop sign, before turning back to your car and climbing into the driver’s seat.

There’s something calming about your morning commute—something about the low hum of the engine and the whir of wheels against asphalt that soothes your soul. The route downtown is a familiar one, and you navigate it with ease. A glance at the clock on the dashboard tells you that you have just enough time to grab some breakfast, and at the next intersection, you opt to turn left instead of right. Three minutes later, you’re pulling up to your favorite coffee shop in the city, snagging one of the few remaining parking spaces on the street and braving the chill one more time as you head for the brightly painted front door beneath the cheery sign that reads, Bean There, Done That!.

The smell of warm cinnamon and vanilla washes over you as soon as you step inside the coffee shop. There’s a relatively short line, and you pull out your phone as you join it, scrolling through news articles and notifications until you reach the counter. “Good morning, Bonnie,” you greet the middle-aged woman working the cash register, before waving at the man who’s already brewing a fresh espresso in the corner. “Morning, Jin.”

“Hiya, {Name},” Jin replies. As the owner of the shop and a dear friend of yours, he knows your usual order like the back of his hand. “Got your coffee going right now.”

Bonnie smiles at you, nodding as Jin plops your finished drink down and joins her at the counter. “Morning, hun. You’re too late again, I’m afraid. Can I get you something else?”

You glance over at the glass display case where all the baked goods are housed, disappointment sinking into your stomach when you see the empty row in the bagel section. “No cinnamon streusel? Again?”

“Some guy beat you to the last one,” Jin answers as Bonnie rings up your coffee and slides it across the counter into your waiting hands. “Same one as last week, actually. He comes here pretty regularly.”

Your eyes narrow. “You mean the same jerk has taken my bagel three times now? How is it that I haven’t run into him yet?”

“I dunno—dude’s an early riser, I guess. You missed him by about ten minutes this time, but sometimes he’s in here even earlier than that.” Jin shrugs and jabs a thumb toward the back where you can just barely see the kitchen through a small window. “We’ve got more bagels going right now though, if you can wait five minutes.”

The time on your phone’s screen tells you that you cannot. “Sorry,” you tell him. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for school.” Turning, you nod at Bonnie and drop a few bills into the tip jar. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Jin pats down his apron pockets and fishes out a crumpled napkin from within. “I almost forgot. The guy—he left a note.”

“He left… what?” You frown. “Why?”

Awkwardly, Jin clears his throat. “I, uh, may have let it slip that he kept beating you to the last cinnamon streusel bagel on Friday. And then he asked if he could leave you a note, so….” Uncrumpling the napkin, he extends it toward you. “Here.”

You can’t help it—curiosity roots in your belly and winds its way to your fingers as you carefully accept the note and smooth it out on the countertop.

Better luck next time ;)

“That prick.”

Jin winces. “Yeah, I know. I mean, he does always leave a twenty in the tip jar, but yeah, totally. I’m with you. Guy’s a wang.”

You’re barely listening. Scowling, you fumble for the pen in your purse, taking the napkin that Bonnie wordlessly hands you and scribbling out your own note so fiercely you nearly rip through the papery material.

Game on, mister.

///

The rest of the week seems to drag by, until Friday arrives at long last and shepherds with it stormy gray clouds on the horizon. You’re already feeling rather grumpy—no doubt thanks in part to the collection of snarky napkin notes you’ve accumulated over the past few days—and the sun’s absence only serves to exacerbate your foul mood. Even worse, you had an unfortunate run-in with one Mr. Jungkook Jeon yesterday, meeting with him in the principal’s office following an incident where Daeun took and hid Trixie’s favorite holographic scrunchie. Thankfully, it was recovered quickly, but even now the mere thought of Jungkook Jeon’s stupid, condescending face is enough to tank your mood. Scowling, you lock your car and head in the direction of Bean There, Done That!, carefully eyeing every person who exits in an effort to discern whether they might have purchased a cinnamon streusel bagel and hoping that none of them have snagged the last.

You’re running a full forty-five minutes early today—all in an attempt to beat the damned bagel thief. Half an hour hadn’t been enough—you found that out the hard way yesterday, when Bonnie had greeted you with an apologetic smile and Jin had wordlessly doubled the usual shot of espresso in your coffee without charge. Looking back, your initial attempts to be a mere fifteen minutes earlier were feeble at worst and laughable at best. But today, you think, today will be different.

The bell over the door jingles pleasantly when you step inside the coffee shop, and you immediately deflate when Jin catches your eye and shakes his head. He’s there to greet you when you finally reach the front of the line, and you sigh as you accept the folded napkin he hands over. “He beat me? Again? Does this guy not sleep?”

“He was super early today,” Jin replies with a shrug. Groaning, you unfold the note and smooth it out on the counter, sucking in a breath when you read the words scrawled there.

What’s that saying again? Something about the early bird always getting the worm? ;)

“That fucking asshole,” you grit out. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Testy,” Jin says, clicking his tongue. “What’s got your panties in a bunch today?”

You sigh. “School stuff, mostly. I had to meet with the father of one of my students yesterday, and he’s a real piece of work. And then I was up late grading homework.”

“You could always assign less,” Jin offers up unhelpfully, which earns him a snort and an eye-roll from you. Relenting, he instead begins pouring your coffee, chattering on as the hot liquid splashes into your cup. “So, about this guy’s impending doom. How exactly do you plan on murdering a man when you don’t even know what he looks like?”

“Stop being logical,” you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Just then, the coffee shop door flies open, letting in a gust of chilly wind. You turn to see Bonnie bustling inside, wearing a bright pink woolen hat and ushering along her eleven-year old son, Caleb. “Hi, hun,” she greets you, her nose scrunching when she sees your frown. “I take it you still haven’t found your mystery bagel man?”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t think I can get DNA off of his notes, so no. I have no idea who this guy is, which means I have no way of tracking him down and giving him a piece of my mind.”

Bonnie tuts sympathetically and pats your arm. “Sorry, hun.” Giving your elbow an affectionate squeeze, she slips past the counter and into the back room to grab her paycheck. Jin finishes up with your drink, and you thank him as you take a long sip. Then you turn to Bonnie’s son, who’s taken a seat in a nearby booth and is doodling on a piece of scrap paper.

“Hey, Caleb. How’s it going?”

The boy, normally quite talkative, just shrugs. Taken aback, you decide not to press the issue and instead turn back to Jin, who’s wiping down the espresso machine and whistling something that sounds vaguely like “Never Gonna Give You Up” under his breath. Bonnie returns then, and you give her a quizzical glance as she pours herself a to-go cup of coffee and adds two generous pumps of caramel syrup. Is something up with Caleb? you mouth, and watch as confusion flits across her face before realization dawns.

“Don’t worry about him,” she whispers, approaching you so you can hear. “He’s just a little bummed from yesterday. Misspelled ‘serendipity’ in the school spelling bee, and it cost him the win in the end.”

You wince. “Ouch. That hurts.”

“Yeah, that sucks real hard,” Jin chimes in from his spot at the espresso machine. “Little guy didn’t even try to steal a cookie from the display like he normally does.”

Bonnie chuckles. “I’ll grab a couple to-go, then—a double chocolate and a snickerdoodle, if you please. But then we’ve really got to head out. School starts in twenty.”

At the reminder, you pull out your phone and glance at the time. “Yeah, I need to leave soon too. Give my best to Caleb, okay? There’s always next year’s spelling bee.” Turning to Jin, you hand over your credit card to pay for the coffee before grabbing a pen and a napkin. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what you want to write, and then another few to scrawl out the note:

Don’t forget, the tortoise always beats the hare in the end.

Straightening up, you hand the napkin over to Jin, who accepts it wordlessly and tucks it into his pocket. And once he’s handed your card back to you, you wave goodbye to both Jin and Bonnie before heading out.

It’s typically a five-minute drive to Hybe Academy from the coffee shop, but this morning, it takes you almost ten. Every red light in the city has seemingly teamed up in order to make you late, and you make it through the door of your classroom with mere minutes to spare. Thankfully, the first bell hasn’t rung yet, and to your surprise, Taehyung is still lounging in your desk chair when you enter the room. The two of you have a longstanding tradition of having breakfast together in the mornings—even if breakfast just turns out to be two extra-large cups of coffee with anywhere between zero and four shots of espresso added in. Taehyung occasionally brings in some of his kitchen experiments as well, and you’ve had to politely decline his offer to share on more than one occasion.

“Hey, there you are!” Taehyung grins and props his feet up onto your desk, crossing one leg over the other. “I was just about to leave.”

“Really? It looks like you’ve made yourself pretty comfortable,” you reply, dropping your bag onto the floor and collapsing into the chair he’s pulled up beside him. “Must be nice, not having to worry about being on time for first period.”

Taehyung nestles deeper into the back of your chair and lets his eyes drift shut. “Sure is.”

You snort and take a sip of your coffee. “Jerk.”

“I’m rubber, you’re glue,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes remaining staunchly shut.

Shaking your head, you instead direct your attention to the tupperware container that’s sitting on the desk in front of your friend. You can see what looks like some kind of pastry inside, and prod curiously at it before poking Taehyung in the shoulder. “So, what’s this? Don’t tell me you tried to make croque monsieurs again.”

“Excuse you, those weren’t even that bad,” he defends, his eyes flying open. “And no, I didn’t. I made quiche this time.”

“Right,” you say suspiciously. “And what’s in it?”

“Bacon, cheese, onions,” Taehyung lists with a shrug. “Oh, and a few baby carrots I had on hand. I didn’t really know what else to do with them.”

It’s far from the strangest combination your friend has come up with—a sentiment you voice aloud as you pry open the edge of the container and accept the fork he hands over. “This feels shockingly normal.” Cautiously, you dig into an edge and bring it to eye level so you can examine the filling. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m going to start force feeding you if you don’t stop teasing,” Taehyung threatens, grabbing a fork for himself and helping himself to a generous bite. “Seriously, give it a try—I promise it’s good. I didn’t even drop any eggshells in it this time.”

Laughing, you bring the quiche to your mouth. The pastry is flaky and the filling is smooth, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the harmonious balance of seasonings that you taste. Taehyung watches in satisfaction as you go in for a bigger piece, and pushes the tupperware closer when you nearly drop it.

“Told you it was good,” he says smugly, and you can only nod your agreement and raise your coffee in silent commendation.

The two of you eat in silence for a few moments—until you remember the napkin shoved in your pocket and pull it out with a grimace. You’ve ranted to Taehyung about your new nemesis on more than one occasion by this point, and he doesn’t even blink as he flattens out the material and scans the words scrawled there. “I’ve gotta say, the guy’s got good handwriting,” he remarks, and you immediately fix him with a scowl.

“Really? You’ve got to say that?”

Taehyung holds up his hands innocently. “Just an observation,” he says. “How many of these notes do you even have now? Three?”

“Five,” you grumble. “And I’m still no closer to figuring out who he is. I don’t suppose you have access to a police database or anything, right? Some way to match this guy’s handwriting?”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” is Taehyung’s blasé reply. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do anything, even if you do figure out who he is. You’ll just keep stewing until something else comes along, so why even bother with the manhunt in the first place?”

You sniff. “I’m raising Trixie to be a strong, determined woman who can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. What kind of example would I be setting if I can’t do this one thing?”

Taehyung doesn’t even bother trying to disguise his snort of laughter. “You’re so full of shit. Jesus Christ.”

The bell rings, then—signaling that students have five minutes to make their way to their classrooms. You sigh, and Taehyung wordlessly stands up and begins gathering his tupperware back into his bag, tucking the cutlery in last and grabbing his remaining coffee as he turns toward the door.

“Catch you later,” he says at the threshold, and you wave him off before brushing a few stray crumbs off your desk. Finishing off the last of your coffee, you pull your planner from your bag and absentmindedly shove the napkin note in its place—putting away any and all thoughts of your bagel nemesis as students slowly begin filtering into your classroom. Trixie briefly catches your eye as she files in with a couple of her friends, and you smile as you rise from your seat and begin outlining the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard.

There’s no doubt that Fridays are your favorite. Friday afternoons at Hybe Academy are dedicated to the arts, and listening to the soft strains of music coming from the orchestra room and the various solo instruments taking lessons brings you boundless joy. You love seeing the new paintings on the walls the following Monday too, and often stay a while after school lets out on Friday to hang up the pieces produced by your own class.

But this particular Friday—it isn’t going as planned at all.

You’re beginning to think that this morning’s strike from your bagel thief was an omen. Up until two hours ago, it’s just been the usual inconveniences and minor drawbacks—a misplaced pencil here, or a spilled bit of juice there. But now, halfway through the schoolday, you feel like you’re drowning. Your stomach is growling and your hair is in disarray, and it’s all thanks to the fact that you currently have twice the amount of students you normally do occupying your classroom—all of whom are seemingly intent on covering every available surface with splatters of paint.

You can’t blame Miss Kumar, of course. Family emergencies are just that—emergencies. They can’t be predicted or controlled, and when she was called at lunchtime with unexpected news, you understood that she had to leave immediately. In an unfortunate turn of events, none of the Academy’s usual substitute teachers were available, and you soon found yourself haplessly watching on as her first-graders filed into your room with chairs in tow, taking up residence two to a desk alongside your own students.

And even though you’re doing your absolute best to maintain some semblance of order, you know you’ve lost when one of Miss Kumar’s students—Nicholas, you think his name is—upends a little plastic canister of paint onto his desk and splats both hands into it. Blue paint goes flying in every direction, and as he giggles, the other children quickly begin to follow his lead.

“Guys, no, wait—” you try to say, but it’s too late. A fully fledged paint fight has broken out, and you watch in horror as Daeun flings a dollop of yellow paint straight onto Trixie’s Hercules shirt.

If there’s a bright spot in all of this, it’s that Principal Pam Baker works fast. You’d called her mere minutes into the fight breaking out, and she’d done her part by calling the parents of the students you’d named as instigators of the fight. Those who could came in right away, and once you managed to settle everyone down, you brought their kids down to Pam’s office so that she could have a group meeting with both the parents and students alike. The remaining children you took to the library to be watched by Taehyung while you cleaned up your classroom. It’s an absolute disaster zone, and you’ve only just begun spraying down the first desk when the door flies open.

“Most of the children are at the library,” you say without turning around, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of red paint on the corner of the desk with a wet wipe. “If you’re looking for your child, you’d best head over there.”

“Actually, I’m here to speak to you,” a familiar voice says, and dread pools in your stomach as you turn and find yourself face-to-face with none other than Jungkook Jeon, his dark eyes unreadable. On his wrist, just barely concealed beneath the sleeve of his charcoal overcoat, you can see his expensive silver watch glinting in the fluorescent light.

“Mr. Jeon,” you manage once you’ve found your voice again. “How can I help you?”

For a few long seconds, Jungkook remains silent. He steps over the threshold and into your classroom, taking in the paint-splattered walls and the chairs scattered haphazardly about. Then his gaze settles on you, his nose wrinkling slightly as he speaks again.

“It smells in here.”

“It’s the paint,” you answer shortly, stepping over an upended cup of brushes and making your way to the window. Fumbling with the lock, you struggle for a few seconds before finally managing to heave it open, letting in a welcome gust of cool wintry air.

Jungkook watches all of this in silence. Then he hums, faint amusement lacing his voice. “I see that.”

Irritation blooms in your belly at his blasé tone. “What did you want to talk about, Mr. Jeon? If you’re looking for Daeun, I’m afraid she’s down the hall in Principal Baker’s office.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Jungkook takes a step forward, the heels of his sleek black oxfords clicking against the tiled floor. “This is the second time you’ve lost control of your classroom, I believe. And tell me, Miss {L/N}, why has my daughter been sent to the principal’s office two days in a row, now?”

You glance up from where you’ve begun wiping at a spot of hot pink paint on the windowsill. “With all due respect, Mr. Jeon, I think that’s a question that only Daeun can answer.”

“Daeun.” There’s outright laughter in Jungkook’s voice now—but it’s the humorless sort that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “Right, of course. The blame is always on my daughter, isn’t it? Never any of the others. Never your own.”

For a moment, you can only stare at him. Then, without even fully realizing what you’re doing, you begin walking forward. First one step, and then another—until the tips of your sensible block heels are mere inches from the tips of his oxfords. Emotion is building steadily in your chest—a cocktail of exhaustion and anger topped off with the day’s frustrations—and all of it comes flooding out as you raise your chin and look Jungkook Jeon square in the eye.

“Unlike you, I saw what happened today, Mr. Jeon. Several students were responsible for instigating and perpetuating this fight, and unfortunately, Daeun was one of them. I don’t appreciate you implying that I favor any of my students over others, and I certainly don’t appreciate you questioning my ability as a teacher.” Your chest heaves as you pause to take a breath. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon. Maybe you don’t think so, but I am. I’ve been teaching for nearly a decade, and I’ve spent almost every day with these children for the past year. You don’t get to come in here and disrespect me in my own classroom. I don’t care how much money you give to this school. I’m not beholden to you or your money, and I’ll thank you to not come in here with unnecessary attitude and finger-pointing.”

Your blood is rushing in your ears by the time your speech comes to an end. Jungkook is silent, staring down his nose at you for three long seconds before he deliberately raises a dark eyebrow. “Are you finished?” he asks.

You shiver as his hot breath fans against your cheeks. “No.” And then, in a surge of stupid, adrenaline-fueled bravery, you add, “I kind of want to cuss you out, to be honest.”

The other eyebrow rises to join the first, as a huff of wry laughter escapes his lips. “Oh?”

You deflate slightly, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. It shouldn’t be so easy for a parent to get a rise out of you, but Jungkook seems to do it so easily—and so often. “I’m not going to,” you murmur.

“No?” Jungkook’s gaze darts down to your lips, then up to your eyes, and then down to your lips again. “That’s rather disappointing.”

Unwittingly, you’ve drifted even closer to him since you first started talking. You can see each fleck of amber in his irises, and could probably count each of his individual eyelashes if you so cared. This close to him, you can see that one of his eyebrows is pierced—his dark hair brushed back just enough to reveal the silvery metal embedded in his skin. You don’t pull away though, and neither does he. If anything, he seems to be willing you closer—his lips parting and his tongue darting out to moisten them.

And then he blinks, and you pull back as if burned. “If… if that’s all, I should really get back to cleaning up,” you stammer, hating the wobble in your voice as you return to your desk and grab a fresh wet wipe. “Principal Baker’s office is down the hall on the left.”

“I remember. I was there yesterday, after all.” The faint amusement has returned to his tone. Straightening his tie, he begins making his way to the exit, only to pause in the doorframe and glance at you once more over his shoulder. “Oh, and Miss {L/N}?”

You look up. “Yes?”

“You should really look in a mirror. It looks like a Smurf exploded on your face.”

///

Saturday brings with it clear blue skies and a sweet, sweet reprieve from the chaos of the week. You’d promised Trixie that you would make ratatouille together over the weekend—just like in the movie—and now you’re making good on that promise as you push a shopping cart around the grocery store with your daughter skipping happily by your side. “Ooh! We need these, right?” she exclaims, pointing at a display of zucchini, and you nod, watching as she carefully selects two and plunks them into the cart.

Together, the two of you finish up in the produce section and head for the aisles that house all the baking goods. Trixie peruses the shelves as you stock up on the essentials—flour, sugar, and a couple boxes of baking soda. Then you grab a package of chocolate chips, laughing when Trixie immediately perks up at the sound of the bag crinkling and whirls around to look at you with wide, eager eyes.

“Can we do chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

“I think you’re pushing your luck, young lady,” you tell her, but relent when she selflessly offers to bring the extras to class on Monday to share.

Ten minutes later, you’re heading toward the checkout line when you suddenly realize that you’ve forgotten something. “Tomatoes,” you say aloud, glancing down at Trixie apologetically. “Totally slipped my mind. Let’s go grab some, bug.”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but turns toward the produce section nonetheless. Faster than you can blink, she trots off, leaving you to trail after her with the shopping cart. Maneuvering around a particularly tall display of onions, you pull out your phone to check the grocery list one more time—only to be interrupted by the metallic clang of your shopping cart hitting another. Immediately, you open your mouth to apologize, but stop short when your eyes meet the owner of the other cart.

“O-oh,” you stammer, your head spinning as you try to recover your full vocabulary. “Mr. Jeon. I… I didn’t see you there.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That much I gathered.” Then he nods toward Trixie, who you can just barely see two aisles and a crate of watermelons away. “Doing some shopping, Miss {L/N}?”

You don’t respond. Your brain is in overdrive, struggling to reconcile the Jungkook standing in front of you with the one you’d seen just yesterday in your paint-splattered classroom. His dark hair isn’t parted neatly across his forehead for once—instead, it falls in soft waves around his face. Rather reluctantly, your brain acknowledges that he looks good—irritatingly so. You’ve never seen him in casual clothes before—only neatly pressed suits that cost more than your entire paycheck—and the change is jarring to say the least. His purple sweatshirt is baggy and his black joggers are just tight enough to show off the definition of his thighs, and—

—hang on, is he wearing Birkenstocks?

Trixie, thankfully, comes to the rescue as you gape at Jungkook’s feet for several seconds too long. “Is this enough?” she asks, lugging a plastic bag bulging with at least a dozen heirloom tomatoes. Still a little shellshocked, you look down at her, blinking dumbly before bursting into laughter.

“That’s plenty, bug. In fact, we probably need to put some back, unless you want tomatoes in your cookies too.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Trixie says thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Or we can make marinara and have spaghetti and meatballs tomorrow!”

Jungkook chooses that moment to huff out a laugh of his own. “Spaghetti and meatballs, huh? Great minds must think alike—Daeun suggested the exact same thing for our dinner tonight. Only thing is, we’re apparently making everything by hand, even the spaghetti. And we’ve never made pasta before, so…” He chuckles. “You can imagine how well that’ll probably go.”

You glance around the nearest visible aisles. “Daeun’s a proper little chef, I see. Is she here with you?”

The dark-haired man gestures toward the back of the grocery store. “I tasked her with grabbing some milk and eggs while I get the onions. She won’t go near them until they’re cooked, so I figured this would be most efficient.”

You grin. “Divide and conquer, huh?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook answers with a surprisingly boyish smile. You note with amusement that his front teeth are more prominent than the rest, just enough to give him the resemblance of a rabbit. Rather unfairly, it somehow manages to work in his favor when put together with the rest of him. Your cheeks warm when you register again just how handsome he truly is, and you quickly suck in a deep breath as you search around for a distraction.

You’re in luck. Daeun rounds the corner of a nearby display of cantaloupes with a wide grin, a gallon jug of milk and a carton of eggs in either hand. Her grin widens when she spots you, and you chuckle as she tries and fails to raise her jug-bearing hand to wave.

“Hi, Miss {L/N}!” she exclaims as she comes to a stop alongside Jungkook’s cart and deposits her goods inside. “What’re you doing here?”

“Dae,” Jungkook chides gently, but you laugh and wave him off.

“Hi, Daeun. I’m doing some shopping with Trixie, just like you are with your dad. Speaking of which—you probably have a lot of cooking to get to.” You return your attention to Jungkook. “I mean, I know we do. Somehow, I was talked into making two types of cookies this weekend, so we should really head out and get started.”

“Wait—hang on a second.” Jungkook speaks again, and maybe it’s your imagination but you think you hear a tinge of desperation in his tone. “I’m actually glad we ran into you today. We were going to do this on Monday but since you’re both here, Daeun has something she’d like to say to Trixie. Isn’t that right, Dae?”

Daeun’s gaze drops to where she’s scuffing her sneakered feet against the tiled linoleum floor. Jungkook reaches down, giving her an encouraging nudge, and she hesitates for a second before looking back up and glancing between you and Trixie. “I’m sorry,” she begins shyly. “I shouldn’t’ve thrown paint at you. Or taken your book.” And when Jungkook nudges her again and lifts an eyebrow, she continues again. “And… I’m sorry for laughing when you fell down on the playground. It wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t being nice. I’m really sorry, Trixie.”

There’s a beat of silence, as Daeun falls silent and looks at your daughter hopefully. You glance between the two girls, then up at Jungkook, who still has a hand on Daeun’s shoulder and seems to be holding his breath. Trixie, for her part, looks to be deep in thought, her face scrunched in contemplation as she taps a finger against her lips. Vaguely, you wonder if you should say something, but decide against it.

And then Trixie beams, toothy and bright. Daeun’s answering smile is still tentative, but it transforms into full-blown giggles when your daughter rushes forward and clasps one of her hands in both of her own. “I forgive you,” she says shortly, giving her hand a shake like a little businesswoman. You and Jungkook watch on as the two girls proceed to skip off, hand-in-hand and singing “Baby Shark”.

“Wow,” you remark, turning back to Jungkook. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. What brought that on?”

Jungkook begins to look rather sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. “I actually have a bit of a confession to make. Not to mention, I owe you a huge apology. I talked to Dae last night, and… well, you were right. She wasn’t acting out for no reason. She… she was actually jealous of Trixie."

You frown. "What?"

He nods. "Yeah. See, I got promoted at my job a while ago. Right after the holidays, I had to start working longer hours, which of course meant less time at home with her. And I guess all of that took its toll, especially since I had to stop taking her to school every morning.” He sighs. “She didn’t adjust very well to that. I tried my best to make things work, but there’s only so much I can do, you know? Eventually I had to set up a morning carpool with some of the neighbors. And I tried to ease the transition as much as I could, but…” He trails off with another sigh. “Guess I did kind of a shit job there.”

Your mind is reeling at all of this new information, but you manage to find your voice again after a few moments. “You did your best,” you tell him, resisting the sudden urge to reach out and touch his arm. “And you’re still trying. That’s all that matters, you know. You’re trying to make things better. Daeun can sense that, and believe me, it’s paying off.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, but thank you. I’m just glad that Dae has a good school and good teachers. Actually, you’ve always been her favorite, did you know that?”

You didn’t. “Really?”

“Really.”

You aren’t sure what to say after that, so you opt to look around instead. At some point—you aren’t sure when—the two of you must’ve started walking around the grocery store again because all around you are shelves full of bread and baked goods. Mindlessly, you grab a bag of everything bagels and smile when Jungkook follows your lead and drops a bag into his own cart.

A few minutes of meandering later, you find Trixie and Daeun together in the snack aisle, deep in discussion about their favorite candies. The conversation winds down as you and Jungkook approach, and you decide not to comment when Trixie not-so-surreptitiously slips a package of chocolate caramels into your shopping cart.

“We should probably get going,” you say instead, pulling out your phone and glancing at the time. “Gosh, there really aren’t enough hours in the day. You ready, bug?”

“Yep!” Trixie replies cheerily, turning to wave goodbye to Daeun and Jungkook. “Bye, Daeun! Bye, Mr. Jeon!”

“See you Monday, Trixie! You too, Miss {L/N}!” Daeun exclaims. And as you and Jungkook exchange smiles and farewells of your own, you feel lighter than you’ve felt in days, as if an invisible weight has lifted.

///

Like clockwork, Monday morning finds you at the counter of Bean There, Done That! with an apologetic Jin offering you your usual coffee in a size larger than the one you’d paid for. “Again?” you exclaim as you accept the cup and take a generous sip. “I can’t believe this. You opened like, twenty minutes ago.”

The corner of Jin’s mouth twitches. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he produces a full tray of cinnamon streusel bagels from somewhere beneath the counter, picking out the best-looking one before sliding the tray into its spot in the display. “I just wanted to see the look on your face,” he admits as he slips the bagel into a paper bag and hands it over. “These are fresh—still pretty warm, in fact. Surprised you didn’t smell them when you came in.”

“I did smell them,” you tell him, wagging a finger. “But the blueberry bagels are always kind of overpowering and this whole place tends to smell like vanilla anyway, so excuse me for taking you for your word when you said you were out.”

“You know, a simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed,” Jin sniffs. Then he gestures to the stack of napkins next to the cash register and waggles his eyebrows. “Care to leave a snarky note of your own?”

A slow grin spreads across your face as you start fishing in your purse for a pen. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

///

The rest of the day goes smoothly, and you’re pretty sure it’s all thanks to the cinnamon streusel bagel you’d had the time to truly savor this morning. You’d even bought an extra for Taehyung, who for his part contributed a tupperware full of bacon strips and a pitcher of mixed berry smoothie to your breakfast. For lunch you’d made sure to eat a healthy dose of vegetables, and as you head into the final period of the day, you feel more than ready to give a room full of children their next big assignment.

“All right, class,” you say as your students filter into the classroom and start taking their seats. “We’ve been learning about the animal kingdom for the last few weeks, and it’s finally time to put everything we’ve learned so far together. I’m going to go around and hand each of you a card. Take a look at it—you’ll either see a picture of an animal, or the name of an animal.” Grabbing the stack of cards off your desk, you begin distributing them, slowly making your way up and down the rows of desks. “Then, I want you to get up out of your seats and find the card that matches yours. If there’s a picture of a zebra on your card, you want to find the person with ‘zebra’ written on their card. And that person will be your partner for this project. Does that make sense to everyone?”

Nods and exclamations of affirmation all around. Satisfied, you hand out the last of your cards and return to your desk, gesturing for your students to stand up and find their partners. You watch as the children mill around, exclaiming happily when they find their match. Much to your satisfaction, you see that Daisy—a little girl who always has her blond hair corralled into a neat braid—and Josiah—a well-mannered boy with a different-colored polo for each day of the week—just so happen to be partners. You hadn’t planned it that way, but you’ve always gotten the feeling that there was a hint of a little crush there.

Another pleasant surprise comes in the form of Daeun, who’s plopped herself in the seat beside Trixie and is animatedly gesturing at her card. Even from your spot in the front of the classroom, you can read the big block letters that spell out “penguin” and see the corresponding line drawing on Trixie’s card. And as the girls begin to chat, it’s as if the issues of the last few months hadn’t happened at all.

Your class spends the last few hours of the school day in the library, working on their newly assigned project. You’ve set up shop at the table nearest Taehyung’s desk, which you’ve always kind of envied. Perfectly round and situated in the center of the room, it allows for a 360-degree view of the entire library if he so much as spins in his chair. “Honestly, I could get so much done if I had one of these,” you lament to him as you watch Josiah sharpen Daisy’s pencil for her out of the corner of your eye. “I’d set up the best frickin’ assembly line you ever saw.”

“You sound like a workaholic,” Taehyung replies, doing yet another lazy revolution in his seat. “Or a lunatic. Same thing, really.”

Resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him, you settle for rolling your eyes instead. The final bell of the day rings, and you shepherd your students out of the library with your friend on your heels. As the children disperse to their lockers, you trail after Trixie and Daeun, waiting for the two to say their goodbyes so you and your daughter can walk to the car together. It’s still odd seeing the two getting along so well, but you aren’t about to question it as you and Taehyung follow the girls to their lockers—which happen to be in the same section of the hallway—and then out and into the bright afternoon sun. Smiling, you listen to them chattering excitedly about the project even as Taehyung launches into a tirade about his latest rent increase.

“Seriously, I should just move at this point—it’s fucking ridiculous. I don’t even use the conference center, and the indoor pool is just a waste of space when there’s a public one that’s twice the size three blocks away. And that one even has a hot tub! Not to mention—”

You sigh, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Jeez, Tae, just move. You’ve been threatening to for over a year now, and it’s not like anyone’s forcing you to stay. You don’t even like the neighborhood, for god’s sake. I don’t know why you stuck around for that long.”

Taehyung sniffs. “Moving’s just such a hassle, you know? I really wanted to avoid it, but I guess I can’t this time around. A 22% rent increase… fucking hell. You’ll help me pack, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you’re so good at packing! And you have all that bubble wrap and the box of styrofoam peanuts hoarded in your closet—”

“Stored in my closet.”

“Whatever,” he says dismissively, waving you off. “I’m not here to debate semantics with you.”

“No, you’re here to guilt me into helping you move,” you reply. “What’s up with that, anyway? I thought you swore off of renting U-Hauls for good after last time. You were googling moving companies and getting quotes for weeks.”

“Yeah, I definitely lost that spreadsheet,” Taehyung admits. “Besides, money’s a little tight right now. Every last bit of spare change we have is going toward Jimin’s new pilates studio. We’re saving wherever and whenever we can.”

You nod in understanding at the mention of his fiancé and his new business venture. “How’s all that going, anyhow? I know Jimin’s been super busy—we haven’t been to bar trivia in weeks.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing,” Taehyung says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Starting a business is hard—who knew?”

“Who knew, indeed,” you echo. You’re about to say something else, too, but any semblance of coherence flies out of your head when you glance at the girls again and see that they’ve come to a stop. There’s a sleek black Mercedes-Benz idling at the curb, and leaning against it is none other than Jungkook Jeon—dressed in a sharp navy blue ensemble with his hair slicked back and dark sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s impossible to tell whether he’s seen you yet, and it’s all you can do to tear your gaze away before you get caught staring. Turning back instead to Taehyung, you raise a hand in farewell. “Well, it looks like this is my stop.”

“Seems that way,” your friend hums, casting a curious glance at Trixie, who’s enthusiastically greeted Jungkook with a Hi again, Mr. Jeon! and is now giggling with Daeun about how they can see their reflections in his car. “See you tomorrow. Don’t get into too much trouble!”

You roll your eyes at the flagrant wink Taehyung sends your way, surreptitiously flipping him off from behind your tote bag. Then you make your way over to your daughter, who’s still engrossed in conversation. Coming to a stop behind her, you lay a hand on her shoulder, smiling as she looks up and flashes you a big grin. “All righty. You ready to go home, jitterbug?” you ask.

Trixie juts her bottom lip out into a pout. “Can I go to Daeun’s?”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at Jungkook, who’s now scrolling through his phone. Then you return your gaze to your daughter, taking in her eager, bright eyes. “I don’t know, bug. Have you asked Mr. Jeon if you can come over?”

Daeun pipes up then, her pigtails bobbing with every word. “He says it’s okay, Miss {L/N}! Since we have a project to work on and all. He even said we can order takeout for dinner!”

Again, you look at Jungkook. His expression is unreadable behind his sunglasses, but when he feels your gaze he glances up, tucking his phone back into his pocket and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Dae’s right—I did promise the girls takeout. Sorry to catch you off guard with last-minute plans like this, Miss {L/N}. If you’d like, you’re welcome to join us as well.”

You blink. To say that the invitation has caught you off guard would be a massive understatement, and as your brain races to catch up, you suddenly realize that he’s willing to let you come to his home. You would be in his space—where he lives, eats, sleeps. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

“I—I don’t want to impose,” you finally manage after what feels like an eternity. “I’m sure you’re busy, and I have a lot of homework to grade, and…” You trail off, hesitant, and Jungkook waits a beat before chiming in.

“No imposition at all,” he says, offering you a small smile. “Honest. I’ve spent two of the last three weekends hosting sleepovers for Daeun’s friends, and I’m not convinced I remember what adult company is like anymore.” Then his smile widens—just enough to offer a glimpse of his endearingly prominent front teeth and crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Remind me?”

You aren’t sure if you’re imagining the flirtatious edge in his tone, but you push the thought to the very back of your head and straighten the hem of your blouse before grasping for the phone tucked in your bag. “I… I suppose that would be all right,” you begin hesitantly as you pretend to check for new notifications. “You’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

“None at all,” Jungkook reassures. “Here, I’ll give you my address for your GPS, but it might be easier if you just follow me. Where are you parked?”

You gesture toward the staff parking lot, which is usually separated from the main lot by a row of neatly manicured hydrangea bushes that bloom in bursts of pink and blue and purple during the spring and summer months. Right now, there are only a few sparse yellow daffodils, pushing up through the dirt and signaling that spring is not far off despite the lingering chill in the air. “I’m about three rows in. I can drive over and meet you here, if that works?”

Trixie chooses that moment to pipe up, instinctively raising her hand like she’s still in class. “Can I ride with Daeun and Mr. Jeon?”

You hesitate, glancing over at Jungkook, who shrugs as if to say fine by me. Turning your attention back to your daughter, you nod and reach down to adjust the glittery pink scrunchie in her hair. “Be good,” you order. “Don’t distract Mr. Jeon while he’s driving, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Trixie hums, already turning toward the sleek black Benz and tugging on the door handle. “See you there, Mom!”

You wave, watching as the girls climb into the backseat before turning and making your way to your own car. Unlocking the door, you slide into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath. Then, you take another. And a few moments later, you take a third.

Even as you mentally play back the events of the afternoon, you still can’t wrap your head around how it came to this. Here you are, about to drive to Jungkook Jeon’s house. You’ve seen his address in your files, and you know from the street name that he lives downtown, in the part of the city that’s dominated by high-rise buildings and five-star hotels. It’s an area that you don’t visit often, having no reason to unless there’s a particular restaurant that you’re looking to try out—and have the money for. It feels odd inputting his address into your phone’s navigation app, but you do so nonetheless, watching as it calculates the optimal route.

Steeling yourself, you start up the ignition and ease up on the brake. As you pull out of your parking space, you crane your head to see if Jungkook’s car is still where you’d last seen it, which it thankfully is. Slowly, you make your way over to where the Benz is idling, pulling up alongside him and giving him a little wave. Jungkook has donned his sunglasses again, but he lowers them when he sees you and nods in acknowledgment. Ready to go? he mouths, and you nod even though it’s a lie. You aren’t ready. You aren’t sure you ever will be. But Jungkook is already pulling ahead and out of the parking lot, and you’re forced to push aside your intrusive thoughts and follow.

The first stretch of the drive is easy. Jungkook is a measured driver, and you can tell that he’s taking care to turn only when there’s enough room for both of your vehicles. The second stretch, however, proves far more difficult. Now that you’re downtown, there’s an abundance of one-way streets and pedestrians. Traffic lights sit on seemingly every corner, alternating between red, yellow, and green at random, as far as you can tell. You nearly lose Jungkook twice on particularly short green lights, and only narrowly avoid hitting an overeager dog dragging its hapless owner into the crosswalk before the walk sign has changed.

The third time, it finally happens. Dismayed, you watch as Jungkook’s sleek black Benz cruises past a green light, just before it turns yellow for a split second and then flips to red. You’re forced to brake far faster than you’d prefer—way too fast to be safe, for sure—and watch as Jungkook disappears around the Starbucks on the next corner. Muttering out a quiet curse, you drum your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as you wait for the light to change again. Thankfully, you’re only about two minutes from your destination.

After what feels like an eternity, the light finally turns green. Releasing your foot on the brake, you take the turn that Jungkook had taken, glancing between your phone and the surrounding buildings to identify your destination. There’s a string of restaurants, a pharmacy, and a post office. You cruise past a dentist’s office and a few dry cleaners, and then your phone is directing you to turn right onto a street that boasts a long row of glass-fronted office buildings.

Two blocks later, you’re pulling up to a tall, sleek chrome building. The first floor is occupied by a seafood restaurant and the second and third seem to be a gym, but as you crane your head upward you can see that the floors above that seem to be condominiums. Letting your head fall back against the headrest, you glance down at your phone one more time, confirming that this is indeed your destination. Then you take a long, deep breath before you begin following the little blue signs that claim to lead to a parking garage beneath the building.

To your relief, the garage itself isn’t difficult to find. You take a ticket from the machine as you descend down the concrete ramp, keeping an eye out for any open spots that are designated as guest parking. Seconds pass, and then minutes. Your heart flutters nervously in your chest as you descend deeper into the parking garage, seeking a break in the rows of cars that never comes. You’re seconds away from giving up and turning around, when finally, you see an open spot. It’s a little cramped and it’s right next to a concrete pillar that’s just a little too close for comfort, but you manage to squeeze into the space. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, you turn off the ignition and tuck your keys into your purse, taking a moment to gather yourself before exiting your car and locking it behind you.

That’s when you encounter your next obstacle: figuring out how, exactly, to get out of the parking garage. You can’t find a single sign to guide your way—only a locked dark green door that you assume is some kind of mechanical room. Groaning, you spin in a full circle, taking in your concrete surroundings. Maybe if you just start walking, you’ll find a sign that will point you to the elevators. You’d even consider taking the stairs at this point, no matter how many floors down you are (you’re pretty sure it’s seven or eight).

Just then, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see Jungkook Jeon (Daeun’s Dad) emblazoned across the screen and immediately swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, obvious relief coloring his tone. “I’m sorry I lost you back there. Where are you now?”

“I’m in the parking garage below your building,” you reply, idly scuffing your foot along the concrete floor. “I’m parked pretty far down, and now I can’t seem to figure out how to get upstairs.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll admit the signage isn’t great down there. Let me see… can you see any doors?”

“Just this green one, but it’s locked.” Reaching out, you try the handle again to double-check. “Other than that, nothing.”

Another hum from the man on the other end of the line. “Okay, walk away from that door. Try and head toward the middle of the garage—that’s where the elevators are. There’s four of them, and they’re in this big concrete circle. Can you see them yet?”

“Maybe?” You can see a break in the rows of cars up ahead, and a rounded concrete wall in the distance. Speeding up, you make your way around the edge and blink as a bank of elevators comes into view. “Oh, wait—yeah! Huh. Weird. I didn’t expect the doors to be orange.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Each floor’s color-coordinated, yeah. Orange means you’re near the bottom, though. Didn’t you see the guest parking on the first floor?”

You blink. “No, I don’t think so. Did I miss something?”

That draws another chuckle from him. “Probably. There’s a row of spaces off to the right as soon as you enter the garage, but it can be pretty easy to miss if you don’t know to look for it. I should’ve given you a heads-up.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you enter the elevator and hit the button for the thirty-fourth floor. “I could’ve asked.”

Bidding him farewell and assuring that you’ll see him soon, you hang up and tuck your phone back into your pocket. The elevator ride is relatively short despite how high you’re going, and before you know it you find yourself standing in front of a navy blue door with a polished brass knocker. Raising your hand, you’re about to knock when the door flies open, revealing Daeun and Trixie standing there with identical grins.

“You’re finally here!” your daughter exclaims, bounding forward to take you by the hand and lead you inside. “Mr. Jeon said we had to wait for you to get here. He says he’s gonna give us a grand tour!”

“It’s really not as exciting as they’re making it sound.” Jungkook’s voice comes from around the corner, and the man himself steps into view a moment later. He’s taken off his jacket and removed his tie, leaving him in navy slacks and a crisp white shirt with the first few buttons undone. Your gaze lingers a little too long on this newly exposed sliver of chest, but you forcibly tear your gaze away when Trixie gives your hand a squeeze.

“Come on, Mom! You can see everything from the window. It’s like you’re on top of a mountain!”

Laughing, you follow your daughter deeper into the apartment. She points to the closet off the foyer, where you obligingly hang up your coat next to her periwinkle one. Then she leads you to the far end of the foyer, where it opens into a wide hallway. On the other side of the hall is an archway that leads to a spacious kitchen with white cabinets and polished granite countertops. You take note of the bright yellow bar stools at the kitchen island, chuckling when Daeun loudly declares that she picked them out—and that Jungkook had caved to her despite wanting boring gray ones instead.

As you continue your tour, it becomes abundantly clear that Jungkook has caved to his daughter on multiple occasions. The furniture in the living area is neutral—shades of beige and dark wood that pair well with the polished floorboards and modern floor-to-ceiling windows. But scattered throughout the space are pops of color and quirkiness that you can confidently attribute to Daeun—having graded several of the art pieces that you now see hanging on the wall and adorning the sleek glass coffee table. There’s the lopsided clay vase painted with streaks of hot pink and specks of bright yellow, and there’s the papier-mâché snowman with his jaunty orange hat. You see more and more of Daeun’s influence everywhere you look—the watercolor butterfly paintings on the wall, and the red floral accent chair that you’re sure Jungkook didn’t pick out himself.

“That’s Daddy’s room,” Daeun says, pointing to a nondescript white door beside the bookshelves that flank the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall. Then she points down the hall, past the kitchen where you can see a few more doors. “And that’s my room down there, next to Daddy’s office. Do you want to see?”

You nod. “I can’t wait. Lead the way.”

Cheerfully, Daeun gestures for you to follow after her as she skips toward the door at the very end of the hall. She opens it with a flourish, allowing all of you inside, and as soon as you step past the threshold you’re transported to a fantastical world. Daeun’s bedroom walls are painted to resemble an enchanted forest, complete with delicate fairy lights wrapped around the wooden four-poster bed. A white desk and an accompanying green chair sit in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the pale pink curtains opened to let sunlight stream in. Along the sill is a collection of stuffed animals, ranging from a tiny butterfly to an elephant that you’re pretty sure is taller than Daeun herself. Opposite the bed is a gallery wall, composed of colorful floral prints and Daeun’s own art—a charming, eclectic mix of animal paintings and landscapes. It’s the kind of bedroom that you would’ve loved as a child, and your daughter is equally taken with it if her awed expression is anything to go by.

“This is so cool!” Trixie runs to the window to peer out at the city below, before twirling in a circle to take in the art on the walls. “I can’t believe you live here. It’s like a magic forest!”

“It’s a beautiful room,” you remark, nodding your agreement. “And all of these drawings are amazing, Daeun. You’re a talented artist.”

Daeun flushes at the compliment, thanking you with a shy smile. Then she and Trixie are off again, speeding down the hallway to look at something else in the apartment. You and Jungkook trail after them slowly, until he opens another door off the hall to reveal his office. It’s smaller than Daeun’s bedroom and far more simplistic in its decor, but it’s a cozy and inviting space nonetheless. One wall is lined with mahogany bookshelves, and a polished wooden desk is pushed against the opposite. A plush burgundy armchair with a matching ottoman sits in the corner beside a tall potted plant, creating the perfect space for reading, and you can tell from the indentation in the seat cushion that it’s been well-loved over the years.

“I’ve definitely been bringing my work home too much lately,” Jungkook admits. “I’ve been cutting back though. Ever since Daeun’s behavioral problems…” He trails off. “Well, you know all about that already. And I do want to apologize for giving you a hard time. It’s just… I guess it’s not all that fun being told that you’re failing as a parent.”

“You’re not failing as a parent,” you reply, laying a hand on his arm before you can think to stop yourself. “You’re doing your best. It’s all we can do, isn’t it? Do everything we possibly can for our children?”

He nods, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking down at your hand on his arm, and you blanch inwardly as you quickly pull back and pretend to brush invisible dirt off your skirt. “We should go find the girls,” you murmur. And just like that, the tour is over.

The two of you rejoin the girls in the kitchen, where they’ve begun assembling themselves a snack of peanut butter and crackers. Jungkook slices up an apple and a banana for them to share, and they barely take the time to thank him before disappearing into Daeun’s bedroom to work on their project. You and Jungkook find yourselves alone in the kitchen, and when the silence between you has stretched on for just long enough to be awkward, you decide to speak. “So. I guess I should probably grade some homework while I’m here.”

Jungkook blinks and shakes his head a little, as if coming out of a trance. “Right, of course. I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up myself. Please, make yourself comfortable. You’re free to work in the office, if you’d like.”

Immediately, you shake your head. “Oh, no. I don’t want to intrude.”

He nods, then gestures out toward the dining table, which sits in a little nook between the main living area and kitchen. “Well then, feel free to make use of the table. Or the kitchen island. Or even the couch, if you’d prefer.” He pauses. “Wait, where are my manners? I haven’t even offered you anything to drink! Did you want anything?”

“Oh.” You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

Jungkook begins making his way to the refrigerator, regardless. “Seriously, it’s no trouble. I have coffee, tea, banana milk, and I think there’s probably a carton of apple juice in here too. What do you usually drink when you’re grading?”

“Tea,” you admit. “Any kind. I’m not picky.”

“Tea it is.” Jungkook sets about grabbing two mugs. “Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring it to you.”

For a moment, you wonder if you should ask if he needs help. But he’s already preoccupied with the kettle, his back to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his broad shoulders taper into his slim waist. In an attempt to distract yourself from gawking, you walk back out to the dining table. Pulling out a chair, you settle your bag on the floor beside you and take a seat. And by the time Jungkook comes out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, you’re already halfway through grading the first math worksheet in your pile.

“Here you go.” Jungkook places a mug by your elbow, and you glance up at him with a grateful smile.

“Thanks.” “No problem.”

To your surprise, he takes his mug to the opposite side of the table and sets it down. Then he disappears into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with his laptop in hand. You try not to stare as he sets up shop across from you, a loose lock of dark hair flopping across his forehead as he logs in and begins reading something, his dark eyes flitting across the screen. His piercing in his eyebrow glints in the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window.

Ripping your gaze away, you force yourself to focus on the homework you need to grade. And after a few minutes, you’re fully immersed, thumbing through sheet after sheet and writing down your notes.

Before you even realize it, two hours have passed. You only become aware of how late it’s getting when Jungkook shuts his laptop with a click, stretching his arms overhead and working a few kinks out of his neck. “It’s almost dinnertime,” he remarks, glancing out the window where the sun is steadily dropping closer to the horizon. “Did you have any thoughts about dinner? I can order some pizza or something.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” you begin to protest, but Daeun and Trixie choose that moment to dash in like mini tornadoes, whirling around the dining table.

“We can still order takeout for dinner, right Daddy?” Daeun gazes up at Jungkook with pleading eyes, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “And Trixie and Miss {L/N} can stay if we do, right?”

Trixie looks at you, lower lip already beginning to jut out in a pout. “Please, Mom?”

Jungkook gives you a meaningful glance across the table, and you can only shrug and relent. “Yeah, all right. Since takeout was already promised, we can stay for dinner. But we’re going home after that, okay? It’s a school night.”

The girls burst into cheers. After a brief discussion on what kind of food to order, you all settle on Jungkook’s initial suggestion of pizza. As he puts in the order, you begin tidying up the dining table, clearing it of your graded homework. Daeun points out where the plates are kept, and together, you and the girls set the table for dinner.

“Estimated delivery time is half an hour,” Jungkook says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket and joins you at the dining table. “What should we do while we wait?”

“Let’s play Candyland!” Daeun exclaims.

Trixie gasps. “I love Candyland!”

And just like that, it’s settled. The four of you settle around the coffee table for the game—you and Jungkook making yourselves comfortable on the cream-colored sectional while the girls sprawl out on the shaggy rug on the floor. The pizza arrives just as Trixie reaches Candy Castle, and Jungkook goes to answer the door while she celebrates her victory. Then, the four of you sit down for dinner.

It’s strange, sitting in Jungkook’s undoubtedly expensive apartment and eating pizza. But even more strange is how okay it all feels—natural, even. You aren’t sure when you became so comfortable in his presence, but you aren’t about to question it. You’re grateful for the lack of awkwardness.

An hour later, the last slice of pizza is finished. You volunteer to do the dishes, and Jungkook clears the table while you take up residence at the sink. You’ve tasked Trixie with gathering up her things so you can depart after you’ve finished in the kitchen, and can hear her giggling off in the distance with Daeun. “Thanks for hosting us today,” you murmur to Jungkook.

He chuckles, waving off your gratitude. “It’s no problem, seriously. I had a good time.”

You smile at him before returning to the dishes. Just as you’re putting away the last plate, the girls run back into the kitchen—Trixie with her backpack in tow.

“Can Daeun come to our house next time?” she asks, and you laugh.

“Sure, jitterbug. You’re welcome to come over whenever you’d like, Daeun.”

And with that, you and Trixie say your final goodbyes. You slip back into your shoes and grab your coats from the closet. Jungkook gives you directions for the easiest route out of the parking garage, and you thank him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

You’re barely listening to your daughter’s ramblings as you climb into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition. All you can think about is Jungkook and this strange, newfound warmth that stirs in your belly whenever he seeps into your thoughts.

///

“You wiped that part of the counter already.”

Trixie’s voice barely registers in your mind, but the washcloth in your hand slows nonetheless. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning with hardly a cloud in the sky, and Jungkook and Daeun are due to arrive any minute. You’ve been cleaning for the past hour, and even though you know you’ve already gone through the kitchen, you can’t help yourself. This is the first time Jungkook will be seeing your humble abode, and you—ostensibly—want to impress.

“Bug, can you set the table?”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but complies nonetheless. Grabbing four plates, she places them down carefully before returning for four glasses. You join her at the table with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, straightening out one of the striped blue placemats as you set it down beside the vase of flowers that serves as a centerpiece.

You’ve just started frying bacon when the doorbell rings. “Got it!” Trixie calls, darting to the door, and you listen as she enthusiastically greets your guests. A few seconds later, Jungkook rounds the corner with both girls, decked out in jeans and a gray cable-knit sweather and carrying a plain white cardboard box in his hands.

Curiously, you tilt your head. “Mysterious box you’ve got there.”

He laughs. “Hello to you too.” Then he puts the box down and pops open the lid. “I brought my favorite bagels—I hope that’s okay. Didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

You smile at him. “Of course it’s okay. I was just planning on making some toast, but bagels are way be…” You trail off as the bagels in question come into your view.

Perfectly golden, with a dusting of cinnamon sugar and streusel crumbles on top. You’d recognize them anywhere.

“{Name}?” Jungkook sounds concerned. “Are you all right?”

You blink and shake your head, mind still whirring. “Are these from that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, have you been?”

You nod. “This… this might sound crazy and I might be way off base. But do you stop there every morning for a bagel?”

Jungkook blinks. Then he blinks again, his lips parting wordlessly. A beat passes, and then another. “Wait,” he finally manages, his voice a croak. “Hang on. Is it… I mean, it can’t be… can it?”

You reach into the drawer next to the stovetop and pull out a wad of pen-stained napkins. “Did you leave me these?”

For a few seconds, it seems like Jungkook can only gape at you. “Holy shit,” he finally breathes, before slapping a hand to his mouth with wide eyes and glancing around to make sure the girls aren’t within earshot. “I was leaving you notes this whole time?”

You can only laugh in disbelief. “You were the one taking my cinnamon streusel bagels?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have taken them if you’d gotten there earlier,” he teases. Chuckling, he picks up a napkin note and uncrumples it, scanning across the text. “Damn. Small world, huh?”

“The smallest,” you agree, mind reeling from this new development. Still chuckling, Jungkook steps past you to get to the stove, and you belatedly remember that the bacon is still sizzling in the pan as he picks up your tongs and carefully flips each strip.

“I kept your notes too,” he says after a moment. “I shoved both of them in my glovebox.”

You huff. “Both. Yeah, okay, you beat me to the last bagel way more than I beat you. You don’t have to rub it in, Jungkook.”

“Oh, come on.” He grins, toothy and bright, and you’re momentarily distracted by the endearing prominence of his teeth. “I think I have to rub it in a little.”

“Hmph. As long as it’s only a little,” you concede as you join him at the stove with another pan and begin scrambling eggs. Together, the two of you finish making breakfast, piling eggs onto one plate and bacon on another. You grab the bowl of fruit salad you’d prepared last night out of the fridge, and Jungkook grabs the box of bagels and calls for Daeun and Trixie to come eat. Then, he surprises you by sitting beside you, leaving the girls to sit next to each other on the opposite side of the table.

Breakfast is a relaxed affair—even if Taco keeps trying to jump up on the table to steal some bacon. You’ve eaten several meals with Jungkook and Daeun since that first dinner—usually at Jungkook’s apartment, but also once at the food court in your local natural history museum, where you took the girls to see the ocean exhibit’s penguin display. Since this is the final weekend before their group project is due on Monday, you’ve promised to take them to the zoo to see real, live penguins and complete the last of their research. Both girls already have their backpacks packed and ready to go, and you task Jungkook with checking to make sure they have all their notes while you clean up in the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way to the zoo. Jungkook has volunteered to drive, and you can’t help but gape a little as he unlocks his sleek black Mercedes-Benz and opens up the passenger door to reveal cream-colored leather seats and shiny silver hardware. “Wow,” you remark, catching his eye as he walks around to the driver’s side. “This is like the Batmobile or something.”

“Hardly,” he says with a laugh. “I wish I had rocket boosters and ejection seats. That’d be cool as hell.”

“Daddy!” Daeun gasps, scandalized. “That’s a bad word!”

Jungkook has the decency to look properly abashed. “I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar when we get home,” he promises before pretending to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key. Satisfied, Daeun clambers into the backseat with Trixie on her heels, and Jungkook shoots you a conspiratorial little wink as he takes his own seat and starts up the engine.

The drive to the zoo takes only about fifteen minutes. It’s already beginning to get crowded by the time you get there, but Jungkook still manages to find parking with little difficulty. Together, the two of you usher your daughters out of the car, reminding them not to run too far ahead when they immediately make a beeline for the entrance.

After a short wait in line to buy tickets, you finally make your way past the lion statues flanking the front gate. The wide concrete pathway leads to an open plaza where people are milling about—some looking at the directory located at the far end while others rely on the colorful signpost in the center, reading through the various directional arrows before heading off to their destination. Along the edges of the plaza are a multitude of stalls—selling everything from footlong hot dogs to stuffed animals to cotton candy. There’s a couple of artists painting faces, too, and Daeun only has to give Jungkook one wide-eyed, pleading look before he caves and pulls out his wallet. Aghast, you try to protest, but he waves you off and sends them both off with some cash in hand.

“Consider it payment for all the bagels I’ve deprived you of,” he says, and you relent with a laugh.

Slowly, the two of you make your way around the plaza, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the girls at all times. Half an hour later, Trixie and Daeun come skipping back your way, their faces bright with colorful paint. Daeun has an intricate pink and blue butterfly, while Trixie has opted for the distinctive orange and black stripes of a tiger.

“Do you like it?” she asks, and you nod, bopping her fondly on her painted black nose.

“I don’t just like it, jitterbug. I love it.”

Pleased, she rejoins Daeun, who has successfully diverted Jungkook to the cotton candy stand. Following after her, you hand the vendor your credit card to pay for both snacks before Jungkook can get a word in edgewise. Reluctantly, he tucks his wallet away, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him.

Once the girls have had their fill of the main plaza, the four of you head off in the direction of the penguin exhibit, stopping to look at the zebras and giraffes along the way. Photographs are snapped, and Trixie even flags down a nearby couple and asks them to take a photo of all four of you together. The girls jostle into place in front of the giraffe enclosure, and you suddenly find yourself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook, the warmth of his body radiating off of him like the sun in the sky. Your resulting smile feels forced—especially when the girl starts taking multiple photos from different angles—but gradually relaxes. And now, even as you enter the penguin exhibit, you can’t stop sneaking glances at the last photo.

Because in it, you and Jungkook look like couple. You’re standing close enough that anyone who saw it would construe it as a family photo, the two of you beaming with your giggling daughters in front of you, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.

Swallowing, you let your phone screen go dark and tuck it back into your pocket. You’re coming up on the penguin exhibit now, and the girls can barely contain their excitement as they run ahead to the outermost edge of the enclosure where a massive glass wall allows for a clear view of the penguins swimming about underwater.

“They’re so fast!” Trixie exclaims. She stops at one of the numerous placards lining the glass wall, her little face scrunching as she slowly reads it out loud to Daeun. “It says here some can swim over twenty miles an hour!”

As the girls pull out their notebooks and begin taking notes, you and Jungkook find an unoccupied bench near a rocky outcrop occupied by several bronze penguin statues. “Look,” Jungkook says, patting one of the upright penguins. “You can see how many people have rubbed this little guy’s head. It’s turned gold.”

“Must be good luck,” you remark, running a finger along the golden beak of another penguin. “Or maybe I should make a wish? I don’t really know what this situation calls for.”

“I’m pretty sure you make wishes when you throw a coin into a fountain,” your companion replies, brushing a dark strand of hair off his forehead. “Actually, I think I saw a fountain back there. Should we check it out later?”

“I don’t think I have any change on me,” you reply, peeking into your purse to make sure. “Seriously, who even carries coins anymore?”

“Not me,” Jungkook agrees. “I do usually have at least a little cash on me, though. It’s nice to have sometimes.”

“Mm, yeah. You never know when you’ll need it.”

Just then, Trixie and Daeun run up, gesturing toward the brown building at the very back of the enclosure. “There’s a penguin movie playing over there!” Daeun says. “Can we go see it?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “How long is it?”

��I think it runs every twenty minutes,” you reply when Daeun frowns and scratches her head. “Come on. If I’m remembering correctly, we should be able to see more penguins inside too.”

Daeun and Trixie beam. “Cool!” they exclaim in unison, before galloping off and leaving you and Jungkook to follow after them as quickly as you can manage without breaking into a run yourselves.

Your memory proves correct, as you enter the brown building and immediately see that the walls inside are glass as well. A penguin dives off of a rocky island and into the clear blue water, and you watch as it goes all the way to the bottom of the pool before coming back up for air.

After doing a lap of the building, Daeun and Trixie decide to go into the theater to see the fifteen-minute short film. Meanwhile, you and Jungkook find a quiet little alcove near the entrance, chatting softly while watching the penguins behind the glass on the opposite wall.

“I haven’t been to the zoo in ages,” Jungkook admits. “Dae’s mom used to always take her, though. They always came back with a stuffed animal from the gift shop—you might’ve seen them in Daeun’s room, actually. She loves them.”

You nod. “I remember, yeah. It’s quite an impressive collection.” Then you hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip as you consider your next words and debate whether you’re being too nosy. “Daeun’s mom… can I ask what happened between you?” You pause, then quickly speak again. “And feel free to say no, obviously! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m probably just poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Jungkook smiles at you, but there’s a faraway quality to his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Nah, it’s okay. There’s really not much to tell, if I’m honest. Evelyn and I, we started dating when we were nineteen. We got married at twenty-three, had Daeun a couple years later, and then one day we realized that we’d become entirely different people and that we weren’t really in love anymore.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what else to say. “I-I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs and sighs, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. “No need to be sorry; it was a mutual thing. Totally amicable. We’re still friends, and we’re a pretty kickass co-parenting team too.”

The conversation continues, and you find out that Evelyn’s job took her overseas last year. According to Jungkook, she currently lives with her new boyfriend, who’s a little pretentious but completely harmless. And despite the six-hour time difference, Evelyn still finds the time to FaceTime Jungkook and Daeun every Sunday afternoon. Because of those calls, she’s apparently heard all about you, too—you’re her favorite teacher, remember? he’d said with a laugh.

“What about you, then?” Jungkook glances over at you inquiringly, his eyebrows raised. “Is it my turn to pry?”

You can tell from the melodious lilt in his tone that he’s teasing. “My story’s far less interesting than yours,” you answer, fiddling with a stray thread on your jacket sleeve. “I don’t have an ex-partner or anything like that. I’ve just always wanted to be a mother, so one day I decided that I was going to do it. I used a donor, got pregnant, and here we are.”

Jungkook takes this in slowly, nodding. “Do you… I mean, do you know who your donor is? Have you met him?”

You shake your head. “No, it was an anonymous thing. I got a profile and some information about his appearance and hobbies and stuff, but not much beyond that.”

“I—” Jungkook begins, before trailing off. “I’m sorry. I’m asking too many questions. I don’t know a whole lot about the sperm donor thing, but I’m glad it worked out for you. Trixie’s an amazing kid.”

“She is,” you murmur. “I love her more than anything.”

“And you’re an amazing mom.” Jungkook’s voice grows softer, and when you turn to look at him, he seems closer than he was before. “I don’t know how you manage it all, teaching and parenting. But you do, and it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

You aren’t sure who leans in first. All you know is that one moment, you’re staring into Jungkook’s earnest brown eyes, and then in the next, you’re kissing him.

It starts soft. Cautious, even. His lips press against yours gently, once, before he pulls back for a breath. You can feel him exhale, the warmth fanning your cheeks. And then you pull him back in by his collar, fisting one hand in the knit material and finding the soft hair at his nape with the other.

Time slows to a standstill. Jungkook groans against your lips, and you feel the way it rumbles through his chest, the sensation sinking into your skin and settling straight in your core. His hands find your hips, and you wind both arms around his neck to pull him closer.

And then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, time starts ticking again. Reality crashes down around you in the form of familiar, boisterous voices rapidly heading your way. You and Jungkook only barely manage to untangle yourselves before Trixie and Daeun round the corner of the alcove, chattering excitedly about all the new penguin facts they’ve learned.

“Can we go to the petting zoo next?” Trixie asks, seemingly oblivious to your lingering embarrassment at nearly being caught.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. At your side, Jungkook is faring no better, shuffling his feet and refusing to make eye contact. “Yeah, sure, bug,” you finally manage when you find your voice again. “Lead the way.”

///

Monday dawns cloudy and gray. The weather app on your phone promises thunderstorms later in the afternoon, but that isn’t enough to dampen your mood one bit. Instead, you thumb back over to your messages, your heart skipping a beat when you see the text still sitting at the very top.

[6:54am] Jungkook Jeon: Make sure to stop by bean there, done that before school. Left you a surprise ;)

Taking a deep breath, you type out a response:

[6:56am] You: I’m a little scared. Should I be scared?

His answer comes in immediately. Nah. It’s a good surprise, I promise.

[6:58am] You: Sure it is… 🤨

Biting back a grin, you tuck your phone into your bag and head toward the front door of your apartment, nearly tripping over Taco along the way, who has chosen that moment to start slinking between your legs.

“Really, Taco?” you ask the unperturbed calico cat at your feet. “What if I fell and cracked my head open? Who would feed you then, huh?”

As usual, Taco merely gives you an unimpressed look before flicking her tail and wandering off. Sighing, you call for Trixie to hurry up before turning to check your appearance in the mirror leaning against the wall of the entryway. It’s a large, vintage piece—a gold-framed, flea market find that you treasure dearly and swear makes you look good no matter how awful you might feel.

Satisfied, you hike your bag higher on your shoulder and smooth down the lapels of your coat. Trixie rounds the corner and gives herself a quick once-over too, and you give her a thumbs-up. “Ready, bug?”

“Yup!” she replies, tightening her grip on her and Daeun’s project—a carefully constructed shoebox diorama that shows a group of penguins in their natural icy habitat.

“Let’s go, then.” Opening the front door, you let her through before locking it up behind you. Together, you head out to the car, and Trixie ensures that her diorama is completely secured in the seat beside her while you check your mirrors and turn on the ignition.

The drive to Bean There, Done That! takes only about ten minutes. Jin waves cheerily when he spots you walking up to the counter, but his face positively lights up when he sees Trixie is with you. He absolutely adores your daughter—Trixie loves him too—and on the occasional instance you’ve had to call on him to babysit, the two of them always end up stuffed with food on the couch and giggling over bad puns.

“What can I get you, ma’am?” Jin asks, directing the question at Trixie, who beams at him before turning to look at you with pleading eyes.

“Can I have a double chocolate cookie?”

“That… actually sounds really good,” you admit. “Make that two. And Jin, did someone leave something here for me earlier?”

Jin grins. “Thought you’d never ask. This here is from one Mr. Jungkook Jeon.” Reaching beneath the counter, he pulls out a box and watches as you open the lid to reveal half a dozen cinnamon streusel bagels with a neatly folded napkin on top. Unfolding it, you can only laugh at the words written on it:

Hope you have a mug-nificient day!

“Just so you know, he stole that line from me,” Jin says with a sniff. “I’m not letting him take the credit.”

“Duly noted,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide your smile as you look down at the note again. After a couple beats, Jin clears his throat, and you glance up to see that he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Sooo,” he begins slowly, dragging out the single syllable, “I imagine you want a fresh napkin and a pen, unless… are you going to see Mr. Jungkook Jeon at some point?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance as best you can. “Trixie was paired with his daughter for a school project, so we’ve been meeting up for the past few weeks so they can work on it. Now that that’s over with… I don’t really know. We’re both pretty busy.”

Jin scoffs. “That’s a lame excuse, especially since he’s clearly flirting with you. And—”

Unfortunately, Trixie interrupts before he can finish his sentence, skipping back over from where she had been examining the pastry display cases along the wall. “Can I have a lemon bar?”

You fix her with a stern look. “You already asked for the double chocolate cookie, remember? The lemon bars can wait until next time.” Then you turn back to Jin, reaching into your bag for your wallet. “We should probably get to school, anyhow. What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” he replies, handing over a paper bag with your cookies and a bottle of apple juice. “It’s already been taken care of.”

From the wink he sends your way, you know that it must have been Jungkook who doled out the extra cash for your breakfast. “Thanks, Jin,” you reply, handing Trixie the cookies and juice before accepting the cup of coffee he hands over. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Pleasure doing business with ya,” is his response. Trixie waves goodbye, and together, the two of you head back out to the car. It’s started drizzling since you arrived, and you thank your lucky stars that you’d managed to snag a parking spot right up front.

Your daughter seems to be deep in thought as you help her buckle her seatbelt, her lips pursed in concentration. Then, out of nowhere, she asks:

“Do you like Mr. Jeon?”

You nearly choke. “W-what?”

“Mr. Jeon,” she repeats patiently, and you’re thankful that she’s not looking at you—instead, she’s focused on the raindrops splashing against the window and racing each other down the glass. “You spent a bunch of time with him when Daeun and I were doing school stuff. What’d you do?”

“Adult stuff,” you reply, before cursing inwardly at the potential implication behind your words. “Mostly, I spent my time grading homework. And he had some things to do for work, too.”

Trixie hums, apparently satisfied with this answer. “He’s nice,” she declares. “He buys us food and he has a cool house.”

“Sure,” you agree. “He’s a very nice man.”

And with that settled, you finish buckling her in her seat. Shutting the back door, you suck in a deep, calming breath before circling around to the driver’s side and setting off on the familiar route to Hybe Academy.

///

“... Miss {L/N}, are you listening?”

You blink and sit up a little straighter in your chair. “Yes, of course. Please go on.” Hastily, you scribble down a few random words, hoping that will placate the parent sitting across from you. It’s parent-teacher conference week—and you’re beyond grateful that it’s Friday night as Mrs. Greene rambles on and on about how the school isn’t doing enough for her precious baby boy. She’s talking about how the school day should be extended now—or at least how teachers should watch after the children whose parents can’t pick them up right at three-thirty. I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to understand. I mean, my husband is a very busy man, and I have my own business to run. I can’t be expected to drop everything in the middle of a client meeting to come pick Derrick up…

It takes everything in you not to snap at her. You know for a fact that her “business” is selling bejeweled keychains on Etsy—and that they’re incredibly poorly made, if the reviews are anything to go by. Instead, you bite your tongue—hard enough to taste metal—and remind her that the school’s operating hours are not for you to decide.

After what feels like an eternity, the clock strikes seven, marking the end of her reserved time block. Standing up, you shake her hand and wish her a pleasant evening before opening your planner and checking to see if you have any more meetings. Your parents have Trixie for the night and there’s a bottle of wine on your kitchen counter calling your name, and you cannot wait to get home and relax in the bath with a glass. Maybe, you think, I’ll even do a face mask.

The final name written in your planner stops you in your tracks. You haven’t seen him in over a week—not since that Monday when he left you half a dozen bagels at the coffee shop. The girls had insisted on meeting up that evening to celebrate turning their project in, so you’d all gone to a popular taco joint.

And then there’s a knock on your door, the three raps pulling you right out of your musings.

Silhouetted there in the doorframe is Jungkook Jeon, decked out in a polished charcoal suit and wearing a smile that makes your insides lurch dangerously in your chest. His dark hair is parted on the side, and you catch the slightest glimpse of his brow piercing glinting behind the hair that’s loose across his forehead. “Hi,” he says, his voice low, and you have to remind yourself that it’s impolite to stare as you find your voice.

“Hi yourself.”

He grins, baring the adorably prominent front teeth that you hate to admit you’ve grown rather fond of. “You look like you weren’t expecting me.”

“Oh, no. I just wasn’t expecting you on time,” you retort, gesturing to the plastic chair sitting across from your desk. “Your track record is questionable, at best.”

Jungkook grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. I made sure to leave plenty early this time, just in case I ran into traffic. Or if Bobby decided to corner me in the elevator again—that guy really doesn’t know when to shut up.” He pauses. “Wait, I told you about him, right? Works on the development team, owns one singular tie? Balding but tries to hide it with a bad combover?”

“That rings a bell,” you reply. “The tie is red and Christmas-themed, right?”

“Sure is.” Jungkook chuckles. “I thought they might’ve been polka dots the first time I met him, but nope. Christmas ornaments, even in the middle of July.”

You laugh. “Odd fashion choice.”

“Seriously. Don’t even get me started on the rest of his clothes,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “Here, let’s change the subject. Have you eaten yet?”

You gesture around your classroom, artificially lit with fluorescent light even as the sun begins to dip closer to the horizon. “Nope. I mean, I had about twenty minutes between the end of the school day and the start of my first meeting, so I scarfed down an apple in the break room. But that was hours ago.”

“Perfect.” At your look of disbelief, he chortles and quickly amends his phrasing. “Sorry, I just mean that I’ve got you covered. Here, look.” And he begins pulling things out of a paper bag that you hadn’t noticed him carrying before. Crackers, sliced baguette, an assortment of cured meats and cheeses, grapes. He produces a bottle of wine next, and you very nearly start clapping.

The last thing he pulls out is a single red rose, his smile soft and warm and dizzyingly affectionate as he presents it to you. “I—wow.” You aren’t sure what to say. “Thank you. I… I feel like I should’ve prepared something. Stolen an apple for you from the teacher’s lounge, at least.”

Jungkook snorts. “Well, here’s something you can help me out with. I don’t actually have glasses for the wine. Totally spaced and forgot that we’d need them. Any ideas?”

You’re on your feet before he can even finish asking. “I teach elementary schoolers, Mr. Jeon. I always have cups.”

Making your way to the cabinet by the window, you grab a box of little paper cups and pull out two. Jungkook accepts them when you hand them over, and you watch as he unscrews the cap on the wine bottle before pouring out two generous helpings. Together, you lay out the food he’s brought, spreading it across whatever empty space there is on your desk. “Cheers,” Jungkook says once you’ve both taken your seats again, raising his paper cup to tap against yours.

“Cheers.”

For a moment, there is silence as you both take a drink. Then Jungkook speaks, glancing up at you as he carefully begins crafting himself a mini salami and cheese sandwich. “So, where does Trixie stay while you’re doing all these meetings? Do your parents have her?”

You nod, taking another much-needed sip of wine. “Yeah, my mom picked her up after school. They actually have her until Sunday—my dad’s going to teach her how to fish tomorrow, and then I think they’re going to build a pillow fort.”

Jungkook chuckles around a mouthful of gouda. “I love a good pillow fort. Dae insists on building one at least once a week, and at this point, I’m honestly surprised there isn’t one permanently in her bedroom.”

Grinning, you reach for a cracker and some cheese. “Taco manages to destroy every pillow fort Trixie and I try to make. She either decides it’s a trampoline, or that it’s a good time to start scratching everything she can reach. We can’t win.”

“Sounds like you need better defenses,” Jungkook replies, waggling his eyebrows. “That, or you can come over whenever you need a pillow fort fix. I’m sure Dae and Trixie would create something truly epic together. I mean, that penguin diorama was pretty fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

“Very fucking cool,” you agree, and both of you burst into laughter.

Deep blue twilight settles outside as the two of you continue chatting over your makeshift meal. The cheese begins to dwindle, only a few lonely grapes remain on their stems, and when you go to top of your wine, you realize there’s less than a quarter of the bottle left.

“Wow, we really put a dent in this thing,” you remark, holding it out for Jungkook to see. “And it’s already dark out. The time kind of got away from us, huh?”

“You won’t catch me complaining,” Jungkook replies, tipping the last of his drink into his mouth. “I’m enjoying spending time with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his earnest honesty. “Me too.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you rise from your seat. At the same time, Jungkook stands up from his chair on the other side of the desk, making his way around to meet you halfway. And then his mouth is on yours, warm and firm in a way that makes your heart do a backflip before plunking straight into your churning stomach.

Jungkook’s hands find your hips, palming along the flowy material of your dress before finding a resting place just above the soft curve of your rear. Your fingers delve into the soft hair at his nape to tug him closer, and he groans against your lips when your nails rake across his scalp. Slowly, he begins trailing kisses from the line of your jaw down to the column of your neck, pausing to lavish attention on any spots that make you gasp or squirm in his grasp.

The growing hardness against your lower belly is growing more and more evident with each passing second. Deliberately, you slide one hand down his chest, admiring the toned ridges of his abdomen that you can feel through his white shirt, before making your way down past his silver belt buckle. Jungkook inhales sharply when you cup his hardening cock through the charcoal material of his slacks, and, emboldened, you thumb across the head and relish in his resulting groan.

Any caution you may have had is thrown to the wind. Adjusting your grip, you shiver when you realize that he’s now fully hard beneath your fingertips, his erection thick and hot through the fabric. You try and visualize what it looks like underneath it all—the color of the flared head, the veins that run along it, the curve of the shaft, if there is one. And then you realize that you don’t have to imagine—you can look. You can rip his clothes off and explore every inch of his body in the way you’ve been itching to since you first kissed at the zoo last week. Your hands scrabble for his belt buckle, fumbling with the silver prong embedded in its notch.

“W-wait.” Jungkook’s hand lands over yours, and you note the breathlessness in his voice with satisfaction. “I… this is probably cheesy, but this isn’t how I pictured this happening. Not that I don’t like what’s happening, but I just… I’d like to take you out first. On a proper date, I mean. Without our girls in the next room, or down the hall, or in the museum playplace wreaking havoc.”

“That does sound nice,” you admit. “Actually, I’d really enjoy that. I haven’t been on a proper date in years.”

“Let’s do it, then,” Jungkook says. “My babysitter’s already been paid to watch Daeun until midnight, and your parents have Trixie. This is kinda perfect.”

You can’t help it—you drag your thumb across the head of his still-hard cock again and revel in the way his breath hitches just a little bit in his throat. “Midnight?” you query with an innocent tilt of your head. “Were you expecting something to happen tonight?”

“Hoping,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “And wait, let me ask you out properly. It just wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

Confused, you let him stand from his seat and slip around you to retrieve the paper bag on the ground. Understanding dawns when he reaches inside and grabs a napkin, and you watch on in amusement as he takes a pen from the cup on your desk and begins writing. And after a few seconds, he wordlessly presents this to you:

Drinks? Dinner? Maybe dessert? ;)

And you can only laugh. “Game on, mister.”

#jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #bts #bts smut #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #kpop scenarios #single parent au #teacher au #single parent!au #teacher!au #lia writes

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smoshyourheadin · 5 months ago

Note

spencer agnew visiting reader at work (they can work retail or anything)

good things

pairing: spencer agnew x f! reader

a/n: loverboy spencer you will always be famous

the morning rush had finally subsided at the small corner coffee shop where you worked, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries filled the air. you were behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine, when the door chimed softly. you glanced up and saw your boyfriend spencer step in, looking slightly out of place but wearing a warm, albeit shy, smile.

"spence! hey!" you called out, genuinely surprised but happy to see him.

"hey," he replied, giving a little wave as he made his way to the counter. "thought I'd come by and check out your coffee shop. i’ve heard good things through the grapevine. apparently there’s this one barrista who is really bad at super smash bros, so i had to come check for myself" he said, clearly trying to pick fun at your “professional” level gaming skills

"well, you've heard correctly about the coffee," you teased, gesturing to the blackboard menu. "anything catch your eye?"

he scanned the options, eventually settling on a caramel macchiato and a blueberry muffin. "I'll take these, please," he said, handing you his card.

you put your hand out to stop him. “hey, it’s on the house. we have a deal called ‘cute nerds get free coffee’ but, you didn’t hear that from me.” you say, smiling at him fondly. "but yeah, um,” you drum your fingers on the counter.” “caramel whatever you wanted, coming right up," you said, quickly preparing his order.

"spence, can you stay for a bit? i was about to take my break anyway," you asked once you handed him his drink and muffin.

"yeah, sure! I'd love to hang out," he said, visibly relaxing a little.

you both found a quiet corner by the window, where the sunlight streamed in, casting a warm glow over the table. spencer took a sip of his drink and smiled. "this is really good."

"i’d hope it would be, almost as if it’s my job to make good coffee, hey?” you retort. “so, how's your day been?" you asked, leaning back in your chair, curious about his world which is oh so different to yours.

"it’s been pretty busy. we were filming a new episode for smosh mouth this morning. lots of laughs," he said. "amanda was really good this episode, i’ll have to introduce you to her some time soon, you’ll like her."

you nodded, imagining the lively atmosphere of a shoot with him, knowing what he’s like at home. "sounds good! anything else new today? ooh! how’s alex?”

spencer chuckled, his shyness melting away as he tells you about his best friend alex, who you’ve come to love. he tells you about how in a ‘who memed it’ shoot, he had to explain a joke to shayne, who was bewildered by how he drew luke with a leftover tray in his throat.

as you listened, you couldn't help but appreciate how genuine and kind he was. it was just a moment of clarity as the sun cast over his face, his hair looking auburn in the light as you watched his eyes as he spoke, the moment seemingly making him look even more beautiful.

"so, what about you? how’s work been here?" he asked, turning the conversation back to you.

"it's been good. busy, but y’know i love it here," you said. "plus, i sometimes get total babes who come in and talk to me about their day, it’s crazy."

spencer giggled, and blushed slightly at the compliment, looking down at his coffee. "it must be nice!”

you both continued chatting, the conversation flowing easily as the minutes slipped by. it was a simple yet perfect break from the usual routine, filled with smiles.

eventually, your break time came to an end. "ugh, i should get back to work," you said reluctantly, standing up and rubbing your eyes, not wanting to think about the hours ahead.

"yeah, I should head out too. i need to go and feed jimi” he said in reference to your cat as he stood up. “but it was really lovely seeing you," spencer kissed your forehead as you walked him to the door.

"come by anytime," you said with a smile. "its always nice to have good company."

"i’ll definitely take you up on that," he replied, giving you one last shy smile before heading to the door.

as he left, you couldn't help but feel a little lighter, knowing that a simple visit from him could make you feel fuzzy any time.

#smoshyourheadin #smosh #spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #shayne topp #amanda lehan canto #angela giarratana #courtney miller #arasha lalani #alex tran

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tenelkadjowrites · 2 years ago

Text

♥ Lonely in Gorgeous ♥ - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

☕Summary: Seonghwa is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and he happens to frequent the coffee shop you run. Your crush on him feels hopeless and overpowering until he finds out that you practice photography in your spare time.

☕Word count: 8,700

☕Genre and warnings: one shot. fem pronouns for reader. unprotected sex. creampie. oral sex, both reader receiving and reader giving.

☕Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @spiderrenjunfics - @whatudowhennooneseesyou - @jess-1404 - @just-here-to-read-01 - @likexaxdaydream - @senpai-of-doom - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @talkbykhalid - @rdiamond2727 - @inneratinyrebel - @8tinytings - @xirenex - @cherrypandora - sorry if i forgot anyone.

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

He’s here again.

You know that it is rude to keep a customer waiting but at the sight of him sitting at the counter, fingers drumming against the small white menu, looking at the framed photos near the coffee machine, you are momentarily frozen.

He hasn’t been around your café in a little over six months and you just assumed he found somewhere else to grab a coffee. It happens; in the city, there is always a franchise waiting to open on every corner, luring away even your regulars to the promise of a loyalty rewards system and coffee served in a drive thru. How could you compete with something like that?

But now, the most otherworldly beautiful man that you’ve ever seen with your own eyes is back in your café, quietly waiting for you to exit the kitchen to take his order. You don’t even know his name, you just know that the average person wandering this planet would never achieve the sort of beauty this man casually possesses: his bright almost silver blonde hair with just a hint of the black roots coming in, his baggy white t-shirt that has the faded logo of some beach town you’ve never heard of, a bracelet that looks as if it has multiple small diamonds on it rests gracefully on his small wrist, cheekbones carved from marble, lips perfectly plump and faintly pink – lip gloss or just naturally that pink? Hard to tell. Everything about him makes your knees weak, your heart beat too quickly and your tongue get tied. It is, frankly, embarrassing which meant it had been a relief when he suddenly stopped showing up.

Knowing that you couldn’t dawdle any longer, you exit the tiny kitchen. His eyes land on you immediately, half lidded like a sleepy cat, his posture softening slightly at the sight of you.

“S-sorry to keep you waiting,” You say before he can speak, “Have you decided on what you would like?”

You can’t meet his gaze directly; it would be akin to staring at the sun. He’s just too beautiful.

“Can I have an oat milk lavender latte please?” His voice is deep yet soft at the same time, the sort of tone that you feel in your bones.

You nod, hurriedly turning around to the coffee machine. He is the only customer in the shop. It is a quiet late Wednesday afternoon, and the sun is slanting in through the blinds, sending lazy sunlight splashing across the wood floors. The coffee shop playlist is on quietly in the background, and all the small, cozy seating areas are empty. All the places he could have sat at and he picks the countertop, you think with a small inward sigh.

“I wasn’t sure if this place would still be open. I feel like every time I come into town, everything is slightly different like a puzzle where the pieces keep shifting when I look away.”

Torn between being as professional as possible and wanting to melt into the floor, you look over your shoulder and reply, “Nope, still open. At least for now. I have a group of regulars that help out a lot.” I made sense, you think with relief, nice…now to just keep talking to a minimum so I don’t fuck it up.

He leans forward a little, his elbows on the countertop, the diamond bracelet resting gently against the surface. It catches the sunlight and glimmers for one brief second.

“Could you make a little heart on that top?” He asks sheepishly.

“Oh, sure, no problem.”

He smiles a little, relaxing back into his earlier position. Your heart does a flip, making you worry that the coffee cup is going to slip from your fingers or something equally embarrassing. Turning your attention to the drink, you finish making it, with the heart shaped art included and bring it over to him, unable to look directly at his face.

The only thing in your vision is the sight of one of his fingers touching the rim, trailing across it before going to the handle of the oversized mug and then stopping.

“This is really pretty. Is it okay if I take a photo for my Instagram?”

“Oh, y-yes, that sounds great. Thank you so much.”

“I have a bad habit of taking photos of every coffee I drink,” He explains as if anyone taking pics of what they eat or drink is odd anymore, “By the way, my name is Seonghwa.”

Exhaling slowly, you steel your nerves to raise your head upwards and look at him. It is unfair of the universe to plop someone like this in your café, even crueler to make him so friendly and approachable. Aren’t pretty people supposed to be assholes? Or did movies just lie to you?

You manage to say your name and not the name of your uncle or something and follow up with, “I remember you from ah…like six months ago or so. You were here pretty frequently.” Immediately, you regret the observation. Did that make you look odd? As if you were just peering at him drinking a coffee every time he was here? You try to correct yourself, “Uh, with my memory, I have a hard time forgetting people after they pop in a few times.”

But if Seonghwa finds you strange, it doesn’t show on his face. “I live pretty close to here and I like the vibe. It’s quiet, open later than other places, and your coffee always tastes good. But I was overseas for the last six months, I just got back a couple nights ago.”

“Wow, for that long?” Genuine curiosity takes over and for a brief second, you forget to be tongue tied by how handsome he is.

“Yeah, my agency had me all over for a bit doing work.”

“Agency?”

He laughs a little and playfully taps his forehead. “Sorry, I forgot, yeah, I’m a model.”

The tongue tied feeling immediately returns. Of course he’s a model. Why wouldn’t he be a model? No one could look like this and not be one.

You must look stricken because he holds his hands up, shaking his head quickly. “I know, I know what you’re thinking.”

No, you definitely do not.

Scrambling for something to say, you go, “Well, I don’t know much about modeling. I think my entire frame of reference is Zoolander.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to groan loudly. Did you really just compare his career to that movie?

But his grin only deepens as he replies, “You know, you’re not the first person to say that to me.”

Thanking the universe for the lucky break, you push your luck by continuing to speak, “Is it like…ah, fashion modeling? Like in magazines? Or more of an Instagram thing?”

“It’s fashion. I bounce between walking shows and doing shoots for ad campaigns and stuff. Occasionally some spreads in magazines too.”

“Damn, really? That’s impressive.”

Seonghwa, having finished taking a photo of the coffee, finally takes a sip. He looks pleased with the taste, gently placing the mug back down on the saucer. Yeah, you could definitely see this guy in magazines. You wonder if you’ve skipped past him in magazines before but then decide there is no way – you would remember someone like him. He makes your insides feel like jelly and your head feel stuffed full of cotton.

“I’m kinda excited because I have a magazine coming out next week and I’m apparently in a few photos. It��s a high fashion magazine that previously always seemed to never pick my photos so I’m excited.”

“What’s the name of it?”

“Oh, are you going to pick up a copy just to see me? But I’m here for free in the flesh,” His tone is light, teasing but a shiver rolls down your back that makes you stand straighter. If it had been anyone else but the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in your life, you would wonder if he was flirting. But since it is the hottest guy to walk this earth…

“H-hey, it isn’t every day that I sort of know someone who is going to be in a magazine,” You say without fainting.

Seonghwa gestures to the framed photos on the wall. “I just assumed whoever took these pics had been in magazine before.”

Surprised, you glance over your shoulder to your photos decorating the wall near the coffee machine. Taking photos has been a hobby of yours for a few years now and your friends had convinced you to put some up in the shop. You are extremely critical on your photography but everyone else always said such kind things about them. But never anyone this attractive, you think.

“Oh, I took them,” You admit sheepishly, looking back at him, “It’s just a hobby.”

He tilts his face to the side a little, his eyes darting from the framed photos to you. “Well, for just a hobby they look really good.”

“Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

The conversation is interrupted by a small cluster of people entering the store. One look at them makes it clear they are tourists who probably found the coffee shop on the map app.

Seonghwa gives you a small smile. “Conversation over for now, I guess.”

The group tosses their shopping bags and other items near one of the sections that has a couch and a couple of chairs, one person breaking off to come gawk at the menu that is on the wall. You excuse yourself from him, going over to take care of the new customers.

By the time everything is ordered and made, Seonghwa has left, his chair cold from the absence of him. There is no lip gloss smear on the rim of the mug. Damn, his lips really are just naturally that pink. What a jerk.

You feel like a thief in the night. Shoulders hunched, small shopping bag striking against your leg as your fingers furiously flick through the pages of the magazine. The tinny noise of the piped in music irritates your ears and the store is a little too crowded for your liking – for your purpose.

With defeat, the magazine comes to an end, and you place it back on the shelf. You are about a block from your place, having stopped in the corner store to grab a few items after closing up the coffee shop for the night. Having already purchased what you needed, halfway out the door, the sight of the magazines brought you to a halt.

Seeing as it had been a week since seeing Seonghwa, that would mean that the magazine he mentioned would be out. The problem was that you hadn’t actually gotten the name of it.

Which is why, twenty minutes later, you have flipped through the majority of the fashion magazines on the shelf and had yet to see his gorgeous face among the glossy pages.

You’ve lost it. What are you, sixteen with a crush? Who acts like this? You scold yourself, picking up another magazine. You should be home by now, making tea and unwinding. Instead, you’re hunched over this magazine as if it is a guilty secret that you’re trying to find him. Surely sane people do not act this way –

Your diatribe against yourself is cut short by the sight of Seonghwa’s face looking up at you from one of the pages. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him in black turtleneck and perfectly tailored slacks, the belt resting lightly around his slender hips as he leans against the wall. His face is turned slightly to the side, the light catching his cheekbone. You turn the page, finding another photo of him with a model, their bodies slightly entwined, a beautiful pool sparkling behind them. His gaze is softer in this one, directly at the camera, one long necklace dipping underneath his shirt, his collarbone exposed. The final photo is of him stepping out of the pool, a white t-shirt soaking wet and flat against his skin, exposing his toned stomach and the dip of his waist. He is pushing his hair back, the look in his eyes hard and mischievous as if he is saying I know your secret.

Your cheeks unusually warm, you quickly close the magazine, wondering how a few photos could make your heart rate so elevated. Too shy and embarrassed to purchase it, you hurriedly place it back on the shelf and scurry out of the store, convinced everyone knows what you’re thinking about.

He comes again, a few days after the magazine incident, sitting in the same seat at the counter. You are making a coffee for another customer when Seonghwa enters, leaving you to try to pretend not to notice him right away. The photos are still burned in your mind, especially the one of him exiting the pool, and some part of you wishes he would just go away. Go to Starbucks or something instead.

Today, Seonghwa is wearing a grey t-shirt with a logo of a diner you’ve also never heard of. It looks well worn, a little too large for his frame. He has a different bracelet on, a small gold band that rests on his wrist. His hair is damp as if he just showered, curling against his neck in soft blonde swirls. He is looking at the menu, studying it quietly while waiting for you to finish up with the customer.

Steeling yourself, you walk over and greet him, saying his name a little too softly as if it is a fragile thing instead of belonging to just another customer. He looks up, smiling at the sight of you which threatens to immediately shift you into System Overload.

“What can I get you?”

“I’d just like an espresso today,” He shifts slightly in his seat as if going to add something on but decides against it.

You go to make the espresso, fighting the urge not to glance over at him. Some part of you wants to say that you saw his photos in the magazine but are too paranoid in case he asks questions. You would rather die than admit that you went scouring through a ton just to see his modeling photos.

Finishing up, you bring the espresso over, gently placing it in front of him. Seonghwa shifts again and then leans forward just a little, just enough so that you catch the scent of clean laundry and cinnamon clinging to his shirt.

“My magazine came out,” He finally says, “I got around three photos in it. I was sorta hoping for five but better than nothing.”

I don’t think I could have handled five photos.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it while asking, “Do you mind if I show you them? Is that – I mean, would that be weird? I know I’m just a customer but I am pretty pleased with them. And since you take photos, I thought…” Seonghwa trails off, sounding unsure.

“Well, I just take landscape photos. I don’t know if any of that would translate to modeling,” You stall only because you aren’t sure how to keep a straight face if he shows you these pics.

“I think you’d be fine,” He says confidently, sliding the phone over, “Do you look at fashion photos or magazines at all?”

On the screen is the first photo of him in the turtleneck. Swallowing hard, you go, “Not typically.”

“My agent says I don’t have enough of a social media presence. They’re really pushing the whole ‘influencer’ thing on me. I’m pushing back a bit because my interests don’t go there but I think they kinda had a point about posting more modeling photos on my Instagram, for my Instagram only.”

Seonghwa flicks to the next photo, the one with the necklace by the pool. You hope that your facial features are comprised into an expression of mild interest and nothing else. But Seonghwa seems to be lost in thought, his gaze a bit hazy.

“You take photos…” He trails off.

You should know what he is going to suggest. But your brain is fried from dealing with real Seonghwa and also model Seonghwa in the photos so the words leave his mouth easily without any warning signals going off in your head.

“Maybe you could take some photos for me? I’d pay you, of course, and I could post them on my Instagram. Your café is really cute. We could take them here, one night after you close.”

Talk about taking a battering ram to your chest. You protest immediately with, “Like I said, I only have taken landscapes. I have no experience in the sort of photos you’re looking for.”

“They’re just for Instagram. They don’t have to be anything special.”

“Yeah but surely you know someone else that is actually skilled in modeling photos who could do this for you?” It isn’t that you don’t want to do it, of course the part of you that thinks Seonghwa is gorgeous would love nothing more, but to be that close to him, alone in the café, makes your palms sweat from nerves.

Seonghwa looks awkward as he admits, “I tend to keep to myself. I don’t have as many connections as others working in the industry do. It’s my own fault. I come off unapproachable. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

It’s your beauty. It’s just too much. Makes people insecure. Without thinking, you reply, “It’s because you’re too gorgeous. I don’t think it has anything to do with your demeanor.”

Seonghwa looks surprised, in the middle of taking a sip of his espresso, his eyebrows arching slightly. You immediately regret the remark, knowing that it exposes the fact you’ve noticed his appearance. But how could you not? How could anyone not? After all, you’re just human.

“So, what are you saying? That because I’m gorgeous, that’s why I’m lonely?”

“Basically,” Your cheeks are starting to feel warm again especially from his casual admission of being lonely, best to get out of the conversation, “I should make sure the other customer doesn’t need anything. Enjoy your espresso though.”

Going to turn around, Seonghwa raises the arm with the bracelet as if going to reach out for you but thinking the better of it. “Wait,” He says, his lips that same perfect pink colour from the last visit, “You didn’t answer.”

Staring in that beautiful face of his, the request seems like a bad idea for a few reasons: no experience in taking the sort of photos Seonghwa wants, the fact you are enamored with him, the idea of being around him alone for an extended period of time…

But the photos are just for his Instagram. And as overwhelming as it is to be near him, I also want it more than anything.

You hesitate before going, “Are you sure? Like I said, I have no experience in…”

“I’m sure,” He says firmly, “I think our energies match up pretty well. Don’t you?”

The remark takes you by surprise. You haven’t given much thought to your energies mostly because standing next to him made you feel as if your heart was going to explode. What’s the worst that could happen? You get to practice something new with your photography, spend time around someone stunning, and then life goes on.

With affected casualness, you give a small shrug of your shoulders and go, “Alright.”

Seonghwa relaxes back in the seat, shooting a smile at you that shows off his perfectly white and straight teeth. Your insides start to vibrate at a frequency that could shatter glass. The two of you exchange numbers, giving you a way out from seeing the photo of Seonghwa by the pool which could easily crack the nonplussed exterior you are trying to exude.

But there is one final thing that is poking at your brain. You know it could come off odd but unable to help yourself, you ask, “Do you own any lip gloss?”

“Lip gloss?” Seonghwa blinks in surprise, “I think I do. Why?”

“You should bring it.”

He waits for a second to see if you would explain why but when you don’t, he simply goes, “Alright.”

He then finishes his espresso, giving you a small wave as you head towards the other customer. On the way out, Seonghwa glances briefly over his shoulder at you and then the street swallows him up, leaving you with the memory of the conversation and the anticipation of the photoshoot.

It takes a couple of days to set up a time that works for both of you. Admittedly, you would clear any part of your schedule in order to take photos of Seonghwa but in an attempt not to look down bad, you deny the first time given. When he suggests Sunday night, you agree but your nerves only grow as the time approaches closer and closer.

Since your café stays open later than most, Seonghwa isn’t due to arrive until around nine that night. After closing up shop at eight, you try to tidy up a bit but instead find yourself wandering around aimlessly, butterflies in your stomach. You aren’t convinced that any photos worthwhile will be taken nor are you sure what to talk about with him during the few hours spent together.

The café windows have large blinds to block out the setting sun and you make sure they are pulled down for privacy. You try to rearrange some of the pillows on one of the couches but give up. Plopping down on it instead, you lean your head back and stare at the ceiling.

I don’t know anything about this guy except he’s hot. I have got to get a grip. I’m sure a few hours with him will prove there’s something unlikeable that will turn me off, gorgeous or not. You’ve never had a crush on a customer before and to have one on someone who looks like Seonghwa feels comical. Talk about out of your league.

A few minutes past nine, there is a soft knock on the door, jolting you out of your thoughts. Nervously, you exhale, go over the front door of the café and open it.

Seonghwa stands in the moonlight which spills across his hair like a silken pool. He wears a white button up that has the sleeves rolled up a bit, a charm bracelet dangling from one wrist, and black slacks. He looks as elegant ever and your chest tightens at the sight of him.

“Hey,” You say, moving to the side so he can enter.

As you lock the café door, he pulls something out of his pocket, extending his hand to show you something. “Brought the lip gloss.”

The elegant bottle has the Dior logo on it, a sheer lip gloss with tiny specks of glitter in it. It rests in the palm of his hand.

“Great,” You reply, “Uhm, I was thinking maybe I could get the light to catch it. It might look good in the photo. But like I said before, I don’t really take photos of people. Just places.”

“It’s fine.” He doesn’t seem concerned, moving past you towards the largest seating area. “Like I said before, it’s just for my Instagram. Nothing special.”

“But still, it’s important to your image and that ties directly to your work.”

“You’re thinking more about this than I am,” Seonghwa admits, turning to face you, “It’s just Instagram. Don’t overthink it.”

You aren’t entirely convinced but his casual demeanor about it does make you feel a tiny bit better. You aren’t exactly positive that you are capable of capturing his beauty in a photo, given your lack of skills in this area. If the pictures suck, he doesn’t have to use them. You’re just overthinking this because he’s hot.

“Is there a certain spot we should start?” He asks.

“We can start here, if you’d like.” It is hitting you that you’re going to have to give some direction – another reason you just work with landscapes.

Seonghwa extends his hand out to you, the Dior lip gloss glinting smartly in the dim lighting of the café. “You want to put this on now?”

Surprised, you go, “Me?”

“I forgot my mirror.”

The logical side of you wants to point out the fact the bathroom has a mirror. But the other side of you, the larger side, is drawn to Seonghwa like a moon around a planet. Your feet betray you first and it is only a few steps until your body is right in front of him.

Gingerly taking the lip gloss from his hand, your fingertips touching the palm of his hand – a touch so minor that it wouldn’t be normally wouldn’t be noticeable but this one makes you dizzy – twisting the lid off and pulling out the tiny wand.

Reaching out, you press the wand against his lips, smearing the gloss across the bottom lip first and then the top. Seonghwa is looking at you steadily, as if this doesn’t feel oddly intimate or weirdly sorta familiar. The way he looks at you makes your thighs clench and your chest burn. It feels strange to be this close to someone so beautiful; it is as if a marble statue has come to life in front of you. When you finish, your heart is racing, and you hastily shove the lip gloss back in his hand.

“Ready?” You ask, unable to look at Seonghwa, wondering how you’ll get through the night intact.

It becomes apparent very quickly that your tension is seeping into the photos. Unsure what direction to give Seonghwa, it ends up being more of you following his lead. He begins to come up with ideas but there still feels like some sort of barrier between the camera lens and himself. You blame yourself; your lack of knowledge in this type of photography combined with your own feelings about Seonghwa are leading to the result you expected: lackluster photos.

Seonghwa, who has been incredibly polite the entire night, at one point finally jokes, “Maybe if I took my clothes off the photos would look better.”

And without thinking, you reply, “No, I think that wet t-shirt photo in the magazine was enough.”

You don’t realize the slip up at first because your focus on the next shot is overpowering everything else. It is Seonghwa who looks startled and then something flickers across his face, so fast that it would have been missed if you hadn’t snapped a photo at that second. It is then that you realize your mistake.

Fuck, he never actually showed me that pic the other day. You had made sure to scurry off before the photo appeared on his phone screen. Lowering the camera, you struggle to find some sort of lie, something to explain how you knew about the photo.

But he swiftly talks over your stammering words. “You saw the photoshoot before I showed it, didn’t you?”

With no clever lie coming to your head, all you say is, “Yeah.” When Seonghwa continues to stare silently, you clear your throat a little and explain, “I found the magazine with the photoshoot. I saw them then.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He takes a step forward. “You looked at the photos as if they were brand new.”

“I just felt embarrassed,” You mumble, unable to form any further words.

“Why?” Seonghwa presses, taking another step forward.

The last thing you intend to do is start gushing about how he makes you feel, how you find him so attractive your head spins, and that none of the photos are going to turn out well because your desire and fear of being discovered is a barrier in the lens.

“Does it matter?” You snap, the tone a lot harder than intended, “Can we please get back to the photos?”

“No,” Seonghwa is close to you now, his eyes slightly downcast, his long lashes bright against his skin, “Answer my question.”

“Why does it matter?” You reply hotly, “It has nothing to do with anything.”

“The pictures will improve if you’re honest. You’re holding back and it’s interfering with everything. I can feel it but I didn’t understand why so I didn’t want to say anything.”

Exasperated, nervous and frustrated, you spit out, “It’s because I find you attractive, okay? But that isn’t really that weird. I mean, you’re aware of what you look like. You’re a model. So, you know that you’re hot. I wanted to see your photos because you talked about them and I was curious. I found the magazine in the store and looked at them. But I just didn’t want you to think I was sneaking around being creepy looking at photos of you so I just didn’t say anything. Happy?” You wish that it could be possible to melt into the floor and fade from the world. Your cheeks burn and you cannot look Seonghwa in the face.

Since you are looking downward, you find yourself staring at his shoes. They look expensive, not a scuff on them. You are embarrassed at your outburst but don’t know what else to say. The silence drags on for too long. You can hear Seonghwa quietly breathing, can smell the clean laundry clinging to his crisp white shirt.

“Am I that distracting?” He finally asks, “You gave no indication. You just stated matter of fact that my appearance could leave me isolated from others which was a keen observation. I didn’t think you noticed me in that manner.”

“What?” You look upwards now, confused, “You’re joking. I think every conversation was cobbled from one braincell working around you.”

“I had no idea. That’s why…” For the first time since meeting him, he looks unsure. “That’s why I liked coming here. Even before my trip overseas. Every small conversation with you felt natural and normal. There was no mention of my appearance other than on my terms and you never seemed to not be listening to me because you were too busy staring. Sometimes, I feel like…ah, well, I am not really a person, more of a commodity to be viewed because of how I look. Everything is about my looks. It never felt like that when we talked.”

You don’t know how to reply. On one hand, you worry that your admission has lumped you in with the others. But it is still the truth, which he requested, and therefore to recant it would be a lie. So you just stand there, the camera heavy in your hands, unsure where to go from here.

The idea of being so beautiful that it puts up some sort of wall in between you and others is too much of a foreign concept to wrap your head around. You don’t want to belittle such a problem either; it would be something you would laugh at if read online but in person, staring at Seonghwa, you feel a little bit of pity.

Curiosity gets the better of you. “Is that why you got into modeling?”

“I fell into it. It wasn’t really a conscious decision. I got swept along with the tide. But I’m good at it. And I make good money,” He steps away from you, loosening up his shoulders and relaxing his posture, “Alright, everything out in the air now, right?” His fingers go to the buttons on his shirt, undoing two near his neck, showing a little bit of his chest. A thin silver necklace is exposed, a delicate chain resting against his skin. “Let’s try it again.”

Relief sweeps through you. Regardless of if Seonghwa is disappointed that his beauty impacted you or not, the awkward conversation is complete. There are no more secrets to discuss or weird vibes hanging around. Perhaps it would make a difference after all.

Strangely enough, it does. You find it easier to relax, to move closer to Seonghwa to achieve different shots. He seems more at ease as well, kicking off his shoes and trying different poses around the café. Somehow, over the course of the night, the buttons on the front of his shirt steadily undo, exposing more skin. Instead of distracting you, the camera catches the necklace against his toned chest, becoming the centerpiece of a few photos. Between that and the lip gloss, you are starting to think maybe the photoshoot won’t be a loss after all.

It is nearing eleven at night before you lower the camera, your legs aching from the uncomfortable position you’ve been settled in to get a shot of Seonghwa laying on the couch. His blonde hair is spread out around his face, framing it like a fragile halo, his lips shimmering, almost his entire shirt undone and slipping off his sides, exposing his chest and abdomen.

Having been so caught up in taking the photos, you hadn’t realized how you’ve been perched over Seonghwa. Your legs protest, causing you to flail awkwardly. His hands fly to your hips, grabbing onto them before you topple painfully into him. The camera hits the carpet with a small thudding noise as your hands come down flat against his stomach to steady yourself.

“Wow, sorry. My legs are numb, didn’t pay attention to what I was doing and for how long,” You explain sheepishly.

He laughs a little, another glimmer of perfectly white teeth. “It’s okay.”

It is then you become hyperaware of the fact that you are straddling him against the couch, his hands on your waist, his shirt unbuttoned and your fingertips against his bare skin. He looks like moonglow underneath you, all silver and white, something made for paintings and to be captured through a camera lens, not to be physically touched.

Scampering off him, you sit at the other side of the couch, trying to collect yourself. The casual air that formed between you since the admission of finding him attractive is now back to the same strained tension earlier. Seonghwa sits up, turning slightly so that he is facing you, one leg tucked underneath him, the other dangling off the couch. It is a casual pose, heightened by the way his shirt is open and hangs off his shoulders, one that would be great for a photo if your skin didn’t feel aflame and the camera was still on the carpet.

“Maybe we should call it a night,” You go, swallowing hard, risking a glance over at him.

“Sure,” He murmurs, “I think we got some good stuff in the second half.”

“Me too. I’ll send you what I have once I go through everything.”

“Alright.”

But neither of you move. The café is extremely silent and the only noise is the occasional car driving by outside. Your hand is very close to his, mere inches away on the couch cushion. For a split second, you think about reaching for him but quickly wonder what is wrong with you.

Seonghwa moves his hand away, taking your heart with it. He scoops your camera off the carpet and brings it to your lap, resting it gently there. Your hands curl around it as if it is an anchor.

His hand moves away from the camera and comes to rest on your thigh. Even though you’re wearing pants and there is no contact with your skin, the sight makes your head spin.

“I have something to tell you too,” Seonghwa goes as his hand travels upwards very slowly while shifting his entire body closer to you.

You manage to go, “Oh, yeah?” successfully even though your brain feels as if it is sizzling in your skull.

“It kinda ties into what I was saying before. About how I liked coming here because you didn’t treat me any differently or talk about my appearance. Even if you noticed it, you didn’t mention it until I did. It felt…new. You’re the first person to ever tell me that I am simply too gorgeous. That’s why I came back here. I wanted to see you.”

Surprised, your eyes flick upwards to look at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” He isn’t looking at your eyes but your lips instead, his own slightly parted and glimmering with the expensive lip gloss.

“You mean because I may think there is more to you than being really really really ridiculously good looking?” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to jump off a bridge. Why the fuck am I quoting Zoolander to this man? What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I like this?

But Seonghwa actually laughs, moving a little closer to your body. The proximity to him is doing your head in. You’ve never wanted anyone as badly as you want Seonghwa.

“I believe that I’m attracted to you,” He shockingly says in the aftermath of your terrible joke.

Even though the rushing of blood to your head is very loud, you manage to reply, “You believe? Is it that confusing?”

The two of you are closer than ever, so close that it wouldn’t take much for him to lean forward and kiss you. Your chest is tight from the hope that he will and from the worry that he won’t.

“May I kiss you to make sure?” His words are soft, taking root in your chest and wiggling down as if going to sleep under a large blanket.

You feel intoxicated as if you’re going to fall right into Seonghwa’s expression forever. You manage to nod and he brings one hand up to cup your cheek, leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours. Your entire body is melting into him, your mouth opening as the kiss deepens. His gloss smears against your lips, his grip tightening on your thigh briefly as goosebumps break out across your skin.

Kissing Seonghwa feels different than all the previous kisses you’ve had before. There is something comforting and familiar about it even though you have never touched him prior. Your brain is delicious white noise, no concerns about the fact he is too beautiful for you or this must be some fever dream you’re having in your bed.

His hand moves to the back of your neck, the kiss deepening. It is difficult to wrap your head around the fact you are kissing Seonghwa in your café with his shirt hanging off his shoulders, the necklace against his toned chest, his slender frame so close to yours.

The kiss ends as Seonghwa brings his lips down across your jawline to your neck, kissing and nuzzling the skin there until your toes curl with heightening pleasure. It is easy to succumb to Seonghwa, not simply because he is so stunning and ethereal to be around, but because there is a heart underneath the beauty, a loneliness that makes him human after all.

He nibbles at your neck, just lightly enough to drive you crazy, and there are no more words spoken and no more conversations needed about where the two of you stand. Driven forward simply by desire, you are both swept up in one another. You grab his hand and bring it to your chest and he begins to grope your tits through your shirt and bra, his breathing quickening at the unspoken permission given to him. His lips are back on yours, his tongue in your mouth, the movements growing impatient as both of you want more. The kiss breaks just so Seonghwa can remove your shirt, pulling down your bra to free your tits.

He lowers his head to suck on one your nipples, his fingers pinching and tugging on the other one to make you sigh as your body responds to his touch. One of your hands is in his hair, silver blonde locks in between your fingers as he switches to suck on your other nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin slightly – just enough to make you jump a little from the touch. This only seems to spurn him on more, his shirt sliding down off his shoulders to expose the soft skin of his back. There is something vulnerable about this, something that makes you want him in a way that has your head spinning.

One of his hands snakes down to the button of your jeans, swiftly undoing it and sliding the zipper down. Seonghwa pushes away from your tits, the lip gloss long gone by now. Instead, his lips are flushed with colour from the kissing and sucking on your nipples.

“That helped me clear things up,” He says breathlessly, “I think I’m certain now that I like you.”

You want to reply, say something coy, something cute, but your brain is too empty for that. All you can do is muster a nod. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice because he is too busy shifting off the couch to his knees in front of you.

Removing your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear with your bra bunched up under your tits, you would assume the nerves would strike now. Here you are, after all, with the most gorgeous guy you’ve ever seen getting ready to eat you out by some chance of fate but instead the entire situation…feels almost familiar in some sort of way. There is no anxiety or fretting about anything. It is as if everything has fallen into place with him even though it typically takes you ages to feel comfortable going this far with someone.

Your legs reflexively open to give him room as Seonghwa runs one finger down the front of your underwear, taking a mental note of how wet you already are. Lowering his head, he begins to leave a trail of kisses along your thighs, working his way closer to your underwear. You watch, entranced at a sight that you thought would never be possible, transfixed at the shock of blonde hair in between your legs.

Seonghwa presses his lips against the thin fabric of your underwear, moving upwards and blowing gently on your clit just to drive you crazy. Hooking his thumbs into the band of your underwear, he slides them off you, not wasting any time in probing your folds with his tongue.

Your head rolls back against the couch, losing yourself in the way his tongue slips in your hole, the soft moan escaping from his lips as he tastes you. His movements are more languid now, he is taking his time as if he has thought about this before. Meticulously, he moves his tongue upwards, avoiding your clit just to make you shiver with need.

His hands gently rest on your thighs to make sure your pussy remains before him as his tongue swoops downwards back into your hole. Seonghwa’s nose brushes against your clit, causing you to jump and look down at him.

His eyes are closed, content to just slowly pump his tongue in and out of your wet hole. You can hear the quiet motions of his tongue against your wetness. At some point he must have shrugged out of his shirt, leaving his bare shoulders exposed. You are aching with desire, wishing that Seonghwa would move his tongue to your clit. As if hearing you, he brings his mouth upwards and gives a small suck on your swollen nub. This makes you gasp but he doesn’t stop. His mouth encircles your clit and he gives a harder slurp on it before swirling his tongue around it.

Seonghwa starts to lap at your nub, his mouth hot against your cunt. You are shivering, your thighs shaking from the heightening pleasure. It is then that he opens his eyes to look at you. The sight makes you moan, your breathing hard and fast at the sight of Seonghwa buried in between your thighs, his tongue flicking over your clit. He looks patient as if he could live in between your thighs. Maybe it is from thinking about him so much or the fact it is surreal to see him like this but your orgasm is already approaching.

Seonghwa closes his eyes, going back to sucking on your clit. The sounds of him slurping on it are pornographic, your moaning groaning louder as you grip his hair. Your head rolls back once more, your entire body tingling as your thighs clench. Seonghwa doesn’t stop, doesn’t change his speed. He seems confident in that you’ll finish at the pace he has settled on and you know that he is right.

Your orgasm begins, so intense that your hips buck but he doesn’t stop what he is doing. Seonghwa works his tongue against your clit as you climax, your moaning loud and pleading, unable to control yourself. He slows down his ministrations as your orgasm begins to subside. Once you have finished and are trying to catch your breath, he lazily licks at your hole, waiting for you to be able to focus once again.

Then he pulls away from your cunt. If the sight of him drinking coffee had been enough to give you heart palpations then the image of Seonghwa with his messy hair and face covered in your juices might push you over the edge.

“I liked when you straddled me earlier,” His voice is taunt with desire, “Would you do it again?”

At this point you are convinced that you would do anything he requested. Giving a nod since you’re too out of breath to talk, Seonghwa stands up, quickly removing his pants and boxers, stroking his hard cock. The sight of him touching himself like that is too much – his long and slender fingers wrapped around his cock, the charm bracelet winking coyly at you, the necklace against his chest – he looks beautiful and before he can get on the couch, you lean forward and take him in your mouth.

Surprised by this, Seonghwa makes a small noise in the back of his throat that quickly turns into a stifled groan as your lips wrap around the head of his cock, tasting his precum. He is a little too large for your mouth but you start to suck on him, your cheeks hollowing as you do so. Drool pools on the bottom of your lips, sticky strands mixing with his precum. His hand is lightly resting on the back of your head, a silent plea for more. You take as much of him as possible until he hits the back of your throat. When his cock slips out of your mouth from gag reflex, the spit and cum has gotten all over your bra.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” He says and it is evident from his tone that some part of him is longing just for you to suck him until he unloads in your mouth, fighting against the other part of him that wishes to fuck you.

For the first time, you form a sentence that is tinged without anxiety or nerves. “Then fuck me.”

Seonghwa’s eyes are hazy with desire as he lays back down on the couch, his hands reaching out for your waist, tugging you back onto him in the same position as your accidental fall earlier. Your pussy presses against his hard cock and you rock your hips tentatively just to hear Seonghwa sharply inhale. He reaches down to hold his cock so you can bring yourself down on it.

Between the mess of your orgasm and his cock covered in spit and precum, your pussy takes him easily. The sensation is so intense that your hands go to his stomach to steady yourself, trying to get used to how stuffed you are.

“Fuck yourself on me,” He says, his voice like jagged glass, “I want to watch your pussy take my cock.”

You begin to bounce on him, taking him as deep as possible every time you move down. Seonghwa is underneath you like a sliver of the moon, his blonde hair tousled, his body slender and lithe, the necklace jostling with each bounce. His cheeks are flushed with slight colour, his lips a delicious pink. His hands are on your waist, helping you take his cock, eyes cast downward to watch the way your pussy swallows him. The sight is driving you wild which only drives you to thrust down harder.

With each movement, you can hear how wet you are and can feel your pussy stretching to accommodate him. You are dimly aware of the noise that you are making. The small part of your brain still running on logic cannot believe you’re fucking Seonghwa in your café but it is a very quiet part.

Seonghwa groans loudly, his eyes closing with one particularly hard thrust. He lifts his hips up, unable to help himself, driving his cock deep in your wet pussy. You gasp, your fingers tightening around his necklace for something to hold onto. This just seems to make him want more because he begins to jerk his hips up, no longer waiting for you. Your knuckles are white from the way you grip the necklace, leaning forward a bit as he rams his thick cock in you. You are groaning, begging for him not to stop because he is hitting your sweet spot from this angle. You’re going to cum again, this time around his girth.

Seonghwa is panting, erratically thrusting. Each jerk of his hips makes your body rock as your climax draws closer. You may be telling him that you’re close or it could be gibberish tumbling from your mouth; you aren’t sure. You don’t care. Urgently, you try to match his movements with your own, attempting to be in sync. But Seonghwa’s pace is impossible to match. Your face rests on his chest now, his hands moving from your hips to grip your ass, driving his cock deep in you. The sound of skin against skin is the loudest next to Seonghwa’s heartbeat in your ear. You think that you might be drooling against him, your head blissfully blank as your body shudders.

You curse loudly, and realize that you’ve tugged too hard on his necklace – the chain has broken and it is wrapped around your hand. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to care, too intent on chasing his own orgasm. With one final harried moan, your pussy tightens around his length as you begin to climax.

Seonghwa grunts, spilling out in your pussy, filling you up with his load. He shudders, going still as he finishes. You can feel how much cum is in you, can feel your pussy milking his cock for it, the way your thighs are sticky from it.

You go limp against him, slowly opening the palm of your hand to see tiny idents from the necklace against your skin.

“I broke your necklace,” You mumble, dazed as Seonghwa slips out of you, his breathing heavy.

“That’s okay,” He pants – clearly the necklace is not on his mind.

For the next ten minutes, the two of you are silent, just tired blobs entwined. At one point, you can feel him tracing lazy circles against your back as he gently stirs back to life.

“Well,” He finally says into the quiet café, “I guess the photoshoot went well.”

“Guess so,” You mumble, feeling content against him.

“Maybe we can do more in the future.”

You shift slightly, just enough to look up at Seonghwa. He doesn’t even look unsure or worried about your denial of such a request – a thinly veiled statement disguised as a question of asking you out – and why would he? The connection between the two of you is real, even if you find it difficult to wrap your head around it.

“Well, I guess it’ll help me practice my photography,” Another full sentence! Amazing what fucking someone can do for social anxiety, “So, I agree.”

Seonghwa gives you a small smile before pulling you towards him, his lips against yours, hands on your lower back. The words of this beautiful man who wants you are now shining brightly in your mind, a promise of things to come and of future possibilities with him.

the end.

#ateez fics #ateez smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa fics #kpop fic #lonely in gorgeous #100 notes #500 notes

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wintfleur · 4 months ago

Text

𓈒 ୭ৎ ˖˙ ᰋ ── BITCH , I’M A BRAT !

aka ophelia’s profile

━━━ ❛ miniskirt so cute and I’m bad, baby girl can I smash?

ᡣ𐭩 BASICS !

name: ophelia lazar

nicknames:

pheebs (everyone)

lia (parents)

aunty opie (owen her nephew)

effy (luke)

phia (jack)

heather (seunghan)

birthday and zodiac : April 11th 2002, Aries

location:

vernon, British Columbia (formally)

manhattan, New York (currently)

ᡣ𐭩 ABOUT !

personality: she has a very strong personality, she's very extroverted, but not in an overwhelming way. She’s very confident in herself and her opinions, but she's not full of herself, she's very down to earth. She has a great sense of her humor like her brother and she loves making new friends. Comes off as intimidating to approach because of her resting bitch face, but she's really sweet — I promise! She definitely gives off party girl vibes, she's very playful and flirty, and loves to tease. She’s definitely that popular girl that you're scared to become friends with because she's ‘too cool’ but she's a friendly person. She's very passionate about the things she loves and when it comes to her work/majors she's very serious about it.

good traits: very passionate, honest and loyal, hard-working, witty, knows how to break tension (awkward or not) just wants to have fun in her life, very much a yolo type of girl, very trustful and reliable, protective of her family and friends, helpful,

bad traits: obsessive about minor details (mostly with her work and majors), holds grudges, her determination can turn into stubbornness, brutally honest, can ramble on for way to long, scared of commitment in relationships (from bad relationships in the past) she's smart but can be quite oblivious when it comes to people's feelings about her (especially jacks) a little vain tbh (she loves herself okay)

quirks/traits: raises eyebrows, always keeps eye contact, talks with her hands, hums, drumming her fingers, twirling her hair, flirting, chewing gum

likes: anything batman, getting her nails done, early long walks, the library, shopping, coloring with her nephew, partying, dancing, f1, train rides, her baby aka her car, candles

dislikes: selfish people, traffic, riding bikes, rude taxi drivers, being talked down to, cheaters

hobbies: fashion designing, journaling, drawing, thrift shopping, soccer

fears: being a failure or not good enough, getting her heart broken again,

strengths: determined, confident, creative, adaptable, attention to detail,

weaknesses: commitment in relationships, talking about her feelings, having a healthy sleep schedule, self critical, perfectionism,

languages spoken: english (fluent), korean (fluent), french (fluent), japanese (learning)

occupation/profession: Dance major (bachelor of fine arts) at juilliard, takes fashion design classes, and is a professional model.

ᡣ𐭩 RELATIONSHIPS !

parents:

Dave lazar

Karen Lazar

sibling(s): curtis, jenna, ryan and cory.

curtis and co:

Out of all of her siblings she's definitely closest to her eldest brother curtis, they have shared a special bond ever since he held her for the first time. He’s always had this strong sense of protectiveness over her as he's the oldest and she's the youngest. He always did his best to go to every single one of her soccer matches or her ballet recitals and he was always the one to stay up late listening to all her fashion ideas and to give her his opinion on her fashion designs. He takes pride in being her biggest fan. He hates how she lives alone in Manhattan, so he's always trying to convince her to move in with them. He will always see her as his baby sister, no matter how old she is. They are very playful and teasing towards each other, curtis loves to mess with her, messing up her hair and calling her spoiled.

Reanne and ophelia have an amazing relationship, normally ophelia was usually hesitant to become close with her siblings partners, but with Reanne it happened so naturally she couldn't really stop it. Reanne is like a proper older sister to ophelia, she's very motherly towards her as well, always making her favorite meals when she comes to visit them and pampering her. Ophelia is very grateful to have such a sweet and caring sister in law. They often have their own girl nights, curled up on the couch with some sweets and wine as they watch rom-coms all night. She is one of the very few people ophelia trusts talking about her romantic life.

Owen and Cayden lazar, aka ophelia's little angels, also known as her nephews. Ophelia loves them so much, she promised that she would be the best aunt ever when Curtis and Reanne told her! She was full on ugly crying when she held them both for the first time. She tries to spend as much time as she can with them, she loves babysitting them!! She has some of their toys and clothes at her place so they have things whenever they come over. She spoils them so much, always getting them new things, she absolutely loves dressing them up. There is no denying that they are her little babies, and Reanne and Curtis are so thankful for her and how good she is with them, she is the best babysitter.

best friends: amber jameson, seunghan & sunghoon park, katsuki kozume, maggie samson, mathieu simoneau, intak seo

friends: luke hughes, tate mcrae, quinn hughes, john marino, matt rempe

love interest: jack hughes

ᡣ𐭩 MORE !

scent: she uses a lot of different perfumes, she loves trying out new ones so her collection is pretty big, so perfume wise it's never really the same. She uses rose or coconut body wash and shampoo and conditioner. She likes using the same body products, not really changing up with that.

outfits: she is very confident and comfortable with herself so she tends to wear more revealing clothes, mini skirts, short dresses, low rise anything, cropped shirts, sweaters and vests, tight off the shoulder tops. But she loves all different styles and she loves trying them out, but those are just some of her main pieces of clothing. She really loves wearing low rise jeans or dress pants with midriff tops. When it's colder she loves layering clothes. Or when she just doesn't feel like getting all dressed up she’ll throw on a short skirt and sweater or some jeans and a top. She has all different kinds of shoes, all different types of boots (cowboy, moto boots, platform chunky boots and more) chunky or platform mary janes, sneakers, heels, she loves them all! She's a big lover of steve madden shoes.

accessories: she loves accessorizing, she loves anything involving fashion really!! She has a large collection of different types of bags and sunglasses(she loves collecting them), they are definitely her favorite thing + jewelry, to accessorize with. She also has quite a lot of hats, mostly ball caps, beanies and berets. She also really loves utilizing long and thin scarves when she's wearing a short skirt or shorts. She also occasionally will wear a headband, heavily inspired by Blair waldorf. In the colder weather she's almost always rocking ear muffs. She absolutely loves wearing bayonetta glasses, she has so many pairs. Honorable mentions are leg and arm warmers.

jewelry: ophelia loves jewelry, she's always wearing some! She loves rings, she usually has about four on at a time, small ones, chunky ones, one with crystals or gems, any type of rings really. One ring she is always wearing is a ring that was gifted by her siblings for getting into juilliard. It's a gold band with a mood stone in the middle. She loves layering necklaces. She also occasionally wears anklets and waist chains, it really depends on her outfit. With bracelets she wears all different types, charm bracelets, friendship bracelets, cuff bracelets, again it really depends on her outfit.

makeup: she's a black eyeliner enthusiast, she doesn't really use foundation, maybe some concealer but that's really it. She loves matching her lip liners with lipsticks/gloss, and loves some highlighter. But she normally just has eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow and her lips done! (it's different when she has her recitals and her shoots)

scars: has a two inch long scar on her left ankle from an injury playing soccer when she was 11

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5’5

piercing(s): one in her lobe and second lobe in both ears, helix (left ear) nose ring (right nostril)

tattoo(s): she has a red heart on her right underboob.

face claim: zoi lerma

ᡣ𐭩 FAVORITES !

food(s): new york style pizza, strawberries, cucumbers, muffins, peanut butter and celery, dark chocolate

drink(s): coffee, redbull, watermelon white claw, water

color(s): neutrals, black, red

animal(s): cats and penguins

favorite season: fall/autumn

bands and artists: rihanna, frank ocean, the weekend, isabel LaRosa, ciara, Arctic monkeys, beyonce, lana del rey, the neighborhood, marina and the diamonds, billie eilish

show(s): gossip girl, the vampire diaries, h2o just add water, sex and the city

movie(s): jennifer’s body, kill bill, the amazing spider man, queen of the damned, The devil wears Prada, black swan, hotel transylvania series

person: owen and cayden lazar and jack hughes

ᡣ𐭩 BACKGROUND !

Ophelia was born on a bright and sunny day that matched perfectly with her energetic personality. She became the youngest of the lazar clan, aka their baby.

Ophelia was a very energetic and sweet child, she was like a busy bee, and was given the nickname “the wild child” by her family.

Ophelia started ballet when she was four, her parents and teachers were quick to notice how talented she was at it despite her age.

She played soccer from age 8 to 11, and she loved the sport, but after she got an injury to her ankle she had to stop playing because she loved ballet more, and she couldn't risk not being able to dance again.

When she started soccer, she met her best friend amber jameson who was on her team, they became inseparable since then.

Amber goes to NYU, majoring in computer science.

She was 12 when she realized that she loved fashion design when she was helping her middle school play with costumes. Curtis noticed her new passion and bought her some supplies for her upcoming birthday.

Her modeling career started as just her getting pictures taken for her ballet portfolio, and the photographer brought up her modeling for other things professionally. And it just kicked off from there.

Over the years her modeling career just got better, ophelia modeling for high end brands, she was becoming very sought after. She even walked the catwalk for fashion week when she was 17, 19 and 20 and many other fashion shows throughout the years.

She gains a large amount of following on social media for her ballet and modeling. Getting several million followers on her tiktok.

She got accepted into julliard and moved to Manhattan where she lives alone in her loft/apartment.

She is a dance major but also takes fashion designing classes.

Was given the nickname “the next model it girl” and is known as one of the most talented and promising ballerinas in the country.

Has been in many ballet magazines, for modeling and having her own features/interviews

Started her youtube channel in 2019, and she now has over 5 million subscribers. (she posts a whole bunch of different content)

ᡣ𐭩 FUN FACTS !

when ophelia was 14 she went to south korea for a ballet summer intensive program, she stayed with a sweet and welcoming family. Their eldest son Seunghan, who also went to the ballet training camp, quickly became one of ophelia’s best friends.

He is one year older than ophelia and also attends juilliard with her as a dance major, they are each other's main partners, and they are roommates!

seunghan’s younger brother is park sunghoon from the popular kpop group enhypen, ophelia has a great close relationship with him, and she's not aware of the small crush he has on her.

when ophelia was 16 she was on Jimmy Fallon, where she talked about her ballet and modeling.

ophelia got in her first relationship when she was 18, his name is Ryan James and he is a fellow model, they met at london’s fashion week. He is almost two years older than her.

they started dating in may 2020 and dated until april 2022, they broke up at her birthday party when Ophelia looked at his phone and saw that he had been cheating on her for months, using her for clout and money.

ophelia was absolutely heartbroken, she had to put on a brave front infront of her family and friends for the rest of her birthday, making up some excuse on why Ryan had to leave.

the last 6 months of their relationship wasn't the best, he was bossy, controlling, insensitive, but she was blinded by the idea of being in love with him and being loved back.

that breakup was very hard on her and shattered her trust completely in relationships. So ever since then she swore of relationships, sticking to hookups (safely ofc)

shes known as quite the wild child and party girl.

Has been given many nicknames by the public/media/ fans and her fellow peers, here are a few notable ones

juilliard’s it girl

juilliard’s top dancer

juilliard’s resident party girl

mini natalia (nickname give to her by her ballet master)

the next model it girl

enchantress on stage

a lot of people talk about her eyes and how captivating and alluring they are, when she dances and models. She loves holding eye contact and seeing how flustered the other person gets.

seunghan and ophelia are always getting asked if they are dating because of how close they are, but they are just each other's platonic soulmates.

ophelia loves going out and partying with her friends, but she also loves just being able to relax at home watching movies in the living room or playing board games.

ophelia is an amazing cook, she loves learning how to make different cultural foods

ophelia and seunghan have a podcast called ‘on pointe podcast’

seunghan and amber are always on ophelia's youtube channel.

ophelia is one of the top students in her fashion design classes, she wants to create her own fashion line in the future.

ophelia loves traveling!!

has an addiction to thrift shopping

she absolutely loves living in Manhattan, she loves all the friends she has made at juilliard and the life she is making for herself.

she has a reputation at juilliard for being ‘popular’ and a ‘party girl’ many have said she looks intimidating to approach, but she is really friendly and is a social butterfly.

seunghan is her alarm clock (she has a terrible sleep schedule)

she loves video games, and she's really good at them too!

she has over 10 million followers on tiktok

she spends an ungodly amount of time in the practice room

has had her fair share of enemies in ballet because they are jealous of her always getting the lead parts, and the way she's favored by the ballet masters (instructors/teachers)

her dream is to become one of the best ballet dancers of her generation and ever.

ophelia has a very flirty personality, she loves making people flustered.

she has a very fun and playful personality, but she's very serious about her work and passions.

she gets invited to a lot of different events and gets sent a lot of PR packages!

swears she doesn't, but she has an addiction to shopping.

her nickname ‘mini natalia’ , which was given to her by the ballet masters, means a lot to her. They call her that because they can see that she's very talented and dances very similar to the greats, natalia makarova and natalia osipova, two of ophelia's greatest role models.

she’s very serious about her love for ballet and ways to improve. Many other ballet students have mentioned how intimidating she can be since she's always striving to be the best.

really wants to get a pet cat!

she is very talented in all different types of dancing, and she's trained in gymnastics.

she absolutely loves yoga and Pilates (loves forcing seunghan and jack to go with her)

Her baby is her car, she sadly doesn't use it a lot in Manhattan, but she loves it nonetheless.

her middle name is heather

she never loses at just dance, has acquired the nickname ‘just dance queen’

ᡣ𐭩 HER OUTFITS AESTHETIC !

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( she’s finally here my baby ophelia !! out of all my oc’s she’s the one I’ve worked on the most before posting . I just really want you guys to like her , please tell me what you guys think of her !! I hope you guys soon love her like I do :3 )

au m.list

˖ �� feel free to send in any thoughts/requests you have !! And please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist mwah

˖ ་ taglist : @yoontwin @toasttt11 @cixrosie @winterbarnesblog @iceflwers

#💄ᡣ𐭩 ⋆｡˚ ophelia #hockey imagine #hockey #nhl x oc #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #hockey fluff #nhl imagine #nhl fluff #nhl fic #new jersey devils #curtis lazar

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year ago

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Batfam as made-up facts

Dick: The biggest biohazard in public swimming pools isn't the kid that peed in it, but rather the body oil from all the swimmers accumulating over time. Not only is oil not neutralized by pool chemicals such as chlorine, but it also floats to the surface and is the first thing you make contact with when you jump in the water. This is why a lot of public pools ask people to shower beforehand.

Jason: Making new memories is simply the process of our brains creating and reinforcing new neural connections. Traumatic or impactful events see denser myelination in the hippocampus (brain's memory center) and it's theorized that when we die and our "life flashes before our eyes," there's more activity in those denser regions leading to more vivid images of those moments.

Tim: Klondike's Equation is one of the lesser-known unsolved mysteries in math. It's a branch of calculus that takes Olivar's Laws of four-dimensional derivatives and creates a paradoxal equation by which the right half of it cannot be fully written if the left half is unsolved, but the left half needs values from the right in order to be computed.

Damian: The oldest interactive/roleplaying game dates back to the ancient Sumerians, according to records. It consisted of a theater of clay puppets that the audience would chime in with how they should act. It was often performed at bars or taverns during holidays with stories themed around mythical deities or fables.

Duke: In 1982, Bill Watterson brought to Archie Comics a standalone concept of a child hero and a sentient animal companion. However, he was rejected in favor of the up-and-coming Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles story. After shopping around at companies and getting lots of rejections, Watterson finally found his big break with Andrews McMeel Publishing, cementing his place in comic history with the cult classic Calvin and Hobbes.

Cullen: The smallest readable book ever made is 12 nanometers long by 8 nanometers wide. It was engineered by four particle physics grad students at the University of Vienna and contains the first passage of the Bible across six microscopic pages.

Stephanie: Most aerosol cans use both oxygen and carbon dioxide as the aerosolizing agent, which is why you're told never to spray them near an open flame. However, for food (like whipped cream or spray cheese), nitrogen is used instead. This is to prevent perishable food from oxidizing and for preservation as nitrogen helps maintain a cooler inner temperature.

Cassandra: The most plausible explanation for the legendary chupacabra was proposed by a team of anthropologists in Oaxaca. Essentially, it combines the theories of mass hysteria with the existence of a similar creature that went extinct in early Mesoamerican history. As accounts of this now-extinct creature was passed down, the image of it was slowly distorted. The modern chupacabra legend likely arose in a period of mass hysteria during political and economical insecurity.

Barbara: Traditional computer programs can be broken down into a series of if-then commands by which a condition is given and the program must respond according to the parameters. However, machine learning algorithms use an expanded version of this, known colloquially as if-then-but-because-however. The "if-then" stipulates the parameters, the "but" is for modifiers, the "because" is for generating explanations (usually pulled from a database of other works unfortunately), and the "however" is for exceptions that may rise over the course of running the program.

Harper: Ambidextrous people actually struggle the most when it comes to the drums. Most drum setups and tabs (sheet music) are designed with right-handedness as a default. Left-handed people can simply flip it around it for themselves. However, ambidextrous players have been found to struggle with the asymmetry of the instrument. That's why, among professional rock drummers, only 6% are ambidextrous compared to the 18% of lefties and 76% of righties.

Carrie: Although it feels like our lungs are burning after holding our breath for a while, the sensation actually originates from our inflated diaphragm pressing against our lungs. Since there are more nerve endings around our lungs than our diaphragm, we interpret the feeling higher than where it actually occurs.

Kate: During the war of 1812, a group of nine Canadian men known as the False Damsels donned women's attire to act as spies against the Americans. Of the nine, four of them reportedly continued crossdressing after the war and one of them started going by Margaret a few months later and remained unmarried for 20 years until they moved to Portugal with an unknown courter.

Alfred: In 1757, the British government attempted to train livestock, such as cows and chickens, to spy on domestic threats (such as anti-monarchists). However, this project never took off due to a regional outbreak of avian flu combined with the takeoff of the Industrial Revolution and new inventions that rendered animal labor obsolete.

Selina: Coffees and wines contain a bitter compound called tannins, and the ability to taste them is genetically determined. Capsaicin can be seen analogously. Some people inherit a gene that allows them to detect capsaicin fully, so when they eat a pepper, all they get is the heat and little to no flavor. Conversely, others have a gene where the heat is "muted" and they can better distinguish the flavors between two spicy foods.

Bruce: There is a correlation between one's taste in food and expectation of others. According to a 2019 Harvard study, people who reported preferring more simultaneous flavors in their food were 26% harsher in an activity where they had to grade students' mock essays.

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yall-batman-fanfic · 4 days ago

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The Billionaire's Wife | Bruce Wayne/Batman x Magician!Reader

Synopsis: After seeing an article that reduces her to some typical “billionaire’s wife” with a lot of sexism, offensive gender roles, and instigations of a gold-digger, Vivian finds her footing in the complex world of Gotham's elite and realizes that she doesn't always have to be the demure wife who smiles a lot, and she will show them that no one messes with her, especially in her own house.

Vivian sighed as she read the headline on the online article that greeted her on her browser-news. MRS. VIVIAN PRYOR WAYNE, A LIVING RAGS TO RICHES STORY by some contributor to Gotham Gazette's online articles. She's been reading the article for some time now and has memorized every line with how much she's scrolled through it. At some point she just slammed her laptop shut because she felt like she was adding to the page's traffic which only boosts the press to write such stuff.

God, she didn't understand why this was happening again. The first time it happened was when she was just dating Bruce. People started writing how chummy they were during the second take of her book launch, and how Bruce was spoiling her with gifts that she was living every woman's dream by going on yacht trips, michelin star restaurants, luxury brand gifts, and a handsome man that had a reputation for being a playboy.

Opening her laptop again, Vivian groaned and read through the article to figure out how they even got that shot and how they thought that her day going shopping with Bruce and Tim, and having the man carry majority of the shopping bags full of clothes and school things for the new addition of Tim to their home became “Mrs. Vivian Wayne dragging billionaire Bruce Wayne and his credit card through Gotham's shopping district.”

First of all: She was Vivian Pryor-Wayne. She just sticks to “Vivian Pryor” for her books and her teaching, and other things but since marrying she was legally Vivian Pryor Wayne. She just uses Vivian Pryor for her professional name and for her books. She willingly added the name Wayne to her name to show her love. As a joke she would call Bruce “Mr. Pryor” which he doesn't mind at all.

Second: she does not drag Bruce and his credit cards around the shopping district. She has her own black credit cards, all of which she pays on her own hard-earned cash.

Third: How did they not see Tim in that photo? The kid was right there with here. She was holding his hand! And they really should have blurred his face since he was a minor. She'll be talking to their lawyers about this later.

“Everything alright, Viv?” Tim came down, all dressed up for school.

“Yes!” Vivian slammed her laptop to hide the article. “Everything is fine. Why wouldn't it be fine?”

She didn't seem fine. Tim and Alfred exchanged looks before he took his place across from her and Alfred placed breakfast on the table.

“Okay,” Tim took a bite of his toast. He watched her for a while, noticing how she drummed her fingers on the surface of her laptop and the contemplative look on her face, that looked like she was planning a murder. Tim would know. He's been working with Batman for a while now as Robin, and before that he's been a really good detective with learning who Batman and Robin really were. “Is it about the thing?”

“What thing?”

Tim gave her a sympathetic look. “We all know that's not real… it's just the press making gossip to give people to talk about.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about,” Vivian drank her coffee.

Tim sighed. What is it with the people in Wayne Manor? It seems stubbornness and pride were a common denominator with all of them. “I saw the article, Viv.”

Vivian was quiet for a time, eating her jam on toast before asking, “Does Bruce, know?”

“The fact that you asked, and the fact that he's not here telling this yourself means he doesn't.”

Vivian sighed and looked at him with a small smile, “Save the detective work after school, okay?”

Tim grinned and shrugged. “It's second nature by now. But seriously, Viv, we all know it's not true. I was there, remember? And I've been living here for a while now to know that what you and Bruce have is real and special.”

Vivian got up and walked around the table and embraced him from behind, “Thanks, Timmy.”

“Anytime, Vivian,” Tim smiled.

“You're heading to work now?” Bruce entered the room all dressed for work.

“I am,” Vivian squeezed Tim's shoulder, a message to not mention anything to Bruce.

“This early?” Bruce slightly frowned. He got up quite late and wasn't able to have breakfast with her.

“We already spent enough time earlier before I got out of bed to get ready,” she kissed his cheek. “I'll make it up to you when I drop by your office after work for our three-o'clock meeting for the Wayne Foundation event.”

“Alright,” Bruce took her hand just as she was going to leave with her bag, and pulled her down for a kiss. Tim rolled his eyes and focused on his breakfast, while Alfred just focused on packing her lunch and extra coffee. After tasting the coffee that Gotham University had in their campus lounge, he started packing her a thermos of coffee that would satisfy her for the day. “Have fun at work.”

“I will! You too – and Tim, have fun at school!”

After thanking Alfred for the packed lunch and coffee, and the discreet way of saying, “all will be well,”, Vivian left. It was only when they were sure she won't be coming back for something that Bruce spoke, asking, “What's wrong?”

“As always, Sir, nothing gets past you,” said Alfred.

“What's wrong? Vivian didn't even finish her breakfast,” Bruce pointed out. She always cleans her plate before leaving.

“Nor did she steal from the cookie jar before leaving,” Tim added.

“Nor did she give you as much attention as you required before going to the office,” Alfred jests.

Bruce only looked at the two, waiting for an answer. Alfred was a tough nut to crack, but Tim…

While Tim would put the mission first and Bruce trusts him with Batman's identity – he is Robin now after all – he can't always hide something from Bruce when it comes to Vivian. Especially when placed in a hotseat. But later, as he grows older and becomes more independent, he starts to learn how to keep things from Bruce regarding Vivian. As long as it wasn't life threatening.

“There was an article online,” Tim sighed. “Sorry, Alfred, I know I wasn't supposed to but…”

“Not to worry, Master Timothy. It takes more than just fighting crime in a bird costume to stand up to your commanding officer. You'll one day learn that sometimes it's alright to give them a good smack.”

“Is that what you did when you served?”

“Tim,” Bruce told him to continue.

“It's an article on Gotham Gazette – you know those anonymous writers they have to write some tabloid bullsh –”

“Master Timothy!”

“Sorry, Alfred — but you get the point.”

“What's this article about?” Bruce opened his laptop that he had beside him to check.

“You'll know when you see it.”

And he did. The moment Bruce opened the Gotham Gazette's website. While it was for supposed to be showing current news on Gotham, such as the latest bank robbery by Two-Face which Batman and Robin stopped, or some new thing the new District Attorney was going on about, the headlining article on the homepage was the photo of them three with the photo's caption making him frown.

Is that what Gotham was painting a picture of his wife? Some gold digger? Bruce thought as he read the article. It infuriated him that they were making such stories based off of stone shots, especially when Vivian has proven so many times that she was a hard working woman, that she was more than just a “billionaire's wife”. The title itself was offensive since she was more than just Bruce Wayne's wife. Before they married — hell, before they dated she was already building her name in her profession. She got a couple of Doctorates under her belt, wrote books and studies, and has contributed works into Gotham City's historical archives. She was awarded by the mayor for her works that depict Gothams City's history! Aside from that she's been an active contributor to Wayne Foundation charities, both the Thomas Wayne Foundation and the Martha Wayne Foundation. A part of her profit from the books she gives to charities to help Gotham City.

“I'm heading to work. Alfred, I'll leave Tim with you,” said Bruce as he got up.

“Very well, Sir,” Alfred sighed as Bruce left with his things and drove off. “I know now who I'm not telling where I hid the biscuit jar next time nor the shotgun.”

Tim sighed. “Oh brother.”

~*~

Walking through Wayne Enterprises’ building, Vivian tried her hardest to ignore the looks she was getting from some of the staff walking about. She would still greet them with a smile and a “hello”, but after that she would try not to notice the look on their faces that says they saw the article. Maybe she should have just taken the stairs than go through the long walk to the elevator. She'd gladly just open a portal to the floor itself then go through this long walk. But it would be too suspicious if she were found to be on the floor so suddenly.

“Mrs. Wayne!” One of the members of the board appeared. “Vivian, heading up?”

Vivian kept the smile, “Hi William. Yes, I'm going to see Bruce.”

“Special visit?” He gave a suggestive look.

“No. We have a meeting with the Wayne Foundation for the charity event this coming Friday.”

“Is that so?”

She hoped that was the end of it or that the elevator would end their talk but William hopped into the elevator just as she was going to press the doors to close. William Earle was one of the people Vivian didn't like that much that was part of Wayne Enterprises’ board. Since she started coming over he would always make rude comments, such as, “you should come over more and loosen up Bruce. I'll be sure to fill in on some of his meetings.” She hasn't told Bruce about William Earle's little conversation starters but Bruce was well aware of Vivian's dislike towards the man.

“By the way, I saw the article on the Gazette,” said William.

“Did you now?”

“I don't really see the problem, I mean come on. Every married man knows this – happy wife, happy life.” He laughed.

Vivian didn't laugh. Is that what they all think of her in Wayne Enterprise?

“Professor Pryor!” Lucius entered the elevator and stood between her and William, to her delight.

“Lucius, wonderful to see you,” Vivian greeted him sincerely.

“Heading to the Wayne Foundation meeting?”

“I am.”

The elevator finally closed and they were heading up.

“Then I guess we're heading the same way then,” Lucius offered his arm to her.

Vivian laughed lightly and wrapped her arm with the man's. “Good thing you are, I don't think I'll have much patience in these things. I’m all in for doing but planning the whole thing, I just get lost.”

“That's what we're here for, Professor Pryor. You and Mr. Wayne dream it, and we'll do the grunt work on making it happen.”

“I promise to help out as much as I can, Lucius.”

“Your expertise and your presence alone in those events are more than enough. And I believe you've provided the list of collectors who are looking to sell — I never knew you were well acquainted with Rossi.”

“Rossi?” William tried to chime in.

“Sebastian Rossi – he's an Italian artist whose paintings have agreed to put some of his private works to auction. A fixed portion, of course, will go to him, but the rest will be put in the Wayne Foundation.”

“It just so happens Sebastian Rossi is a professor in art history as well, and I went to his lectures when I was still in uni.”

“Did you now?” Lucius said. “Well, Mr. Wayne does have his network in Gotham's elite and powerful, and sciences, but you Professor brings the classics to our doorstep.”

“Somebody has to keep Wayne Enterprise from becoming some robotic corporation.”

They arrived at their floor, and Vivian and Lucius said goodbye to William as they went to Bruce's office.

“Saved your behind from an awkward elevator ride, didn't I Professor?” Lucius teased.

“Yes, and you are my hero today, Lucius,” Vivian sighed. “I'm sure you've seen the article on the Gazette?”

“Everyone has. It's probably one of the reasons why Bruce is a little distracted today at our nine-o'clock. Don't worry, your husband might have his mind preoccupied but he still manages to operate well.”

Vivian sighed. “I am trying to keep an upbeat attitude.”

“I'm sure the charity event will change some perspectives in the coming future.”

“I hope so.”

Entering Bruce's office, they saw the man deep in work while taking a call on his bluetooth earpiece. The moment they opened the door, he told the person at the other line that he'll call them back later then stood to greet Lucius and Vivian.

“Lucius,” Bruce said to the man and then turned to Vivian and kissed her cheek, “Viv, I guess it's time for the meeting.”

“Yes, it is,” Vivian told him.

“But Marge usually takes her time with preparing our coffee. I'll head over to make sure everything is alright. You can come after ten minutes, Mr. Wayne, Professor Pryor,” Lucius said and left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Vivian turned to Bruce and said, “Marge doesn’t take too much time with preparing coffee.”

“No, she does not. But I appreciate Lucius’ efforts in giving us some time alone. It's been a busy week.”

“Both in your day job and night job,” Vivian placed her bag on the seat and leaned back on his desk. Bruce stood before her and removed the tie that's keeping her hair to a bun, then massaged her scalp.

“That feels nice,” she hummed. “How's your day?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“You saw.”

“You should have told me.”

“I just don't want to think more about it. But going through that procession just to get to the elevator didn't help. William Earle didn't help either. Is that what I'm reduced to? A wife you got to please so I'd drop by your office to give you head before a meeting?”

Bruce frowned. “And you said you weren't thinking about it too much,” he leaned down and placed each of his hands on the table to cage her there. “Hey… for better and for worse, remember?” Vivian smiled and pressed her forehead on his. “And your shit is my shit too.” She laughed.

“Why did we even add that to our vows?”

“It was your idea, and I think it's romantic. But you get the gist.”

“Of course, it was my idea,” Vivian brushed her nose against his and closed her eyes. “I miss the times we sneak around and act like we're good at it.”

“You're not just my wife Vivian, and nor are you just someone I please to get a good fuck. You're my partner in everything. Your achievements are your own and you’ve made a name for yourself in your field, and I am proud of you for it. And you put up with me and the demands of my other life.”

Vivian smiled, she slung her arms around his neck and enjoyed his company. “I should get an award for that. You don't see anyone else who supports their husband and their nightly hobbies of running around in a costume. Let alone a bat costume. And also consulting him and his friends on their Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.”

Bruce chuckled. “I'll get you a plaque for it.”

The door of his office opened and Bruce had to remove himself from his wife, displeased, to face them. It was William Earle.

“Whoah, didn't mean to walk-in on you both like that,” he joked.

Vivian rolled her eyes, luckily Bruce was big enough to hide her from William's view.

“Will, what brings you here?” Bruce asked.

“Lucius has everyone in the conference room now.”

“But you're not in that meeting.”

He wasn't, but William Earle has always been a suckup.

William shrugged, “Saw them ready for you and thought why not save Marge the hassle of walking all the way here to tell you, you know.”

“Thanks, William,” Vivian got off the table and took her bag. “We'll head there now.”

Taking Bruce's offer of his arm, Vivian and him left the office and went straight to the meeting.

~*~

Veronica Vreeland was one of the few people that Vivian would call a real friend of Bruce Wayne. She remembered meeting the woman after Bruce said his friend demanded they have a double date with her now ex-husband. It was fun getting to know Veronica, and while the two of them were complete opposites, they found some common ground that became the foundation of their friendship.

Which was dress shopping.

Vivian always loved clothes. She remembered going to the shopping district in Liverpool with her mother and going through the thrift shops to find clothes she liked for a cheap price, then Madeline would fix them up or alter them to fit her preference. For a time she learned how to use a sewing machine just to alter her existing clothes to styles she always wanted, and she did the same for her siblings when they started to become picky with their clothes.

Oliver was more of the tweed jackets and white shirts and trousers.

Olivia liked rock and roll.

Vivian preferred to sew Olivia's clothes since it was more ripped than actually attached.

When she got a job, the first paycheck she got, Vivian bought a really nice blazer – not from a thrift shop but a new one that fits her perfectly. It served her for years into her profession until it no longer fits. Later, she started buying clothes that would fit her profession and have that Dan Brown's Robert Langdon aesthetic.

Then she started seeing Bruce Wayne who invited her to galas and fancy dinners, and charity events, and press runways, and she had to look into more appropriate clothes. Luckily, her first gala event as Bruce’s date happened after she met Veronica Vreeland, and the woman invited her to go dress shopping before the event, and got a really nice dress that – in her words – “would have Bruce begging they head home before they even get to the venue.”

Now, here they were again, looking through luxury brand stores for a dress for the upcoming charity auction they were hosting at Wayne Manor. It was a Saturday which meant Tim had time to go through cases in the cave than be a kid, which had Vivian dragging him through their shopping with a video game to play with.

“You are probably the only kid who I will ever enable to play video games instead of studying,” she told him as she handed him a video game and told him to sit at the bench.

“Or I could just play video games at home,” Tim said.

“Yeah, with Alfred coordinating with the caterer, Bruce at work, and me here, so you're unsupervised and can go to the basement to study? No.”

Tim groaned and took the game.

Now standing before the mirrors trying out the dress that Veronica picked out, she did a good turn to see how it looked on her. Before she could give her opinion, Veronica told their assistant for the day, “No. She's a world renowned professor in symbology and iconography – in basic terms she's damn smart. Not eye-candy. She's the host for the event, not the hubby's accessory.”

“Of course, we'll find something that might interest us.”

After changing out of the dress and back to the robe that was provided, Vivian laid on the couch beside Veronica and sighed. On cue, the woman handed her a glass of champagne and a slice of cake.

“Thanks for that,” Vivian said.

“No problem,” Veronica took Vivian's legs and had them on her lap, making the latter laugh. “I hate it when they always choose the dresses my grandmother would wear or whatever Rebecca Fallbrook as in her closet.”

“Which is?”

“The most clothing you'll see on her is probably the Princess Jasmine costume she wore on that New Year's Eve party. And I mean the red Princess Jasmine costume.”

They both laughed at the memory and drank their champagne.

“I miss shopping with you, Ronie,” Vivian sighed.

“Well, you've been busy.”

“And you've been on so many honeymoons now that I rarely see you in the country.”

Veronica smirked. “Those honeymoons got you that fantastic fur coat from St. Petersburg and that beautiful coat from Italy, mind you. So, what's up, Vivian Pryor-Wayne? Four years into the marriage… how's living with Gotham's snobs?”

A long and dragging sight. “I miss not being labeled an alcoholic whenever I order beer at ten in the morning. I also miss not seeing my face on the headlines of some tabloid being called as a gold digger.”

Veronica gave her a sympathetic look. “Gotham press and Gotham's socialite are not that welcoming to new money – or those who marry into its circle. They know they can't do anything to you because of Bruce, so they pay the media to do the shaming.”

“I miss Liverpool. There people can call each other wankers and get on with their day. None of this backstabbing shit.”

“Did you stab them when they're looking?”

“Usually.”

Veronica laughed. “If only Gotham is like your little neighborhood in Liverpool… but I hope this doesn't get between you and Bruce though.”

“It doesn't. He has been extra loving lately, and while I enjoy his morning greetings,” Tim mimicked someone vomiting, “I just want this to die down. I mean, I enjoy the gesture but he can't always go on his knees just to cheer me up, right?”

“VIVIAN!” Tim covered his ears with pillows.

“What do you expect? It's Bruce, he likes to please people. But seriously, Viv. Anything you need, I'm here — even if it means trashing someone's car to let out some steam… say Rebecca Fallbrook? Listen, I think this is just going out because you're hosting this event for the Wayne Foundation, and people are not happy that you've been getting good media publicity from the Daily Planet and the press in general. I can smell a rich-man's bribe anywhere.”

Vivian sighed and pulled Tim so she could mess with his hair. It always calms her to do that with her boys. And Tim doesn't mind, it was a free head-massage.

Before Vivian could say anything, the store assistants came back with some outfits that she would like. On in particular caught her eye, and both her and Veronica pointed at it and said, “that one.”

Later that day, a photo went around Gotham Gazette’s page and social platforms with an article that highlights her and Veronica, mentioning that she was once again cashing in Bruce's money with luxury clothes. Vivian slammed her laptop shut and counted the days until the auction. Once that's done all of this would be over… until the next event.

~*~

The grand hall was packed with Gotham's socialite, the press, and guests who show expertise on the pieces that Sebastian has finally opened up to sell. As everyone was socializing downstairs, Vivian watched from the railing as she tried to look for someone she knew so she could run to them immediately and not get caught in all the whole small talk. She saw Veronica there but she was conversing with Suzie Vanaver and Heather Earle, who were not the most welcoming in their little circle. Veronica called them snobs and would rather have champagne at the corner but she was forced by her father to interact with them and be a “good girl” for the evening. And not hunting for husband #4.

“You look like you're playing that crane game we went to with Ms. Vreeland the other day,” Tim said to her as he came out with Bruce. Both wearing matching tuxes that complimented her white jumpsuit.

“Don't you look handsome,” she told Tim. “I saw Bernard down there, why don't you save him from getting his cheeks pinched by old ladies.”

“You don’t have to bribe a friend so I can give you both some alone time you know,” Tim snickered and left.

Alone, Bruce took Vivian's hand that's been fiddling with Jason's locket and smiled sadly. Even in death, Vivian still finds comfort with Jason's memory. He took her hand and kissed the wedding band and her engagement ring before kissing her lips.

“You look fantastic,” he told her.

“I’m a complete mess,” she sighed. “It's weird how I know everyone in this room, I can smile and talk to them but I feel utterly alone.”

“But you're not,” Bruce told her. His eyes glanced over her should an the crowd as he said, “and I think you'll be happy to see someone in this crowd right now.” He had her turn around to see.

Waving frantically from below, where he gained looks from the other guests, Sebastian Rossi called out to Vivian with a grin, “Bella! Vivian!” Rossi called for her with his thick Italian accent.

Vivian laughed and waved at him, “Professore Rossi!”

Sebastian Rossi gestured for her to come down. Taking Bruce's hand, they both went to greet the artist who was accompanied by some of her colleagues who were apologizing to the others he surprised with his loud entrance.

“Professore Rossi,” Vivian greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks. “How was the flight?” She asked in Italian.

“Professor Vivian Pryor – eh!” Sebastian caught himself, “Professor Vivian Pryor-Wayne, I hear now.”

“Yes,” she then switched to English as she introduced Bruce. “My husband, Bruce Wayne.”

“The lucky man,” Rossi laughed as she shook Bruce's hand.

“Indeed. It's nice to meet you as an artist and as Vivian's good friends. How was the flight?”

“Very appreciated – I think I enjoyed it too much in first class. Now, I heard you have adopted a few boys. I brought presents,” he took out three wrapped boxes from his bag. “I remember reading about it in our emails. The youngest, where is he?”

Bruce called for Tim from the snackbar and had him come over.

“Ah, you are Tim. Yes?”

“Yeah,” Tim said.

“For you. Vivian said that you liked puzzles, so I got you something to get you off the video games.”

Tim snickered and turned to Vivian. “Look at that, an intellectual game that a normal kid could play that’s not a video game. Thank you, Professor Rossi.”

Rossi patted him on the head – messing up his hair – and had him returning to where he was finishing all the snacks with Bernard. “Now, Richard?”

“Dick's not –”

“Here, I am,” Dick crossed the crowd, all dressed up for the night. “Bruce said it was your event, I can't miss that.”

Vivian smiled and thanked him. “I'm glad you're here, kiddo.”

“Here, my boy. I did the math – mind you I am not a mathematician so I made a good guess on your age. So, here. From Tuscany – Italy's wine region.”

“Thank you… hold on, when you said bad in math, how old did you think I was?”

Rossi shrugged. “Sixteen?”

“He'd be underage. He won't be allowed to drink then,” said Bruce.

Rossi scoffed. “I've been drinking wine since I was Timothy's age.”

“An exaggeration,” Vivian reassured the people around them.

“But thanks,” Dick said.

“Now. I know that Jason is gone, but he will always be here with you. Here, for you and Mr. Wayne. It is a replica of the Argo — you know, Jason and the Argonauts.”

“Thank you, Professor. This means so much…” she gestured for Alfred to come and the butler approached them and held out his hand to take the gift.

“I'll put this in his old room,” he told her.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Vivian said before he left. “This means so much, Professor –”

“There is more.”

“Please, no more. You have already given so much.”

“No, no! For my favorite student – do not tell the others that –”

“We're right here,” said Kirk. “We were also your students during our semester in Italy.”

“— I made you something for your wedding. I was supposed to give it to you during the celebration but I ran out of time. I can't give it to you now but I had it transported here along with my other works.”

“Please don't tell me Sebastian Rossi just made us a painting as a wedding gift,” whispered Bruce.

“I think he did.”

“And you do know that a Rossi costs about at least six million dollars in the market, right?”

“I know,” Vivian whispered. “And I thought getting him to pour me wine is an honor enough.”

“Here,” Rossi showed the catalog, specifically at the painting. “For your personal collection.”

“Thank you, Professor Rossi,” Vivian said. “This means so much.”

“Specifically around six million dollars,” Dick whispered to Bruce. “Did this add another zero into your joint account?”

“It did,” Bruce answered.

“Now, I shall leave you to your event,” Rossi said.

“No, you are the guest of honor, I would be a rude host to leave you just like that,” Vivian had her arm around her old friend and brought him around to meet Lucius Fox and the others.

The auction went smoothly with Vivian giving an opening speech to discuss more about Rossi's works, and a few words from the artist himself, then everyone was bidding to get a hold on one of Italy's rising artists whose paintings cost just keeps getting bigger and bigger. It ended when Bruce himself purchased a painting called Aphrodite Urania Seducing Ares where the goddess is depicted to be having red hair and is naked as she bathed in sea water, and at the side the god of war was watching with lustful eyes.

“I think we both know why Bruce bought that painting,” Dick said as he removed his hand off of Tim and Bernard's eyes when the photo of the painting was no longer on display.

“You don't say? You think he'll put it in their bedroom?” Tim muttered.

“I know he will.”

With the auction finished, people enjoyed the afterparty and got to know the artist who they just made very rich. As Rossi spoke with Bruce and the others, Vivian was whisked away by Veronica who teased her about the last painting which Bruce bought.

“That wasn't me,” Vivian told her. “Okay, technically that wasn't me, it was a model, but Rossi admitted he made the hair red on purpose because he really liked my red hair.”

Veronica laughed. “Tell me where Bruce is going to put it, alright?”

“Please don't tease him about it.”

“Viv, that's what friends are for. We tease you but with good intentions. It keeps you grounded.”

“Thank you for coming tonight, Ronnie. And for buying that piece,” Vivian sighed. “I don't know how I would have gotten through this night without you.”

“You would have. I barely talked to you, Viv.”

“Well, you kept the hoard from getting me tonight.”

Veronica laughed. “That's what I do… congratulations, Vivian. Now, go and mingle with the other rich people in Gotham. Remember, it's the connections that give you power.”

“I will,” Vivian said and went to the direction of some of the families who bought a piece from tonight. “Mr. Vanaver, Mr. Fallbrook, I'm glad that you're enjoying the evening.”

“Mrs. Wayne, good to see you,” Patrick Vanaver said.

“I hope you're happy with your purchases for tonight.”

“Not as happy as Wayne, though,” Oscar Lawford snickered. “He got the best one there is. Right, Viv?”

Vivian breathed through her nose and reminded herself about the network and the image she needed to keep. “I remember when Professor Rossi was still halfway through painting it – he was having trouble on Aphrodite's hair and then one day he just made it red to make her stand out.”

“Is that right? He just suddenly decided to make the goddess of love and sex have red-hair, huh?” Said Patrick. Vivian frowned. “You know, Professor, we really thought you were one of those quiet type of girls. We never thought you to be well acquainted with big people.”

Vivian forced a smile. “It's part of the job. Traveling, meeting people.”

“You know, I'm a painter myself, not as good as Professor Mario over there, but I can do a decent piece. How about you model for me on a piece” said Patrick.

“Excuse me?” Vivian's brows furrowed.

“Come on now, Viv. It's just a joke,” said Oscar Lawford.

“You know, I can understand why Bruce wanted that painting. I can see it now.”

Vivian looked at him for a moment then did something that certainly would stick to every Gothamite in this event. She took Patrick Vanaver and Oscar Lawford's drinks and handed them to the nearest server on sight. Before they could question what she was doing, she asked the same man to tell the person at the coats and the valet to get Mr. Vanaver and Mr. Lawford's coats.

“What the hell, Viv?” Oscar told her.

“Don't Viv me. It's either Pryor or Mrs. Pryor-Wayne. While I do appreciate your attendance and we appreciate your donation to the cause, I would humbly ask for you to get out of my house.”

Silence came to the room and everyone was looking Vivian.

“Viv, come on it's a joke!” Oscar scoffed.

“Professor Pryor, the valet are now bringing Mr. Lawford and Mr. Vanaver's vehicles to the front, Ma'am,” Alfred came to her side. “Your coats will be waiting for you at the front,” he told the two men.

“What the – Wayne, are you hearing this right now?” Patrick turned to Bruce who was marching up to their space.

Bruce went to Vivian's side and only looked at the two men, joining him were Dick and Tim who looked at them with menacing glares. “Vivian is the Mistress of Wayne Manor, Patrick. She runs this house. What she says goes. I'm sure the valet already has your cars at the front. And don't worry about Suzie and Heather, they can stay. We'll personally secure their mode of transportation home.”

“Bruce, you can't be serious!” Oscar scoffed.

“Trust me. I am. And Oscar, Patrick,” Bruce towered over them and said in a threatening tone, “Insult my wife again and I swear… it will be the last. Don't think I didn't hear what you said to her along with the anonymous writer you have contacted in the Gazette.”

Vivian smirked. “We thank you for your donation to the Wayne Foundation, gentlemen. And we'll make sure that your paintings will reach your homes securely.”

“Now,” Dick spoke. “Get out.”

The two men turned to their wives and told them to come along, and they did, both embarrassed with what had happened. As soon as they were in their cars, Tim and Bernard ran up to the front with a couple of tomatoes – which Vivian magically conjured discreetly from the kitchen and handed to the boys – and threw it at the two men's windshields. The boys laughed and high-fived as the men started cursing and wiping the tomatoes using their expensive scarves.

“Are you alright, my love?” Bruce asked Vivian.

“Yes,” Vivian sighed. “I am now – a lot better since last week.” Since that article she saw.

“Scotch, neat, Ma'am,” Alfred handed Vivian her favorite drink.

“Thank you, Alfred. I can always count on you for this. And,” she turned to Bruce, smiling, “I can always count on you to have my back.”

“Partners, remember?” Bruce leaned down and kissed her softly.

“Well,” Veronica approached them. “Demure and commanding, I am proud of you, Vivian. The hulking husband is a nice touch, too, Bruce.”

“Ronnie,” Bruce greeted her.

“What do you think is going to happen after that?” Vivian asked them.

“Public shaming, give the Vanavers and the Lawfords a couple of days out of the sun – maybe a vacation to their villas – and they'll be back. Scarred and won't dare to come near you, but still close enough to be in the inner circles of Gotham's socialite,” Veronica answered.

“That's nice to hear,” said Vivian.

“Congratulations, Professor Pryor, you now know the ways on how to say ‘fuck you’ like a snobbish Gotham elite,” Veronica clinked her wine glass with Vivian's scotch.

Tim and Bernard returned, both grinning from ear to ear.

“We got them good,” Tim said.

Vivian knelt down and kiss his cheek. “Thanks, detective.”

“Vivian!” Tim groaned and tried to push her away but couldn't as she had a good hold, making Bernard laugh at him.

#batman x reader #batman #bruce wayne #dc fanfic #dc comics #dc universe #dc batman #fanfic #batfam #batman fanfiction

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milkistay · 2 years ago

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what STRAY KIDS would do on valentine’s day

pairing. skz x gn!reader

format. headcanons

chan

fancy dinner date

something about chan gives the impression that he’d really like doing the whole Dressing Up And Going Out extravaganza for valentine’s day. white tablecloths, gold champagne, decorative red rose centerpiece; chan’s gaze on you, thick with adoration, illuminated by the candlelight; a small, special gift handed to you shyly. he giggles at the cheesiness of it all but you look incredible and he’s never been more in love.

minho

home date

you best believe minho has a whole menu planned for you. multiple courses. drinks. sides. desserts. you spend the early evening as the sous chef, handing him spices and wooden spoons while pressing quick kisses to his cheek (he smiles every time). it’s sickeningly domestic. the dinner tastes fantastic of course, but not better than how the blush on minho’s face looks when you pay him the nth compliment of the night. you end the date on the couch, holding each other close and playing stupid games to decide who cleans up (you clean up together anyway).

changbin

chill dinner date

changbin adores taking his loved ones out to restaurants. he’d love to pick a old favorite spot or somewhere new and spend the evening sharing dishes with you and talking about anything and everything in your lives. and by the end of the night, when you’re both full of pasta or sushi or samgyeopsal, you’ll walk home together and changbin, ever so the gentleman, will drape his jacket over your shoulders. he lies in bed later, smiling at all the photos he took of you.

hyunjin

museum date

typical of our sweet hyunjin to want to take you to a museum. the winter rain is drumming on the windows but you’re protected by the quiet serenity of the museum. hyunjin leads you from room to room, holding your hand, and stops in front of every piece depicting two lovers, whispering, “that looks like us,” with a smile. and you listen, happily, when he begins to give you an art history 101 lesson because his eyes light up so beautifully. and when you finally leave, you duck into a small ramen shop and warm up while hyunjin flips through the new art book you bought him at the gift shop.

jisung

café date

what’s sweeter than a cold, winter morning spent inside a café sipping warm drinks with jisung? doing all of that one valentine’s day! jisung insists on trying their holiday specials (just a normal latte but with heart sprinkles or iced tea dyed pink and red) as you claim a small table in the corner, nothing in the world to care about expect for the loved one in front of you. it’s cozy, it’s familiar, it’s jisung’s favorite morning of the whole month.

felix

picnic date

felix is ever so endearing when he packs a bag with lunch and drinks and desserts and finds a perfect spot at the park—just under the light scatter of shade from a nearby tree. he lays his head in your lap while you play with his hair and the sun peeks through the leaves, golden spots across his cheeks. he brings flowers and chocolates, of course, along with a heart-shaped card that’s filled with his handwritten notes on all the things he loves about you (he writes small and squeezes words in every space, but he still runs out of surface area). a perfect afternoon spent, in his professional opinion.

seungmin

movie date

honestly, it doesn’t matter which movie you watch because you barely end up even watching it. instead, cuddled up under one blanket on the couch and sharing each other’s favorite snacks, you and seungmin can’t stop talking long enough to actually pay attention. you’re trading stupid jokes and bits of stories from your weeks. you tell him about how you saw your friends earlier, he tells you about the annoyingly difficult new choreography he has to learn, you tell him about the puppy stuffie you saw in a store that reminded you of him, he tells you about his mom calling him to wish you a happy early birthday and so on and on and on. you fall asleep to the soft hum of the movie and seungmin fiddling with your fingers mindlessly.

jeongin

beach date

unbeknownst to you, jeongin has been planning this for weeks. he carefully selected the perfect beach—secluded, with a breathtaking view of the sea and the shore—and packed a bag with blankets and your convenience store drink of choice. you spend the whole afternoon with your feet in the sand and jeongin’s arm around you, looking out at the horizon and babbling about anything. and then the sun sets, staining the clouds colors of pink and orange, and finally, the constellations return to black sky. under the safety of the night, you and jeongin spill everything—dreams, hopes, silly wishes, sillier fears—and wonder how two people can be so perfect for one another.

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julieeeeette · 4 months ago

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The one where you work at a coffeehouse and don't know him.

Pairing: Taehyung x you

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 913

Sure, he had a new song at number one on the Billboard charts.

Sure, people screamed his name practically everywhere he went.

Sure, he could date models or actresses or heiresses, or anyone he wanted to.

He wouldn’t even need to ask.

He had more money than he knew what to do with.

His humble start in life had made all of it addictive. It felt good not worrying about whether he could afford a good meal or a nice shirt. He got comfortable and started ordering fancy dinners with lobster, filet mignon, caviar and champagne and wore a $3,000 suit while eating it.

He’d been giddy when he realized the entire meal hadn’t even made a dent in his account.

He hadn’t even realized the success was pulling him under like he’d gotten stuck in a rip tide.

He didn’t know how close he’d come to losing everything.

But then, he saw you.

He’d actually stopped dead in his tracks and walked back several steps when he saw you standing behind the counter at a bakery, smiling at someone while handing them their credit card.

His heart skipped a beat.

He didn’t even think about what he would say. What he would do.

He opened the door and walked inside as though an invisible force had grabbed his soul and guided him in.

He stared down into your eyes when he came up to you.

“Hi!” You beamed up at him. If you noticed him or were even remotely starstruck, you weren’t letting on. You were being professional. It was refreshing to feel… so… normal.

So safe.

“What can I get you?”

He wanted to blurt out a request for your phone number, but stopped himself, glimpsing the microphone in the corner. “Just a coffee, please. When does the mic go live?”

You looked over at it as though you’d forgotten it existed. “Oh. Uh, I think it’s on.”

He smiled at you. “Thanks, love.”

He walked towards the microphone, his heart throbbing in his ears.

Love? Love! What had he been thinking?

He squeezed his eyes shut, becoming aware of how warm the tips of his ears were burning.

He’d never said that to anyone before.

He shook his head and sat on the edge of a wooden stool and cleared his throat as he tapped the microphone and adjusted it.

People glanced over at him and he wished he had a piano to play.

He never quite knew what to do with his hands when sat like this.

What song was he even going to sing?

One came to mind when he glanced over at you watching him with a small smile playing on your lips.

He had to ask you out.

“This one is a piece I’m working on. It’s about a boy who always felt alien. He went to the stars to find himself, only to find out his real home was in the heart of someone on Earth.”

That sounded dumb, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He licked his lips and let his deep, smooth voice glide through the small shop like warm caramel, the words coming surprisingly easily to him.

When he finished, he glanced down at his frantically drumming foot and scoffed as he drew in a deep breath, relieved at the steady applause that filled his ears.

He stood and bowed with a smile, holding his red tie to his chest before walking back to the counter where you stood with a cup of coffee in your hands.

“That was beautiful, but I’m sure you know that.” You chuckled, handing the coffee to him as your cheeks glowed.

He couldn’t help but notice how you jumped when his fingers brushed against yours. He gave a breathy laugh and smiled at you.

“I didn’t have half of that written.” He sipped the bitter liquid and did his best not to flinch. He watched you move to the side and take up a small spoon. “You were my muse.”

You shuffled the spoon full of white powder over his coffee then gave it a quick stir. “Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He took a sip, preparing for the coffee to be too sweet, only to find it was nicely rounded and easily palatable. His eyes went wide and looked at the container you’d grabbed the spoon from.

“It’s salt.” You offered with a shrug. “It helps neutralize the bitterness.”

“It’s perfect.” He took another sip and glanced around, eyeing his agent who stood by the door. She held her hand up and pointed to her watch. “I have to get going. But, if you’re open to it, I’d like to see you again. May I? Please?”

You looked up at him with a mix of excitement, wariness, and confusion as your lips parted and your eyes grew.

He almost thought you’d say no.

“I don’t even know your name.”

Oh.

Years of being spoiled came crashing around him.

He bowed his head as every nerve in his body seemed to be simmering with excitement. If you were being honest and really didn’t know him, this was his chance to be authentically himself.

He could be free. He could be normal.

“I’m Kim Taehyung.”

“It’s nice to meet you Taehyung.” You bowed your head in return. “I’m Y/N and I’m off at six.”

He raised the cup of coffee with a grin. “I’ll be here.”

#bts #bts fic #taehyung #taehyung fic #bts fluff #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #bts fanfiction #taehyung fluff #taehyung drabble #bts drabble

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viperrot · 1 year ago

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⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 3

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

you and your brother spend time together at a local diner. of course, you see leon there—with a pretty girl no less!

pt. 1 pt.2 pt.4

content contains: mild angst, mild enemies to lovers, mean leon, cliches, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

not proofread i am sleepy

2252 words

song rec: "little nocturne" by hiroshi takaki

The little bell above the shop's wooden, yellow door jingles as Damien and I enter, and the smell of carpet and fresh paper fills my senses. The music shop is painted in a warm light, the wooden walls lined with an assortment of instruments ranging from guitars, drums, and a few brass, although very few. There's a few pianos tucked into corners, and shelves of lesson books and other arrangements are shoved into them. I've been here many times before, and the shop owner often gives me discounts with how frequently I visit. There's no one behind the register, so I assume whoever's working today is in the back.

"Mrs. Conaway?" I call out, eyes darting around the shop. From behind a shelf, a little head peeps out, revealing a frail woman in her late fifties. Her glasses make her eyes bubble, and her salt-n-pepper hair is tied up in a chaotic mess atop her head.

"Ah, good morning, you two!" Mrs. Conaway smiles goofily, waddling out from behind the wooden shelf. "I assume you're here for your oboe?"

"That 'n some slide grease. I'm running a bit low," I chuckle dryly, walking with the elderly woman to the register. To the left of the register is a glass case showing off a variety of wind instruments. There's flutes, a few piccolos, a trumpet mouthpieces, a single trombone, and finally...

The F. Lorée classic oboe.

My dream instrument since beginning junior high. A professional level oboe going for over three-thousand dollars, the Lorée company has been making them for almost a century, known famously for their beautifully crafted instruments. I had been saving up for one post-high school since my freshman year.

"Y'think daddy's money can afford that?" Damien nudges me with a joking smile, referring to the extra cash I'll be getting from tutoring the girls. I roll my eyes.

"Maybe," I chuckle. Mrs. Conaway pulls out a beat-up looking case from behind the register as Damien and I banter, setting it on top of the instrument display case to show it to me.

"It's an intermediate brand. I hope it isn't too bad," she gives me a sheepish grin.

"Don't worry!" I mirror her smile, popping open the case to give the double reed instrument a look. It's a little dirty and the corks look drier than a desert, but it was nothing I couldn't fix. "It's perfect, Mrs. Conaway. Thank you so much," I nod at her, clicking the oboe case shut carefully. She clasps her hands together happily.

"I'm so glad to hear that! And remember, you don't have'ta pay me for it. It's the least I can do for my sweetest customer!" The elderly woman says giddily.

"Agh, even so... I really appreciate it, Mrs. Conaway. I'll return it as soon as I get a new one," I promise her. She pushes the case toward me, eager for me to get on with playing it and also for me to leave so she can keep working. Damien and I walk out of the shop, stepping out into the sun that shun down onto the busy town centre.

"So...?" Damien looks at me with a wicked smirk. "We got the car for the day... are ya thinkin' what I'm thinkin', thumper?" He swings his arm over my shoulders. I eye him with a quirked brow. As if reading each other's mind, we shout in unison,

"ICE CREAM 'N JOYRIDES!"

Our cheer echoes down the street, but we giggle as if there's nothing wrong in the world. We jog over to the Impala, hopping in quickly before driving off to the best restaurant in the world—Hattie's. A local favourite, and everyone here swears that it sells the best shakes you could possibly imagine. Mrs. Hattie L. Parker started the old shoppe when Everglade was first founded in 1957 at the age of 22, and it's been a staple ever since in this old town. I can't name a single person here that doesn't frequent the place.

We pull into an empty spot with "Come On Eileen" playing lowly from the radio. As soon as we park, we throw ourselves out of the car, racing each other to the door of the diner while giggling all the way. I decide to bring my hand-me-down oboe with me, wanting to get some repair as soon as possible.

"You're cheating!" Damien yelps when he sees me get to the glass door faster than him.

"Nuh uh?! It's not my fault I'm just a lil closer to the door compared to you!" I cackle, pushing the door open with my back as I hug my case to my chest. My older brother gives me a rough pat on the head, jostling my hair around with his palm. I grunt at the affection, trying to pull him off of me as we stumbled into the bustling diner. It's almost packed, most of the booths and counter seats taken up. As Damien and I look around for a seat, I lock eyes with him.

In a booth is Leon Scott Kennedy, sitting with three other people. Next to him is the famous Ada Wong, known across the school for being the one of best lacrosse players in the county, as well as my graduate year's class president. I can't see the other two he's sitting with from where I'm standing, but I'm assuming it's someone from her little posse that's been at her feet since freshman year.

I feel myself shrink as I make eye contact with him, unconsciously drifting to stand behind my brother. Leon's got the same glare I saw him give me before Damien and I left to get my new oboe, which was clutched tightly to my front. I notice he changed his clothes, sporting a deep blue sweater with a white collared shirt beneath it.

Damien notices how quiet I'm being and follows my gaze.

"You good, thump- Oh..." The boy sneers at the sight of the ace. He squeezes my shoulder softly. "Ignore 'em, sis. Let's sit over here," he grunts, spinning me toward an empty booth at the opposite end of the diner. We settle into the red, leather seats, immediately ordering a sodapop and a banana-split to share between us. I keep my head down, eyes trained on the oboe case on the table.

Carefully, I open it to reveal the old thing. Rummaging through the case, I pull out a tube of cork grease and get to work. I'm careful as I apply the lubricant onto the dry corks, trying not to put too much on to avoid them get soft and even more flakey. All the while, I can feel the stares on me.

I look up hesitantly, eyes immediately settling on Leon. His arm is wrapped around Ada Wong's shoulder, fingers playing with the threads of her black cardigan. My fingers tighten around the lower piece of my oboe, an odd feeling in my chest as I watch the blonde be so casual with someone I assume he's only known for a day. Suddenly, he looks up at me, seeming just as confused as I am. I quickly look back down at the parts in my case, praying he didn't catch me staring.

"Can't believe he's hangin' out with Wong and her best friend," Damien huffs, fiddling with the turkey feather for my oboe. I remember that he and Ada had a thing going on before the summer. He never told me what happened—all I knew is that one night, he came home crying, and he sobbed about how much he loved her. I never brought it up since then, but tt finally occurs to me that Leon was most likely on a double date of sorts, and the ache in my chest worsens. Ada isn't really seen with boys outside of school unless she had some romantic interest in them...

"Are you really surprised, though? I mean, they're both heartless assholes with no personality," I sigh, setting the lower piece back into the case. I snag the feather out of Damien's fingers, stuffing it into velvet-lined container before closing it.

"Heh, I guess you're right," he chuckles.

Our order finally arrives, and I set my oboe in the booth next to me, making sure it won't fall again. Immediately, Damien tears apart the sweet treat we got, and I fear he won't spare me a bite. I laugh softly at his messy eating, the neapolitan ice cream smearing across his lips as he chowed down.

From the corner of my eye, I see my tormentor staring at me from his seat, and he's got this look in his eyes I can't quite place. His plump lips are pursed a little, and there's a small crease between his brows. I can't tell if he's looking here to judge me or if he's trying to brew up new ways to harass me. My heart pounds and I can feel a thin layer of sweat form at the top of my neck as I stress.

"Do you want to leave, (Y/n)?" My brother asks, looking up from the bowl of ice cream. His voice is stern, and I can tell he isn't playing around.

"Uhm..." I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking of what to do. "I... I think I'll be okay," I swallow dryly, reaching out for the glass of sodapop to take a sip. Damien seems unconvinced with the way he's narrowing his eyes at me.

"M'kay..." he grunts, going back to eating the sundae. I take a few nibbles as well, trying my best to ignore the way Leon watched me from his seat across the room.

He's on a date with someone... Why is he so focused on me?

Thankfully, Damien finishes off the ice cream quickly. With the way he's so jittery, I can tell he wants to leave, too. We stack our plates close to the end of the table so it's easier to clean up before we head to the register, wanting to pay and leave as soon as possible. I carry my oboe case behind my back, swaying back and forth on my heels as my brother pays for our treat. When we turn around to leave, we're face to face with the people we wanted to avoid.

"Dami, it's good to see you again. Couldn't you bother to say hello?" The girl in red smiled up at my big brother. Finally, I have a good look of the group.

Ada's dressed in her classic colours, the scarlet sweater-dress tight against her bosom that's accentuated by the cross hanging by her neck. Her ebony cardigan is kept over her arm as she stands with her hip popped out a bit, making her hourglass figure apparent.

Leon's sweater-collared combo was paired with mocha coloured dress pants, the sleeves of his shirts rolled up to his elbows to show off his muscle.

The other couple accompanying them, I gave no attention to, instead tugging at Damien's shirt in attempt to ground him

"That's rich coming from someone who didn't have the balls to say goodbye to me," my brother says through gritted teeth, his eye twitching lightly as his knuckles turned white. Ada gave him a hearty laugh.

"Oh, Dami, that was so long ago. I'm surprised you even remembered with how drunk you were," she chuckles, wiping a tear from her eye. This comment concerned me. My brother was drinking...?

"Don't fuckin' call me that," he seethed. I clutch the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling on it lightly.

"Damien, let's just go," I plead, not wanting the situation to get worse.

"You got a new clarinet, huh?" Leon states, pointing at the case I held at my side. I look at him, terrified that he'll snatch it out of my hands and shatter it just like the last. I hide it behind my back cautiously.

"Y-yes..." I squint at the blonde man. "Now, if you'll just... excuse us," I coughed, dragging Damien by his shirt as I tugged him behind me, squeezing between Ada and Leon to get through.

My side bumps into Leon's, and something within me feels... uneasy. The contact was quick, but I felt like I was burning up when I felt the skin of his arm graze against my own. I mumble a quick "excuse me" as we pass the two brats, my oboe case clutched tightly in my hands. Damien and I walk out the door, and I try my best not to look back.

I can feel Leon's piercing stare on the back of my head, following me as if I was some sort of prey.

What does he want from me?

"Are you okay, Dami?" I worry, my hand rubbing his arm comfortingly the moment we're out of the diner. His eyes are clearly droopy, and I just know he wants to go home now when he flashes a tired smile.

"M'okay, sis... Just... Didn't think she'd talk to me, y'know?" He chortles humourlessly. I hum in understanding, helping him to the driver side of the Impala.

"Let's go home, Dami," I say, sad that our day of fun was so quickly soured.

There was one thing on my mind on the drive home. Thoughts of Leon's odd behaviour threw me into a dizzy. Why does he hate me so much that he's willing to glare at me across the room? Why does he even care?

High schoolers are so weird...

is he actually dating ada? hmm... guess we'll find out :p pt.4

#resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil/biohazard #biohazard #angst #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x reader angst #high school au #>>high school sweethearts: lsk

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ahundredtimesover · 2 years ago

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Belong (1.5: Rewind) | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: exes-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers; actress!OC x basketball coach!Yoongi; summer romance; “long” distance relationship; parallel timelines; angst, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, family drama, sport injury; dreams & moving away; implied depression; basketball and acting talk; 2014 and 2022 Yoongi; shy and nonchalant cocky whipped Yoongi; kissing; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter (18+)

Chapter Word count: 5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series summary: Being an actor has always been your dream. Pursuing it meant many things - leaving the town where you grew up, distancing yourself from your family that had fallen apart, and saying goodbye to the man who made you feel what home was like. When you decide to finally return after being away for so long, you meet Min Yoongi again, and you’re reminded of the summer romance from 8 years ago with the college basketball superstar whose broken dream pushed you away. As you find yourself spending time with him, you’re left to wonder if love changes, if it gives second chances, or if it’s just another illusion that will hurt the both of you the second time around.

Listen to: You Found Me First by Jake Etheridge; Alone with you by Canyon City || Playlist 🎶

8 years ago

Yoongi is not a stranger to loud sounds.

His brother, Geumjae, is a fan of rock music and used to play it all day, everyday when they were growing up. Yoongi would fall asleep to the sound of drums and electric guitar and gritty vocals of whatever band that the older man was into.

Yoongi’s dad runs an antique shop, a business that was passed down from his elders and which was expanded into furniture restoration. He’d spend his free time there, watching his father use all types of hand and electric tools to scrape, saw, and sand different pieces until the finished product was up to his standards.

It may seem a bit odd but he thinks it’s one reason why he got into sports. He’d watched them as a kid and was amused by the cheers and the grunts that could be heard in the arena and through the TV. There was so much energy and so much excitement, as if those motivated the players even more, injecting in them adrenaline that pushed them, that made them hungrier, that made them succeed.

He understood it during his first pickup basketball game in the neighborhood park when he was 10 years old. A couple of the older boys invited him over to play and the audience, which consisted mostly of the kids from school and some adults hanging around, were hooting, yelling, and praising them once the score got close.

It was electric. Yoongi didn’t always smile but he couldn’t stop himself from doing so after he made the winning basket - a lucky shot, really, but he liked to call it the shot of destiny. There was nothing like it, and he always carries that experience with him. He refers to it as the pivotal moment in his life where he fell in love with basketball, as he told the university newspaper when they interviewed him the other week. It made him think of the possibilities, of the extent of his talent, and the overwhelming joy he could get from going to that court and giving his all to win a game.

He smiles just thinking about it now, as he warms up for the first match of the summer league. It’s off-season for the university teams but this conference is where some other schools and amateur teams compete. He’s unfamiliar with the players but that’s what makes it exciting.

He knows they know him, though. He made national news when he became the youngest MVP at 19. That was 2 years ago when he was a sophomore, but his local fans continued to grow. He was never one for attention but he won’t shy away from it if it’s about his talent. To make it to the professional league, people need to know his name. And he knows that’s not a problem.

“There goes the ‘sweet assassin’ Min Yoongi with a fadeaway jumper and it’s nothing but net!” Jungkook hoots, imitating a commentator as he watches his captain from the sidelines.

“He gets the steal and takes the step back-3!” Yells Namjoon this time. “You don’t leave the ‘sweet assassin’ open like that!”

Yoongi chuckles as he walks towards his teammates. “Stop it. The moniker sucks,” he says, wiping away his sweat.

“You’ve had that since freshman year and you’re complaining now?” Namjoon chuckles.

“It’s cringey.” Yoongi frowns.

“It’s brilliant!” Jungkook disagrees. “I mean, the school paper article revealed your online pseud is ‘suga’ because that’s how much you revere yourself and your shooting guard position and the sports dudes ran with it, gave you a nickname, and it stuck. That’s impact. And it’s pretty cool. The ‘golden boy’ makes me sound like an idol or something.”

Yoongi and Namjoon laugh but insist that the name fits the younger man. He is pretty good at everything.

“I still think the ‘god of destruction’ is the best,” Yoongi remarks, referring to Namjoon, who got the name after the few times that he’d detached the ring from the board after a dunk. “It’s so intimidating.”

The 3 men proceed to tease each other, and Yoongi likes the carefree vibe of off-season games. Though his team still takes it seriously - they’d recently won the university conference so they don’t want to slack - they also want to play with less of the pressure than they normally do. It’s good for camaraderie and better for the start of summer. They want to enjoy and have fun while making a statement through their wins.

Yoongi instructs both men to continue warming up as he passes Namjoon the ball. All of them head to the court to shoot and as the captain, Yoongi looks around to make sure all his teammates are present and are preparing for the game. It’s not a big one but somehow, the locals have come to enjoy the summer league. It’s free and it’s good entertainment, and so the buzz in the gym is enough to get him excited.

The spectators are settling down. He stands by the sidelines and sees familiar faces. There’s a bunch of kids from school and some that he’s met during pickup games. There are neighbors, too, and even that one kid he remembers from high school who’s friends with Jungkook, the one who spilled juice all over his notebook and then cried so Yoongi never spoke to him again for fear that he’d make the younger man upset. The guy’s studying in Seoul now, if he’s not mistaken.

Yoongi’s eyes travel to the person sitting next to him and he swears something goes wrong with his ears because the sounds in the gym suddenly disappear. For a moment, he can’t hear anything. That same instance, everything blurs. Except for the girl with the yellow scarf on her hair, sitting next to Taehyung - he remembers his name now - her crinkled eyes and stunningly sweet smile rendering him speechless.

Being some local basketball superstar means that Yoongi gets attention, and that includes from women who are somehow attracted to his calm, quite nonchalant personality that’s tinged with the right amount of arrogance when he’s on the court. He’s not a stranger to their efforts to get noticed. He’s noticed them, in fact, but not enough to get him interested. It’s rare though for someone else to catch his eyes. But that woman though… that’s someone he’s definitely interested in.

He’s never seen her before. She’s probably from another town, or someone that Taehyung met in Seoul or something. Somehow the idea of her being foreign excites him. If she’s never heard of him, she will now. And she—

The ball hitting Yoongi’s jaw surprises him, causing him to jerk back and find the person who probably embarrassed him in front of the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. He’s not surprised to find Seungkwan rushing to him, apologizing and falling to his knees, saying that he called the captain’s name and threw the ball, thinking it would be caught.

But when Yoongi looks at the woman, she has her eyes elsewhere. He sighs in relief, telling Seungkwan that it’s okay, but when he looks towards the benches again, she’s now looking at him.

He swears his heart stops. But it’s not like him to show it.

He holds her gaze for a while, liking the effect it seems to have on her as she shyly smiles and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. But for his sake he really hopes she’d look away.

The coach calls for the team to huddle and Yoongi’s the one who has to break the moment, turning his back to run to the sidelines. He looks in her direction again and smirks to give her something to think about and maybe cheer about, and the bite of her lip says he definitely did.

“Is it possible to get an orgasm from just looking at someone?” You ask your best friend Taehyung. “Or like, when you both look at each other and there’s that tension you feel and you just… get turned on?”

“I literally just spoke to someone for a minute and you just eye-fucked somebody?” He gasps. “You’re quite something.”

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to scout the players and tell you who I find cute so you can introduce me to them,” you shrug. “I just did what you asked. He just happened to be looking at me when I found him. And shit did he look at me.”

“Who is it?”

“Number 3.”

Taehyung chokes on his drink. “Seriously? That’s who you eye-fucked? Out of all the guys on the basketball team, you choose the Captain Min?!”

“The who?” You say. “Ah, right. His jersey said Min. I was kinda focused on… uh, other things.”

“Okay, woman. Behave. We’re in a public place,” Taehyung reprimands you. “Also, I’m serious. He’s the one who caught your attention? Jersey number 3? Dark hair, white headband?”

“Yeah, the one listening to the coach with his tongue dragging through his teeth,” you say, eyes on the group of guys in a huddle. “Yeah, definitely him.”

The man in question seems to be listening intently but his eyes shift to you briefly and you feel that tightness somewhere - your heart, you think, and you swallow. Hard. You don’t know if he saw it but he smirks at you again so there’s a high chance he did.

Taehyung sighs and you turn to him.

“Why do you sound so scandalized?” You ask.

“I’m not!” He defends. “I guess I was just expecting you to like someone like number 7.”

You search for the man in question. Nice build, boyish looks.

“Yeah, he’s cute,” you say. “But not my type.”

“Or number 1.”

Much more built. He’s like a baby giant.

“I like his dimples,” you answer. “And he looks so soft, I want to protect him.”

“There you go,” Taehyung smiles.

“But I want to be protected,” you counter. “And small build guy number 3 there looks like he will. He’s gonna scare the losers away and tell them to fuck off and then I’ll let him fu—”

“Okay, ___, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he glares at you.

“What’s wrong though? Is he an asshole? Do people not like him?” You badger your best friend.

“No, it’s not that. People revere him around here, actually,” Taehyung explains. “And well, girls try to get with him but he doesn’t really pay them any mind.”

“Does he eye-fuck them? If not, then I think I’m his exception,” you argue.

“You make a good point. So maybe I don’t need to introduce you to him. Maybe he’s just gonna introduce himself!”

“That’s not what you told me, Tae,” you frown. “You said, I point a guy and then you introduce me.”

“I didn’t think you’d choose him!”

“Hey, did he bully you in high school? Is that why? Because if it is, then screw him! No one messes with my best friend.”

“It’s not that! Everyone likes Yoongi. They just don’t wanna mess with him, including me. And I… well,” he trails. “I accidentally spilled my juice all over his notebook once and he looked at me like he wasn’t affected but that made it even scarier. And then he just never talked to me after.”

You groan in frustration. You would think that based on Taehyung’s reaction, the man is some jerk or untouchable being. He just happens to have a perpetually disinterested face and that’s honestly something you like. He seems like the type with a no-nonsense attitude and you’re quite the same. Most times, at least. There’s definitely something to explore there.

You watch intently as he carries the ball, skillfully dribbling it and evading his opponents. He makes a smooth shot to the elation of the crowd, and unlike his teammates who grunt and make some form of over-exaggerated gesture, this man merely smirks, perhaps to himself, as he runs backwards to get to the other end of the court. It’s incredibly sexy, you think, how his seemingly quiet nature hides something a little cocky underneath, especially since he’s got something to show. You’re not the most knowledgeable at the sport but you can easily tell he’s good at it.

“So, you’re gonna introduce me, right?” You turn to Taehyung during a timeout.

“Uh, I think you can perfectly do that yourself,” he chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, you’re good with people.”

“Tae, you’re such a wimp. You said you’d introduce me to whoever I choose!”

“We’re not doing this again,” he groans. “Look, we’re going to Jungkook’s place after, okay? Yoongi likes to drink after a game so he’ll definitely be there. I’ll make the guys introduce you to him. And I can’t promise anything because from what I heard, he’s never made a move on anyone and the ones who make a move on him get turned down so… good luck, I guess.”

You scowl at your best friend. This is the first time he’s ever bailed on you, considering he’s your hype man all the time. When you first entered university, you were both a bit intimidated by all the big city and international kids but he got out of his shell first and then pushed you to do the same. They bore good fruits, insofar as you enjoying yourself and then getting a boyfriend, even if it didn’t last long.

But this isn’t your territory, even if you were raised here. There’s not much of the city that feels like home. You barely kept in touch with your high school friends, too, mostly because you spent more time at drama class, and so you don’t have control or leverage here. It also just so happens that the guy you’re interested in isn’t the friendliest even if you think he’s being a tease. You’re up for the challenge, though.

“Well, thanks for the encouragement,” you roll your eyes. “But a guy with soft features like that doesn't look all that hard and intimidating to me. I bet he’s a softie deep down.”

“Soft features? Are we talking about the same guy? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.”

“Tae, we made eye contact. It’s like a blink-and-you'll-miss-it type of softness. Or maybe you just don’t look at him long enough,” you explain.

“I definitely don’t.”

“Well then in that case, Mr. “I don’t care about shit” might be all caring and sweet on the inside,” you hum, as you eye him again and catch him asking his teammate if he’s okay. “I’m here long enough to find out.”

Jungkook’s apartment is close to the university, in an alley near the bars and other student accommodations. It’s spacious even with his gaming computer and weights, and he’d set up the living and dining room area to accommodate the guests. You look around the place and think it’s much bigger than the one you and Taehyung share, and you know why post-game hangouts take place here.

Your best friend said a couple of the guys from the team and a few of their friends usually come over to drink. You can tell, by the way Jungkook is the perfect host, keeping the table with snacks and drinks stacked and by the way he converses with you - charm and cheekiness combined.

He really is cute. He’s got a sparkle in his eyes and an innocent smile, and you can tell that’s part of his appeal. But you’ve got your eyes set on someone, someone who just happens to not be here.

You look around once more and wonder where he is, and just as you’re about to ask Taehyung, the man you’ve been looking for enters. He’s in knee-ripped black jeans and an oversized cream t-shirt with a baseball cap on. You feel your throat dry immediately and your eyes follow him as he walks towards the table and opens himself a bottle of beer.

You hear your name being called and you turn to one of the guys next to you who’s asking what you’re taking up in university. You’d forgotten about the conversation you’re in, as you immediately get sucked into the presence of jersey number 3, who’s now relaxedly leaning against the wall, looking around himself. He catches your eyes once more and you so badly want to just go up to him but you admit that you like this - him watching you from afar as you talk to someone who isn’t him.

“I’m taking up acting and film,” you say. “I really want to become an actor.”

“Well, you have the looks for it,” Jungkook comments.

“You think so?” You flash a smile, playing along.

“Yeah. A lot of us do,” he smirks.

A couple of the guys laugh but nod in agreement.

Not that you intended to be flirty with these men and get their attention, but the cute top and hair scarf outfit you put on was a good idea. Even the other girls seem amused by you. You just wonder if someone else is.

“You guys are quite charming, aren’t you?” You giggle.

“Of course we are. This is how we welcome people in our group,” Jungkook smiles. “How long are you here for again?”

“The entire summer,” you say. “Enough time to be charmed by you?”

You aim to tease, really, especially when Jungkook blushes. You don’t actually have any intention with him but a part of you was maybe hoping that it would ignite something in the man you’re really interested in. You’d like to think so, as you turn to him again and see his hardened gaze. It’s like he’s assessing you, trying to read you. It makes you a bit exposed but you like it. Whatever this thing you’re both doing, it’s exciting, something you didn’t expect about coming home since you left for college 2 years ago.

“Oh my god, this is like watching my friends flirt with my sister,” Taehyung whines. “Please stop.”

You all laugh and he claims it’s a little awkward, but he does say he’s quite protective, warning anyone who wants to win you over.

You all go back to chatting around until Jungkook, like the good host that he is, announces that it’s time to play and get batshit drunk.

You all gather around in the middle and play number games, something you’re good at. You mostly survive, needing only to take 3 shots that don’t really make a dent in your system. Then you play a card game, which you also do well in, and it gets the group cheering for you to your delight.

You constantly look towards the couch where Yoongi stays, as he’s the only person who doesn’t join the games. Taehyung says the man isn’t into them and no one really forces him. You see the times he smirks though, especially whenever you survive. You'd like to think he’s secretly cheering you on and it oddly makes your heart race. For all the eye-fucking, the milliseconds where his look softens gets you feeling all giddy.

By the 6th game, some of the guys have loosened up more than the others. They’re laughing more, teasing more, flirting with you a little more directly, and they’re at least funny and not that disrespectful. You laugh and tease along and you really could go on doing more of these games, until Jungkook suggests to play spin-the-bottle.

The rules are simple - one person spins the bottle and whoever it lands on will be the one they’ll kiss.

“We’re too old for this,” Namjoon claims, even as he sits himself in the circle you all form.

“We never are,” Jungkook chuckles. “Plus, we’ve got a good number of guys and girls in here,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

You take your seat on the circle right next to Taehyung and you look over at the couch again, biting your lip and cocking your eyebrow this time, as if daring Yoongi to join, given that the guys say that he absolutely hates participating in this.

Not tonight apparently, as he walks over and nudges Namjoon with his foot.

“Oh, so now you’re playing?” The big man laughs. “I wonder what made you decide to finally join us.”

Yoongi sits down across from you, unbothered once more.

He just shrugs. “I was getting bored watching you guys be terrible at the games.”

The group laughs before they begin. Of all the nights when you wish the spin-the-bottle gods were on your side, you wish it was tonight.

The bottle thankfully misses you for the first 4 times. When it’s your turn, you position it in the direction that you mentally calculated would land on Yoongi with the force you put in.

It’s quite nerve wracking, not knowing if this would work, but as the bottle slows down and the desire for it to point towards him heightens, you start to think that if this fails, you’re gonna have to just survive it and then find another way to get your chance at kissing him.

And then it stops. Right in between him and Namjoon. Your heart breaks a little as you compare the distance, especially as the other people whisper the name of the man it’s pointed towards.

“Hmm,” Taehyung says, “the bottle’s closer to—”

“Me,” Yoongi says, surprising everyone. “The bottle’s closer to me.”

His eyes are locked on you and no one dares to challenge the man, especially with how firm he sounds as he claims himself as the chosen one.

“By all means, go ahead and kiss, then,” Jungkook states, surprise and amusement laced on his face.

Yoongi, instead of scooting to the middle like everyone had done, stands up and reaches out for your hand. You take it and come face to face with him - finally, and you’re speechless as you stare back at him. There’s this certainty and desire in his eyes, you’d like to think. It’s captivating and it’s making you feel hot and definitely turned on.

“Do you mind doing it in the kitchen?” He asks you. “I don’t really want them to have a front row view.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, trying to sound calm.

He takes your hand again and walks ahead to the kitchen nearby. You’re still visible but like he wanted, there’s enough distance for the others not to have a close up look of your kiss.

Yoongi leads you to stand by the counter, finally able to get a clear look at you. He’s been wanting this since hours ago and he couldn’t wait to get the chance to get you alone. You’ve been surrounded by all the guys since he arrived and well, he doesn’t blame them. You’re stunning and charming and you have this sparkle in your eyes when you talk about acting. He’d had enough of just watching from the couch and catching your eyes because yes, he’d noticed you glance at him and he liked that, liked that even if you had everyone else’s attention, you seemed to only want to get his.

He honestly hates this game. It got him in precarious situations the few times that he indulged the guys by playing and at one point, he just stopped joining. He couldn’t pass up on this, though, not when there’d be a chance to kiss you. If you didn’t get paired up together, he’d still find a way. But he didn’t want anyone else to have the chance, so he took his. And well, maybe sort of cheated.

“So…” you start. “The bottle was definitely closer to Namjoon, you know? Anyone could tell.”

“I know,” he hums. “I could tell you wanted it to be me, though. And I really wanted it to be me.”

“Well in that case, what are you waiting for? Seems like the audience is getting impatient,” you giggle, prompting him to turn towards the living room where the entire group is anxiously anticipating when you’d both just make out.

“I don’t really care about them,” he says, walking closer to you then caging you by the counter. “I mean, I was hoping this wouldn’t be a quick one.”

Your thighs clench in reflex. He still has a bit of that teasing smirk on but he also looks quite serious, as if there’s a chance you’d turn him down, as if you haven’t been gazing at each other since the game.

Licking then biting your lips, you smile. “I don’t do quick kisses.”

“That’s good,” he smiles now, eyeing your lips. “Neither do I.”

He dives in right away and your eyes close the moment you feel his lips against yours, soft and electrifying as you expected. He starts slowly, loosely, giving you a chance to pull away if you want. But you don’t, craving for him instead as you try to keep him against you longer.

It becomes his cue to deepen the kiss and that’s when you feel the warmth of his breath and then, the warmth of his tongue, seeking entrance that you too quickly give. You feel him smile against you and you fall into it even more. Lips melding onto his, you savor every bit of him that you can taste. There’s bitterness from the beer but it’s a taste you could easily be addicted to. It’s him, after all, and he’s just as good as you imagined.

It’s a little daring for you, you could admit that. You’ve gone to parties and flirted around, kissed guys for fun and then walked away. You’ve never made out with someone right as you met them, though, and especially without even getting a proper conversation in. But Yoongi is captivating in a lot of ways and the way he tastes definitely doesn’t disappoint.

Just as you’re about to think of other things that would definitely make you even wetter, you feel his hand cup your cheek and he keeps it there, not so much to direct you where he wants but… to caress you, to savor you, especially as he keeps his steady pace.

He’s not rushing. He’s not asking for more, as his other hand remains clenched on the counter and his hip remains distanced from yours. He’s just going, feeling all that he can feel with this kiss and humming his satisfaction.

It’s your hands that can’t control themselves, as you grip his shirt and try to get him closer.

He does, but only for a while.

He pulls away and watches you open your eyes. There’s only a hint of disappointment in them. Perhaps like him, you just let yourself enjoy that moment. And it was a damn good one. You tasted sweet from the cocktail you had and there’s this comfort in the way your lips feltl against his. It’s quite addictive, and he applauds himself for not pushing to do more.

He thumbs your cheek one last time before his hand descends to cover yours that’s now gripping the counter.

“I’m Yoongi, by the way,” he smiles.

You burst in laughter and your head leans on his chest.

Cute, he thinks.

“And I’m ___,” you reply. “It’s nice to meet you. Finally.”

“You’ve been waiting for this, huh?” He cocks an eyebrow.

If this were any other cocky, self-absorbed guy, you wouldn’t indulge him. But that kiss alone told you that this man is so gentle, and you’d quite like to be a little vulnerable with him.

“Embarrassingly, I have. I saw you at the game and thought you were pretty hot,” you chuckle. “I asked Tae to introduce me to you.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi hums. “You wanna know what’s embarrassing? I saw you in the crowd and I couldn’t look away. I got hit by the ball because I didn’t hear my teammate calling me.”

The way your cheeks warm is immediate. How can he turn you on and then make you feel all giddy?

“That’s… pretty cute,” you giggle. “And not embarrassing at all.”

“I’d still prefer it if you don’t tell anyone.”

“Not a single soul,” you promise, smiling cheekily.

God, he’s so weak for your smile. How did he go about all 21 years of his life without this?

“Are you done?!” Jungkook yells from the other room. “We’ve been waiting on what’s gonna happen after you two made out like you’re the only ones in this place.”

The laughter tells you they’re just teasing.

“Well, we didn’t ask you to wait,” Yoongi turns back to tell them. “We could’ve gone on much longer.”

He turns to you questioningly. “If you want.”

“That’s an option,” you chuckle. “Or we can get out of here and figure it out?”

“Anything in mind?” He asks, standing up straight now.

You want to kiss him and straddle him and tear his shirt off and so much more. But you decide you want to start with the gentleness first. You think that if you look long enough, you’ll see it behind the nonchalance and unreadable expressions. Somehow you just know that whether it’s daring things like kissing an almost-stranger or talking about anything or gazing at each other’s eyes, Yoongi would be up for it. You’re here for the summer and you have time. And you definitely want to take your time with this one.

“Would you like to grab some coffee?” You look up at him, hoping he’s thinking the same.

“Just coffee?” He teasingly smiles.

“Yes, Yoongi. Just coffee.”

He nods and takes your hand. He walks with you to the living room where everyone is staring at both of you with a mix of shock and amusement. No one looks disappointed, though, and even Taehyung is wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“We’re going to a cafe,” Yoongi announces. “And for the record, this is the last time I’m ever playing this game.”

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