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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 6 months

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Be my Baby ch. 6

Warnings: (angst)

A/N: Sorry in advance.

Word Count: 3.9k

A few days after your beloved pizza party you finally met another member from the army photo. Santiago Garcia walked into the garage with an air about him that alerted you how well-acquainted he was with women. He was absolutely beautiful but he was the exact man you prided yourself on staying away from. Though being in a situationship with a married man wasn’t much better.

“Hi, welcome to Miller’s Motors how may I help you?” Your customer service voice and smile instantly take over.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind just hanging out here with you until one of those jackasses come out here.” His dazzling smile is working overtime while he leans on the counter and you can’t help the laugh that emitted from you.

“Okay, Mr. Garcia suit yourself.” Back on your ‘work’ computer, you opened the Twitter tab again and continued scrolling.

“Just how attached to Catfish are you or are you still looking at other options?” While Santi frames his question as flirty, he wants to see how you feel about Frankie.

“Catfish?” Unsure of how you should answer you counter his question with one of your own.

“It’s his callsign from our army days. Mine is Pope, Will is Ironhead, and Frankie is Catfish.” All the tidbits you find out about Frankie make him so much more interesting.

“Okay but why is he Catfish? And what about Benny?” The other callsigns seem to align with personality, except for Frankie’s.

“Well he always had trouble growing his beard and he had a reputation with the ladies at training camp, thus the birth of Catfish.” You can’t say you’re surprised by Frankie’s past discretions, he had to learn that from somewhere. “As for Benny he came much later so we never really thought about it.”

“Well, what about Goldilocks? I think that suits him, especially because he would go into someone's house and eat their food without a second thought.” Your analysis of Benny’s callsign has Santiago burst into laughter at how right you are.

“And he definitely would talk about how bad the food is after scarfing it all down.” The both of you are now loudly laughing in the empty lobby like you’ve known each other for years.

“Pope step away from my receptionist.” William is the first through the door and he playfully narrows his eyes at Santi from behind you.

“Benny we found a callsign for you, how does Goldilocks sound?” At the mention of the name, you and Santi laugh in remembrance of your jokes. Despite the inside joke, Benny looks pleased.

“How is it that I’ve known you asshole’s years and she’s the one to come up with a callsign for me?” Benny’s large arms swarm around you to hug you in appreciation.

“I mean we had some names but you wouldn’t like it.” William nudges Frankie in jest with a smirk plastered on his face.

“You know for such a quiet man you are so sassy.” Your words cause a roar of laughter from the group of men and you take that as your cue to take a nice long lunch break.

……..

“Bitch,” Hearing the drawn-out exemplative from your best friend over the phone brought a smile to your face. Either you were going to hear the juiciest gossip or Dante just proposed, “If you could see this fucking ring I have on right now.”

“Finally, I’ve been waiting 40 days and 40 nights for this.” There was no one rooting for Ronnie's happiness as much as you.

“Before we even get into this wedding stuff you’re gonna be my Maid of Honor right?” The sentence tumbled out so quickly that if you listen so well you might’ve missed it.

“Of course, what cake do you think you’re gonna get?” You take a bite of your caser salad while you listen to her rattle off her top 5 flavors. With a simple hum every couple of seconds while she gets all her excited rambles out.

“Shit, let me call my parents so they think they’re the first people I called.” A goofy smile graces your face at the fact that you were the first person she called.

“Okay, text me when you’re gonna be free for a sleepover so we can go through the actual details. Love you.” You end your sentence with an exaggerated kiss that she would hear on the other end.

“It’ll probably be Friday or Saturday but I’ll know for sure by tonight. Love you bye.” Her exaggerated kiss was the last thing you heard before the line cut out.

It’s been about an hour and a half since you left for your lunch break and Ameilia has been keeping you company intermittently. A slightly disappointed sigh leaves your lips when you’ve taken the last bite of your salad realizing you’ll have to get back to work. When you leave your cash on the table you make sure you tip a little extra since Ameilia snuck you two pieces of berry pie.

Upon re-entering the lobby you find Santiago behind the front, seemingly taking your place for the long break. He’s focused completely on the computer in front of him and by the time you round the corner, it’s too late for him to close the window.

“Plenty of Fish? I took you as more of a Tinder kind of guy.” The side eye you receive from him makes it hard for you to cover your smile.

Before he can say a smart comeback the phone blares and you set your pie on the counter to answer.

“Miller’s Brother Automotive, how may I help you?” The cheeriness of your voice makes you grimace.

“Hello, this is Nurse Lauren calling from Lake Montessori. I’ve been trying to get ahold of Rosie’s father Fransico Morales and he listed this number as his work contact.”

“Of course, he’s in the garage can you hold for a moment?” Without waiting for her answer you head to the garage to summon Frankie.

“The nurse for your daughter’s school is on the phone asking for you.” As soon as he hears it’s about Rosie he’s walking faster than you to get back to the phone.

“Hello, this is Fransico Morales.” You can see the tension in his shoulders trying to figure out why the school is calling him. Both you and Santi scroll through his dating profile while he talks on the phone.

After presumably finding the reason for the call his shoulders deflate and he utters a faint “Jesus,”

“I see, I can be there in about 15 minutes.” There’s a slight pause before he says, “Take care.”

When the phone hits the hook he heaves an irritated sigh before turning to you and Santi. “Apparently Rosie’s stomach was bugging her since she got to school and she ended up throwing up on the playground. Maria was the one to drop her off and they tried calling her but she wasn’t picking up.”

“So she knew she was sick when she dropped her off?” Irritation is written all over Santiago’s face and voice.

“Seems that way because there’s no way Rosie wouldn’t say anything. So fucking irresponsible.” Frankie grits the last sentence out before heading to the back to wash his hands properly. When he comes back out with clean hands and a more patient face he stops by you.

“We should be back in like 15 minutes.” He slightly bends to kiss your forehead before heading out the front door. Santiago wolf-whistles when it’s just the two of you but you roll your eyes.

After 5 minutes Will and Benny come inside to ask what happened and there’s no time wasted by Santiago to fill them in. You head to the break room to see what would be helpful to a sick kid. Luckily Benny has a collection of tea and you take out peppermint and some sugar.

You pop your head out only to see them huddled together and gossiping like school girls.

“Hey, are there any pillows or blankets in the back offices?” Each of them turns to you with wide eyes before Benny tells you he has some in his office. When you come back out you place the brown blanket on the sofa closet to the garage door and prop the pillow on the armrest.

The guys can’t help but watch and exchange looks as you make the area cozy for Rosie. You beat them to it. Looking at the time you head back into the break room to heat water for the tea. By the time you come back out with the steaming tea, Frankie is laying Rosie down on the sofa and the guys are circling her.

“I made some peppermint tea and I think I have some cough drops in my purse.” As you carefully place the cup down on the table in front of her Frankie watches you in awe. Rosie’s tired brown eyes steal a glance at you and you nearly melt. Even though her little face is sickly pale she’s the cutest kid you’ve ever seen.

“Thank you,” after he shows his gratitude he turns back to his daughter and continues running his hands through her curls.

“And if you feel up for it I have an extra piece of berry pie.” Her downcast eyes widen at the mention of pie and it almost livens her chubby face.

“Really?” She perks up on the sofa and tries to remove the blanket before Frankie settles her.

“After you drink some tea and lay down kay?” She pouts at his words but obliges and lays back down.

With all the guys personally checking in on Rosie you head back to your desk and check your purse for those cough drops. There are about three but that should be good enough, plus they’re the ones that taste like candy. You lay them out on your desk before looking up to find Frankie in front of you. He leans across the table with that look in his eye, the one that makes your tummy flutter.

“I meant it when I said thank you back there. I appreciate you so much, Hermosa.” He places his warm hand over yours.

“Never a problem Catfish.” You let your eyes fall back on the desk and remember to ask him, “It’s fine that I give these to Rosie right?”

He laughs at your genuine sweet nature before answering, “Yes, and if it’s not too much would you mind checking on her, I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to.”

“Like I said never a problem.” You give him your biggest smile, making it a point to scrunch your face.

The two of you share a moment before he releases your hand to head back out to the garage. Coincidentally you find the guys staring at you with smirks plastered on their faces. They say their last comforting words to Rosie and trail after Frankie.

Since two of the three cars were going to be ready in an hour you called to let the customers know. You peer over to find Rosie drinking her tea and you grab the first cough drop before heading over.

“How’s your tea?” You take a seat in the chair next to the sofa.

“It’s good but I like more sugar.” Her direct answer has you nodding your head in faux contemplation.

“If you finish that cup I promise to make your next one extra sugary.” She smiles at your bargain and begins tipping the cup back to drink more. “You don’t have to get it all now sweetie but I love the enthusiasm.”

“What’s your name?” You tell her your name and she says it a couple of times while nodding. You return the question to her as if you didn’t already know.

“I’m Rosie. So are you my Daddy’s friend?” The tilt of her voice makes you think she’s teasing you.

“Yes, I am why?” You put a tilt in your voice similar to her.

“You’re really pretty to be his friend.” She tries to hide her smile behind the mug.

“Thank you, Rosie, I think you’re really pretty too.” Her giggles warm your heart and you almost forget the reason you came over here. “I brought you a cough drop but I promise it tastes like candy.”

“Thank you, I don’t think I feel as bad anymore so can I have that piece of pie now?” Her puppy dog eyes resemble her father’s so much that you don’t think you can deny her.

“Alright finish that tea, but not too fast, and I’ll get it ready.” You make your way back to collect the pieces of pie from your desk and bring it to the break room. Each piece is placed on a paper plate and you grab two plastic forks from the box on the counter.

When you come out of the break room Rosie is criss-cross applesauce on the couch pleasantly waiting for the pie. A huge smile breaks out across her face when you place hers in front of her and she thanks you immediately. Neither of you wastes time digging into your respective slices.

A few minutes pass before the tell-tale bell rings above the door and a customer walks in. You leave your half-eaten slice to go back to the desk and greet them. She gives you her last name and you bring up her paperwork in the system.

“Okay let me check in and it shouldn’t be long. Please take a seat anywhere and I’ll get back to you.” On your way towards the garage, Rosie smiles big at you with purple smeared around her mouth. You wave back before going through the door.

“Who’s working on Monroe’s Honda?” You call out to the four men in the area, and Benny’s head pops up from the hood. “She just arrived and I wanted to know how much longer.”

“I was literally about to come inside I’m just running my third check to make sure.” He heads back to the car and you leave to head back but Frankie saddles up next to you.

“How’s my baby? I have about 10 minutes left on this car before I’m done.” You are tempted to answer for yourself but you know what he means.

“Tearing down that berry pie like it’s going out of style.” His laugh sounds full and boisterous and you’re glad after how irate he was when he went to pick up Rosie.

The waiting area is the same as you left it and you let Mrs. Monroe know her car is just about ready. As you turn around you almost bump into Rosie who’s holding her now empty plate in her small hands.

“I finished and I couldn’t find the trash.” You shouldn’t be surprised at her manners since Frankie is her father but you tell her to follow you. She rounds the desk behind you and you point out the trash can under your desk. “If you want you can have the rest of my pie.”

Rosie still places her plate in the trash but she thanks you before running back off to her corner. Benny slides through the door and checks out Mrs. Monroe so you head back over to Rosie.

Before you can sit in your seat she tells you, “I have to tinkle.” And just as quickly as you sat down you’re right back up and guiding her to the bathroom in the back. You wait in the hallway while she finishes up her business. The moment she opens the door you double-check that she’s washed her hands. Thankfully Rosie provides her slightly damp hands for your approval.

“What’s your favorite color? Mine is all of them, I can’t pick one.” Her charming voice fills the empty hallway you two walk down.

“I used to love all the colors too, but now I really love purple.” You look down at her to smile while giving your answer and she slips her slightly damp hand in yours.

“Purple is really pretty but so is the rainbow and cheetah.” You didn’t have the heart to correct her on cheetah being a pattern.

When you two re-enter the lobby the both of you are so engrossed in conversation that you miss the tension unfolding while you’ve been away. Frankie stands in front of a stunning woman with dark brown hair who’s seething in anger. But she’s not the only one, Frankie’s irritation is coming off his body in waves.

Clarity alludes you the more you look between them, there’s a familiarity. It doesn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place when Rosie raises her other hand to wave at the woman before yelling out, “Hi Mommy.” Two sets of eyes land on you and you’ve never felt more out of place in your life. Suddenly being swallowed by the earth sounded delightful.

“Who the hell is this?” Her sharp but alluring voice cuts through the air and you finally allow yourself to fully take her in. This is Frankie’s wife. You can’t help but notice her polished appearance, her hair looks freshly blown out and her French-tipped nails only add to the form-fitting dress she’s wearing.

“I’m the receptionist, I just took Rosie to the bathroom.” You try and keep your voice level, not wanting to escalate the situation in front of Rosie.

“I’m gone for a couple of hours and you pawn our daughter off to some receptionist?” Though she kept her voice down you end up hearing every word.

As much as you’d heard about her you still weren’t prepared to see her, part of you was pretending as long as you couldn’t see her she didn’t exist.

“A couple of hours?” Frankie pauses at that to give her the nastiest look you’ve ever seen cross his face. “You dropped our daughter off knowing she was sick so you could-” He stops himself to gesture at her clearly put-together outfit.

“I didn’t know she was sick, how was I supposed to know she would throw up all over the place.” From Frankie’s face, it’s clear he wants to say something but with Rsoie here he holds himself back.

“But I told you I didn’t feel good Mommy, you told me it would pass.” The silence that followed her innocent statement scared you, and you weren’t the one Frankie had his eyes set on.

Shaking yourself out of your stunned stupor you gently coax Rosie to go see her Uncle’s in the garage. For the first time since you’ve worked here, you close the door behind you. The guys take notice and you simply tell them, “Frankie’s wife is here.” Confused faces instead turn into silent understanding and they pause their routine for closing.

…………

“Maria,” In all their years of marriage she’d never heard this tone of voice. “Are you fucking crazy?” The lack of yelling made it even worse, not that he ever really raised his voice.

“Look Francisco, I had a meeting and it didn’t sound serious so I still dropped her off. Okay? I’m sorry.” Maria places her hands on her husband's biceps but he backs away from her touch.

“You are unbelievable, they couldn’t get in contact with you for 5 hours. How long could this meeting have possibly been?” It was one thing for her to disregard him but for her to do it to their daughter was something unforgivable. But there was only one reason she would be so careless, and her outfit told him everything.

“Tell me you weren’t meeting with Chris, tell me you didn’t drop our daughter off so you could run off with your boyfriend.”

“I-,” A panicked expression crosses her face and Frankie doesn’t allow for any more of her excuses.

“I’m done. Putting a man before our child is in-fucking-sane.” He can’t recognize the woman in front of him, and he understands how she felt during his addiction. The person he met at the altar is gone.

“I agree. The open marriage thing has gone too far and I’m ready to close it okay?” At this point even she can see her marriage crumbling before her and despite previous thoughts, she’s not ready to let go.

“I’m not talking about closing the marriage, I want a divorce.” The distinction in his voice before he turns and heads to the garage fills her with desperation. Maria follows closely behind him as he opens the door. She stays in the door way silently watching and waiting for another chance to talk.

You are gently rubbing Rosie’s head while she sleeps soundly in a makeshift bed of two chairs. The way Frankie’s face lights up when he looks at you makes her skin crawl. But it gets worse when your eyes meet his there’s no denying there is something between you.

She thinks back to how Frankie told her Benny introduced him to the girl he was seeing. She supposes it makes sense you are beautiful and you seem caring. As much as she wanted to throw the rules in his face she knew she had no leg to stand on. At this point, she had nothing else to lose and Rosie was asleep so it would only be fair to warn you.

From the doorway she makes herself known and Frankie rolls his eyes, hoping that ignoring her will make her go away. One look around the room and she can see how outnumbered she is. The men who once welcomed her with open arms now disdainfully glance at her.

“I’m not sure how well he’s hidden it but he’s a drug addict and his PTSD will always send him right back down the cocaine rabbit hole. Save yourself from the endless baggage.” Maria threw her last card on the table and from the way Francisco froze, it had the desired impact.

No one could have predicted that would come out of her mouth. Your eyes widen at the sudden intake of information and you seek out Frankie’s eyes but he’s turned away from you. Seconds feel like minutes and no one else has said a word. What could be said to follow something so cruel?

All you want to do is tell Frankie that you don’t think less of him, but that’s a private conversation. And unlike some people, you understand the need for privacy and tact.

“It’s time for you to go.” William steps in to shield Frankie who keeps his eyes locked on the ground.

While Maria struts away like she didn’t ruin what little comfort Frankie had, tears begin to rim his eyes. As if his shame wasn’t bad enough it had to happen in front of you. There was no telling how you would feel about him now and he wouldn’t blame you.

Benny and Santiago circle Frankie whispering about something you can’t hear. You stand to approach him but Will’s chest fills your vision. His eyes are cast down in a way that you can tell you’re being shut out of this private moment.

“I don’t think now is a good time sweets,” His hand rests on your shoulder before squeezing in what you think is reassurance.

“Could you tell him I don’t think any less of him? And to call me when he’s ready please?” Your voice cracks as you try to keep it together because you’re the last person who should be crying.

Will feels terrible about making you go but it’s too late and you’re already out the door with your sniffles following. When the door closes again Frankie knows you’ve left and his shoulders begin shaking. The only reason he’s still standing is because of the three men holding him up. Thankfully Rosie’s cold keeps her knocked out so she misses her father’s breakdown.

@harriedandharassed @emilianamason

#triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x you

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echonvoid · 1 year

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Happy pride y’all!! Have some skybound fanart for my au.

Essentially, most of the season is the same with only like 2 or 3 major changes.

1) Jay only saw the eyepatch and a small munchkin that turns out to be CJ (baby wu)

2) when they have that awkward sexist interview (w/ just cole, nya, and Jay) Cole actively came out as gay (he figures out the demi stuff later) to stop them from pestering nya about the love triangle, Jay fucking sneezes to interrupt and then asked her what taking on the preeminent single handedly and winning was like. They then answer all the sexist questions and shit (there’s some great fanfics about this that definitely inspired this; I’ll try to remember to link them somewhere) the reason they did this was because nya and Ronin had a talk with them (and dareth) after the whole commercial/make-up segment fiasco.

3) Jay’s parents (Ed and Edna; who fun fact are t4t and were both post op, so they couldn’t have biological kids) and culture growing up is heavily Persian/Pakistani inspired(bc the movie voice actor is from Pakistan im pretty sure). So he grew up hearing legends and tales about the djinn, and viewed them like fairytales or demigods. He had heard the tale of the vile Nadakhan the pirate king, but thought it was stupid to believe the stories were real. So he was more starstruck when he first saw nadakhan. And after being insecure about his financial status (mostly cuz he couldn’t afford to take his friends out to eat like that) it was easy for nadakhan to manipulate him into making the first wish that sent them down the same road as the og stories

4) Nadakhan kidnaps Jay instead of nya to be his bride, mostly cuz that’s who was grabbed, but also cuz Jay has stubbornly remained unbroken and he wanted to break him by being the reason he’s all powerful (or some shit like that)Either a cultural misunderstanding or bc he’s an asshole, nadakhan begins using feminine terms for Jay (she/her, and shit; his bigender awakening). The photo on the left has the wedding attire Jay wore.

5) god there was more of these than I thought. Anywhoodle, time doesn’t reverse, bc Jay is able to be hit with the venom and be fine (well ok he was feverish and sick for a couple days, but the Serpentine blood in his veins meant he was immune to most poisons). He wishes nadakhan to be mortal, and in the process is cursed by nadakhan to never die *and* to watch his loved ones die over and over again.

Hmmm…. I swear there was more I wanted to say, but for the life of me I can’t remember

Oh well 🤷

#fanart #ninjago fanart #ninjago cole #cole brookstone #ninjago jay #jay walker #skybound #season 6 #ninjago au #bruiseshipping #liminal potential au #art of the void #that’s gonna be the tag I use on all my og shit from now on #I’m tired of wading through my reblogs

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starryjeekies · 2 years

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E’last reaction to their s/o sending nudes??

A/N: OKAY HI SORRY I'VE BEEN MEANING TO GET TO THIS FOR SO LONG I was experiencing a lot of burnout (related to work and personal life) and I still am for other reasons BUT I felt that this can probably help me out of my funk so here we finally go ^^

Rano:

First time you send a risky pic to Rano, he probably would be really flustered at first. He would lock his phone, toss it somewhere on the couch, and then cover his face. After about ten or so seconds, he'll compose himself and actually look and study the picture you sent. He can feel the heat on his cheeks and his pants getting a little tighter but hopefully no one else is around to witness his frustration.

"I hope you know what you're doing to me.."

Choi In:

It would probably be a special occasion the first time he receives a naughty picture from you. You two probably planned a date night but he had to practice first. Practice would be running late and when he has a water break, he checks his phone to see a pic of you. He would probably blink in surprise for a few seconds before a smirk would form on his lips. He starts getting excited and would perform the rest of the time with enthusiasm.

"Just wait a little longer, baby, I can barely wait either."

Seungyeop:

There are very few times where the two of you text back and forth as I view Seungyeop as a "talk in person" type of guy. So when there are four texts from you, he gets worried something is wrong. He's worried at first, but when he sees the pictures you had attached of your bare body, his worry quickly drains away and fills with pride. Thankfully, he was just at the dorm so he can pop over to your place to see if reality matches the picture.

"You better still be in that pose when I get there, darling."

Baekgyeul:

It would be a complete accident and both of you would be startled. You two would be texting about when/where to meet up for your date and you jokingly asked him to match your fit so he would ask for a picture so he could. When you send your fit pic, you also accidentally attach a nude that you took before you put it on and immediately replay with "don't look!" but it's too late. He looked. He starred. He gawked.

"I'm sorry I looked but now I can't look away.."

Romin:

Out of everyone, Romin would ask. Not in a disrespectful way, more like you've been dating for a while, have done the deed a few times, and would love to have a pic of you for when he can't touch you. So being the lovely partner you are, you send him one. Or two. And in comes a barrage of texts from him just praising you and how good you look and how he's treasuring what you gave him.

"I'll let you know whenever I'm thinking about you."

Wonhyuk:

Big blushy baby wouldn't know what to do. It came out of the blue while he was at the company and he would probably try to excuse himself to the restroom to have some privacy. He would lock himself in a stall to see what he received and would get very desperate. He would try to palm himself through his pants before realizing its not enough.

"Jesus, I can't focus on anything but you."

Wonjun:

He would be on tour when you send him a pic. He would probably be resting in whatever bed he had, texting you that he missed you a lot and couldn't wait to come home. You send him a picture back, showing him what he's currently missing and his mind goes feral. He would try to keep himself calm as he wouldn't want his roommate to know, but his mind is running to so many places on what he wishes he can do. He's touchy, so not being able to touch you drives him crazy.

"Please don't tease me, I'm already dying without you."

Yejun:

I love this diva because he would definitely send you one back. You two had been going back and forth, teasing each other, hot and bothered, when you send a picture. He would eat that up. He would imprint the picture in his brain before scrolling through his photos and send you one back. He would feel satisfied when you praise him on how godly he looks and would definitely show his appreciation back to you.

"It's so kind of you to give me that gift."

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1kook · 3 years

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right place, wrong time

— a someway, somehow jungkook drabble summary Home was Jungkook, it had always been Jungkook… but it wasn’t this Jungkook. warnings angst, heart ache, its actually kinda sad :/ lmfao, jk is a little... uh... como se dice.... jerk without realizing it.... justice for oc.... also there’s a scene where oc throws up so !! rating m wc 1.5k

notes THIS TAKES PLACE 5 YEARS BEFORE SWSH ITSELF ! OK ! enjoy <3 i wanted to try writing angst again <3 also i have no self control i said i would post this in 7 hrs yet here i am. and its not proofread <_<

When you were kids, the fact Jungkook’s birthday fell early on into the school year was a huge deal; everyone in your class was invited, both new and returning students, and the event itself was practically the opening scene to the school year itself. As you got older and he began to move away from colorfully decorated parties, his early birthday still earned him a lot of attention, had everyone at your high school congratulating him from the moment the first bell rang until the last. There weren’t any grand birthday bashes during high school, but the Jeons were a loving family, party or no party, and always got him a cake to celebrate each new year.

Up until you left for college, you had never missed Jungkook blowing out the candles for his birthday. Be it a backyard party bustling with kids or a smaller affair at his favorite restaurant, you had always been invited, always cheered for him with each new year of life he welcomed.

As a kid, you had always been adamant on getting the spot closest to him as you sang happy birthday, beaming at your best friend like he was your entire world. His childhood photo albums had been proof of that, filled with a chronological sequencing of every birthday he’s had with you at his side, your smiles changing with the times— from missing teeth to full of braces, you had always been at Jungkook’s side.

As a young-adult, you had to bite down your pride and watch Sojin fulfill that spot.

You had missed his last two birthdays since entering college. Your first year away from home, everyone you knew warned you about not going home too early into the year, something about how it would solidify your homesickness and you’d never be able to assimilate afterwards. So you had congratulated Jungkook from Taehyung’s phone screen, greatly appreciating the way Taehyung angled the phone away from Sojin as best he could. Then your second year, you had been drowning in that first wave of projects and essays, and simply couldn’t squeeze a five hour drive there and back into your schedule. Jungkook understood; there was no party this year, just a simple family dinner. The video call ended soon after you congratulated him, his attention drawn away by the voice of another woman you knew all too well.

For his twenty-first birthday, Jungkook was adamant that you attend. He had told you about it before you had left for the new semester, bent over by the front wheels of your car, making sure everything was in tip-top shape before you went off again. His t-shirt was drenched in sweat, trails running down his hairline, over the prominent veins of his neck.“I want you there,” Jungkook had said, taking your offered hand as he stood back up. He must have miscalculated— or maybe it was on purpose —his step, because when he stepped forward, he was all too close. He didn’t let go of your hand. “Please?”

Your eyes flickered over his chest, to his neck. He smelled like home, or at least the image of it you had created in your mind during your last two years away. Home was lavender fabric softener billowing over you in waves, the faint traces of this morning’s cologne, the subtle scent of his metallic work tools. It was his chocolate curls tickling his eyebrows, his easygoing smile, the way he pulled you closer, made the scents wash over you all over again.

It was Jungkook. It was Jungkook. It was Jungkook and his warm touch. It was Jungkook and his softened gaze. Home was Jungkook, it had always been Jungkook… but it wasn’t this Jungkook. It wasn’t this Jungkook and the hickey on his neck.

The sight made your stomach recoil, eyes quickly averted from the site of the crime. He had gotten here later than usual, said something about having to take Sojin somewhere first. So that’s what that meant. Jungkook, unaware of the fact the collar of his t-shirt has let you in on his private life, squeezes your hand. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

And you were stupid and you were in love, so of course you said yes.

It’s a cookout this year, his backyard filled to the brim with relatives and friends and so many cans of beer you don’t know what to do. His parents are ecstatic for your return, babbling on and on about how much he missed you for the last two birthdays. You take it in stride, and maybe in a different timeline you would have believed it, but not this one. Aside from greeting you at the door and taking your keys off your hands, you had barely seen the birthday boy all day. You mingle with old friends, his relatives, tentatively sip at your can of soda. You’re tired, the long drive having sapped the majority of your energy for the day.

Sometime around sunset, you meet eyes with him across the yard. Jungkook smiles, he always smiles. You okay? he mimes with a thumbs-up, and you want to say yes, but Sojin is sitting on his lap, an obnoxiously loud display, and when he puts his hand back down, it immediately finds its home on her thigh. You send him a half-hearted shrug, play it off like you're still a little carsick from the long drive here.

(Truthfully, you are sick, but you’re not sure it’s from the drive.)

Even at twenty-one, his family maintains their tradition and sings him happy birthday. With your return, his mother delegates you to cake cutting duties again, so you’re on standby for the song, at his side with the cake cutter in hand. Jungkook is grinning from ear to ear, Sojin attached to his hip, his arm sling around her shoulders. His family sings and sings, and Jungkook is happy. His eyes jump around the table, taking in the sight before him the way he does every year. And when they reach you at his side, Jungkook beams, reaches for your hand beneath the table and squeezes, all the while keeping his girlfriend closely hugged to his other side.

You cut the cake. Sojin gets her slice and promptly whisks Jungkook away.

By ten pm, you find yourself in his upstairs bathroom puking your guts out. It’s the carsickness, you tell yourself, or maybe the cake frosting, throat gagging around nothing, tears clinging to your lash line. But is it really?

“__?” someone says, and you make a weak attempt to turn towards the door. You don’t know what you expected— had you actually wanted Jungkook to find you in this sorry state? —but it isn’t Jungkook. “Shit, what happened?” Taehyung worries, hurrying to your aid. And you’re grateful that there’s someone here to help you, to save you from yourself and your stupid, heartbroken thoughts. But it’s not the man you want it to be, and that has you squeezing your eyes shut tightly, until the mascara on your lashes imprints itself against your under eyes instead.

The man you want bumps into you downstairs, catches Taehyung helping you into the spare bedroom to lie down. “__?” Jungkook calls out, eyes big and scared. “Where— what’s going on?” he asks, thrusting his plate into Sojin’s hands before rushing to your side. He grabs your forearm, and the touch burns, so you yank yourself away.

Faintly, you hear Taehyung explain. “She’s sick,” he says, pulling you closer. “She’s been out of it since she first got here. I think it was the long drive.” Yes, it was the long drive, you agree.

Jungkook, unfazed by your first recoil, reaches for your arm again. “I’ve got her,” he tells Taehyung, underestimating his strength when he tugs you closer, has you stumbling into his chest. His rough handling makes your stomach tighten, your head feel dizzy.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, hand on his chest. “Wait— I’m—“ And he’s trying to move you back up the stairs, probably into his bedroom to lie down. But the sight of the stairs and his overwhelming scent and the hickey on his neck, the hickey Sojin left on his neck, makes you nauseous all over again.

Taehyung yelps in your defense. “Jungkook,” he scolds, carefully maneuvering you out of Jungkook’s harm’s way. “You’re making it worse.”

From a few feet away, Sojin calls out his name. “Jungkook?” she says and her voice is so sweet, yet so sticky; it makes you gag. “Baby, they’re calling for you outside.”

And everyone is saying his name, so he doesn’t know where to look, doesn’t know who to prioritize, not when everyone wants his attention. He looks at you, and your heart soars for a millisecond. Then it plummets when he settles on Sojin instead. “I— you’re right, Tae,” he sighs, backing off, letting go. “You got __, right?” Taehyung nods. “Call me if anything happens.”

And he leaves, slips his hand around Sojin’s waist and guides her out the door. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even tell you to get better soon. He just leaves.

Taehyung lays you down, doesn’t say a word when you start crying because he probably thinks it’s about your stomach and the vomiting. “It’s okay,” he soothes, helping you out of your shoes. “Does it hurt?”

Yes, you sob. It hurts very badly.

#networkbangtan #jungkook #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fic #jjk #bts x reader #swshd #mine

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

If you're up up to it, how about obikin and 42?

yes!!! Prompt 42 is Star-Crossed Lovers, but star-crossed lovers are soooooo out now. 'Crossed the stars to be lovers' is IN, baby!!

(2.7k)

Someone has left a letter on his bunk. Obi-Wan as a rule doesn’t get letters. Actually, as a rule, Obi-Wan has never wanted to receive a letter in his entire life. They all have datapads for a reason, and it’s because they’ve evolved past the need for flimsi and ink when there are means at their disposal to deliver messages near instantly.

So no, Obi-Wan has never wanted to see a letter sitting on his bunk. He finds the whole thing rather trying, actually, the Flimsi Friends program the Jedi Order established fifty standard years ago in an attempt to connect their Jedi with others across the branches through letters. Obi-Wan had scorned the idea as an Initiate living comfortably in the Temple on Coruscant, and his opinion hadn’t really changed once he began his tenure at the AgriCorps.

Kabre notices before anyone else. “Oh, hey! Obi-Wan’s got a letter.”

“Finally,” Aldran grins, craning his neck from where he’s collapsed on his bunk. “We only signed you up months ago.”

“Really, you shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan says. “Really.”

“Oh, come now, little Obi,” Kabre pats him on the head. Obi-Wan is twenty-five and of a perfectly average height, but Kabre is close to three heads taller than him and of an indeterminable age. “Think of it as an opportunity to strengthen your connection to the living Force.”

“Through the Flimsi Friends program,” Obi-Wan deadpans, raising an eyebrow up at his peer.

“Getting letters from Susa is the highlight of my week,” Aldran tells the ceiling dreamily.

Obi-Wan shares a commiserating eyeroll with Kabre. “That’s because you’re in love with her.”

“Who wouldn’t be? She’s so sweet and kind and pretty and she has all these stories from her adventures in the ExploraCorps--”

“Alright, who got him talking about Susa?” Lathrum asks from the door, sighing in exasperation as he makes his way over to his own bunk. “It’ll be a standard day before he’s done.”

“Hey!” Aldran gasps, offended and already close to sulking. “Whatever. Fine. Everyone’s just jealous that Susa and I are in love because y’all are never going to find something nearly as good as we have.”

“Obi-Wan finally got a letter from the program,” Kabre announces to Lathrum. “We were just saying that he should at least try to be excited.”

“Yes, perhaps you’ll meet your own Susa,” Lathrum smirks, peeling off his dirt-covered tunic. His next words come out muffled. “Force help us if that happens.”

“No need to worry,” Obi-Wan says dryly, picking up the letter and studying it. “They appear to be a youngling.”

“A youngling wrote you?” Kabre asks, barely restrained glee in his deep baritone.

Aldran guffaws from his bunk. “Well now you have to write back!”

“Knowing your luck, it’s probably a youngling from the Jedi Temple,” Lathrum says. “Dear Obi-Wan, Today someone chose me to be their Padawan and I’m one step closer to being a Jedi Knight. How are your plants doing?”

“Yes, alright,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, smiling slightly. He had met Lathrum when he was fourteen and still bitterly disappointed about his new position at the AgriCorps, and Lathrum has never let him forget it even after all these years.

He sits down on his mattress and pulls out the letter. It’s short at least. The handwriting is atrocious but the spelling is worse.

Dear Obi-Wan,

Hi! My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am nine years old. How are you doing today? My master says I have to write this to practice my spelling. I think not everyone can learn Basic, but he says I have to and that all Jedi masters know how. I didn’t ever know there was all this stuff I have to do to be a Jedi. I’ve been here for weeks now and I still don’t have my lightsaber!

I think the temple is really weird. It’s so big and cold. I miss my friends back home. Me and Kitster would go crazy exploring this place but no one here wants to play with me. Master Jinn says not to worry and I’m not! The temple is just really big and I’m cold all the time and I miss my mom. Master Jinn found me on Tatooine and took me here to make me a Jedi which is great, but everyone here already knows each other and I don’t think they like me much. I know the Jedi Council doesn’t. They didn’t even want to train me but Master Jinn inzi--incis--said he would.

Do you want to be friends?

Would you explore the temple with me?

Write back soon please,

Anakin

“Well?” Kabre asks, when Obi-Wan finishes silently reading the letter.

Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand over the jagged penmanship. It’s all too obvious that this Anakin Skywalker is...painfully young, churlish and childish and achingly lonely.

Obi-Wan sighs again, harder, as he looks up at his bunkmates. “Where do we keep the blasted flimsi?”

---

Dear Anakin,

Thank you for your letter, it was very nice to read. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’m 25 years old. I hope you are settling in at the Temple better by the time this letter finds you. I have to admit I was very surprised to hear that you are nine years old and have been allowed to train to be a Jedi. That’s unheard of. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Jedi. There must have been a reason your master chose you. The Force wills it and it will be.

It is understandable to miss your mother and your old home. When I became a member of the AgriCorps, I spent the first few months missing the Jedi temple on Coruscant a lot. It was the only home I ever had. But we make others as we go. The Temple is big and I suppose very cold compared to a desert planet--I looked up Tatooine here and there wasn’t much information, but I could never live somewhere with two suns! I’d be burned to a crisp in a matter of hours.

The upside to the Temple being big is that there are a lot of hiding spots and footholds for climbing. Try the pillars in the entrance hall. They connect to each other. My friends and I would run around on top of them for hours, although I think that was mostly because we were too scared to get down. You should ask Knight Eerin about it, or Knight Vos. They’re usually in the Mess Hall if not the Halls of Healing.

I’m sure Master Jinn has you busy with meditation and classes, but I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Best,

Obi-Wan Kenobi

---

Dear Obi-Wan,

I was really excited to get your letter! I didn’t know it would take so long but it’s been ages! So much stuff has happened. I finally finished my remedial classes and Master says we can focus more time of katas now! I can’t wait to learn how to fight! And Master Windu smiled at me the other day when he saw me in the hall because Master told him about my grades!

I asked Knight Eerin about you and she showed me some pictures she had on her datapad of you when you lived at the Temple. You look really pretty cool! I have blond hair and blue eyes if you were wondering. My mom always said she thought I was going to be really tall. What do you look like now? What do you do at the AgriCorps? Why did you leave the Temple? Knight Eerin says you need to give her a comm call soon. She didn’t sound very happy.

I made a friend! Knight Vos’ padawan was there when I talked to him about what you told me, and she came with me to go exploring! She’s so cool. She’s been helping me with my katas too.

Apparently I won’t get my lightsaber for years! That’s so long!

Anyway I have to go and do my reading now but please write back faster this time, Obi-Wan!

--Ani

----

Obi-Wan never reacts quite as happily and dramatically as Aldrin does when he sees a letter from Anakin on his bunk in the evenings, but over the years everyone learns not to disturb Obi-Wan on those nights.

The first letter Obi-Wan receives from Anakin after the boy turns eighteen includes his commlink frequency hastily crammed at the bottom of the page. If you want, Anakin has scribbled.

“Finally,” Obi-Wan jokes when the line connects and Anakin answers breathlessly. “No offense to you, dear one, and you have come quite a ways since you were a youngling, but your handwriting is still atrocious. I’d much rather talk to you like this than try to puzzle out what you’ve written.”

Anakin splutters and then stutters out in a voice slower and deeper than Obi-Wan had expected, “I didn’t know you had an accent, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan finds that he likes that voice saying his name in that way.

That’s the first sign of trouble.

----

Anakin sends a photo of his knighting ceremony. Obi-Wan wants to cry with pride. His friends tease him about it relentlessly. “You look like I did the day I married Susa,” Aldrin crows and takes a picture of Obi-Wan’s blushing, laughing face. Later, Obi-Wan reluctantly sends it to Anakin.

“I’m jealous of your friends,” Anakin confesses with an exhale of static. “They get to see you everyday.”

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, unable to say more. Unable to admit that he’s thought the same thing about Anakin’s master at the Temple. Unable to deny it though.

They move onto safer topics, ones that make Obi-Wan’s chest feel less tight.

----

“Jedi Knights are forbidden to have romantic attachments,” Kabre tells him apropos of nothing one late evening when they’re leaning against the railings of their cabin.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to pretend to not know what his friend is talking about. Anakin is twenty-three now. They call each other as often as possible, whenever they have enough free time. Thinking about Anakin, somewhere out in the galaxy, makes Obi-Wan feel dangerous things. Dangerous, insidious, illogical things.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Everything you’ve ever told me about this boy makes me think he’s in love with you,” Kabre says. “And the way you tell it makes me think you’re in love with him too.”

“Kabre, I…”

“I’m not asking you to deny it to me, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to defend yourself. You know no one cares if you’ve gone and fallen in love with your flimsi friend. It happens. And Force knows there’s no way you could be more insufferable than Aldrin and Susa.”

“He’s a Jedi Knight, Kabre,” Obi-Wan looks away, off over the fields. “I know what that means.”

----

When Anakin is twenty-four, Obi-Wan walks into his room to see a letter on his pillow. He blinks in surprise. He hasn’t gotten a letter since they petered out in favor of comm calls with Anakin.

But he’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

He sits down to read it.

Dear Obi-Wan,

I find myself growing weary of Knighthood. I love my Padawan, I love the missions, I love the fighting. But I love something else more. I have for almost as long as I can remember.

I’ve been looking through the old letters from you. I’ve kept them all. I know Jedi should not have material attachments, but I found that I could no more throw them away than give my lightsaber to a Sith. They make up our story.

You were the first friend I ever had at the Temple. I don’t quite think you realized that then, and you may not even realize it now. But you were. I would get a letter from you and feel warm for weeks afterwards.

Actually, everything I love about the Temple and the Jedi you gave to me. My friends now, indirectly. All the hiding spots. Moving meditation.

When I got my kyber crystal, I wanted to tell you before anyone else. When my Padawan braid was cut, I gave it to my master, but wished I had something I could give to you too.

That was the day I really admitted to myself that you already have all of me.

Obi-Wan, I’m in love with you. I love you more every time we talk. Disengaging the comms at the end of the night hurts like losing my hand all over again. I love you, I love you.

And I have been a coward about it for too many years. I was afraid that you would reject me, think me too rash and young and foolish. But I know what I want. You told me in one of your letters that you believed I lived off of a single-minded desire to achieve my goals and that I would let nothing stand in the way.

I do not plan on starting now, if you will have me that is. I dream of nothing more than to feel your hands on my face, to listen to the sound of your heart beating in your chest.

I will not disrespect the ways of the Jedi by loving you quietly, when I know you are my deepest, strongest attachment. One that I will not shake, even if I lived to be as old as Master Yoda himself.

If you find that you feel the same way, I will leave the Jedi Order tomorrow and meet you on Bandomeer. If you do not, then I understand and will never speak of this again. I am something of an expert after all these years of loving you silently from afar.

Yours sincerely, yours always, yours completely,

Anakin

Obi-Wan traces the words with a shaking hand. He doesn’t know he’s crying until a tear falls onto the flimsi. Oh, Anakin. Oh, his brave, foolish Anakin.

Will he really be so selfish as to allow Anakin to leave his Knighthood for him? His padawan, his home?

But the knowledge that Anakin loves him is a heady, addictive feeling. Obi-Wan has never truly gotten the things he wants. He loves his life now, of course. But he hadn’t wanted it.

And he loves Anakin.

He loves him terribly.

He reaches for a piece of flimsi and a pen.

----

Anakin will be the first to admit he’s been in a foul mood for a few standard weeks now. He’d sent that letter to Obi-Wan--Force, why had he sent that letter to Obi-Wan, obviously the man will never want to talk to him again now--and then immediately Ahsoka and him had been called in for a mission.

It had been awful and disgusting. Anakin is covered in mud from head to toe, and his padawan doesn’t look any better. And worst of all, he had had no time at all to comm Obi-Wan. No time at all to see how the man had taken his confession. It feels like he’s been holding his breath for days.

But he’s at the Temple now. He can clean himself off and call Obi-Wan incessantly until the man answers. Anakin can’t keep living like this.

“Letter for you, Master,” Ahsoka says as he enters their quarters. She’d been sent ahead while Anakin had finished docking the ship, and now she’s sitting at the table perfectly clean.

Anakin thinks his heart stops at these words and then it starts beating as fast as it ever has before. “Where?”

“I put it on your bed,” Ahsoka peers up at him with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay, Skyguy? You look a bit--”

But Anakin’s gone, already tearing into his room. There on the bedspread is a letter. Obi-Wan’s written him a letter.

Anakin has to try opening it three times before he finally gets his fingers to cooperate. It’s very short.

Dearest One, Obi-Wan has written.

I’ll meet you here tomorrow on Bandomeer. I will be waiting.

Forever yours,

Obi-Wan

Anakin smiles and feels like he could cry or sing or dance or scream from all the joy that’s welled up in his chest at this small handful of words Obi-Wan has given him. They’re everything and more.

Mindful of the mud on his person, he puts the letter gently on his bed and walks back out to the common area. Ahsoka is right where he left her.

“Okay, now you just look scary,” she says, pointing a fork at him. “Stop smiling like that.”

Anakin lets his grin die. He won’t relish this next part, but it’s for Obi-Wan. It’s so he can be with Obi-Wan. It's necessary. “Snips,” he says, sitting down opposite her. “We need to talk.”

#asks #prompt fill #i could literally write like 20k of this tbh #i had a few more letters planned but i knew i needed to hurry it up #anyway #sw #obikin #this is also as usual highly unedited all mistakes are artistic and actually great

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terrence-silver · 2 years

Note

Your piece on Silver’s partner looking over his old photos and adoring them, making him feel so loved, was gorgeous. You’re so talented and it blows me away. How do you think Silver would react to seeing old photos of his partner, especially if his partner had initially been unsure about showing him because she’d struggled with her self-image a lot growing up, so finds it hard to look back on old photos? I think that'd be interesting given his character. 😊

He is seldom overcame with endearment.

Terry figured he’s hardened, by happenstance, somewhere along the way and he never minded it. It was a point of pride. What a soldier ought to do. What a Sensei ought to do. A businessman. Something old and forgotten awakens in him that Monday, though, when a secretary hands him his detectives sealed findings in a special unmarked, manilla envelope as he goes through the daily routine of his Cognac shot and the operatic overture of El Cid playing on his gramophone, the cracking giving the tune a special flare, just due part course for his research --- both the usage of a gramophone and a detective somehow organic, an archaic touch he enjoyed occasionally --- collecting details, information, intel on you the old fashioned way. He never expected your eight grader photo in there, on the pile. At least, you appeared to have been an eight grader. A mere child. A highschooler? A teenager? Turning the description on the back, he’s surprised. This was an image from your young adulthood? He miscalculated. He seldom miscalculates. -”What’s this? Your latest parcel, Harrison! That’s what I mean!”- Terry barks and admonishes over the phone, finding he wasn’t listening to the onslaught of excuses even though he was the one who called and asked specifically, distracted, momentarily, by the picture in his hand, colors slightly muted, oddly blurring a set of cheeks still containing baby fat. You.

Can gentleness bleed out of a man?

Was that possible, physically?

Terry breaks the line, mid-sentence, not bothering to listen to his man finish.

He finds he can’t care what he has to say at the moment.

He traces a forefinger over your polaroid face and he smiles idly to himself, chuckling alone in his study, the music playing softly over the record. You were so different, yet yourself. He knows those eyes. That face. That bearing and aura. Who else has seen this? The detective no doubt has? Yes, but, who else? Maybe your school peers, once upon a time? Family? No, no. Nobody else would, Terry decides there and then as he stands up from his armchair and fishing his leather bound wallet out of the drawer and stuffing the photo inside, looking around the office, catching himself being almost conspiratorial. Catching himself almost angry at the prospect of someone waddling in and accidentally glancing at you. He does, though. Tilting his head as he did. Mine. Is all he could think about. Mine. My heart. That evening, he pulls up back home and shows himself into the lobby and finds you there after tucking the remains of the envelope into a password protected safe --- a shared meal and shared sheets aside, he turns to you. Terry has been bleeding all day inwardly. Tenderness seeping out of him, like puss out of an infected wound; he never tells you. Never tells you what he’s found. He merely looks at you. Your visage. All the changes. All the similarities. The growth. The assonance and the symmetry. Terry takes the next day off. He hasn’t slept a minute.

#terry silver #old man terry #kk3 #cobra kai #yandere #fluff #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #thank you friend #you're very kind

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nanaminokanojo · 3 years

Text

"Petty" | Oikawa Toru X You

collection masterlist

photo/fanart credits to @/oikawalovesyouu on Twitter

"He's self-centered but he's insecure so naturally, he's petty."

Oikawa couldn't shake that comment off his head as he slammed yet another ball into the opposing court, aggressively wiping on the sweat on his forehead. The university gym was already deserted with all his teammates gone yet he was still doing jump serves as if he wasn't already so good at it. He just needed an outlet.

In his head, he was already thinking of counter arguments to what he heard being said about him. It was one sentence. One! And yet he was working up all his brain cells to think of a lengthy rebuttal to every single word in that single statement.

First of all, he wasn't self-centered. He doesn't just think about himself, or so he likes to think. He was sensitive enough to read the room most of the time and he can actually bring the best out of his teammates to the highest degree. An insensitive, selfish prick wouldn't be able to do that without proper observation and lack of awareness for others.

Secondly, he didn't think he was insecure. He didn't have to lift a finger to get the attention he wanted, and it was human to feel envy for those who are better than him because there will always be someone better. It’s just an inevitability he has to deal with.

And lastly, he wasn't petty. He's always been reactive, he knew that, but that was just reaction if not retaliation to those who want to belittle him. That's what he thinks anyway.

But why you had to say those things about him as if you were a female version of Iwaizumi – his best friend who seemed to get off of being too cruelly honest and straightforward about what he thought of Oikawa – was something he didn't understand.

Of course, he was aware of your blatant frankness. He loved that about you. You were just very insistent on your individuality and you had very strong opinions which you stood by without regard to anything. Most of the time anyway. He actually got a kick out of people's reactions when you say something without filtering your words especially when you were children, but like they say, it's never funny when one becomes the receiving end of anything negative.

The larger dilemma was that you were the only girl he sincerely liked, so much so that he was willing to lay down his pride just to have you and call you his. Solely and irrevocably his. But if you thought of him that way, then maybe you actually hated him. It bothered him to no end.

"What the hell did I tell you about over-exertion?" Oikawa heard that familiar deep voice from the direction of the entrance, and before he knew it, the ball crate was being wheeled away from him. "Enough. It's off season."

"Just letting off some steam," Oikawa stated, smiling Iwaizumi's way despite himself.

"You can do that at Kuroo's party," the other male said with finality. "Be out in fifteen." His last words were laced with a threat, and Oikawa didn't have a choice but to do as he was told. The former was right. If it's just to vent out, he could definitely do that at the party.

He couldn't be more wrong in his life.

The moment he entered the premises of Kuroo's house, the first thing he saw was you. You came in just after he did, but you bumped against him without even apologizing as you walked ahead, waving at someone else. You saw him there, but you walked off anyway as if you didn't.

"What the actual fuck?" he couldn't help but blurt out when he saw just who you were talking to.

You've always been agreeable to him as his childhood friend, but you were ignoring him on top of saying bad things about him to your friends. And now, you were talking to Ushijima Wakatoshi whom you knew he disliked with a passion.

The male simply got on his nerves for the fact that he was better at him in the sport they both played. Oikawa also hated how much the guy hounded him to join their team back in high school, talking about how he would be better off. Like how is it better to be in the same team as Ushijima was when he would just outshine him?

His mind started to run amok with questions. What could you possibly want from Ushijima? Better yet, what did he want from you? Since when were you even close to him? Oikawa almost wanted to throw up seeing how you were being buddy-buddy with the cold fish of a guy, actually managing to melt his severe expressions into a soft smile. Were you going out with him now? He couldn't take it.

Without thinking, he grabbed the shoulder of the person who was holding a tray of drinks, taking two shot glasses in his hand, and telling the person to stay where he was standing. He was able to down six shots while standing there, but before he could drink more, Iwaizumi came into view.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded gruffly, telling the poor guy with the drinks to scram.

"Not now, Iwa," he snapped, walking towards the direction of the stairs, rudely telling everyone to get out of his way.

He stayed there for almost an hour, trying to calm his nerves but ending up going feral over this couple who were making out as they pushed the door to Kuroo's room where he was lying down on the bed. To say that he killed their mood was an understatement as he harshly told them to fuck off. Nobody dared cross him being the famous star athlete that he was at the university you both attended. It was, however, useless if he finds himself losing even outside of court to Ushijima who was his equivalent in the neighboring school when it comes to volleyball. It left him with a bitter taste at the recesses of his mouth.

When he finally emerged from the room, deciding to get more drinks, he was still in a foul mood, glaring at anyone who would get in his way towards the kitchen. But his plan was all but forgotten when he saw you standing by the archway that led to the kitchen, leaning there as you nursed a plastic cup against your chest.

For the first time that night, he was actually seeing how beautiful you were, dressed in a crop top and tight-fitting jeans which were tattered in most places. As per usual, you were stuck in your own bubble, bobbing your head to the music as if you weren't aware of all the adoring looks you were getting. Well, you were a person who didn't know her strengths and denied them when he tells you. It was just unfair how he always has nice things to say about you but you didn't think the same way about him.

He closed the distance between the two of you, placed his forearm above your head, towering over you, that infamous smirk plastered on his face.

"Hey, baby," he said in a low tone, leaning down until your faces were just inches from one another.

"Hello, darling," you returned, smiling slightly. "I've been looking for you, but Iwa said you ran off somewhere."

"Have you now?" He eyed you seriously. "Weren't you just ignoring me a while ago for Ushijima?"

He wasn't able to elicit the reaction he wanted from you, and instead, you smirked at him. "Eh?" you responded in a dragged out note. "I wasn't with Ushijima for the sake of ignoring you, Toru. The world doesn't revolve around you."

He stood back in indignation, your opinions of him coming out to the surface. "So why were you with him?" He was aware that his tone made it seem like he had any right to be questioning you of your actions. He had been vocal about his attraction to you, but it wasn't as if he was your boyfriend. Still, he couldn't care less at the moment.

"None of your business, sweetheart," you told him, your words at odds to the saccharine smile you flashed him. He found himself disconcerted especially when you reached up and started fixing his fringe. "What are you acting so jealous for?"

Ah, he thought. It wasn't his place to be feeling that way but he didn't want to respond to your question in any way. So, like he did earlier, he stormed off, sticking to his original plan to get wasted.

He didn't want to say things he will regret even if you were being hot and cold. For a while now, he had the feeling that you were toying with him, but whenever he was around, your actions towards him were always the opposite of your words about him as of late. One time you'd be telling him to go away, but as soon as he does, you're grabbing his arm, telling him to sit still beside you. You'd be complaining to him one second that he was being an annoying brat and then sit on his lap peppering his cheeks with kisses. You'd be with another guy but tell him you're looking for him. You were confusing to say the least.

Oikawa didn't know what happened after he walked away from you. But when he finally came to, he had a throbbing headache and he wasn't in his room. He looked around him, straining to keep his eyes open as he took in his surroundings, shooting up from the bed when he realized he was looking at the familiar layout of your bedroom.

He had been there a million times ever since you were kids, and he had been a witness to all the changes your little corner of the world had gone through. He couldn't help but smile despite his feelings and headache at the thought that what was once a room that looked like it was made of cotton candy was now in scales of black and white, surrounded with things that were just so you.

But after all the changes, you still had that framed photo of you and him in grade school, where he was kissing you on the cheek while you grinned wide for the camera. You were wearing the matching shirts your crazy moms got you, and he knew you still kept them somewhere in your room.

Yes, he told himself, I was there before anyone else. You’ve always been the closest to him even when Iwaizumi came into the picture. Even then, he didn’t seem to understand you well enough to actually lay emphasis on the fact that you’ve known each other since you were in diapers.

Just then, you walked into the room, holding a glass of fizzy water. You were wearing only his old volleyball jersey, padding barefoot on the floor. You specifically asked for it when you both graduated from high school and you've been sleeping in it since then.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," you greeted, sitting down on the empty space of the queen bed which he noticed was also slept on. "Drink up."

"What am I doing here?" he asked after downing the whole glass in one go, setting it on the nightstand.

"I took you home. Your mom would have killed you if she saw how fucked up you were last night." You brushed his hair from over his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Like my head's about to explode," he muttered.

You clucked your tongue. "Why did you have to drink so much anyway?"

Instead of answering you, he laid back down on the bed, turning away from you. He had every intention to ignore you after that, but it wasn't long before he felt you coming closer to him, propping your chin on his arm while you draped yours over his waist.

"You're sulking, Toru."

He took the pillow from under his head to hide his head under it. "I don't wanna do this today, Y/N."

"Do what? What exactly are we doing?"

The audacity to ask, he said at the back of his mind, biting his tongue. He didn't say anything and just stayed still.

"Hey, I asked you a question," you continued to badger him. "You've been acting off since a week ago. What's up?"

He refused to satisfy you with a response thinking you ought to realize what it was exactly that you two had been doing, dancing around each other yet skirting around the real issues between you. You couldn't be that oblivious of his affections and you weren't exactly passive either.

Nevertheless, you always had a way of turning things to your favor, and before he knew it, he was falling off the bed after you kicked him off it, nearly landing face down if it weren't for his fast reflexes.

"Y/N!" he whined, remaining seated on the floor as he clutched on his head. He half expected you to laugh at his predicament, but when he met your eyes, he regretted it, seeing the serious expression you had.

"You should know by now that I hate it when I am denied things I want to know especially those which involve me," you told him, cocking your head to the direction of the bed. You sounded menacing, so far from the gentle voice you always used when talking to him. "Stop being a brat. Get back here and talk to me properly."

"You're the one who kicked me!" he protested as he stood up, doing as he was told nonetheless, sitting up and leaning on the headboard.

"So, what's your problem?"

"I'm jealous of Ushijima," he returned promptly his brown eyes also taking a severe quality to it as he eyed you.

You arched a brow at him. "What's new about that?"

"At least before, he didn't have you, too. Now..." He sighed. "You're friends with him now? What was that about last night?"

"Are you serious right now? I had business with the guy."

Oikawa scoffed. "What business are you talking about that he's all smiles at you like that? He only ever smiles around his girlfriend –"

"Exactly," you countered, openly savoring the look on his face when he realized just what he was saying. "He ordered a huge consignment of rare live flowers for his girlfriend so I informed him it had been delivered. Our family as ikebana* artists and horticulturist do that for a living."

"What?"

You shrugged. "You're assuming things again."

Oikawa blinked, feeling defeated at your sound reasoning, but he still has bones to pick with you. "That's not just my problem with you. What are we really, Y/N? I don't get how you're ignoring me and suddenly being sweet. I'm getting mixed signals here. And don't think for a second that I didn't hear about what you told your friends about me."

He narrowed his eyes at you, smirking when he saw how your eyes rounded, finally able to take you off guard like you usually did to him. For once, he wanted you to lose your footing and come clean about what you really thought about him…how you really felt.

"Hmm. What exactly did I say about you?" you asked, the caution in your tone obvious.

"You know it, Y/N. Don't you dare make me jump all the hoops!" he stated, losing his temper.

You shook your head, not understanding where his choleric attitude was coming from. You knew better than to level your irritation with his, and you were so used to his antics that you found yourself almost unaffected by his crusty demeanor. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Toru."

He glared at you. "You told them you think I'm petty because I'm self-centered but I'm insecure. Ring any bells, sweetheart? And don't lie, I heard it myself."

You ran your hand over your face, frustration emanating from you. At the same time, you wanted to laugh because he looked like an angry kitten instead of the fully grown man he supposedly is.

Oikawa didn't know where your exasperation was coming from when he's supposedly the one feeling it but then you nodded.

"I did say that."

"How could you?" he complained, aware that he sounded like a juvenile dipshit but he didn't know how to react to your lack of denial for it. In the end, he just wanted you to say you didn't mean it even if he already got hurt from hearing it.

"How couldn't I, Toru? That's the truth," you stated, no bars held and your voice ringing clear in the air between you. You were really merciless when it came to voicing out what ran inside your head.

"Well, shit, Y/N. Why didn't you just tell me to my face?" He was about to stand up, but you pushed him down, sitting astride his lap so he wouldn't move. He refused to look at you but couldn’t move at the same time cause he didn’t want to hurt you in any way although he didn’t exactly want you close at the moment. "Get off while I'm being nice about it."

"Iwa and I never fail to tell you every day," you started, placing your hands on either side of his face, gently making him look at you.

"You both hate me?" he asked weakly, unable to imagine life without the two of you beside him.

"No." You shook your head. "Toru, no. Of course not. That's just how you are, isn't it? We never asked you to change. We just couldn't help noticing it, and if we don't tell you, who will?"

Oikawa Toru. So used to being fawned over that he doesn't know how to react when he is being criticized. He could admit to that, but it still hurt hearing you say that.

"Sweetheart, I did say those things about you, but you didn't stay long enough to hear the rest."

He pouted, looking away from you. "And what is it?"

You tilted your head so you would be in his line of vision, grinning the moment you realized you had him. "That despite all that, you're a generally kind person who cares a lot for your friends, your team, for me, and even if you don't know how to show it, deep down, you're a sensitive soul. And I adore that about you."

"Really?"

You scoffed. "I love you, Toru. I thought we had an understanding."

"As friends, you mean?"

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything further, closing the distance between your lips, kissing him fervently and intensely in case the message didn't come across just yet.

He gasped against your lips, caught off guard as usual, but kissed you back with as much fervor, dominating you shortly after your mouths made contact. He nipped and sucked on your lips before shoving his tongue into your mouth, immediately finding yours and delving in to taste you. Oikawa grinned when he rendered you into a panting mess, reveling in the way your hands possessively held him close.

"I waited so long for this," he said against your ear.

"Make up for all those times you missed out then," you told him with a smug grin.

"Heh. You asked for it."

He flipped you both over on the bed making you burst out in a fit of giggles, kissing you stupid, his hands touching everywhere he could reach, your clothes and his mixing in a pile on the floor while he made sweet love to you.

Oikawa Toru. He's self-centered but he's insecure so naturally, he's petty. But he was not just that. He's also the guy you loved to smithereens because you knew that those other facets of him – the good ones – exist.

-the end-

TERMINOLOGIES:

*ikebana (活け花) - traditional Japanese art of arranging flowers

My first try at Haikyuu...god d*mn you, both, @kenkinori and @ushiwaikuroo !!! XD

Before anyone comes after me, the characters are aged up as specified in the story. The beauty of literary creativity!

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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shoutaaizawas · 4 years

Text

↳ pro!hero bakugou katsuki x reader → safe

summary: you broke up with bakugou a month ago but you’re terrified and he’s the only person you can call tags/warnings: stalker and confrontation with said stalker, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending word count: 2,698 a/n: this is different from what i usually write but i like the way it came out.

Bakugou had been miserable for the past month. It was so stupid, he couldn’t even remember what the fight had been about. Maybe he had been too busy at work, wasn’t making enough time for you, or maybe he had said something rude without thinking. Whatever it was it had gotten out of hand so quickly. He said stuff he didn’t mean and before he knew it he was walking out of your shared apartment. He had been crashing at Kirishima’s apartment for the time being, he refused to get any of his stuff from his place. If he did that it felt like putting a nail in the coffin that was your relationship.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, your name popped up on the screen and he sighed. You were probably calling about getting his stuff, you had texted him before about it. He knew that ignoring you wasn’t the best tactic at getting back together but at this point, he didn’t know what to do. He tossed his phone down and went to the other room to finish doing his laundry.

He hated what happened, he hated being away from you. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat and it was starting to catch up to him. He felt sluggish and worn down and it was starting to affect his work. He needed to apologize but every time he wanted to call you he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Bakugou knew he would settle things with you eventually but it would take time. He didn’t want to lose you, you were his everything. You had been with him for so long, always supporting him and comforting him when he needed it but refused it from anyone else. He refused to lose you.

Bakugou would apologize to you, he just didn’t know when.

It had started a few days after Bakugou left, photos on your kitchen counter. At first, you thought Bakugou had been by when you were out and left something. Your heart fluttered in your chest, did he leave some thoughtful apology? You were dying to be back with him again but you couldn’t forgive him until he at least showed he was sorry.

Your heart dropped and froze in fear. They were pictures of you, leaving the house, ordering coffee, at work. There was a note with them. Finally he’s gone, you deserve better. Your hands shook as you held it up looking for any clue who left them but there weren’t any. You had gone to the police but they said there was nothing they could do until there was more evidence.

Maybe it was a sick prank from a friend. No, none of your friends would think that was okay. You prayed it was a one-time thing but a week later there were more. The photos were recent, from the day before. I’ve been watching you for a long time, we haven’t met but we will soon. The note made bile rise in your throat. You thought about calling Bakugou but your pride was still too strong and you couldn’t ask for Kirishima’s help either since you knew he was sheltering Bakugou at the moment. You knew the red-head wouldn't keep the information from him.

Another week and more photos. I love you, I’ll make you so happy. You already could barely sleep without Bakugou but with this fear gripping you, you couldn’t get any now. Every noise in the house, every shadow that moved nearly sent you into a panic attack. The police wouldn’t help, you felt so helpless.

It was dark out as you walked home from work. Your phone rang and you were quick to pick it up hoping it was Bakugou. You would give anything to feel safe in his arms again, to spend the evening watching TV curled up on the couch, to fall asleep on his chest lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart beating.

“It’s time. It’s finally time for us to meet, my love. I can’t wait.” The voice that came through the phone was unfamiliar but you immediately knew it was the man who had been stalking you. Before you could say anything he hung up.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you couldn’t breathe. You were terrified, more than you ever had been in your entire life. You called the only person that ever made you feel safe, stubbornness be damned. You knew he was always there for you, that he would protect you from anything even after everything that happened.

Bakugou’s phone rang and rang but there was no answer. You called him over and over but he didn't pick up. Tears began to stream down your face. Was he still so mad at you that he wouldn't answer your call? Or was he indifferent to you? Had he moved on? The thought of him at dinner with another woman denying your calls as you feared for your life sent a sting of pain through your chest. You kept calling as you reached your apartment, locking the door and putting a chair in front of it. If he had a key maybe that would help block it. You kept calling, praying that he would pick up. Hands shaking around your cell phone.

The doorknob turned and your heart stopped, the door opened but was stopped by the chair you had propped against it.

“What do you want?” Bakugou’s tone was harsh as usual.

“K-Katsuki, please oh my god. Help me please.” You sobbed into the phone. Fear and relief flooding through you. You were in danger now more than before but you had finally gotten ahold of Bakugou. “T-There’s a man trying to get into the h-house, he’s been stalking m-me.” You gasp through sobs.

“Let me in, love.” The man's voice comes through the door as it shakes and the chair begins to wiggle loose.

“Barricade the door then find somewhere to hide.” Bakugou is breathing heavy, you can hear his footsteps through the phone and you already know he’s on his way. Kirishima’s apartment isn’t far away but you wonder if Bakugou will be fast enough.

You slide a dresser from entryway in front of the door before darting off to your bedroom and diving to the ground. You crawl underneath the bed, the phone still clutched in your hand. You can hear Bakugou’s explosions, you know that he’s trying to get there as fast as possible. All he can hear are your sobs.

“Are you hidden?” He asks trying to keep his voice calm for you.

“Y-Yeah.” You answer, in the living room you can hear the furniture in front of the door being thrashed around. “I-I think he’s g-going to get in. Katsuki I’m so scared.” You cry. Tears are pouring down your face and terror has enveloped you fully. You wonder if this is the last time you’ll get to speak with the love of your life.

“I’m almost there okay, you’re going to be okay.” He says but you can still hear a tinge of fear in his voice. "Just take deep breaths okay, I won't let him hurt you."

"O-Okay," Your words are shaky but you try to do as he says.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I should be there at home with you. I should be protecting you. I didn’t mean anything I said. I love you so much.” He sounds so sad, so scared. It’s not a tone you hear from him often.

“I’m sorry, I should have said it sooner. Katsuki-”

A crash echoes through the house and you know that he’s inside.

“He’s inside, oh my god. He’s in our house.” You can’t help but cry, trying to keep your voice down.

“Just stay quiet, I’m almost there,” Bakugou begs.

You’re curled up under the bed, one hand clutching your phone to your ear and the other gripping the carpet for dear life. You try to keep your breaths shallow, hold in your sobs but you let a quite whimper out.

“You don’t have to be scared, my love.” The voice is in the room with you.

“Katsuki, I love y-” You whisper into the phone but it's cut off by your scream as you feel the man pull you by your ankle dragging you out.

“No!” Is the last thing you hear Bakugou scream through the phone as it clatters onto the ground.

Bakugou’s heart is pounding out of his chest. He’s almost there, running up the stairs to your floor faster than he’s ever moved before. This was all his fault, if only he had apologized then he would be home keeping her safe. If something happened to her, if she died- There would be no forgiveness for him. He wouldn’t deserve it. Every step he beats himself up more and more. Why hadn’t he just said sorry and gone home? It wasn’t worth their relationship and it wasn’t worth your safety.

He thinks about the ten missed calls he saw on his phone before picking up, he thinks about how scared you must have been thinking that no one would help you. Did you think he abandoned you? That he was ignoring you while you were terrified?

He finally gets to your floor, the door to your apartment is wide open and there's furniture scattered in the entryway. A piercing scream sends shivers down his spine. If he leaves a mark on you he won’t hesitate to kill him.

“Stop struggling, I’m here to help you. You deserve someone who cherishes you.” He hears a man’s voice from their bedroom. As he enters he sees the man shaking you harshly against the wall.

“You bastard, get your filthy hands off of her.” He growls out and he’s tearing him off of you before he realizes that Bakugou had entered.

All Bakugou can see is red as throws him to the ground. In a flash he's on top of him, punch after punch, blood covering his face. He can’t hold back, he can’t stop thinking about what could have happened if he was too late. Images of you harmed in different ways flash through his mind and it pushes him further.

“Katsuki-” Your quiet, broken voice pulls him from his cloud of violence. His attacks stop as he turns to look at you. You're on the floor against the wall, hands around your knees and your shaking so bad. Tears are running down your face non-stop and it breaks his heart more than anything ever has. He’s never seen you so scared in his whole life.

Katsuki can hear help arriving and he knows it’s safe for him to get up, the stalker is out cold on the ground covered in his own blood. He doesn’t deserve any more time from him. Not when the love of his life needs him.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Bakugou’s voice is soft as he gets on the ground with you, his hands reach out gingerly to brush against your shaking arms trying his best to soothe you. “I’m so sorry this is all my fault.”

You reach out grasping onto him like he’s a raft in the middle of the ocean. He envelops you in his arms and you feel a wave of relief rush over you. You’re safe now. Bakugou’s here and you're in his arms. No one can hurt you anymore. His hand smooths the hair down at the back of your head and your breathing begins to calm.

Bakugou had called for backup, they had taken the attacker away and sat you down to ask some questions before they left.

You sat at your dining room table next to Bakugou and it suddenly was so quite. Furniture still laid across the floor, you couldn’t look at the door without thinking of the fear that flooded you.

“Let’s go to a hotel for tonight,” Bakugou says softly and you remember just how perceptive he is. “I’ll grab you a bag of your stuff.” He says before giving you a glass of water. “Just try and relax, I’ll be quick.”

Bakugou doesn’t take long before he returns with two duffel bags and your favorite pillow in hand.

“C’mon baby.” He says taking your hand in his.

The hotel room is nice, far nicer than it needs to be. At the top of the building, you can peer out of floor-to-ceiling windows at the skyline. There’s a lot of space in the room itself decorated with nice furniture.

The bed is big and looks inviting especially with how tired your feeling right now. Bakugou is behind you, his hand running down your arm softly.

“Do you want to take a bath before bed?” He asks and you nod.

Bakugou leads you into the bathroom and starts the water. The tub is large and fancy, nice soaps and shampoos on the edge. He puts some soap in the water, bubbles forming.

“I’ll grab your bedclothes.” He says leaving the room. You strip down and get into the warm water. You close your eyes, sitting there with your knees drawn to your chest. The day is so unreal, it’s almost easy to pretend that you were just here with Bakugou for an anniversary or a trip. But the events of the day edge there way back into your mind.

“Shh,” You hear Bakugou shush you his hand rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t realize he had returned, and you didn’t realize the tears streaming down your cheeks. He sits on the floor next to the tub, leaning over to press a kiss against your forehead.

He helps you wash your hair and dry off when you’re ready. He’s brought your favorite pair of bedclothes and you change into them. Both of you get ready for bed.

The bed is comfortable as it looks. Getting under the large fluffy covers is comforting. Bakugo slides in beside you. You don’t hesitate to scoot towards him till you’re pressed against his side.

“I can’t go back to our house.” It’s hard to come to terms with and even harder to say. A part of you is scared Bakugou will say that he isn’t coming back to you, that he can take the apartment and you can find someone else to live. You’re tearing up before he can even say anything.

His hand is against your cheek, wiping away the tears there as he draws you to his chest.

“We can look for a new place tomorrow.” He says simply. “That place was starting to feel too small anyway.”

“T-Thank you.” Your words are shaky as you look up at him. He pulls you onto his chest, his hand rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I’m sorry about what I said to you, I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for not apologizing sooner. I failed you, I promised to protect you no matter what and I let you down.” His voice is hoarse with emotions.

“You saved me Katsuki.” You tell him.

“I should have been there, if I was there he never would have tried anything, and if he did he wouldn’t have gotten past the door.”

“What happened tonight was bad but I feel better knowing that he’s going to be locked away. If this didn’t happen I would have had someone stalking me and I never would have known.” You tell him. The thought of going about your life unknowingly being followed makes you sick.

“I’ll never leave you again. I promise you that. I’ll always be by your side.” He says, pulling you even closer. “I love you so much.” His eyes are pressed closed and you can practically feel the love coming off of him.

“I love you, Katsuki.” You return and your heart flutters at his declarations.

It would take a long time to recover from everything that had happened today but you know that Bakugou will be by your side through it all. That when he holds you in his arms it’s like a shelter from a raging storm.

You know that Bakugou Katsuki will always keep you safe.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #katsuki #bakugo

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depressing-debbie · 3 years

Note

Hey! I LOVED your squad dad levi headcanons, can we get some of like modern erwin and levi as actual dads? Thanks love 😘

Absolutely <3 these two are so adorable, they would be the best dads

This is significantly longer than I anticipated but whatever

Very much unedited so forgive me if it’s odd

Erwin and Levi As Dads

Unpopular opinion, but Levi would absolutely be the one to bring up kids. Sure it was a bit awkward for him, but he’s not going to wait around for Erwin to come to that conclusion. He wants a family, and it makes him so happy just to think about.

But, to be fair, Erwin probably had the same thought around the same time, and when Levi brought it up?? Absolutely thrilled. There was some talk about finances and plans for the future and everything, but for the most part, they were pretty much immediately in agreement.

Neither of them had any knowledge of how you’re supposed to parent, so they immediately went hunting for books and information to learn as much as they could.

They ended up adopting a little girl, and promptly having a crisis because those two gay dads knew absolutely nothing about girls, but they read enough parenting books to make it work.

The first time they held their baby, there was a lot of crying. Neither of them are particularly teary in most situations, but it really just struck them how lucky they were.

Levi was absolutely terrified. He didn’t have a normal childhood, and he wants nothing more than to give his kid what he never had. He was honestly paralyzed by that fear at first, afraid that any wrong move would ruin everything. But pretty much as soon as they fell into their new routine, he allowed himself to relax just slightly.

They have a photo album in the living room commemorating even the tiniest little milestones, and they are so ridiculously proud.

Imagine the three of them sitting on the floor as they try to teach their daughter with those little blocks and colorful rings, Erwin absolutely sneaking in something about how she should dedicate her heart to her passions, disguised as a little nursery rhyme, making Levi roll his eyes.

I don’t think I need to tell you all this, but their child is absolutely brilliant. She has Erwin’s strategy and critical thinking skills, and Levi’s quiet instincts; together, she’s the smartest kid in school. They are proud of her no matter what, obviously, but they’re secretly a little glad she took after them.

They teach her from a young age to balance independence and trust in others. Imagine that scene of Levi telling Eren he has to chose whether to rely on himself or the squad, but it’s him teaching his daughter how to ride a bike. (Does that make any sense? Hopefully)

She ends up being so bold and driven, because they’ve taught her that she can do anything, and because she knows that they are always in her corner.

Please just take a second and imagine Erwin and Levi as PTA dads. They absolutely go to every parent meeting and advocate for the students, calling the other parents out on their bullshit. Their daughter also asks them every time if they can chaperone class parties and field trips, and they genuinely love it.

They get so invested in her interests and activities. She likes sports? Boom, Erwin's already outside helping her practice, and they’re cheering her on at games. She’s involved in performance arts? You should see Levi running lines with her before an audition, using stupid voices to make her laugh away the stage fright, or better yet, the way Erwin cheers like a football dad from the audience at recitals. Or maybe she’s more artsy? Every single piece of her art is framed somewhere in the house. They love watching her start to discover her passions.

Erwin has to reel Levi in when he’s being a bit too strict with rules about curfew and such. He can’t help it, he just gets so nervous. But, at the end of the day, they’re not too strict. They know she’s got a smart head on her shoulders, and they want her to be able to get out and learn for herself like they did while she has a safety net.

High school years were... definitely not dull.

She takes after them both, meaning she inherited both Erwin’s stubbornness and Levi’s sarcastic temper. But, honestly, they still don’t fight much. When they do, it’s probably over something stupid, and both sides just have to swallow their pride and apologize. (Erwin and Levi are NOT the kind of parents who think they’re above apologies just because they have some kind of authority. Mutual accountability)

They made it abundantly clear that she will always have a safety net, no matter what. Maybe that means getting a call in the middle of the night and picking her up. Maybe it means having an uncomfortable conversation if she’s screwed up and needs help. Or maybe it just means crying on their shoulder after her first breakup. They’re there for her. (brb just crying)

They absolutely have family game night, and Erwin was simultaneously hurt and incredibly proud when their daughter started beating him at Monopoly.

They read to her every night when she’s young, and even when she gets older, they read to her when she’s upset or having trouble sleeping. It’s like a little family tradition.

Imagine Levi and Erwin sitting together in the audience at her graduation and tearing up when she walks across the stage to get her diploma. And they insist on getting pictures of her in the cap and gown for the photo album with all of her baby milestones.

In conclusion: they are the best parents anyone could literally ever have, and their family is absolutely perfect.

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kunikuzxshi · 3 years

Note

Hi, it's me again. Can I request h/c's for Spinner with an s/o who gives him a baby iguana as an anniversary gift or something and bursts in the house like "SHUICHI YOURE GONNA BE A FATHER-"

Thank you in advance and for your time

So I didn't go with a baby iguana just because i have more experience with Crested Geckos. I own one, and they're arboreal (so they can climb) like Spinner can. Yes, Iguanas can too, but its just that I've got more experience with Crested Geckos. I'll put a picture of my geckos at the bottom ^-^

Best pet for spinner is hands down an arboreal species of lizard, doesn't matter which one

I feel like its always something that was in the back of his head but I don't think he'd ever get one himself

So when you show up with this tiny little gecko with things that look like eyelashes, its a little surprising to him

He'd be like a little kid getting their first reptile, just watching it move around the tank until it goes into hiding

You always joke about it being his son and honestly, with how much pride he takes in it, it might as well be

The first time he holds it will probably be a month after you got it, bc yknow, baby has to get used to its new home first

Its so soft compared to his rough scales, and he treats it like an egg

^ by that i mean he will literally cradle it

The first time it wraps its tail around his finger, he's in love

He spends hours researching the species the first time he sees it. Everything from what it eats to what kind of morph it is (like the design)

With crested geckos specifically, I think he'd like the "crest" or what I described as the eyelashes (even though it runs down their backs too). It just makes them stand out a little more

He sits on the floor with it because baby Cresties jump quite a bit

He tries to get it to chirp without bothering too much, but it never works

He offers to pay for the tanks and whatever you put in the new one once it gets bigger

Whenever he's on a mission, he checks in on you and the lizard and reminds you to feed it (if he didn't before he left) or spray it's tank

He LOVES taking it out of its tank and just watching it walk on his arm, scaling him like it would a tree

His wallpaper on his phone and computer is you holding the gecko

^ gotta have his two favorite beings everywhere

He probably shows it around the hideout like it'll be anywhere except your shared room and its tank very often

^ probably not because Shigaraki and Dabi, I feel like Toga would be gentle with it once she realizes its his son pet

Yknow how some people have those stickers like "proud mother of a german shepherd"? He has a whole pile of those and he puts them everywhere

His whole photo gallery is just you with the gecko and you can't change my mind

^ yes its excessive but hey, a simp's gonna simp

He'll let you name it but he has a photo album titled "Spinner Jr." but he still calls it whatever you named it

^ he let you name it only because you bought it for him

He talks to it just as much as he talks to you so it can get used to his voice (yes, that's a thing)

Literally wants to cry when it stays still in his hands because he thinks it trusts him

So the brown one is my crested gecko, I named him Caspian. His crest isn't as visible as it usually is in that picture, but you can always find better pictures of it online. The other one is Henry, and she (yes I said she bc my brother named her before we found out she's a girl) and she's, if I had to guess, 5 or 6 years old. I got Caspian somewhere in March I'm pretty sure

#spinner #spinner x reader #shuichi x reader #shuichi iguchi #bnha spinner #shuichi x y/n #iguchi shuichi #bnha fluff #bnha headcanons

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

a parent thing.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: here we have some ajf hotchner family history! evelyn comes to visit and it's all very soft. i hope you enjoy it :) as always, let me know what you think.

words: 1.2k warnings: language, children, egregious sentimentality

summary: “our daughters are the most precious of our treasures, the dearest possessions of our homes, and the objects of our most watchful love.” margaret e. sangster. au!june 2018.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“You know these are the first Hotchner daughters in six generations, right?”

Your head whips toward Evelyn, who’s rocking Caroline in the corner of the nursery. “What?”

“Benjamin told me that once,” she continues as if you hadn’t said anything. She knows you heard her. “He said there hadn’t been any girls in Aaron’s direct family line since the Hotchners left England.” She looks up and meets your eyes. “Yours are the first girls in almost two hundred years.”

You look down at Sophia, snoozing across your chest with her little lips pursed.

Two hundred years.

“Aaron, of course, is the oldest of two boys. Benjamin is the oldest of four, his father one of five, his father one of three. It’s all in a book somewhere. Aaron will get it when I’m gone, then Jack after him and his children after that.”

There’s a little smile playing at her mouth. “Benjamin’s grandmother started writing it all down, tracking the family, just to keep tabs on any girls that might show up. She didn’t know the names of the girls born before the family came to America - they aren’t in any of the immigration records so they may have stayed behind or escaped documentation.”

Her fingers brush the soft hair on Caroline’s head, running over the ridge of her tiny tiny ear. “Caroline and Sophia will be the first girls in the book.” She smiles. “And what fine additions they’ll be.”

+++

“Is it true there haven’t been any girls in your family in -”

“Six generations?” Aaron answers for you with a sardonic little smile. “Evelyn telling you stories today?”

You huff a laugh. “She’s bullshitting me, isn’t she?”

“With that one? No.” He offers you a hand and you climb into bed beside him, propped up with some pillows. “Don’t listen to a word she says about my high school years. I invoke the fifth and refuse to comment. Haley took that shit to the grave and I intend on keeping it that way.”

“Yeah, right.” Snorting, you take a sip of water and fold your legs under you. He watches you, his eyes soft. You decide not to tell him about the photos you’ve seen, or the fact that you plan to hang them in the hallway once all the boxes in the garage are finally unpacked.

He sighs, changing the subject without really changing the subject. He takes a moment to look at you soaking you in from the soft light of the bedside lamp.

Nights, after the kids are asleep, are really the only time you have to spend together at all - between Aaron keeping a full schedule at the office and Isaac and Jack and the girls, you hardly have time for each other during the day.

“That’s crazy. No girls at all?”

“None.” His eyes wander to the door. “It’s not just the team, you know? It’s my family. The first girls.” He shakes his head. “I can really explain it. There’s no reason to be proud, I mean, it’s just chance -”

“It makes sense, though,” you insist, picking up his arm so you can tuck yourself underneath it. “You’re allowed to be proud. Like sure it’s a little silly because it is the luck of the draw, but it’s fair to feel proud. It’s a parent thing.”

You bump his shoulder. “You’ve managed to do something nobody in your direct line has done in two hundred years.”

He rolls his eyes and kisses your head. “I do that every time I use an app on my phone.”

“That’s a bad analogy and you know it. Don’t be stupid.”

“Too late.”

+++

Jack curls up under your arm with a granola bar, watching Caro eat. You’re not shy about feeding the girls outside of the nursery anymore, and Aaron’s more than pleased that Jack has an opportunity to learn about the practical nature of anatomy in addition to whatever crazy shit he’s learning on the playground.

“Do you like having sisters, Jack?” Evelyn asks, bottle feeding Sophia from across the room.

He shrugs. “They’re not that different from brothers right now. Loud, sleepy, squishy.”

You give him that one, and even Evelyn laughs. “But you don’t mind having the girls around?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.” He reaches over, brushing Caroline’s cheek with his finger. “I forgot how small they are.”

That draws a smile from you. “They’re cute when they’re not screaming, huh?”

“Yeah.” There’s a little laugh in his voice, and he focuses on the TV again, munching on his snack.

Your son, the teenager. Insane. Your eyes wander to the hanging photo of Haley on the wall, the photo of Jack and Aaron close to eight years ago resting beside it.

As you look, the door opens and Aaron steps through, looking exhausted.

“How was court?” You ask, in a more chipper tone than is entirely necessary, just for laughs.

Jack sits up, leaning on the back of the couch as Aaron toes his shoes off and drops his briefcase. “Yeah, Dad, did you wipe the floor with them?”

Aaron chuckles and you catch Evelyn hiding a smile.

“Almost, bud. I’m back tomorrow. Apparently, two hours wasn’t enough time to determine whether I’m an expert in my field.” He kisses your forehead when you look up to follow his movement around the back of the couch.

“You have a JD from a top-thirty law school and nearly thirty years as a profiler to your name,” Evelyn says, her eyebrows raised. “And they need more than two hours?”

“Well, mother,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek and stroking Sophia’s head. “Some lawyers... “ He feigns deep thought. “Are stupid.”

You’re so tired that makes you nearly howl with laughter, bracing Caroline against your body to keep from jarring her too much. Even then, she startles and starts to cry, but you can’t stop laughing.

Aaron rolls his eyes and takes her from you as you tuck yourself back into your shirt. Almost instantly, she quiets, looking up at him with big brown cow eyes.

“I’m with her all day, I gave birth to her, I feed her, and yet…” You gesture broadly to Aaron’s entire person. “She’s obsessed with you.”

Aaron winks at you and looks down at Caroline, speaking in the voice reserved only for her. “You just get me, huh, my little love?”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, you and the three-week-old just vibe, Dad.”

Aaron hardly spares him a glance, grinning down at his daughter. “When you’re older, just trying to vibe with your kid, I swear I’ll bother you so much.”

You and Jack look at each other, identical dubious expressions plastered on your faces. When you look over at Evelyn to include her in the joke, there’s something in her eyes as she looks at Aaron that makes you feel like you’re interrupting.

Training your eyes back on Aaron, you try to see what she sees, but can’t quite manage it.

Maybe it’s a parent thing.

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @prentisswrites @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @luciilferss @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder @rebel-flying @nuvoleincielo @rqgnarok @ssa-volturi @reidyoulikeabook @schlooper @itsmytimetoodream @bau-baby @ssagube @oreogutz @lexieshuntingsstuff

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

School Days (part 5)

Warning - smut

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone

Cillian's 18th birthday was days away. You and Liane were shopping in Cork city, trying to find the perfect gift for him.

"You know, Ann Summers is here somewhere y/n..." She smirked, you responded with a slap on her shoulder.

"We've only had sex a few times Liane, I don't think we're quite there yet!"

"I'm not talking about bondage stuff! They do some really nice lingerie sets! I was thinking maybe when mom and dad take the kids on holiday you and Cillian could have the house to yourself for a night?" Your parents were due to go to their holiday apartment in Sligo the same weekend of Cillian's birthday. You and Liane were staying behind as you both had work that weekend and couldn't get the time off.

"Where will you be?"

"I'll be at Liam's - his mum ADORES me!" She laughed, linking her arm with yours and dragging a reluctant you over to the Ann Summers shop.

*************************************************************

"So where does your ma think you are tonight?" You asked that Saturday evening, letting Cillian in.

"Yours. My parents are a lot more liberal than yours y/n!" He laughed, kissing you and heading into the lounge.

"Will they tell my parents??"

"God no, they're not crazy! Don't worry - we're fine." He sat himself on the sofa and held his arm out for you to join him. You sank into his embrace.

"Happy birthday baby."

"Not til tomorrow, but thank you. Dad's taking me for my first legal pint before dinner."

"Can I give you your present early?" You smiled up at him.

"Well I'm not going to say no, am I?" You took his hand and led him through to your bedroom - a room he'd never been allowed in before. He smiled looking around at the room - the photo collage of you and him on the wall, the necklace he'd bought you for Christmas hanging off your mirror on the dressing table. The Christmas card he'd bought you, framed on the window sill with a pressed flower from the bouquet he'd given you. Even a seashell from his family holiday in Kerry, pride of place on your bedside table.

"You kept all this?"

"Of course I did, you gave them to me." He pulled you close and kissed you, the kiss quickly becoming more intense. You pushed him backwards to sit on the chair by your dressing table, and stood up in front of him.

Slowly peeling down the straps of your floor length summer dress, you allowed it to fall to the floor, revealing the blue lace bra and panties set, stockings and suspenders Liane had convinced you to buy. You couldn't help but giggle at his eyes, wide and hungry, before they locked with yours.

"Holy fuck... You look amazing... Is this all for me?"

"All for you. Wanna unwrap your present Mr Murphy?"

"Do I... Come here..." You stood in front of him and lifted one foot onto his knee. His fingers took the stocking, unclipping it before sliding it down your leg slowly. You shuddered slightly at the feel of his fingers brushing over your thighs.

"Sensitive, aren't we?" He smirked, before repeating the action with your other leg. Once they were both removed, his hands roamed along the inside of your thighs, parting your legs slightly and brushing over your clothed mound softly. You bit your lip to control yourself - you wanted this to last as long as possible. You stopped his hands, and lifted his t-shirt over his head. Straddling his thighs, you placed kisses over his neck and jawline, tracing the tip of your tongue up from his jaw to just below his ear, sending very visible shivers down his spine, a low moan emitting from his lips. You hips rocked back and forth over him, his hands firmly on your backside edging you closer so your clit pressed against the straining bulge in his jeans.

"I want to try something..." You whispered in his ear.

"Yeah? What you got in mind?" You stood up and pulled a bag from under your bed. His eyes widened more at the Ann Summers logo emblazoned across it. You pulled out the handcuffs, dangling them in front of him.

"I don't trust you not to touch me when I do this..." You smiled, moving behind him and locking his hands behind his back on the chair.

"What exactly is it you're planning on doing?" He asked, as you fiddled with the buttons on his jeans.

"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you now, would it?" He lifted his hips for you to pull his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked them away eagerly. Kneeling on front of his, you took his hard cock in your hand, stroking it up and down like he'd shown you, squeezing the tip and base, just how he liked it. You also took his balls in your left hand, rolling them around your fingers, squeezing occasionally drawing a deep groan from him. Your right hand focused on the base of his cock, you took the tip into your mouth, a long, drawn out suck making him shake underneath you.

"Not gonna last if you keep doing that..." You smirked at his comment, and resumed your ministrations on him, taking absolutely no mercy at his begging for you to slow down.

Your mouth moved on him faster, his hips were bucking wildly, you could hear the chains on the handcuffs rattling as he pulled against them.

"Baby... I'm gonna come... Y/n don't stop..." A deep groan, almost primal, as he released into your mouth. You took every drop he had, swallowing it down.

"Birthday present number one done..." You smiled, watching him catch his breath.

"There's more?"

"I certainly hope so. Just need to get you going again," you smiled, your hand brushing over his still semi-hard cock making him gasp. You sat on the edge of your bed with your legs open, moving the lace panties to one side. The hunger in his eyes driving your confidence higher. Sliding one finger through your folds, your eyes never left his as you drew the wetness up and circled your clit slowly. His eyes moved from yours to your fingers, back up again. He barely breathed, watching you pleasure yourself in front of him.

"You gonna make yourself come for me?" You nodded in response, and his cock twitched, coming back to life quickly.

Your fingers worked their magic on your clit, rubbing it slowly at first then getting quicker, pushing against it a little harder.

"You like watching me Cillian? My fingers rubbing myself?" He nodded, words barely possible now for him. He pulled against his restraints, making you chuckle. Watching his now fully erect cock twitch was turning you on further, your orgasm getting close.

"You look beautiful doing that... Moan for me, let me hear you..." You happily complied, low moans coming from your lips as you felt that familiar knot down below start to unravel. Your hips rocked involuntarily against your fingers.

"I'm coming baby... I'm coming..." Your orgasm hit you like a steam train, panting his name as you came. Throwing your head back, pausing your fingers and holding your legs open, letting him see how your pussy twitched as your orgasm passed through you.

"Jesus... Let me touch you now, please... I need to fuck you..." He panted, barely able to hold himself together. You calmed, your waves subsiding slightly before walking over to him and straddling his legs again. Hovering over his hard cock.

"That was present number two... Are you ready for number three?" He nodded, and you leaned down to whisper in his ear. "I'm on the pill now..." He nearly came there and then at the thought of fucking you raw, biting his lip hard as you sank onto him. You hadn't been on top before, but remembered Liane's advice. Just like dancing...

Your hips ground against him, his breathing hitching in his throat as you moved. It took a few minutes to find a rhythm that was comfortable, but once you found it there was no stopping you. Your hips bounced and rocked against him, every thrust hitting parts of you not reached before, the pleasure was so intense you felt like you had no control over your own body anymore.

"Ride me... Fuck yes... You feel so fucking good..." His words edged you closer, you could feel another orgasm building, taking you by surprise. Your hands on his shoulders, both of you moaning and gasping, foreheads pressed together and eyes locked.

"Fuck... Cillian... You feel so good buried inside me... Filling me up... Fucking me raw..." Your breath caught in your throat as that coil in your stomach built up again, a release coming so quickly it took your breath away. Your walls contracting hard around him as you came again, your second orgasm flooding you, and him, as your juices flowed onto his groin and thighs. His release came moments after yours, the feel of your walls clenching him was too much.

Coming down from your highs, foreheads still pressed together, breathing deep. You reached round, grabbing the key from the dresser and unlocked his handcuffs, making a mental note to thank Liane profusely for persuading you to do this. His hands now free, he couldn't get them on you fast enough, wrapping them under your arms and lifting you, careful not to pull out, carrying you over to the bed. Pressing his body against yours on top of you, his nose brushing against yours.

"That was the best birthday present I think I've ever had..." He grinned, slowly moving his hips, his cock definitely softening inside you now and slipping out. Another mental note made to wash the sheets before your family came home tomorrow night.

"There are actual gifts downstairs babe, I didn't just do this," you laughed.

"I wouldn't have minded either way - you will always be enough for me. Always. Love you.."

"I love you. Chinese for dinner?"

"When have I ever turned that down?" Pulling your clothes back on, you both headed back downstairs.

You were making out on the sofa after you'd eaten, the TV on behind you but neither of you paying attention to it. You were on your back, Cillian on top of you, a hand on your breast and his hips rocking into yours.

A man's voice from the doorway broke the two of you apart suddenly.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

#cillian smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x smut #cillian murphy

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation. pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write!

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.”

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach.

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason.

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs.

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy.

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache.

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud.

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long?

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?”

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly.

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong.

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon.

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook.

You scream.

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—”

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!”

“Well… is he at least cute?”

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!”

“Tasteful nudes.”

“I’m gonna die.”

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.”

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates.

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM.

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?”

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.”

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot.

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram.

Of course, he’s stupid hot.

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well.

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more.

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend.

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league.

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on.

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen.

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen.

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?”

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot.

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?”

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?”

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.”

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!”

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.”

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?”

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance.

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing.

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.”

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures.

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.”

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something.

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie.

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.”

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.”

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy.

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really.

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing.

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.”

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment.

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film.

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic.

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?”

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.”

“You think right.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair.

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?”

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.”

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier.

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot.

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud.

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes.

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container.

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?”

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display.

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?”

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.”

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation.

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.”

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking.

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.”

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.”

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.”

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize.

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.”

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.”

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?”

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.”

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.”

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you.

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down.

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks.

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts.

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed.

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ???

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird.

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture.

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today.

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring.

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.”

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.”

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.”

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?”

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.”

You choke on your saliva.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?”

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?”

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!”

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.”

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.”

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.”

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off.

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?”

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?”

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.”

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.”

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens.

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists.

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger.

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine.

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.”

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.”

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?”

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.”

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag.

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin.

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio.

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony.

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him.

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.”

“It was.”

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table.

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.”

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.”

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity.

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die.

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more.

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them.

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.”

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists.

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset.

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself.

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.”

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.”

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink.

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set.

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.”

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.”

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.”

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?”

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that.

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?”

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?”

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.”

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself.

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.”

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.”

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.”

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame.

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home.

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead.

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade.

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?”

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?”

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this.

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.”

#jungkook fic #btsghostiebingo #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

saturdays

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,467

summary: Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

warnings: Some swearing

a/n: This was my March 2020 one shot for my Patreon that they received early access to. Let me know what y’all think!

Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

Sundays are for sleeping in before eventually making his way to Brooklyn, where he picks up three bouquets and an egg, bacon, and cheese breakfast sandwich from Sal’s bodega before going to the cemetery. He sits against his sister’s tombstone—his parents’ to his right—and eats his late breakfast. He sits and talks for a few hours before leaving the flowers on their graves. He always has to have peonies, since those were Becca’s favorites.

Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are for training. He wakes up at five in the morning to go running with Sam, something he thought would end when Steve went back to be with Peggy Carter. But he wasn’t bitter. No.

But which thing he wasn’t bitter about, he’d never tell.

Along with the run, he spends most of the day sparring and battling simulations in the gym. He has short breaks for meals, but he pretty much is on go until after dinner, when he goes straight to bed.

But Fridays are his favorite. Because he gets to sleep in until nine-thirty in the morning, which is a luxury he’s not used to. Then Sam and him grab a late breakfast together before Bucky goes into the city for his therapy session.

And Bucky likes his therapist! Which he was really, really surprised about! But Marlene is good. Marlene is good because she doesn’t placate him. She calls him out on his shit, and pushes him forward. Because if it had been up to him, he would’ve stopped seeing her after their third meeting, when she had him drawing with fucking crayons that snapped in his hand way too easily. But it’s been over a year since he started seeing her, and even though he still has his bad days, his bad days now would’ve been his best days before.

“So, you think you’re finally ready to go through Rebecca’s things?” Marlene asks, looking at him with a peaceful expression.

“I don’t think so, I am,” he says firmly, feeling a rush of triumph as a smile spreads across her lips. “It’s time, you know?”

She nods in understanding, humming. “Do you have someone going with you?”

Usually, Sam would go with him for things like this, and just in general. They were attached at the hip, especially after the whole Steve leaving thing.

Yeah, they were both hit pretty hard with that.

“Yes, but I…” He sighs, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “I think this is something I need to do alone. At least, the going through her stuff part… But he is going with me to move the stuff to the Tower.”

“Good, good,” she says, her brows slightly furrowed. “And how are you feeling today about Steve leaving?”

Bucky lets out a huff of air, taking a moment to think about it. “To be completely honest with you… I’m kind of over it today. I have other things to do and yeah, I would’ve liked him to be here for it, but that’s not how it is. And him leaving is more about him than it is about me.” He shrugs, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Just because he decided to go back doesn’t mean he wanted to leave me.”

Marlene sets her clipboard to the side, a warm smile on her face. “Well, Bucky, I think we’ll end today on that thought.” She stands up, offering her hand for him to shake as she does everyday. “You’ve done well today. You should be proud of yourself.”

He leaves with a wave and a “See you next week!” as he always does.

He hadn’t known about the storage unit full of his sister’s stuff until about eight months ago, when he asked Maria Hill if there was anything left of hers. He knew that SHIELD had been the ones to take control of her assets when she had no children, since she was the sister of a Howling Commando and the best friend of Captain America.

Becca had died in December of 2013. He’d missed her by less than six months.

It was heartbreaking when he first found out, and still is, if he was being honest. But at least he has her stuff to go through, even though he has no idea what all is going to be in the storage unit. Stevie hadn’t had anything other than what the Smithsonian had snatched up.

The car ride to the storage facility is quiet, Sam at the wheel. Bucky still hasn’t gotten his license, since he doesn’t see a point. Why should he when there’s the subway and Uber and even just good old fashioned walking? “You’ve gotta save the Earth, Sam,” he says when he really feels like irritating the other man.

“You sure you’re ready for this, man?” Sam asks as they stand in front of storage unit 429.

“Yeah,” Buck says, punching in the key code and lifting up the door. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He flips the light switch on the wall, and is shocked by just how much stuff there is. There’s boxes upon boxes upon boxes.

Sam’s hands go to his hips as he looks at it, whistling. “Alright. Let’s get it loaded.”

It takes several hours and three trips to get everything from the storage unit to the Tower, and by the end of it, the both of them just collapse on the couch with a couple of beers and a pizza to share between them.

But Saturday morning comes bright and early, and even though it’s his only day out of the week where he has absolutely nothing to do, Bucky knows he has to start going through her things.

The first four boxes are just clothes. Clothes upon clothes upon clothes. He finds a baby blue dress that she used to wear for church, starched to perfection, and he holds it to his chest for a long time. He cries then.

And he knows that the fact that she’s hoarded so many clothes has a lot to do from growing up during the Depression. He still finds himself falling into old habits of checking the price of food, despite the fact that he never has to worry about money again with his Avengers salary and the backpay from being a POW.

He finds his parents’ wedding rings, and the string of pearls his ma wore for special occasions.

And then he finds an old shoe box, and when he opens it up, he finds letters. Letters upon letters upon letters. They’re in bundles, tied together with fraying ribbon. The paper is yellowed and soft from being folded and unfolded so many times, and he can see the looping black letters that covered the pages.

He takes the ones that look the oldest and unties them, he takes the top one from the stack and sets the rest to the side, before carefully unfolding it.

“Ruthie,” he says quietly as he reads the name at the bottom, not even bothering to read it yet. “Ruthie…” His eyes pop open as he suddenly remembers, remembers receiving letters everyday from a girl in the Bronx. They were never romantic, but it was nice being able to write to someone and not having to hide how bad it was, like he had to with his ma and Becca. She even sent her picture once, so he could know who he was writing to. “Ruthie!”

He spends the rest of the day reading the letters, and passes out sometime around four in the morning with his face on a letter. He takes the letters with him to his family’s graves the next day, reading to them after he replaces the flowers.

It takes him two more days to finish reading all the letters, in between breaks while training and staying up until he absolutely can’t.

He cries a lot while he reads it. He’s not afraid to admit that. But it’s nice to remember that he had a friend to listen to him during one of the worst times of his life.

Bucky’s almost afraid to look her up, to find out if she was still alive, and if he could go see her, to thank her. They wrote back and forth until the day he fell off the train, and he knows that had to be pretty jarring for her.

But then Sam finds out about the letters—it would be hard for him not to, considering that he was walking around with his nose in the letters for days—and it’s all over.

Turns out, she’s alive. She’s alive, and she’s still in Queens.

He goes the next Saturday, taking his bike all the way to the other borough. He looks a little intimidating and extremely different from how he looked back then, but he hopes she recognizes him. He really, really hopes she recognizes him, because otherwise this’ll be real awkward.

He stands in front of the door for a long time, taking his hands in and out of his pockets about eight times before he finally reaches up and knocks.

And then the door opens, and there’s Ruthie.

Well, not Ruthie, though at first glance, you’re the perfect picture of her. You’ve got her hair and her eyes, and the curve of her lips. But the nose is different.

“Can I help you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at him. You’re wiping your hand on a hand towel, peering at him like you recognize him from somewhere but you don’t know where.

“Hi, uh,” he says slowly. His throat is suddenly so dry that he can barely talk. “I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes. I was pen pals with—”

He’s cut off by Ruthie herself appearing in the doorway. She’s much older—she is ninety-nine, after all—but it’s definitely her. “Did you say Bucky Barnes?” The little old lady’s eyes widened as she saw him, her hand over her heart. “Oh, my stars, it’s really you. I heard about what happened to you, and I…” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “Why, it almost gave me a heart attack, you know.”

“Little Ruthie Pratt from Queens,” he says, reaching in his pocket and holding up the letters. “I found these while, uh, going through my sister’s stuff.”

“I still have mine!” Ruthie says, pulling him inside.

It’s nice and homey and everything that Bucky had thought it would be. The front foyer is covered in photos, and there’s quite a few of you. You’re clearly one of Ruthie’s pride and joys, if the sheer amount of them has anything to do about it.

“I used to read these to my grandbaby here,” Ruthie says as she comes back with an old oak jewelry box in hand. “Anytime she stayed the night—her parents worked a lot when she was growing up—she always asked me to read her one of my ‘Bucky letters.’”

“Grandmama,” you say, cheeks flushing as you avoid his eyes.

“It was so cute! She used to recite them word for word along with me!” Ruthie teases as they go to the living room.

It’s quaint, with soft pastel colors dominating the room. He sits on a floral sofa that’s got a circle with dark hair on it, the marking of a furry friend’s favorite spot. He watches as you move to the kitchen, grabbing a pitcher of what looks like tea and a few glasses.

You sit beside her with the ease of knowing that you belong here, pouring yourself a glass. “Grandmama, do you want some tea?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she opens the box and looks for the oldest one. “You keep that monstrosity away from me,” she says. Seemingly remembering Bucky’s presence, she says, “My daughter’s husband is from Louisiana. Ridiculous man got both her and my grandbaby addicted to that absolute sludge.”

The secret smile you give him as the two of you listen to her tirade about sweet tea makes him feel at ease, and sets the tone for the rest of the afternoon.

Things go on as normal, or as normal as they can.

And Marlene happens to think that all of this is absolutely fantastic for him. She loves that he’s now spending time with Ruthie and you, reconnecting with his past while understanding that he doesn’t have to be the person he was in the letters.

He’s different. He’s not the Bucky that Ruthie knew back then.

It’s an unusually warm day in November four months later when he takes you out for a coffee, just the two of you. And it isn’t a date—really, it isn’t—but he finds himself wanting it to be about halfway through his second coffee.

And that’s why he starts talking about dating to Marlene, who had, quite frankly, been waiting for him to realize his feelings for a while.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he says as he storms into his therapy session, eyes wild and hair a disarray. He’s clearly been worrying real hard about it.

Marlene looks up at him, peering over the silver rim of her glasses. “Oh, really?” She says nonchalantly, as though she doesn’t have you in her notes about him. “And why is that?”

Bucky can’t help the frown on his face as he realizes that she didn’t even ask who he was talking about, because she knew. “I… I don’t know,” he says, slumping into his usual chair. “She makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. And she always makes me laugh, even at the most inappropriate of times.” His gaze softens the more he thinks about you. “And she isn’t scared of me. She doesn’t judge me. She’s read about everything I did in the war, even before HYDRA, and she doesn’t care.” His hands are sweating as he rubs them together. “Actually, it’s not that she doesn’t care—she does care—but she cares because she… she loves me.”

You love him. And sure, he knows that. You’ve said that you love him multiple times, even if you only mean it as a friend way.

But the thought that he has someone who loves him that doesn’t have to is… groundbreaking.

“She loves me, and she wants me to be okay,” he says, looking up at Marlene then.

His therapist has a pleased look in her eyes, even if she won’t let it show with a smile. “I think she’s good for you,” she says simply, her pen held loosely in her hand. “Are you seeing her again soon?”

“I’m seeing her tomorrow night,” he says, his heart growing light. “We’re grabbing a few drinks to celebrate her finally graduating from cosmetology school.”

It’s a big deal for you, completely something. You’re smart, there’s no denying that, but when it comes to schooling… You’d done well in high school, but college proved to be the bane of your existence.

You’d dropped out in the middle of your junior year, and that had been it. You’d moved to Queens to live with Ruthie after, working various low level jobs and trying to find something that fit.

But you’d fit in at cosmetology school. Hell, you excelled. And you enjoyed it! You enjoyed waking up in the morning and going to your classes!

You cried when you got your certificate, and it was now framed in Ruthie’s house until you start your first salon job in two weeks.

“Are you going to tell her about your feelings?” Marlene asks curiously.

Now that makes him pause.

“... Should I?” Bucky asks, feeling a wave of anxiety coming over him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way? And she sees me as just a friend?”

“If she’s really your friend, she won’t abandon you just because you tell her you have romantic feelings for her.”

“You sure about that?”

Marlene fixes him with a look, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Fine. You’re sure,” he says, slumping a little in his chair. “Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

She snorts, making a note on her pad. “I never said it was going to be easy, Bucky. Doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

The next night, he spends an hour and a half trying to decide what to wear. “It shouldn’t be this hard,” he grumbles as he switches shirts for the forty-ninth time. “It’s just drinks.”

Sam, however, is having a great time watching his new best friend freak out over seeing a girl for the first time. “I mean, she already agreed to going out with your ugly mug, man. It’s not gonna matter what you wear.”

And in some way, that helps. A little.

But he does have to threaten Sam with bodily harm if he spies on his date that’s not really a date.

He almost boxes him the ear when he insists for the fourth time that it’s a date.

He shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers from Sal’s bodega, the buttons of his dark blue henley left open, exposing a smattering of chest hair.

When you open the door, the air is knocked from his lungs. You look absolutely radiant. The light from the sinking sun is giving you a halo-like glow, and he’s sure, not for the first time, that you’re an actual angel.

“Hi,” you say, a flush on your cheeks as you see the flowers. “Are those… Are those for me?”

He nods dumbly, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. “Y-Yes,” he says, pushing them into your arms. “As a congrats. For, you know, graduating. And stuff.”

“Thank you,” you say as you take them, handing them to Ruthie.

She’s standing just inside the door, a giddy look on her face as she holds the flowers, watching you take the motorcycle helmet from his hands. “Have her back by twelve!”

“Grandmama!”

“Fine! Twelve-thirty!”

You’re clearly embarrassed by her antics as he helps you on behind him, guiding your arms around his waist.

“You ready?” He asks, his voice breathy.

A shiver runs down your spine as you nod, wrapping your arms tighter around him as he starts the bike, taking off.

“She doesn’t actually mean that,” you say as he leads you into the tiny, out of the way bar. You’re fixing your hair, trying your best to appear presentable. “I’m grown, you know. I don’t… I don’t have a curfew.”

A slow smile spreads over his lips as he listens to you ramble. “I know,” he says finally, figuring he should put you out of your misery. “Ruthie does like to tease those she loves.”

The bar is quaint, clearly a local place that tourists haven’t invaded. He leads you to a high table, calling out your order to the lone bartender.

“So, I—”

“I like you,” Bucky says, unintentionally cutting you off with a wince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I really, really like you, and I really, really want this to be a date, but if you don’t feel the same way then I completely understand and we can just forget that I ever said anything and everything can just go back to normal and that might be the best thing because, quite frankly, I haven’t dated since the forties and I have no idea how dating is supposed to work nowadays, but I’d really like to try it with you but only if you—”

His rambling is cut off as you place your hand on his, intertwining your fingers. “Okay,” you say, like it’s the easiest thing ever. “It’s a date.”

He stares at you for an embarrassingly long time, his mouth dry. “Uh… What?” He says quietly. His heart is pounding at an unnaturally fast pace, and he honestly thinks he might be on the verge of a heart attack.

“I like you, too,” you say, smiling at the bartender as he brings you over your drinks. You look so beautiful, your eyes the brightest thing in the dim lighting of the bar. “So this is a date.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, a wave of relief washing over him. “It’s a date.”

He’s a little starstruck as you continue on with what you were going to say before, a pink blush dusting his cheeks. Your hand stays in his for the rest of the night, occasionally giving a little squeeze as though you’re reminding him that you’re still there and you’re not going to disappear.

And it feels good.

And okay, Marlene may have been right.

And yeah, Fridays might be good. But as he sits there with you until the late hours of the night, he’s sure: Saturdays are his new favorite day. Because Saturdays brought him a new beginning when he wasn’t expecting it.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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