This is completely random, also for fun, and has nothing to do with Jongho irl or with any ATEEZ members.
Enjoy!
Jongho is a quiet person on the outside but really he's just a silly guy.
When the relationship first started he was more reserved but tried to make you as comfortable as possible.
Taking you on dates that would only involve you two, car rides, visiting cafés, or just him inviting you over. If you ever needed someone or anything in particular he would always be there.
There was a time where he was distant with touch but eventually grew more comfortable. Holding your hand in public from time to time, he would keep a firm grip on your hand when in large crowds in fear of losing you.
When it came to revealing his relationship with his members he was a bit nervous because he didn't want you getting weirded out by his members. They could be loud but when he realised you actually enjoyed meeting his hyungs he was so relieved.
During sleep overs he would make sure you were asleep before pulling you closely. He would stay silent, the only thing he could hear (besides his own breathing) was your quiet snores. And he liked it that way, it was white noise for him and helped him sleep.
Later on he realised he couldn't sleep without you being with him
I feel like he's the type of guy to sleep on your stomach maybe.
It might not be completely accurate but I made this at three am because I was bored so
It’s one of those hard-ass days where Bruce is strict on his fitness regime. Being Batman isn’t just about the ability to land a good punch, or solve cold cases with little to no leads—it’s about keeping the body in good condition in order to achieve the epitome of vengeance wrapped inside the human body.
Dick practices this in other ways. As Robin, he’s created a legacy of swiftness, flexibility and the ability to be light on his feet. While Bruce lifts weights and runs cardio like Batman’s life depends on it (because more often than not it does), Dick keeps himself in shape by going through the motions of aerial gymnastics. It’s fun, keeps him focused, and helps him learn new ways to turn a knock-out kick into something flamboyant.
Bruce prefers to exercise in silence. It helps him think, to focus his mind and tune it perfectly with his body. He likes to be sharp and switched on at all times. Dick is the opposite—performing the acts he does lawfully requires music to set the mood. It was a long, drawn out argument that turned into a simple compromise that Bruce gets to choose what music they listen to.
And people look at Bruce Wayne and assume he’s a classical, jazz music type of guy. They’d be correct in their assumptions, of course. Bruce loves a good radio station that plays jazz music. But behind closed doors, when Bruce shakes off his Brucie Wayne persona? He’s pure Batman mode, and the immediate assumption is that he’s all heavy-metal, pure head banging rock music. And that would also be correct.
Dick stands perfectly still on the tightrope, a blindfold covering his eyes. His ears twitch and his mouth moves along to the lyrics of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. An absolute must have tune on the playlist that Bruce had begrudgingly curated for their workout sessions. If not for the fact that he’s working on his balance—which seriously couldn’t be anymore flawless than it already is—he would have been nodding his head along to the masterful beat of the drums.
The bass vibrates through the walls and floor. Bruce lays on his back, the barbell lowering to his chest before rising again as he pushes the weights away from his body. He’s on his fourth rep of bench-pressing four-hundred pounds—a much lighter workout than usual due to his recent wound on his ribs. Due to the fact that he’s listening to such a bass-heavy song, he can’t help but press the weights in perfect timing to the beat.
The door to the gym creaks open, and in wobbles Charlotte. Socked feet, holding a damp-eared rabbit with fur coated in snot, dribble and a substance that can only be assumed as food. She pauses in the doorway, wide blue eyes taking in the large, monstrous workout equipment and the sight of her dad and older brother both focused in their training. Her little toes wiggle at the funny feeling of the music vibrating through the floor.
Immediately Charlotte beelines for her dad at the bench press, her tiny taps of feet unnoticed due to the booming music. It’s different to the mellow nursery rhymes and classical music that Alfred plays for her on the radio. It makes her whole body feel fuzzy, like the song itself is seeping through her organs.
Charlotte reaches the bench press in record time and stands by Bruce’s legs, a gooey string of dribble dripping from the corner of her mouth. Her gums have been awful recently, with a molar pushing through and causing a ridiculous amount of misery and grief for everyone involved. Her plush rabbit, the one with a drool-soaked ear and snot crusted stomach (the dreaded toy that Dick cringes at holding, and the toy that Alfred must pry from Charlotte’s sleeping hands in order to wash) is clutched in her offhand, with her other reaching up and gently tapping the bulky, thick calf.
Bruce halts his press instantly at the feeling before hooking the bar onto the indents for safety. He cranes his neck down and suppresses a huff, spotting his red-cheeked toddler looking up at him from beneath her long dark lashes. Her curly hair, sprouting from her previously bald head, is frizzy and untamed, looking wild.
Bruce sits himself up and presses a button on his wrist watch. The music doesn’t stop, but the volume lowers a considerable amount. And suddenly the noises of the gym are more amplified than they had ever been.
“Charlotte,” Bruce mutters, reaching out and placing his daughter onto his lap. He looks over to the door, half expecting to see Alfred lingering nearby, but he’s surprised when he doesn’t see the butler anywhere. It’s not like Alfred to leave the baby unattended, especially since it’s his rule that Charlotte has to be supervised at all times. “Where’s Alfred?”
Charlotte blinks up at him and lifts her hand to his cheek, offering a gentle pat. Bruce is thankful she isn’t being handsy and insisting on slapping him again.
“Fee,” Charlotte repeats, her words drenched in dribble. “Fee.”
“Yes, Alfred,” Bruce confirms with a firm nod, as if this is a conversation with another grownup and not a fourteen month old child. “Is Alfred not watching after you, Charlotte?”
Charlotte blinks a few times, then puffs out her cheeks and blows a very wet raspberry in Bruce’s face. Bruce doesn’t flinch as dribble splashes across his face, but he does wait until she’s finished before wiping his hand down his forehead, cheeks, and chin.
Across the room, Dick has finally crossed the tightrope and is skilfully swinging down from the high bars. He pushed into a front flip and lands clean on the mats, not looking winded at all. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the dark locks from his forehead as he crosses the room to approach Bruce and Charlotte.
Charlotte swings her gaze around to look at him, her entire face brightening at the sight of one of her absolute favourite people in existence. Her legs start to bend and straighten in a repetitive bouncing motion, with her little heels digging into Bruce’s thick thighs. Bruce steadies his hold on her chunky body, ensuring she doesn’t fall off with how unsteady she is.
“Kee!” She squeals before blowing another raspberry, this time aimed at Dick. Luckily he’s standing a safe distance away to avoid the splash zone.
Dick casts his gaze briefly around the room and frowns. “Where’s Alfred?”
Bruce grunts. “That’s what I want to know. She wandered in here by herself.” He stands from the bench and adjusts Charlotte against his chest with one arm. Charlotte instantly snuggles into his neck, her hand reaching up and providing an approving pat to his cheek.
Dick follows as they exit the gym, curious and worried for the state they’ll find the loyal butler in.
It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for them to arrive in the kitchen, where Alfred can usually be found at this time. But what they’re met with is an empty kitchen, impeccably clean and void of life. Bruce crosses the threshold in a couple of long strides and pokes his head into the pantry door, only for his frown to deepen when he finds that empty too.
Then rapid footsteps approach from somewhere down the hall. Dick and Bruce turn in sync as Alfred enters the room, looking unflappable, but undeniably stressed about something. The older man pauses in the doorway and instantly straightens, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of Charlotte perched happily in her father’s arms. A string of dribble drops from her chin, threatening to plop onto Bruce’s compression shirt.
“Ah, there you are, young Miss,” Alfred begins with a sigh.
Bruce quirks a brow upwards. “I thought it was your rule for Charlotte to not be left unsupervised?” He asks, though there’s nothing scolding about his tone.
Alfred tilts his head into a nod. “Indeed it is sir, and it seems that rule must extend to during Miss Charlotte’s nap times. I had assumed the rails of her cot were high enough to prevent unnecessary stunts, but it’s now evident to me that she has inherited more than just your looks, sir.”
Dicks brows fly upwards in surprise. Then his mouth twitches, and suddenly he leans forward, hands bracing on his knees as he barks out a humoured laugh. Bruce watches in amusement, and he adjusts Charlotte in his arms so he can look down at her with a faux stern expression.
“Are you telling me my daughter climbed out her cot?” Bruce asks, glancing between the fourteen month old and his friend.
Alfred nods his head. “Yes, sir. She is far more agile than I had originally anticipated.”
Dick continues to wheeze his amusement from his lungs. “Oh, she’s an escape artist in training,” he shakily breathes out. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes, his entire stare glassy from how hilarious he’s finding the situation.
Charlotte, whether she understands that the conversation is about her or not, beams rather proudly up at Bruce. She leans her cheek against his, and Bruce chooses to ignore the fact that her skin against his is questionably sticky.
“Ba-ba,” she coos.
Bruce can’t help but chuckle. He rests a large hand against her small back. “I never thought we’d have to baby proof her own bedroom,” he murmurs thoughtfully, “or set up cameras, apparently.”
Alfred sighs. He sounds defeated for an old man. “I shall contact Mr Fox to arrange for surveillance instalments in Miss Charlottes bedroom.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I get most of my inspiration for my stories when I drive. I am one of those drivers who sings as loudly as I can - even though I cannot carry a tune - ha! Sometimes a song comes on the radio or my playlist when inspiration suddenly strikes and I can envision a whole story around it. This was one of those songs, I could picture each line of the song.
It was also supposed to be a short 1,000 word drabble that ballooned into a full story with over 10,000 words.
Hiii if you’re taking requests can you do something like Harry and y/n playing hide and seek with their cousins or friends and someone hits him in the groin somehow and y/n takes care of him like a baby 🥺🥺🥺🥺
Hiiiii! Thanks for the request :) - i felt kind of weird writing about her babying him about his groin so i made them like friends but also implied that they sometimes/have casually hooked up in the past. So she treats him well, but maybe not as baby as you may have wanted (Sorry if it’s not exactly what you wanted :)
--
It was really nice out today. Your whole family had met up at your parent’s house for the birthday of your niece.
You were much younger than your other siblings, both married with toddlers, making you the ‘Cool Aunt’. A duty of the Cool Aunt was to bring around some random cool person on your arm to family occasions such as this. It was always a different guy or gal, you never specified your relationship, always citing, ‘oh they’re a friend.’ You’d sneak off with them in the middle of the event to snog but get back before anyone ever got suspicious.
On this occasion you had completely slipped up, failing to line up a date beforehand. Luckily you had a backup plan, you called your friend Harry to accompany you, last minute. He had come with you before and he had told you he loved these quaint family gatherings. He was more than happy to attend.
When you arrived, your mother eyed Harry up and down, noting his great amount of tattoos and mop of curls on his head. “I’ve met you before?” she says, carefully. “Yes, Harry, I’m a -” “Friend,” your mother finished, meeting your gaze knowingly. She walked off and Harry chuckled, “Do you seriously do this every time?”
You grabbed two glasses and began to pour some white wine into them. “Of course! It’s my job to be the cool aunt with the mysterious date.” You both laughed and clinked glasses.
The two of you then journeyed into the backyard where the rest of your family lounged and chatted away. One of your brother’s older children, she was around six, ran up and jumped on you. Harry quickly grabbed the wine glass from your hand, keeping it from spilling, as you worked to bring the little girl from your legs into your arms.
“Hi, Little Gremlin!” You greeted one of your nieces. She squealed in response to your nickname, “Hi Auntie Y/N!” Then she leaned up into your ear and whispered, “Who is he?” while very unsubtly pointing in Harry’s direction. Harry took a sip of his wine and smiled at the sight of your niece motioning to him.
You let her down, and took her tiny arm to reach out to Harry, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Harry handed back your glass and then crouched down to your niece’s eye level, extending his much larger hand.
“Ello, ‘M ‘arry,” he said and you could tell he was putting on a thicker accent just for your niece. The little girl’s face lit up at his voice and her tiny hand shook his hand vigorously. Her eyes widened, having an idea, “Want to come play tag with us!” motioning to the rest of your sibling’s children running around on the lawn.
Harry looked up at you with a faint smirk, his eyes filled with amusement. You raised your brows and shrugged your shoulders in response. “I don’t see why not,” Harry said, returning his attention to the mini human in front of him. “But could Aunt Y/N join us, maybe?” He wiggled his brows at the girl and smiled.
She began to giggle and squeal, even more, running off ahead of you and Harry. “That was a yes,” you translated while Harry stood back up and brushed off his pants. “Haven’t played tag in a million years,” was Harry’s only response. You clinked your glass against his and nodded, then you both finished off the remnants of your wine, before joining the children on the grass.
The game started tame, your nieces and nephews all no older than seven, the super young ones sitting with their parents. Harry would always let them catch him and become ‘it’ and then he’d take his time, slowly running after the kids. His smile never left his face, enjoying being silly with all of them. You enjoyed watching more than playing, but sometimes one of your nephews would remember you were playing and tag you out of spite for not running. You never cared and simply tagged Harry.
But then all of a sudden, you heard louder screams and laughs than normal. Your mind had wandered for a moment and when your eyes snapped back into focus on the scene in front of you, you couldn’t help but laugh. The children had ganged up on Harry and toppled him to the ground. They had surrounded him and were hitting him. Harry was strong enough to get up if he wanted to, so he had obviously allowed it to happen. The smile still on his face even if he pretended to plead for mercy. Until there was a loud ‘Oof’ and your eyes widened. You rushed over to the dogpile on Harry, where one of your nephews had just pounced on Harry in the worst place for a guy to be hit. Harry was no longer smiling and his lips were now a tight line as he tried to hold back any more audible notifications of his pain.
“Alright, alright, I think Mr. Harry has had enough of this! You munchkins are evil!” You quickly pushed them all off of Harry and got him standing. His eyes bugged out of his head as he looked at you and he bit his lip. You ushered him inside, practically running him to your old room in the back of the house. You sat him down and ran to the kitchen for an ice pack.
“Jesus,” he sighed when he heard you reenter the room. His eyes were hidden behind the inside of his elbow as he laid back on the bed, trying to breathe through his pain. You placed the ice pack in his hand and he blindly placed it where he hurt. “Shove over,” you said so that you could perch on the side of your childhood bed - your parents had converted it to a guest bedroom, but it still felt like your room. Then you took his arm off from his face and ran a hand over his face looking for any more injuries. “Your siblings created little monsters,” Harry peered over at you, face still tilted back. You hit his stomach softly and he whined, your hit too close to his pain. “I didn’t know they could get so violent,” you said shifting to lay beside Harry, stroking a flyaway from his hair and smoothing his rumpled button-down. “I think they were excited by you,” you started as you continued to fiddle with a button on his shirt, “No one that I bring, besides you, ever wants to play with them. They like adults who actually enjoy spending time with them.” You finished with a smile and patted Harry on his sternum, directly above his butterfly tattoo. He nodded his head before lifting it to look at you, then, smiling, he said, “I can honestly say this has never happened to me after a game of tag, before.”
“Now you have a new story to tell, the time I got hit in the groin playing tag with a bunch of children…” “And then ended up in their aunt’s childhood bed with an icepack on my manhood.” He wiggled his brows and made a face at you. You rolled your eyes, “You’re gross.”
“Can you kiss my ouchie and make it better, Doc?” Harry responds with a pout.
You sit up with a gasp, “Ok, now you’re sick,” but you couldn’t contain your laughter. Harry always made you laugh.
“C’mon just one kiss?”
He reached his free hand behind your neck and pulled your lips almost against his. “I suppose that can be arranged…”
Summary: basically u guys get drunk, and you’re exes, but you guys have a rly healthy good relationship even tho you’re exes, but anyways you’re like really drunk and Penn’s being the caring familiar teddy bear he is like “let’s get u home” and then you go “i’m already home”
y/n got the job. She got her dream job as a lawyer in New York. She did what she’d wanted to do since she was 12, she went to law school, she passed law school, she passed the bar, and she was starting at a firm in New York City just next week, all with her ex turned best friend by her side.
Sure y/n was still in love with him, but he didn’t need to know that. The two of them had become a package deal over the past two years after they’d broken up. In fact, she broke up with him. y/n moved to New York. y/n wanted to pursue y/n’s dreams. She couldn’t let anything hold you back.
Little did she know he’d follow you all the way there, not in a creepy way, in a sort of lost puppy way.
Her phone rang, Penn’s name lit the screen. She answered it.
“I got the job! I got the job!” y/n squealed, she wanted to jump up and down, but she was in heels and that would result in at least a twisted ankle.
“y/n that’s amazing! We need to celebrate! Come to mine at 7, I have a surprise or two in store,” Penn said, she could hear his smile.
“Sounds great, I’ll stop by mine on the way, tell me if you need me to pick anything up,” y/n offered, with that, she turned the key in the lock to the door of her loft.
“Okay, see you then,” with that Penn ended the call and she placed her things down on the island. y/n took a deep breath as she tied her hair up out of her face, y/n’d straightened it for the big day, but she’s never been used to having hair in her face.
It was too quiet for her, “Hey Google, play music,” It played Sofia by Clairo as you went upstairs to the tornado she’d left from the morning before.
There were clothes everywhere, on the rack, on the floor, the bed and her desk. Her make up splayed around the mirror on the floor, the straightener still plugged in in the bathroom and hanging off the counter, she groaned at the mess, knowing she’d have to clean it up soon.
Y/n stripped down to her bra and underwear and looked through her wardrobe. After pouring over almost every article of clothing she owned she decided on a dark mauve romper with roses embroidered on the front and some blush toned sandals. y/n pretty much covered her face in highlighter and blush and completed it all with some gloss.
She ran down the stairs to the kitchen to get a drink of water, put her phone in her pocket, the biggest reason she bought this romper and locked the door behind her. Penn’s place was only a 10-minute subway ride away and before she knew it she was turning her spare key in the lock to Penn’s door.
“Penn! I’m here!”
No answer, “Penn?” she questioned, slowly walking out of the entryway and into the living room where she found Penn having a mental breakdown while trying to make a fort. She began to have a laughing fit.
“You weren’t supposed to be here til 7! It was supposed to be a surprise!” Penn faltered, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Well, I got bored, and it doesn’t take me long to get ready, you know me. You’re making a fort?”
“Yes, yes I am.”
“Oh, Penn,”
y/n grabbed a corner of the sheet he was holding and secured it to the chair he’d be struggling to do when she’d come inside. “You look like you need help,” she chuckled. “Only a little,” he pouted.
About an hour later they’d successfully pitched the fort in his living room. Penn was so determined to make tonight special that he’d gone and gotten string lights and champagne and even made y/n’s favorite, eggplant parmesan (y/n was vegetarian). “You know you really outdid yourself this time,”
“I know, but you deserve it, especially after everything,”
The “everything” Penn had been referring to was moving to New York, moving on from him just to get her heart broken yet again, and losing her sister, all within the span of a year. She’d been through a lot, but she was resilient. Y/n was laying on the floor cushions that Penn had laid out earlier to act as something to sit on in the fort and staring at the string lights he’d arranged to look like stars. A smile drew across her face, as Penn crawled into the fort with the bottle of champagne and two wine glasses.
“So I didn’t really have any glasses, of any kind, so hopefully these will do,” Penn placed two large water bottles on the coffee table that also held two plates of eggplant parmesan.
“Pump me full of alcohol and feed me my favorite meal that may or may not be laced with something? How Joe-like of you!” y/n teased him about his latest role, that’d blown up over the internet and now pretty much everyone had some level of thirst for the man that was currently pouring the entire contents of a bottle of champagne into two water bottles.
Penn smirked at her comment. He hated his character, but at the same time, he was… unique enough for him to want to play. They spent the night talking about the future. By the time y/n had finished a fourth of her bottle she had become intoxicated, she was a bit of a lightweight. “Ok you should probably stop soon, you do need to get home eventually, and I’d feel much better if you weren’t stumbling around on the subway,” Penn divulged.
“But I’m already home,”
She’s just drunk Penn thought to himself, “You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch,”
“What’re you talking about, I love you,”
She’s drunk Penn, she doesn’t know what she’s saying, he tried to convince himself, until she went in for a kiss, and it was as if they had never broken up all that time ago. That everything was back to normal. He pulled away, “y/n, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing,”
“But I do. I love you. I love you, Penn. I’ve loved you this entire time, but I was too stubborn to say anything. I love you,”
With that, he cupped her face in his hands the way he used to, and pulled her closer, “You’re mine you hear.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Mai/Zuko (Avatar)
Characters: Mai (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar)
Additional Tags: Fall Maiko Week 2020, Day Three - prompt AU, artist!AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mai likes drawing, Zuko like sitting in the corner of his uncle's massive Pai Sho game tournaments, somehow she figures drawing him is a good idea, This is all very cute, and soft, Fluff, little bit of handholding, a lot of zuko appreciation, Mai (Avatar)-Centric
Summary:
[Aunt Mura’s taken to dragging Mai along to her weekly Pai Sho games.
Three weeks in, and that’s when she sees him.]
.
.
.
Or: Mai likes drawing. Then she meets Zuko.
SOME OF THE BEXIE MOMENTS IN THE LATEST ANDI MACK EPISODE WERE SO CUTE THAT I DIED... I MEAN, DID Y’ALL SEE ALL THOSE SOFT LOOKS THOSE TWO GAVE EACH OTHER? I -
THIS IS PURE, UNADULTERATED FLUFF that I wrote because I TOO HAD A SNOW DAY and thus had some extra free time to write! ALSO I got inspired because on the way to work, I saw one of the firemen building a snowman outside of the fire station, so. This happened. It is a sequel/second chapter to COLD SNAP! Anyway, enjoy!
Snow Day
It was supposed to be spring.
And yet.
And yet, it was snowing. Not even a full day into the official start of spring, and it was snowing. Keith supposed he couldn’t be too upset, though, since the last snow day had resulted in a bare-chested Shiro in his apartment (and he still couldn’t get over how unfairly attractive Shiro was) and a subsequent coffee date (which had resulted in more dates). Just, everything up until that point had been catastrophically awful.
But it hadn’t been the snow’s fault, and today hadn’t started with a series of unfortunate events. He had a mostly-full cannister of coffee in his kitchen, and next to it a brand new bag of Shiro’s favorite flavored coffee, just in case. So he’d been able to follow his routine—coffee, quick workout, shower—at his usual time, only to see he’d missed a call from Kolivan telling him they were closing shop because of the weather. Which, despite the missed opportunity for a lie-in, was hardly bad news.
It would be nice, to have an extra day off, to spend it wrapped in his blanket on the couch, with Red purring beside him, or if she was feeling affectionate, in his lap. The day was full of opportunity—binge-watching TV, gaming, reading, eating—there was literally nothing to complain about.
Except, there was.
There was no one to snuggle up to. Keith had, until recently, been comfortable with that fact. He’d never really felt the need to seek out a relationship, and the thing with Shiro had been…an accident, really, in all sense of the word. Keith had expected maybe a quick hook-up, some mutual satisfaction before they parted ways, but then, he hadn’t counted on Shiro. Shiro, who was as silly and sweet as he was sexy. Shiro, who slipped under Keith’s defenses without Keith realizing it, until sitting on the couch alone felt strange, when he was beginning to get used to having Shiro warm next to him.
Unfortunately, Shiro was at work.
Fortunately, Shiro’s work was the fire station only a few blocks down, and the thought spurred Keith up, an idea already forming in his mind as he made a beeline to his kitchen.
Behind the coffees was Keith’s stash of hot chocolate supplies—real hot chocolate—and a half-used bag of marshmallows held closed with a chip clip. Because maybe Shiro had access to a full range of hot beverages at the station, but he didn’t have Keith’s hot chocolate, which was a necessity for a day like this. Snow, hot chocolate—they went hand-in hand. Especially when it was supposed to be spring.
Keith bent over the stove with the hot chocolate, his face heating up as he imagined Shiro’s reaction when he brought it over, topped off with a thick layer of marshmallows just the way he liked it. It was a little terrifying, how quickly Shiro had become a fixture in his life, how much Keith wanted to see his smile—but Shiro was just as earnest to do the same. It was a consolation. No, not a consolation, because that would imply he’d lost something. It was more like…a revelation. Something like that.
In any case, Keith wasn’t used to feeling quite so giddy over anything, not without a modicum of apprehension. And Shiro was so good at easing Keith’s apprehension, without even trying, so…that was that. Keith figured he at least deserved a surprise visit with hot chocolate for it.
Keith’s only travel mug probably should’ve been embarrassing. But Kolivan had been straight-faced when he’d given Keith the Hello Kitty mug, and really, it was cute, and reminded him a little bit of Red. And it was practical, so he had no second thoughts about pouring Shiro’s hot chocolate into it before topping it off with marshmallows, before bundling up and heading out, holding the mug protectively against his chest.
Despite the late snow, it wasn’t terribly cold out when Keith closed his door behind him. It was, however, snowy enough that he had to pick his way across un-shoveled walks, and by the time he was within sight of Shiro’s station, he was already covered in a fine layer of white, wet and cold where it found bare skin. But the mug was mostly unaccosted, and that was the important part.
Keith realized, abruptly, that there was a flaw to his plan. Although he knew Shiro worked at the station, he hadn’t visited him there before, and didn’t know the protocol for said visits. Or even if he would be allowed in, or where to find Shiro. Just as he was starting to worry over that fact, he caught sight of movement in from of the building, a dark shape, low to the ground, moving against the backdrop of white. And, a moment later, the familiar timbre of Shiro’s voice, and Keith paused, taking in the scene before him.
Shiro was bent low, packing snow into a sizable ball, presumably the base of a snowman. Much like Keith’s first meeting with Shiro, he wasn’t dressed for the weather, the light ATFD jacket hardly more protection than a sweatshirt, and Keith couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at his lips at that alone. And—it was so like Shiro to be building a snowman in front of the fire station, and Keith just stood and took the sight in, for a long moment. Shiro was so wrapped up in his project, calling back to the tall woman hovering closer to the door who had an even larger snowball, that he didn’t notice Keith.
The woman did, though, and called out to him. “Did you want to help? We still need to form the head.”
“I said I’d do that,” Shiro protested, tone petulant, but then his gaze swung to Keith, and his face lit up with a wide grin. “Keith!” He straightened, and before Keith could do anything stupid, he thrust the travel mug in Shiro’s direction.
“I brought you something.” Keith felt his face heating up, which was a feat considering the chill in the air, but at least he could pretend his flush was due to the weather. He managed to meet Shiro halfway, and elaborated, “It’s hot chocolate.”
Shiro beamed and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, one arm wrapping around Keith in a hug as he accepted the mug. “Thank you.” His voice was warm, enough to chase off some of the cold seeping into Keith’s skin, and Keith muttered a You’re welcome into his scarf. He started when Shiro pulled out of the hug, just enough to bring his hand up to tilt Keith’s chin for a proper kiss, stealing his breath.
It was brief, and when they parted, Keith complained, “Your hand is cold.”
Shiro chuckled, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Well, if my hands were warm, Snowtron would melt!”
Keith sputtered. “Snowtron?”
“Yes!” Shiro gestured at the half-finished snowman, eyes bright. “Snowtron the snowman.”
The woman who had been in the background stepped forward now, something like a smirk on her face. “Yes, and Shiro insists he be the one to make the head.”
“It’s an important duty,” Shiro said, mock-serious. “But if it was Keith, I wouldn’t mind as much. By the way, Keith, this is Allura. Allura, Keith.”
Allura raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “I never would’ve guessed,” she deadpanned, she and Shiro exchanged a look. Her face softened after a moment, and she turned a smile onto Keith. “It’s lovely to meet you, Keith. Shiro has spoken very highly of you.” She glanced at the Hello Kitty mug in Shiro’s hand. “What an interesting choice of design.”
Keith shrugged. “It reminds me of my cat.”
Shiro’s smiles were going to be the death of him, Keith decided an instant later. “Red is pretty cute.” Or the winks, because it was devastating, being on the receiving end of that, and just like the first time, Keith didn’t think Shiro meant his cat.
“So are you,” Keith blurted, and then immediately burrowed deeper into his scarf to hide his mortification. And then straightened, thinking better of it, because it was true. Who the fuck builds a snowman and named it Snowtron? Freakishly cute firemen who acted like earnest schoolboys, apparently.
Allura’s gaze darted between them. “You know,” she said slowly, “I think I’m going back inside to warm up some.” She rolled the large snowball over and stopped it next to Shiro’s smaller one. “Why don’t you guys finish this up without me?”
Shiro waved absently to her retreating form. He was still smiling at Keith, and Keith wondered what he’d ever done to earn such an adoring look from Shiro. Maybe the hot chocolate helped, but Shiro had barely taken a sip of it.
“Come on, Keith,” he said at last. “Why don’t you do the honors and make Snowtron’s head?” He set the mug one a clear patch of sidewalk long enough assemble the two parts of the snowman already set out, and Keith admired his strength as he lifted up the middle section. He figured, the sooner they finished Snowtron, the sooner he could have Shiro’s undivided attention, so he did so without complaint.
And, in truth, it was a little fun, a little silly, enough to have him laughing with Shiro. Enough to make him forget about the cold making his fingers stiff and clumsy—and that made it all the better, a few minutes later, when Shiro shared the hot chocolate with him to warm up (despite Keith’s protests).
Shiro dragged him inside, saying, “Why don’t I give you a tour? I’ll introduce you to everyone,” and Keith didn’t have any reason to protest. Didn’t even want to, but Shiro still added, “It’ll give you a chance to warm up before you go back out.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” It felt significant, somehow, too, and Keith couldn’t help the way his heart swelled in his chest, thumping wildly.
