Summary: Byun Baekhyun is the star player of your college’s baseball team - plenty of people have a crush on him, and of course you do too. But you have one thing they don’t have: a quiet friend who can’t pick up her damn phone and a head full of air. Scenario: baseball!au, fluff Word Count: 4,353
Right so have you ever played saints row 3? Specifically the opening mission where the saints rob a bank while all dressed as Gat "because who wouldn't wanna be johnny Gat" Cuz I keep thinking of the fakes pulling off a heist when someone (probably Gavin) has suggested they all do it dressed as the vagabond. Hilarity with the pre heist banter and then ridiculous news reports as 5 vagabonds pull of a heist accompanied by a 6th female vagabond
Oh man I haven’t but that is amazing. The Fake’s would be so into it too, the second someone floats the idea they’re all in, sourcing jackets and masks, debating pants, brainstorming the most appropriate heist to debut this beautiful nightmare. Best of all; they don’t tell Ryan. He’s off on some job, and even when he returns they keep their planning on the down low, too hyped up to cover the inevitable sniggers and pointed looks but no matter how creatively Ryan asks no one spills the beans.
When the fateful day finally comes around they let Ryan arrive at the meeting place first so they can truly appreciate the range of his reaction as the rest of the crew shows up one by one, all fully decked out and doing their best menacing Vagabond impersonations, complete with ridiculously puffed chests and comically deep grumbles. Ryan’s not exactly impressed at first, wary surprise moving to confusion then annoyance, flaring into a moment of true anger before crumbling into amusement, Ryan laughing just as hard as anyone else when he realises that the true butt of this particular joke isn’t him at all.
The Los Santos police don’t have a pleasant relationship with any of the Fake AH Crew, but there’s no denying that on any given day the mysterious Mercenary is their greatest antagonist. This is an LSPD who have never seen Ryan’s face, have never managed to catch him at all let alone long enough to rid him of that infernal mask, so of course pinning him down in an alley following his attempt to escape the FAHC’s latest bank heist leaves them thrilled. At least until the Vagabond rips off his skull and hurls it away, leaving nothing but a mess of red, white and black paint smeared across a grinning face, the momentary shock of recognition giving Geoff more than enough time to fight his way free.
To say police reports got hazy and confused from this point on is an understatement. A handful of officers are convinced the Vagabond doesn’t even exist, unknown for so long because he is not an individual at all, simply the alter ego of the Fake’s boss or perhaps even a rotation of their known members. Except then of course yet another Vagabond saunters out of the bank and into the street, mini gun whirring as he peppers the area and forces officers to duck for cover, masked head thrown back and cackling the unmistakable wild laughter of Mogar.
In the face of that realisation it isn’t hard to identify the next pair to tumble out of the bank and flank Jones, both dwarfed by their jackets in different ways Dooley and Free are visibly thrilled to enter the fray. As the maskless Ramsey reappears and regroups they’re joined by another pair, one sporting the long flaming red-orange hair of the Firebird, the other making liberal use of Pattillo’s distinctive shotgun. Last but not least comes what can only be the true Vagabond, retrospectively unmistakable in direct comparison, all size and strength and seeping menace as he lifts his gun and joins his crew.
The FAHC are surrounded on all sides now, not that you’d know it from the crew’s attitude, audibly laughing and jeering, seemingly having the time of their lives as they swan about the street. They are all referring to each other as Vagabond, all stomping around and shouting vivid threats that would be horrifying if not for the strange inflections and stutters they’ve all adopted. At one point the true Vagabond stops shooting all together to stalk after Free, sending him scuttling behind Ramsey and cutting off a particularly graphic diatribe about being sexually attracted to diet coke of all things. For the most part though Vagabond prime seems to be enjoying the inexplicable farce as much as anyone in the crew, crowing about good looks and superior talents, assuring his team that he understands because honestly, who wouldn’t want to be the Vagabond?
Still, alarmingly playful interactions aside the tide has to turn eventually, pinned in the FAHC are certainly causing brutal damage but faced with wave after wave of LSPD reinforcements their ammo begins to dwindle, their bodies start to tire. Deadly they may be but at the end of the day they are, after all, only human. They can’t last forever.
Which is, of course, when the final two Vagabond’s make their appearance; a giant, heavily armoured black truck crashing through police barricades like tissue paper, both driver and passenger masked but easy enough to identity for anyone who has spent time studying the FAHC. The driver, with Bragg’s shaggy dip-dyed hair emerging from his black skull, pulls the truck around as the passenger hangs half-way out the window and lays down a spray of covering fire. Collins’ cheerful voice rings out above the chaos, cajoling the Fake’s into the car like a soccer mum gathering her brood, all c’mon kids, say goodbye to the nice officers now it’s time to go home.
By the time the troop of Vagabonds escape, truck packed like a clown car and busting out as easily as it burst in, only the enormous property damage, relentlessly replayed media footage and a truly staggering number of civilian selfies taken with all nine Vagabonds remain to convince the LSPD that the whole bizarre experience wasn’t a collective fever dream.
was a highly intolerable person to be around. He was grouchy, precise
about his work, wasn’t fond of people waking him up before three in the
afternoon, didn’t like animals or small children, or people in general
for that matter —however, all of that had changed when he met you. Don’t
misunderstand, he was still a relatively prickly guy to be around,
pretty much the only thing that had changed was your involvement to his
life, even his friends had a hard time understanding what he had done to
warrant your addition.
To Yoongi, the two of you were polar opposites, he was brash and
blunt where you shied away from hurting people’s feelings, instead
preferring to comfort and console —your field of expertise. He was hard
where you were soft, cold where you warm, selfish where you were all too
giving (something that annoyed the living shit out of him at times).
And to his complete and utter surprise, and the surprise of literally
everyone around him, it was you who had pursued him. An agonizing six months of insults and rejections hadn’t put off your warm smiles or offers for coffee and tea, your treat,
until he had finally relented, deciding the best way to get rid of the
annoying girl who kept showing up to his job and asking him out was to
actually go out with her and be an ass —a simple feat really, all he had
to do was be himself.
Only he hadn’t anticipated falling in love with you, or your moony
eyes, or the way you stupidly seemed to always space out at the most
inconvenient of times like at crosswalks to do the most unnecessary
things like stare at a big star, which he had pointed out was not in
fact a star it was probably a satellite because you two were in the
city. Later that night he would convince himself he had grabbed your
hand out of sheer obligation, so you wouldn’t get hit by a stupid car
and he wouldn’t have to spend his night at the ER instead of watching
Castle reruns and not because of the way your dumb face had lit up like a
thousand Christmas lights just ‘cause he had grabbed your hand to pull
you out of traffic.
Two days later he had decided he would take you out on another date
because he couldn’t possibly let someone with so many stars in their
eyes wander around the cruel streets of Seoul by themselves, you would
probably take two wrong turns and get eaten by a shark or something. And
it was definitely not because he liked you or the way you
couldn’t stop staring at him when he talked about music or how you were
so soft and pliable, or the way you had told him that Hawaii couldn’t be
an island and a state it had to pick one. No, it was just his civil
duty, he was too altruistic for his own good.
Three and half years later he had begrudgingly shoved a black velvet
box in your hand, and it wasn’t because he liked you or anything it was
only because it was too late to turn back now and he would look like a
major ass if he like broke up with you this far down the road, and you
were totally in love with him, because he had that affect on people (he
had told you so too). To which you giggled and wiped at a stray tear
asking if he would include that in his wedding vows.
It definitely was not because he was so desperately in love with you it almost hurt
and the thought of not having you binded to him even by some stupid
court document when you possessed every piece of his heart and soul made
it hard to sleep at night and sometimes he would stay awake just to
watch you sleep and that was saying a lot because he loved sleep more
than anything but now he loved you more than anything. And it’s not that he thought that you would leave him because, hey,
if you didn’t realize how much of an ass he was by now, there was no
hope for you, but because you deserved the world and then some and some
stupid big fancy wedding with an ugly cake and people fawning over the
two of you even if Yoongi hated it and kept tugging at his tie because
it was choking him….. and that still wasn’t enough.
And he had drunkenly told you so on your honey moon, as you stood
before, cheeks flushed and looking like a fucking a fairy, he couldn’t
help but spill over, pouring out years worth of affection. He told you
it wasn’t enough, not for the girl who had come into his life like a
whirlwind, who he thought hung the moon and stars for him every fucking
night, who made his heart balloon, who made him feel, just feel
so much at once his entire being felt like it was vibrating with the
sheer amount of energy. It would never be enough, but he wouldn’t stop
until it was, he would never stop loving you until he met you at
the top of the moon. You grinned at him like an idiot, because there was
no response that was not of the physical nature that would be
Two years later he was here, in a grocery store looking very
domestic as you wandered down some aisle doing God knows what and he
muttered obscenities to his otherwise incapacitated passengers.
“Oh! Look at how precious they are!”
Min Yoongi was a highly intolerable person to be around. He was
grouchy, precise about his work, wasn’t fond of people waking him up
before three in the afternoon, and he hated when people crowded his children —
Yoongi blinked expectantly at the middle aged woman preening over the
carrier, leaning in far too close for his liking, so close her
obnoxiously scented perfume was choking him and he felt his blood
pressure spike to an unreasonably high level. He cleared his throat,
sending her a curt nod, to which she chose to ignore, instead taking it
upon herself to rub a filthy hand over his child’s cheek. Min Yoongi
reached in the baby bag for pocket bac—
“Babe?” Your voice caused a sense of euphoria he wasn’t yet willing to admit to and you smiled softly, “I was looking for you.”
You took note of Yoongi, who was so tense, you were sure if he were a
cat his hackles would be risen and frowned in concern. All it took was
one look at the woman with copious amounts of makeup leaning over the
baby carrier to put two and two together. You sighed in understanding
before letting out a tinkling laugh at his grimace.
You rubbed a hand soothingly over the small of his back and he
loosened his muscles, leaning into your touch begrudgingly. He was
always so grumpy.
“Are they twins?” The woman cooed and you didn’t miss the way Yoongi
was currently disinfecting one of your children as you bit back a laugh.
“Triplets actually. I’m the third.” He sneered and you pinched his side so hard he actually yelped.
The woman coughed uncomfortably before smiling at you, a smudge of
red lipstick staining her teeth, “You have a beautiful family.”
“Thank you.” You smiled, rubbing a hand over your already protruding stomach.
“They’re alright.” He shrugged and you narrowed your eyes at him.
“Your husband has a very peculiar sense of humor.” She laughed
awkwardly, but you were so used to Yoongi’s brash personality by now
that you just sighed and waited.
“Husband? Oh no, I’m her brother.” He began.
You felt a hand on the back of your neck and you glanced up to see Yoongi staring at you with that look in his eye that meant—
He was kissing you, far too deeply, and far too
passionately for broad daylight and in the middle of the feminine
hygiene aisle at a grocery store, but you didn’t pull back because it
was Yoongi and he was sweet. He tasted like mint gum and the Strawberry
Apple baby puffs that he insisted he wasn’t sneaking when you weren’t
looking and you felt a grin split your lips at the thought. There was
distant mutterings of an excuse from Yoongi’s earlier companion but all
you were focused on was the gentle way his thumbs coursed over your
cheeks, and how as the kiss came to a close he kept placing gentle pecks
against your own lips like he wasn’t ready to separate yet.
So as you took in your husband of going on two years, your partner of
longer, the father of your children, Min Yoongi, in his black dad cap
and distressed jeans with a baby bag strapped over chest and sporting a
cat got the canary expression at you, you couldn’t help but grin. His
actions were always so contradictory to his words, it was what made you
fall in love with him all those years ago when you were but teens and he
was working at a tech store. Min Yoongi was brash and blunt, could
sometimes be cold but when it came to you and when it came to his
children he was unbelievably soft hearted.
“Let’s go pay.” He sighed, gripping your hand, while using the other
to steer the baby carrier, “Did you remember to pick up your prenatal
“Yes Yoongi.” You murmured.
“How about Gatorade,” he muttered, “the doctor said that you were getting dehydrated a lot quicker during this term.”
“Yes Yoongi.” You smiled to yourself.
“And don’t forget—”
You leaned up on your toes to press a peck on his check, “I love you, Yoongi.”
He froze for a moment, hating the way he cheeks flushed like a
teenager as though he hadn’t just made out with you five minutes ago. He
glared at you, “Let’s go home.”