#I can’t even imagine how they must be feeling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strawberriesoup · 2 days ago

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catch me if you can PT. 1,, ✮⋆˙

☆ street racer!han jisung x cop!fem!reader

☆ genre: street racing AU, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, illegal activity

☆ warnings: lots of breaking of the law (like, felony-level breaking of the law), cursing, fire, injury/pain, near death experience, suggestive content

☆ wc: 6.5k

☆ a/n: i'm so happy i finally got to sit down and write this first part out! honestly i'm pretty pleased with it, and i hope this motivation can stay for the remaining parts! for now, enjoy!

if you make it all the way through, please leave some feedback! i always love to hear other people’s thoughts!! your feedback is what keeps me writing stories like these ❤️❤️

☆ taglist: @jisunggy @holly-here @hannamoon143 @fly-you-dam-fools @chancloud8 @hannieslittlerockstar @vixensss @skzpvol @gxtwllsn @yinzgarden @kayleefriedchicken @nightmarenyxx @ick2001 @dwesion

if you would like to be added to my series taglist or my general taglist, send me a comment or an ask! <3

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Unstoppable, that’s what you are. There’s just something about the way your engine rumbles when you shove in the clutch and shift to a higher gear, how you can feel your tires grip the road beneath you, it’s thrilling. Yellow lines blur into one as you grip the wheel tighter, focusing your attention solely on the path ahead. Just a little farther.

Your blinker flashes as you signal your turn into the Wal-mart parking lot.

Really, you can’t imagine anything more unintresting than grocery shopping. There’s no excitement in searching through various assortments of oranges and grapes, no blaring horns and revving engines to go along with determining the best jug of milk to buy.

When you had joined the city police force, it’s safe to say that this is not how you were expecting to spend your wednesday afternoons.

How embarrassing. Yes, you know that shopping is a normal— and necessary— part of life, but that’s just the thing. It’s normal. Mundane, tedious, dull… Must you go on? A normal thing for normal people to be doing on normal days. Definitely not the action-filled life you had always dreamed of for all those years.

The bitter taste of disappointment fills your mouth as you sulk through the isles. It’s busy today. Groups of people bustle past, none of them paying you any mind. Good. You keep your head tucked towards the ground, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with someone who might know you. In the back of your mind, you reason that it’s probably ridiculous to be feeling this way. Even still, you don’t lift your face.

The crime rate has been so low recently, with new police recruits popping up left and right, that you aren't even on duty today. While to most that might seem like good news, to you it’s probably the worst news all week. You wish that someone would just start a car chase or something, that way you might get a chance to break the speed limit. Instead,— since you like to manage your expectations somewhat realistically — you’re here, squinting at your shopping list and trying to keep your squeaking cart under control. The gods of choosing a functional shopping cart had not blessed you today.

After an unnecessarily long chat about missing puppies with the sweet old lady who probably broke the world record for the slowest grocery checkout time, you start the trek back out to your car. It shouldn’t be hard to find, given it’s painted a subtle bright crimson. You search the parking lot for the familiar vehicle. Where did you park again? You probably should have paid more attention.

Then, you hear it. At first, you think maybe it’s just the wind whistling around the building behind you. Are you hearing things? No, because there it is again. An unmistakable scream.

Groceries abandoned, you can feel your pulse leap into your temples as you sprint towards the direction of the sound. Whipping your head around, you struggle to get a grip on your surroundings, the midday sun reflecting off the pavement momentarily blinding you.

Another frantic shout brings you to your senses and you are finally able to pinpoint the source of the commotion. Not far off, a cloud of deep black smoke billows from a car on the street. The car had been capsized, shattered glass scattered in a ten-foot radius surrounding it. On first approach, you can’t even tell the front end from the back end. What’s completely unmistakable though, is the gut-dropping smell of an engine fire.

“Mom!” A childs cry rings out above the other panicked voices. A teenage boy holds the little girl in his arms as she rakes at his shoulder in a feeble attempt to break free and run towards the car.

Bystanders are shouting, trying to tear a man away from the door of the car by his arm, shirt, anything they could get a hold of. You can’t tell if the man’s hands are bleeding from the broken glass or from pulling on the door so hard. Who knows, maybe it’s both.

You don’t know if you’ve ever sprung into action so fast. One second you’re assessing the situation, the next you’re shoving people out of the way to access the door.

The window frame had been crushed so much you can barely even see inside the vehicle, let alone utilize it as a viable method of escape. Judging by the lack of law enforcement around the scene, you can tell the car hasn’t been on fire for long. Good. Even though the foul rank of the engine smoke invades your senses, it’s safe to say the vehicle won’t explode. Yet.

Maybe the other door isn’t stuck. You quickly move to the opposite side and tug at the handle, but immediately jerk your hand back when the metal burns your skin. Angrily, you tug a hand across your face. Think. You need to think. Come on, think.

There. A window that hadn’t been shattered, the back windshield. To access it, you’d have to crawl under the trunk and break it open. If you do that, there’s a good chance you won’t be able to turn back around easily once inside, if at all. You can’t tell to what degree the person inside is injured, but you take the lack of any sort of cry for help as a bad sign.

The desperate wails of the little girl make up your mind for you. There’s no time to lose. You need to get this done, and get it done fast.

Shrugging off your purse, jacket, and anything that could possibly get snagged in the car, you squeeze under the trunk. It’s uncomfortably warm, reminding you of the very real possiblility of explosion once the fire reaches the fuel tank. All your faith is funneled into your pocket knife as you jam the back of it into the windshield. Nothing.

Again, you wind back the knife. A yell escapes you as you once again ram it into the window with all your might. Still, it doesn’t yield.

Shit. shit. You have to get in there. You can see the outline of what looks to be a human form inside the car, but no movement. One more time. You can do this.

The man that had been tugging at the door is kneeling behind you, unable to fit underneath the car. He reaches under, stretching his red-stained fingers towards you. At first, you don’t understand what he’s trying to do. Then, it clicks. Wrapping his hand around your own, The knife is encompassed beneath both of your hands. The man’s voice is hoarse as he counts to three. Together, you drive the tool into the windshield.

Finally, the window shatters with a crash. Dark smoke pours out, stinging your eyes and forcing a cough from your lungs. Wasting no time, you squeeze the man’s hand before taking a deep breath and ducking inside.

Shattered glass slices open your palm and you hiss at the white flash of pain. There’s no time to check the damage right now, you’ll deal with injuries later. You tearily squint through the smoke, finally laying your eyes upon a still figure in the passenger’s seat. Still buckled in, she hangs awkwardly from the seat, supported by the seatbelt.

A drop of sweat falls into your eyes. The heat alone is suffocating, but paired with the smoke the conditions are nearly unbearable. The steadily ticking clock of oxygen deprivation hangs heavy over your head, you won’t be of much help if you’re passed out. You grunt as you stretch your arm up to reach for the buckle.

With a click, the woman falls from the seat. No movement. You can’t even tell if she’s breathing.

How the fuck are you going to get her out of here? The car interior around you suddenly feels too small, your vision beginning to spin. No, get a handle of yourself. These people are depending on you. That little girl is depending on you. The image of the little girl’s face, twisted with fear and desperation, fuels you to set your jaw and grab a hold of the woman’s arm.

If you can just pull her past you, you might be able to push her the rest of the way, getting her out as quickly as possible for medical attention, as EMS should be here soon. As if on cue, you hear blaring sirens steadily approching over the crackling of the fire.

Straining, you are able to tug at the woman until she’s past you. Blood roars in your ears as you use the rest of your energy to try and push her the rest of the way. It’s not graceful by any means, but you manage to shove her far enough towards the shattered window for her to be pulled out by a team of gloved hands.

You collapse onto the floor below. Dark fog breaches the corners of your vision. Is that the smoke? Maybe. You can’t even tell at this point. A cough wracks its way through your body as the pulse of adrenaline leaves you.

Well, at least you were able to help. You can feel your eyelids slowly blinking closed, despite your efforts to fight it.

What’s left of your vision is suddenly blocked by… a face? Holy shit. Did you die? In front of you hovers a face that looks like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. A perfectly angled nose sits between two dark eyes that remind you of the cool blanket of night. His lips are moving and you lament over the fact you can’t hear his voice due to an annoyingly loud ringing filling your ears. If this is what heaven is like, you don’t think you mind dying so much.

You can distantly feel your body being lifted as you drift out of conciousness.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“That was some crazy shit back there, y’know.”

You blink your eyes open, focusing on the source of the familiar voice next to you. It’s Seungmin, your patrol partner. He’s sitting on the edge of the ambulance, knee bouncing up and down. His stare, unreadable as always, greets you. You let out a much-needed sigh of relief. As much as he gets on your nerves, you are definitely more than happy to see a familiar face.

“Seungmin? What happened? Is that— ow, shit!” You sit up too fast from your stretcher and immediately need to lay back down due to a stabbing pain in your skull. “Is that lady okay?” as the sharp pain withdraws into a dull throb, the past events slowly resurface in your mind. Wait. That guy. The one who you saw just before you passed out, who was he? You had never seen him before. Was he even real?

“Well, I’m not sure if ‘okay’ is the right word to use, but she’s alive at least. She was rushed to the hospital along with her family members as soon as you got her out.” Seungmin crosses over to you, leaning on the edge of your stretcher. You can see him better now, and from here you can catch the slightest bit of worry in his features that was not evident in his voice previously. “Which, by the way, that little stunt of yours almost got you killed. If that guy hadn’t gotten you out of there when he did, you would have been crushed.”

So he was real.

According to Seungmin, right after you had been dragged out, the frame of the car completely collapsed; which would have effectively both trapped you inside and squished you. He’s about to continue with details about how next you probably would have caught on fire, before you punch him square in the arm, earning a cry of pain from both you and Seungmin. You shake the pain out of your bandaged hand as you are painfully reminded of that piece of glass that had cut you.

“Anyways,” you scowl at him when he sends you a not-so-apologetic look, “who was that guy? Is he a new police recruit? I’ve never seen him before.” The only reason you know that for sure is because you would never have forgotten that face. You can picture him in your mind right now. You’ve never seen anyone so… well, perfect.

“No, he’s not. Just some civilian who was stupid enough to jump into a flaming car to save your sorry ass,” Seungmin waves away your indignant defenses and heads off towards a group of officers outside the ambulance, “It was a hit and run, the bastard who caused this mess drove off someplace so we’re trying to see—”

“Where did he go?”

Seungmin faces you, caught off-guard. “What?”

“That guy, where’d he go?” You repeat your question, obviously not at all intrested in whatever was going on with the other officers.

Seungmin’s eyebrows lower as he rolls his eyes and turns away once more. “I dunno, haven’t seen him,” he comments over his shoulder helpfully. Then, he’s gone.

Ugh.

Fuck you, Kim Seungmin

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You have to find him. You will not be able to function as a member of society without knowing that he’s an actual person and not just a result of some hallucination. You had asked every single one of the officers and bystanders at the scene if they knew even just his name (you did not appreciate Seungmin making faces at you the whole time, thank you very much) to no avail; nobody knew anything about this mysterious man.

Fine then. You’ll just have to find him yourself.

Weeks go by, and his face never leaves your mind. Sometimes you swear you can see a flash of his honey skin, or those gorgeous eyes, only to look up and realize with disappointment it is in fact, not him. You wonder how many random passerby you have given an unexplainably sour face. Not that it matters what they thought of you. They probably worked a nine to five at some boring old desk.

One night, Seungmin had caught you searching through the criminal records. Maybe it was a stretch, but hey, you were desperate. You had just reached the ‘H’ column when he snuck up behind you. Upon him tapping your shoulder with a “Whatcha doing” on his lips, you had jumped three feet in the air and quickly closed the tab, responding with a very convincing “Nothing!” and rushing out of the room.

Just a name, that’s all you need. Is that really too much to ask?

Suited up in your standard police attire, you wait in line at your favorite coffee place before your night shift with Seungmin. You had finally been scheduled a full eight hours, but honestly your mind was anywhere but work. The bustling coffee shop atmosphere and the overwhelming smell of coffee does nothing for your scattered thoughts. Why the hell are so many people in line for coffee at 10:00 at night?

“One iced americano for Han Jisung?” The barista calls out the next order.

No way. There’s actually no way.

You have to do a triple take to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. It’s really him. You would recognize his face anywhere.

He’s just as stunning as when you had first seen him. Eyes that same dusky brown, nose that same perfect shape. He has a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, his hair falling from them in loose waves around his face, framing him like an artwork from the renaissance period. The way he holds himself, too. A casual swagger that so few people can pull off, but he wears it so naturally; completely at ease. One hand in his pocket, he smiles at the barista as she hands him his order, somehow lighting up the entire room with simply his expression.

You are so awestruck that it takes you a second to realize that he’s turned his attention directly to you.

When you do realize though, your heart drops right into your ass. Your first instinct is to jump your gaze to the floor or the ceiling, feigning nonchalance, but you’ve been hyper fixated on his face for so long you cannot bring yourself to look away.

His eyes spark with recognition. You can tell by the way his eyebrows raise amicably as he starts heading towards you. Your heart speeds up to about a million miles per hour.

That is until he looks you up and down. His expression drops and his eyes widen for just a fraction of a second before returning to his previous smile, but this time it feels just a little forced. As he passes you, he nods politely and sweeps past without so much as a word.

What just happened? You watch as he exits the coffee shop. Wait, no, you can’t lose him now, you at least need to thank him. He did save your life after all.

You hustle past the long line much less gracefully than he, catching him outside the door before he can cross the street.

“Hey, wait up!” You call after his retreating form. You see him pause, but he doesn't turn around as you jog up to him. “It’s you! Jisung, right?”

Finally, he faces you. His sunglasses now sit neatly on the bridge of his nose, obscuring his eyes from sight. You can’t detect any of the uncomfort from before in his features. Did you imagine that? Maybe he’s just in a hurry.

“That’s me,” Jisung says, a cute little chuckle punctuates the end of his sentence. His voice is sweet, reminding you of warm brown sugar and butter. Your heart skips a beat as he addresses you with that grin of his, “can I help you with anything, officer?”

It takes you a second to respond, the way he tilts his head at you whilst waiting for a response has you feeling all kinds of weird, bubbly feelings in your chest. You stomp them down and clear your throat.

“No, no I actually wanted to thank you. You know, for saving me. You really didn’t— I mean that was really… courageous of you. And stuff. Anyways. yeah, thanks.” You finish awkwardly, stumbling over your words. Damn it.

Jisung laughs. A beautiful sound, really.

“Thought I recognized you! You’re the pretty little thing who saved that lady from the fire. Gotta hand it to you, officer, you’ve got some guts in there.” He gestures to your badge with a tilt of his head, leaning back on the crosswalk pole and sticking one hand in his pocket.

You’re pretty sure your brain short-circuited at the words ‘pretty little thing’ and you’re not quite sure how to answer, your mouth opening and closing a few times, but no words falling from it.

Jisung grins at your tongue-tied state, letting out another amused huff of laughter and hitting the crosswalk button.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, but you stay safe out there ok? Don’t go jumping into any more flaming vehicles if you can possibly help it, next time I might not be there,” He clicks his teeth and you swear you can see him wink from under his shades. The crosswalk changes to give Jisung the right of way and he heads off across the street.

There you stand, a blushing mess, watching as he heads to a nearby parking spot.

Wait a second, is that his car?

Jisung closes the door to a Chevrolet Camaro, colored in a tasteful matte black. Are you kidding? No, this has got to be a joke, there’s no way he has that car. As the engine purrs to life, you can feel the rumbling vibration in your chest even from across the street. When he pulls out, it’s evident just how suped up it is. There’s an added spoiler on the back and… are those LED lights on the rims? That’s it. You might actually be in love.

The hum of the engine steadily approaches as he pulls up next to you on the street, rolling down the window and looking up at you and your wide eyes.

“Like what you see, officer?” Jisung raises his eyebrows teasingly, a smug little smirk playing on his lips. If it had been anyone else, you’re sure you would be enraged by the expression, but there’s something about him that makes it hot rather than insufferable. He hangs an elbow out the window, lightly tapping his fingers to the bass of some song that plays from his speakers as you take in the vehicle.

“Shut the fuck up, this is yours?” You raise your voice over the sound of the engine, leaning in closer so he can hear you. You momentarily forget that you’re technically on duty right now.

There it is again, that hearty laugh of his. Definitely one of your new favorite sounds.

“Yes ma’am, all mine,” Jisung pulls up his sunglasses, finally giving you a clear view of his face. His face that’s looking more mischievous by the minute. “Maybe one day you’ll do me the honor of taking you for a spin, how’s that sound?” He reaches out and lightly flicks his index finger up the bottom of your chin. Your stomach explodes with butterflies as a result.

“I’m…” You consider your options. Is he serious? He’s definitely flirting with you. Right? He literally just touched your chin while asking if you wanted a ride in his car. He’s definitely flirting. Yeah.

“I’m free tomorrow,” You blurt, against your better judgment. There’s no way in hell you’re going to turn down a opportunity like this.

“Same time, same place?”

You glance at your watch. 10:30 p.m. You should be in the patrol car with Seungmin right about now.

“That works,” You nod. Your answer is a little shaky, but you hide it well.

“Guess I’ll see you then, officer,” Jisung flashes you one last smile, scrunching up his nose and throwing you a half salute. He revvs up his engine once, twice, and then he’s gone.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your legs shake as you head back into the coffee shop to re-order a cup of coffee. You’re going to need it.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

This is stupid. Like, really dumb. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

You’ve been sitting on a bench outside of the coffee shop for the past fifteen minutes. Granted, you’re the one who decided to show up fifteen minutes early, but you’re starting to regret that decision. At least it’s not cold out.

You had spent probably a good three hours debating what the hell you were going to wear. Might seem excessive but there were just so many points to consider. What if you come off too strong? but then again, you wouldn't want to underdress. Or overdress. It’s not even a date, he’s just giving you a ride around, right? Why are you stressing so much?

And so here you wait in your cute little mid-thigh skirt, having decided with a nod that it was a safe bet all around. Plus, it makes your legs look great.

You’re definitely thinking about this too hard.

A quick beep of a car horn catches your attention. You look up right as you feel the distinct purr of Jisung’s engine rumbling in your bones. Thank God, he actually came.

You’re not sure if you’re jittering from the excitement of going on a— Date? You really don’t want to make any assumptions because he hadn’t straight up asked you on a date per say— with the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on or the excitement of getting to ride in his car. Maybe both. You clench and unclench your fists in anticipation. You’re positively itching to feel what it’s like on the road.

Jisung exits the low car smoothly, heading towards you with a wave. His eyes scrunch up at the corners when he smiles, painting his expression with such a lovely friendliness that makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry. His outfit drastically contrasts his inviting face though, he’s dressed in dark grey washed jeans and a burnt orange short sleeve that hugs his upper body almost skin-tight, a jacket tied loosely around his waist. The duality of man, you suppose. The slicked back style of his hair on top of literally everything else about him screams one thing. This man looks like a goddamn racer.

As soon as you realize you’ve been gawping at him for a good couple of moments now, you snap your focus up to his eyes, already feeling a blush creeping it’s way across your cheeks.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, officer,” Jisung gives you a quick up and down, meeting your eyes afterwards with a look that can only be described as playfulness.

Oh he just knows he’s hot, doesn’t he? Obviously you’re not going to argue, because he’s right.

“Oh my god, don’t call me that,” You protest, lightly punching his arm in retaliation. You definitely don’t miss the unmistakable feeling of muscle under your fist, but that’s really besides the point. The point is he has you all bothered and shit with that nickname. You’ve never been called ‘officer’ so… affectionately.

“You’re right,” He raises his hands in defense, “my bad, babe.”

A retort shrivels on your tongue. You’re pretty sure you can feel your body temprature go up at least two degrees as Jisung heads back to his car, beckoning you to follow him. His back is turned but you can already imagine that little self-satisfied smirk on his face.

He’s going to be the death of you.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You can feel the weight of your body being pressed back into the seat as Jisung speeds up his pace, making your eyes nearly roll back into your head.

The engine roars in your ears as you watch the speedometer whip from zero to sixty in the span of three point five seconds. You can’t help but have a wide grin plastered on your face. It feels like a good stretch after a day of sitting on the couch, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve just, well, drove. Carefree, without the looming restriction of a speed limit or the stress of swerving after a runaway car. Just you and the road. And Jisung, but that’s a plus.

One of the biggest reasons you had strived to join the police force throughout the beginning of your adolescence is that you just could not get enough of that adrenaline rush that comes from zooming down the highway at outrageous hours of the night, competing with your high school friends to see who’s car could accelerate the quicket, maintain the best speed, sound the coolest. The amount of sleepness nights you had spent installing countless upgrades on your car just to beat your friends in some silly bet over a couple of dollars instilled in you the certainty that this is what you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

You had foolishly thought that becoming an officer would cure that hunger burning in your gut, but it just made it worse. You didn’t realize just how bad it had gotten until just now, the familiar sound of hopping gears and the healthy rev of a well-loved engine resurfaces so many emotions that you had so carefully stowed away when you had all graduated and moved on to university, no longer having the time or bravery to risk getting caught anymore.

You glance over at Jisung in the driver’s seat. He looks so at ease, you can tell this is his home, his element. You wonder if he feels the same emptiness by adhereing to the law that you do. It seems taboo to think that way, given your occupation, but you can’t help it.

Jisung flicks on his blinker to exit the highway, and you give him a look out of the corner of your eye.

“Mind telling me where we’re going?” You inquire as he slows to a stop at the intersection.

“Thought it would be nice to go to dinner, don’t you think so?” He glances down either side of the street to ensure it’s clear as he proposes the offer.

Maybe that empty feeling in your stomach was hunger.

“Yeah, actually, I do think so.”

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The restaurant seems strangely empty. A few of the white-clothed tables scattered about the hall are occupied by the quiet bubble of conversation, but other than that the atmosphere is quite still.

Jisung pulls out your chair for you, flamboyantly flipping his hand into a bow as he waits for you to sit. You roll your eyes, badly supressing a smile as you slide into the seat with as much grace as you can manage.

You had both just picked up the menus that had been set in front of you when a low whistle sounds from behind you.

“Who’s the pretty lady, huh, J? Finally found the time to go through that roster of yours?” Your body tenses as someone approaches from the side. You quickly turn your head to get a better view of the newcomer. Oh wow. Was Jisung just friends with hot people in general?

“Ha ha.” Jisung pulls a half-amused face at the man, and gestures to the seat next to him. “This is Changbin. He’s not usually like this, I swear,” Jisung reassures you, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest as Changbin plops down on the seat over. Despite his bold entrance, he nods politely at you in greeting. It becomes evident that he’s just trying to mess with Jisung, meaning no ill-intent (or even much intrest) towards you. You let your muscles relax.

“Well, were you gonna bring her with us tonight?” Changbin gestures towards you, “you know they always get their panties in a twist when one of us has a girl on our arm—”

“She works in law enforcement, isn’t that cool?” Jisung announces a little too loudly, interrupting Changbin, who immediately snaps his mouth shut.

You don’t miss the way Jisung quirks an eyebrow ever-so-slightly at him, a warning. Huh. Your eyes squint in suspicion. What’s this all about?

“Bring me where?” You question Changbin innocently, pushing past Jisung’s subject change and batting your eyes once or twice, just for good measure.

“Bring you to— well, I mean, It’s a place. Definitely. Yeah. Bring you to a place. Somewhere,” Changbin keeps glancing at Jisung as he speaks, who is currently pinching his nosebridge between two fingers, head tilted towards the ceiling.

Changbin falls silent after that, suddenly very intrested in the condition of his shoelaces. You shift your gaze between the two men as an awkward pause falls over the table.

After a long sigh eminating from Jisung, he leans forwards on the table, hands clasped in front of him. His voice is lowered as he speaks.

“Do you trust me?” His eyes bore into your own, not breaking contact as your mind starts running a mile a minute.

Now, the logical answer you would give to a stranger you hardly know is a resounding ‘of course not,’ but this isn’t just anyone. It’s Jisung. The man who risked his very life to save yours, out of the pure goodness of his heart. You can’t imagine not trusting him, you realize. Because you do, you trust him more than you trust yourself, because he did what you couldn’t that day. Without him, you wouldn’t even be here.

“…Yes, I trust you,” You respond, conviction clear in your voice.

Jisung lets out a breath, once again settling back in his chair.

“Then buckle up babe, ‘cause you’re in for a wild night,” He says with a soft chuckle, just as a loud commotion breaks through the restaurant and crowds of people start to pour in through the front door.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jisung is a racer. A street racer, to be specific. Very dangerous, and definitely very illegal.

The restaurant turned out to be a meeting point for two rival districts to compete in some sort of tiebreaker race tonight, and it seems like nearly the entire city had come to watch. Jisung had dragged you through the bustling hall off into a corner, where he met up with Changbin and one other racer. You think you heard the name ‘Chan’ but you’re not too sure. It’s quite loud when you have a room filled with excited fans shouting bets this way and that, sure that their district will win and that they’ll walk home with the jackpot.

Jisung, Changbin, and Chan form a three person racing team. They call themselves ‘3racha’. You thought the name was a joke at first, but the laugh caught in your throat when you realized they were being dead serious. Right now the three are huddled together, murmuring over the pre-determined race course, deciding on any last minute strategies.

Right about now, you should be alerting your police team of the highly illegal activity buzzing all around you. Troops would be sent in immediately and the whole event would be shut down, arrests being made left and right.

But, you don’t want that to happen. Not in the slightest.

You know could lose everything over this, your career, your friends, your reputation. None of that matters to you right now. All you want is to see Jisung and his team race.

Not far off, a group that you assume to be the opposing team stares daggers at 3racha, the tallest one of them making eye contact with you. He says something with a scoff, but you can’t make it out just by reading his lips. Whatever it was though, his other two teammates found it hilarious, one doubling over with laughter and the other giving him a jovial smack on the back.

You back away from their prying eyes, accidentally colliding with Jisung in the process. He looks up at you as you send him a quick ‘sorry’, then he shifts his gaze to the still chortling trio. You can see something in his normally soft gaze harden as he straightens up and reaches an arm around your shoulder, gently but firmly pulling you flush to him.

His physical presence overwhelms your senses, suddenly wrapped in a blanket that dulls the rest of the chaos out. You’re positive he can feel your heart racing as he leans in to whisper in your ear,

“I need you to ignore them, okay? They’re just trying to get us bothered, and you’re an easy target for them. Just stick by us. Can you do that for me?” His breath tickles your ear with every syllable he speaks, making your legs weak. You manage a nod and he pulls away from you with a reassuring pat to your shoulder.

Changbin sends a not-so-discreet middle finger their way, which earns both a scowl from the them and a reprimanding tap on the back of the head from Chan.

Frankly, you are a bit overwhelmed. Even though it was just for a second, you miss Jisung’s calming arm around you. Without it, you feel like you are drowning in the unfamiliar voices babbling every which way, every conversation fighting to be understood in your mind at once. Usually, you know exactly how to handle any given situation with a clear mind— it’s part of your job after all— but this? It’s all so foreign to you you don’t even know where to begin.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, the crowd forms a clear space around both of the teams, allowing room for them to exit the building and enter their vehicles. You scurry after 3racha, feeling quite out of place.

It was to be a relay race. The rules are simple: Three laps around the entire course, each lap assigned to a respective member of each team. Whichever team’s car crosses the finish line first, wins the tiebreaker and takes home the prize. You can tell that mountains of cash are on the line for the boys. Some of the numbers you hear thrown around have your eyes as wide as saucers. If 3racha really is that good, it’s no wonder Jisung is able to afford the kind of car he has.

You’re watching Jisung do a once over of his car, ensuring that everything is safely in order, when he crosses over to you, extending his hand. You furrow your brows, slightly confused, but you take his hand. He smiles, wrapping his fingers tightly around you and squeezing once.

“I want you to ride with me, please?” He says, eyes never leaving your face. You stand in silence for a moment, just soaking in the weight of his hand and the familiarness of his face. The curve of his eyebrow, the slope of his nose, the way his bottom lip always seems to pout out just a little bit, and, oh, those eyes. You feel like you’ve known him for your entire life.

You feel yourself break into a smile.

“Let’s go then,” you squeeze his hand in return.

Jisung’s engine roars to life as him and the other first racer, the tall one’s name is apparently Hyunjin, line up at the designated starting line. 3racha had implored that Jisung go for the first lap, so they would have a healthy leg up on the competition come the second lap, where Changbin would be waiting.

As you wait for the countdown to start your knee bounces up and down, the sickly feeling of intense anticipation eating its way through your stomach.

You feel Jisung’s gaze as he glances over at you, a half grin on his face. What’s he thinking? Your internal question is soon answered as he reaches over and grabs your hand, guiding it to rest on the gearshift.

“10!” A loud voice bellows from a megaphone from outside. The countdown has begun.

Jisung clasps his hand over your own, capturing you in between himself and the vehicle. He’s so warm. Meeting your eyes, he gives you a reassuring nod when he spots your expression, running a thumb along the back of your hand. Now your heart is pounding for a different reason.

“3!” The revving of engines combines with the rush of blood in your ears, the vibrations sending a chill up your spine.

“2!”

“1!”

“Go!”

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what-have-i-unleashed · 2 days ago

Text

i'll make you lose your way

guess what this is about 😇😇😇 yeah! double homicide be upon ye!!!

(cw: violence)

sans stands outside of the house, uncaring of the way the cold winds bite into his bones through the layers of his clothes, now stained with dust. with his shoes rooted to the ground, he stares at the window to the kitchen, where he can see the silhouette of his brother flitting around in the warmly lit background.

papyrus, who is inside.

papyrus, who has always trusted in him.

papyrus, who is now standing in the way.

sans can’t find it in himself to move, to take a step forward, to take away that light.

“what’s the matter?” a familiar voice breathes out behind him. “getting the jitters?” a couple of footsteps crunches in the snow, then sans feels the presence of his shadow at his back – solid, trustworthy, yet unnerving at the same time. “it was like this for me once, too. but i got over it. you will too, in time.”

sans doesn’t say anything. he can feel the white eyelights of the other burning into his trembling form, unable to tell if it’s from the cold or something else. his shadow continues to speak, “listen, kid. think of it this way. if you don’t kill him, the human will get too him sooner or later. and then, he’ll die begging you to save him. he’ll die cursing your name for not being there. you think this is cruelty, but it’s not – it’s mercy. for him. for you.”

sans can easily imagine that. he’s even seen it a hundred times before, hasn’t he? papyrus, slain by the human. papyrus, with his skull crushed under that creature’s gleeful boots. papyrus, with his death prolonged by a sadistic being who doesn’t care about him at all. all for what? for this song and dance to play out again and again and again and again and-

and sans couldn’t take it anymore. he must take matters into his own hands. it’s been a grueling job, but he’s not alone in this crusade at least.

ash is… strange. allegedly a future version of him where he’s finally won, and yet the lone skeleton wouldn’t tell sans about his world. so tight-lipped about everything except sans, or himself basically. despite having no lv or exp, ash is unnerving, making all of sans’ senses stay on alert whenever he’s near. sometimes sans turns around just to see something else under that hood that ash refuses to put down – something unnatural, something too human-like. but it’s always gone before sans can put a finger on it. maybe he’s seeing things, the hallucinations having evolved from just sounds to full-blown sights.

it’s normal, ash has said a many loops ago. seeing things, hearing things that are not there. all just a product of our brains inside this hell. you’ll learn to differentiate them after a while.

how do you know what’s real and what’s not? sans has asked, all wide-eyed and desperate to escape from his constant nightmares.

… you just gotta have faith in your judgement, kid.

ash has a lot of advice like that, on how to deal with all of this. little tips on how to compartmentalize his feelings to process later. how to get past the pesky puzzles in hotland. how to search for the easy targets to dispose of first. how to deflect and lie and run away when things get difficult.

ash is strange, yeah, but he’s also reliable. so, when he said sans needs to kill papyrus, the younger skeleton has some rare reservations for once.

“is this…” sans exhales slowly. “… the only way?” when ash flickers his eyes at sans, the younger skeleton fights an urge to look away. “i mean, it’s papyrus! he’s not- he doesn’t deserve this!”

ash clicks his tongue. “deserve? what he deserves doesn’t matter. i’ve lived through this before, remember? he dies every single time. you can’t stop it. you can only control how it goes.”

sans swallows, something uncomfortable settling in his nonexistent stomach. “… are you sure about that? you’ve… done this before?”

ash’s grin widens, his eyelights flickering with something unreadable. "i’ve been through this so many times. and, like i said, it gets easier. so stop worrying.”

sans forces himself to meet his mentor’s gaze, unwilling to let the topic wander away this time. "how many times?"

ash is silent for a long moment before tilting his head, looking almost thoughtful. "i stopped counting a while ago,” he mumbles, staring at a spot just on top of sans. “anyway, it doesn’t matter. that papyrus wasn’t real. none of them were."

a chill sets over sans’ bones. “what?”

“what?” ash grins at him, his sockets crinkled at the edges. “what did i say?”

unconsciously, sans takes a step backwards, away from his doppelganger. ash grabs his wrist, the grip unrelenting, almost bruising. sans lets out a hiss. the world around him feels so much smaller, and the air feels even more frigid.

“come on,” ash says, still smiling serenely, his voice deceptively calm. “don’t tell me you have cold feet right now. this is an important moment for you, kid. time to see your commitment to the cause. how much are you willing to sacrifice to make this all work, sans?”

sans stares at ash, at the way he looks so assured, so convinced of whatever nonsense he’s just spouted. something at the back of his mind, a voice sounding suspiciously close to the human, crows about how stupid he’s been, how oblivious he’s been to all the red flags popping around his older self. all the times ash has guided his shaky hands to kill his fellow monsters. all the times ash has patted his back, murmuring encouragements and praises as he stares down the frightened eyes of his targets. all the times ash supposedly stands guard over him as he gets his few precious seconds of sleep, only to wake up without seeing the older skeleton anywhere.

when has his judgement become so horrendous?

(ha, has it ever been good before?)

something inside sans cracks.

“you’re insane,” he whispers. “you don’t care about him. you don’t care about them. you never did.” you don’t care about me.

ash’s eye twitches. “what did you say?”

“you’re just making excuses for your actions. you're just trying to make yourself feel better because you couldn’t take it. because you gave up.”

ash’s expression darkens. “gave up? no. i ascended. i became what i had to be. and now it’s your turn.”

sans’ magic flares, clumsily. he barely has time to act before ash is on him, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the snow. a sickening crack echoes as his skull meets the frozen ground. his vision swims. ash presses him down by the skull, pinning him beneath his knees, his breath coming out in uneven huffs, half-laughing, half-growling.

“you thought you could win against me?” ash says, voice tinged with amusement. ��look at you. you can’t even land a hit. weak. like i was.”

sans cries out as a bone attack pierces through his shoulder, rendering his hp down to a single digit. the grip on his skull lightens only a bit, and the voice above him drops to something more patient, more affectionate. “you have to let go of this – your fear, your weakness. they’re a detriment to your conviction. your goal. you know i’m right. you could be so much more. you could be everything we were meant to be.”

sans squeezes his eyes shut, letting the poisonous words coil around him like a noose around his neck. he can’t focus through the pain, through the burning thought that his brother is inside the house, unaware of what’s happening outside right now.

papyrus. the only reason he’s doing all of this.

(isn’t it?)

“i’m not-” sans gasps. “i’m not like you. i won’t be you.”

the grip on his skull tightens for a blinding painful second, then it loosens as ash exhales, a breathy laugh escaping, as if he’s amused, as if he’s disappointed. “yeah, yeah, paps. i might be a little bit impatient there. but he needs some tough love, doesn’t he?... sorry, yeah, that was terrible.”

ash releases sans and stands up. sans opens his eyes and freezes upon meeting the red hue that has been haunting his dreams for so long now. ash’s bi-colored eyes regard sans as if looking at a puzzling specimen.

“clearly, you’re not ready,” ash says, hands in his pockets as he summons a cage of cyan bones to trap sans within. “but we have all the time in the world. don’t worry, i’m not going to have you kill your papyrus now. but still, someone has to.”

with that, he turns around and starts to walk towards the house. sans’ hands claw weakly at the ground, but it is no use. he can’t move. he can’t breathe. he is trapped, pinned beneath the weight of his own failure, of his own weakness. he’s always been too weak, too late for everything.

just a failure.

“one day,” ash calls out as his voice gets more muffled by the wind, “you’ll look back and see that this is a blessing. you’ll be grateful.”

#how do i even tag this #i write #murder sans #dust sans #double homicide #< my ship name for them teehee #sanscest #sanshipping #utmv #undertale au

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lvlybin · 1 day ago

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me when inspo for taste finally hits (this isn't proofread)

“Sweetie, wait.”

Your movements slow at the sound of Hao’s voice. When you look up at him again, he feels a rush of heat go through him. He adored it when you looked at him like that: vulnerable yet hungry. Like you were letting yourself believe that you were his. You were, even if you hadn’t accepted it yet. Hao’s eyes focus on the soft skin of your neck as he moves to stand behind you. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was almost like he could see the throbbing of your pulse point.

Quick to follow his actions, you turn to face him, leaning back against the edge of the counter behind you.

Confusion is palpable in your features. Hao smirks slightly when he realizes that the little furrow of your eyebrows is back again but for different reasons than concentration.

“What?”

Hao’s eyes find yours. Your pupils dilate. He makes sure that you’re watching as he slowly sinks to the floor.

Everything about you was pure perfection, Hao concludes as he looks up at you from where he kneels on the clean, wooden flooring. It’s an image he’s been thinking about for far too long–what you’d look like as he kneels for you. And sure enough, his head is level with your skirt. Only if you weren’t wearing that stupid apron. As his right hand wraps around the soft skin of your calf, relishing in the way his own nerves tingle from the simple contact, a small gasp leaves your lips.

From behind his glasses, he sees the way you’re breathing is shaky, how the skin of your neck and ears have grown a shade darker. He bets that if he looked under your skirt right now, there’d be a wet patch waiting on your panties for him. Hao’s fingers grip your delicate skin a bit tighter as he leans closer to your leg. The vanilla notes of the lotion you use fill his nose, and he can’t help but acknowledge that you must taste better than any kind of pastry made in his bakery. Carefully, he settles your left leg over his shoulder, and to his delight, you don’t make any moves to push him away.

Your knuckles are white as you grip the edge of the counter you’re leaning against, the force was the only thing keeping you standing. Hao’s tongue peeks out as he slowly licks the smudge of rose-colored frosting from your thigh. A sharper gasp leaves your lips this time, but you don’t look away from him.

Hao almost moans as the taste of your skin meets his tongue. The same sweetness from the lotion he smelled just moments ago lingers on his taste buds, and he’s almost panting as he forces himself away from your inner thigh. Gently, he sets your foot back on the ground as he stands. And this time, it’s closer than before.

GOD I love men that yearn

#⠀๑﹙ 𝓖entle愛𝓓aydreams ﹚ㅤ𝆬 ̼⠀﹗#૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ℬ𝒆𝗅𝗅𝒆`𝗌 𝒯𝗁𝒐𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 #zb1 smut #zerobaseone smut #zerobaseone x reader #zhang hao smut #hao smut

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chaaistained · 24 hours ago

Note

EMMA????

EMAAAAA

when i say i teared up for you? I LITERALLY HAD MY EYES PRICKING WITH TEARS I AM SO FUCKING HAPPY FOR YOU OMG

girl girl girl you NEED to msg me on discord i need more i need so many more details bcs WHAT

the way i can’t stop smiling rn it feels like i’m one of your celeb friends in your fame dr and you got awarded an oscar and i’m sitting there in the crowd screaming and then standing up and giving people looks when they don’t stand bcs YOU DID IT !!!!

my hearts racing i can’t even IMAGINE how excited you must be feeling

idek what to say i’m just like . dazed and enthralled and generally just a million times more motivated than i was five mins ago bcs FIFTEEN DAYS????

i’m gonna be thinking abt this for a while

EMMA±??±?±?±?±??!?!?!?!OMGORMGOGMG????? STORYTIME HELLOW WHERE DID U EVEN SHIFT TO

i spent 15 days in the upper east side and now i have an existential crisis about my real life (but in a hawt way)

unlike my previous shifts, where i’d spend 10 minutes, maybe 20, dipping my toes into a life so much better than this one, i spent fifteen whole days in my better cr. fifteen days ago, i woke up in my king-sized bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and realised i had, in fact, won in life.

i had done it. no brief glimpse, no fleeting moment before snapping back to my real-world peasantry. fifteen days. enough time for a full socialite saga and to meet my beau!?!?!??! enough time to wake up in pyjamas which might as well been the most comfortable thing i've ever worn, hear the distant clatter of someone else in the other rooms, and stretch luxuriously as if i were in a renaissance painting. i could smell money in the air FOLKS!?!?!!!! not new money, but old money, the kind that sits heavy in the walls (!??!?!?), the kind that makes people say your last name like it means something. and this was my life. MY LIFE. at last. took it long enough.

the first morning, and you have to understand my main character syndrome for this, i stepped out onto the balcony, the manhattan skyline.....mhmhmhmhmhm....mhm. mhm. mhmm. stretching before me like a personal prophecy, and i felt it in my bones!!!!!!: this was home. MY HOME. okay. so. then i went around, you know, exploring my little room (not little...) and girl the moment i stepped in front of a mirror.......WHO'S THIS BABE???? yea. yea. i even had a cat !!!!

then i went to school. sorry, went, i mean DRIVE. now, here’s the dealio. i had scripted myself into this effortlessly put-together, socially untouchable, well-adjusted manhattan teen heiress life. but there were gaps in my logic. big ones. like, for example: i couldn't drive. i didn't know how to drive !!!

and yet, there i was in the morning in my super super super sSUPPPERRR cutesie school uniform, keys in hand, standing in front of a car (a Porsche, people, a porsche!!!) that looked like it cost more than my entire life back in my cr. so, i acted like i totally knew what i was doing. slid into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusted the mirrors like i had a clue, and started the car.

and then? i picked up lily-rose depp.

(she's not an actress in this dr, by the way. just my best friend. which is infinitely cooler.)

she didn't even question everything. just said i looked really hawt today. i was blessed. seriously. like i'm typing this and also screaming i want to go back.

somehow. miraculously. i got us to school in one piece. st. lazarus international college. it looked like a cathedraland felt like a warzone. we pulled up alongside a line of obnoxiously expensive cars (not a single honda in sight!?!?!?!?), and i barely had time to breathe before stepping out onto the pavement, uniform pristine, COACH. MOTHAUFCKING COACH TOTE bag slung over my shoulder like i was about to solve world hunger instead of sit through calculus (that shi fucking sucked btw !!!! but my school's classrooms were drop dead gorgeous).

anyways. i now have to brush upon something that made me almost let out a humongous squeal when i saw him. CORIOLANUS. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes,ewfygweuvbuihweiusvbgiweu`rs. i saw him. yep. yep. i had to slap myself. metaphorically.

SO. i had scripted that on my first day, i would give coriolanus snow a nosebleed.

and !?!??!?!?!!?! IT SUCCEEDED. when i first saw him, he was leaning against a row of lockers like he owned the place and i swear to god i almost moaned. crisp white shirt, tie loose, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, eyes narrowed. pray.

HO. HE WINKED AT ME. and then i walked past him with my bfffffff lily-rose and. and. and. nosebleed. bro. bro. bro. BROSKI. the way he blinked..........the way his breath hitched just a little as the first drop of blood slid over his cupid’s bow. the WAY he tilted his head back, tongue darting out briefly over his lip. oh my god. i was actively fighting to not go and jump on him and like do vile disgusting things.

i had won the war, but at what cost?

because he was so hot.

SO FUCKING HAWT.

uh. so. yeah. that was just the first two hours of my better cr, and it was already putting my entire existence to shame. like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably better than anything i have ever done in my cr.

ssssoooooo. IF ANYONE WANTS TO HEAR MORE…do let me know. because, hands clasped, eyes glistening, heart on the verge of combustion, i am being so serious. this was the peak of my human experience. i have tasted divinity PEOPLE. i have lived too well. i fear i must go back, or else i will experience genuine withdrawals from the lack of my paramour’s face in my daily visuals.

so yeah. if you’re curious… hit me up. (evil, knowing laughter echoing into the abyss)

OH AND. whenever i'd go to sleep there i'd like cry out of fear that i'd wake up in my cr but whenever i'd wake up just...there...i'd literally pray to god. BECCAUSE EIJISEJFEWUSHFIHEJI. i'm there.

#chaai chats ≈#chaai loves » emma ✿#SO SO SO MUCH #IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU GIRLIE #IM SO SO HAPPY OMG #like . i can’t describe it #i wish i could give you a hug #bcs the sheer power of my hug would convey the message i swear

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grayskies2525 · 2 days ago

Text

Inevitable (male sneezing, contagion) | Part 4/4

Here's the conclusion to Evan's story! I'm glad to see so many people enjoying my gross fantasies!

Part one Part two Part three

Word count: 2,700

CW: mess, contagion

* * *

Evan walks to and from work every day. He doesn’t live far and everyone in this city walks most places. It’s that or take a bus, or the subway — neither of which are options for him in his current state even if he wants nothing more than to just sit down. He simply can’t endure any more potential opportunities for nose-related disasters.

No, what Evan needs is to walk home as quickly as he can while trying to mitigate — to the best of his ability — the effects from the disaster that is his nose.

He’s doing a great job, if he does say so himself. Yes, he’s sneezing. Yes, he’s a snotty mess. But, he’s also equipped with an entire box of tissues that he stole from the store’s break room — considering his paychecks versus the amount of money the corporation takes in, Evan feels they owe him a box of tissues at the very least — and has captured each drip and sneeze deftly into the little white squares.

The sneezes are hard, fast, and relentless. As he walks, to distract himself, he begins a kind of game. If he were to title the game, Evan imagines it being something akin to “How many seconds can Evan go without a sneeze before he makes it home?”

So far, his record is twenty-eight seconds. He recognizes the absurdity of this. He doubts anyone else in any universe has ever sneezed this much in just half a day. He almost feels a sense of pride at the knowledge that he must be setting some kind of record, but then he also recognizes how absurd that is, so he brushes it away.

“HEH eh’TshUUHHH!”

Another sneeze perfectly captured into a tissue.

He smiles — literally smiles — at the accomplishment. This is what his life has become. He can not wait to finally get his degree so he can feel proud of something that holds a little more weight than “managed not to sneeze on everyone in sight.”

He mentally resets the timer in his head. As odd as the game is, it certainly does help pass the time. He only has a few more minutes until he reaches the sanctuary of his nice, warm bed.

Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three….

Evan wonders if he can make it a whole minute. He doubts it. He already feels another budding tickle. But he’s going to try.

“HEH!”

No, no, no! He WILL make it a minute without a sneeze. He doesn’t care how arbitrary of a goal it is. It’s still a goal — something he has alarmingly few of these days — and he’s going to meet it.

“HEH HHH HEHhhhHHHH!”

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five….

“Heehh Ehhh Eh HHhhH!”

Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two….

“Excuse me sir, I hate to bother you, but could you tell me where —”

“EDT’SHHuuuuHHHH!”

And just like that, the pretty stranger’s pale skin is covered in a plethora of droplets, glistening in the sunlight.

“Uhb, I’b sor— heh— sorry,” Evan says, rubbing his nose with a tissue.

The stranger gives a tight smile before brushing off her face in a futile attempt to clear away the droplets. He’s sure all she does is smear them around. They’re undoubtedly laden with viruses, anyway, so he knows she’s doomed. Just like all the other people who have been unfortunate to come into contact with him today. Just like he, himself, was three days ago in that elevator.

“It’s um… It’s fine,” the stranger says.

“Uhb, you were aski’g about directiods? I bay be able to hehhh —”

The woman is walking so briskly, she’s practically running from Evan. “That’s okay! I remember where it is now. Thanks!” she calls out before somehow walking away even more quickly.

It’s a good thing she does because Evan snaps forward, hands on his thighs, and lets out what must be the most violent sneeze he’s had in his entire life.

“HEH-RRrrreeeEHHHSHuuuHHHHHH!”

It sounds more like a scream than a sneeze, though the resulting heavy spray, thick smell, and the strand of snot dangling precariously from his left nostril are all clear indicators that it was, indeed, a sneeze — a massive one.

It’s like his body is desperately fighting with all it has in it to get this cold out of him. He’d be more than happy to let it, if it weren’t such a violent — and contagious — action. His head is throbbing and his throat is wrecked.

He goes to wipe off the strand from his nose with a tissue, but he’s too late and he watches in resignation as the drop hits the concrete.

At this point, people are giving him a wide berth. He tries not to pay attention to anyone’s expression, but he still can’t miss the scowls and noses scrunched up in disgust. It’s not like he can even blame them.

He hangs his head, clutches his tissue box tightly against himself, and tries to make himself take up the least amount of space possible. He needs to get home without causing any more scenes.

* * *

How could he forget his keys?

Evan’s been an adult for over a decade now, and he’s never done something as senseless as locking himself outside his apartment. He supposes having a cold from the deepest depths of Hell could be to blame for his forgetfulness.

He’s currently slumped against his apartment door, tissue box in his lap. There’s probably a better choice he can make besides this one, but he’s already here and moving his body any more sounds like the worst idea in the entire world. He feebly zips up jacket to ward off the chill, and even that small action wipes out the remaining energy he had.

His phone buzzes and he quickly unlocks it to read the message.

Marcus: 😂 Usually it's me forgetting the keys. i’m on a date w mia but we’re almost finished eating. she’s gotta go to work soon anyway. hang tight. be there in abt 20

Evan breathes out a sigh of relief, then begins typing.

Evan: THANK you. Could you also possibly pick up some cold meds on your way? If you have the money? I’ll pay you back Friday.

A minute or two goes by while Evan waits for the response. He closes his eyes and leans more heavily against the door. He opens his eyes halfway when he hears footsteps. The person is someone he doesn’t recognize — so probably just someone visiting someone on the floor. The stranger gives Evan a quick look before quickening their pace as they walk down the hall.

The phone’s buzz jerks Evan out of the doze he’d slipped into. He groggily takes his phone and glances down at it.

Marcus: stuff’s like ten dollars, man. i mean, if you really need it tho, i can charge it to my credit card.

Evan sighs. He gets it. Money’s incredibly tight for both of them. Between the two of them, they can just barely manage to make rent each month.

Evan: Nvm. I’ll just tough it out.

After hitting “send” on the message, Evan allows his eyes to close, resting his head against the door frame.

* * *

“Evan?”

The way the man says his name, Evan suspects it’s not the first time he’s said it.

Evan groans before beginning the exhausting process of opening his eyes.

“Ahh, so you are alive. I was beginning to wonder,” Marcus says with a smirk.

Evan groans again.

“Are you drunk or something?” Marcus asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

Evan tries to glare. “Ndo,” he says indignantly, though he likely diminishes the effect with his subsequent thick snort. “Imb just sigck. A’d cold a’d tired. Just wadda lie dowd,” he says, weakly, before he starts coughing — the sounds heavy and wet.

Marcus scans Evan up and down, likely taking in Evan’s slumped posture, his lap covered in an innumerable amount of used tissues, and however his face looks — something Evan doesn’t even want to think about.

Marcus sighs. “Leave it to you to nearly die from the common cold. Let’s get you inside, then.”

* * *

As much as Evan had wanted to crawl into bed, upon entering the apartment it was as if he’d lost all control of his legs. They’d immediately taken him to the couch where he’d instantly curled up on his side.

He lies on his back, now, clasping a tissue to his nose as he blows and blows. He’s read that you’re not actually supposed to blow your nose — that the pressure causes the germs to blow back into the sinus cavity, which can lead to sinus infections. But he has no doubt that without blowing, he’d literally choke to death on his own snot.

“EDT’shhUUH! ECK’SHUUH!”

The sneezes are hard, sharp, and wet. He feels the moisture sliding down his chin despite the fact he’d had a tissue over his nose. He sighs, then wipes off the mess.

“Okay, Nurse Marcus is here with your first dose of medicine,” Marcus says as he comes toward Evan. He takes a seat on the coffee table across from Evan. Evan notices the small cup of liquid in his hand.

Evan’s brows knit. “But I thought you wered’t goi’ig to buy the medicide.” Evan has given up on being able to pronounce m’s and n’s any time soon.

“In the three years we’ve been roommates, you’ve never asked me to buy you anything, so I figured it must be bad. So yeah, I went ahead and bought it. But, damn, I still wasn’t expecting this,” Marcus says, gesturing to Evan with his free hand. “I didn’t know it was possible for someone’s nose to be that red. I thought that was, like, a cartoon thing. But, no, here you are totally Rodolphing it. It’s almost impressive.”

“Yeah, I kdow, I mbust loogk like shit. Cad I please have the bedicide dow? I bead, thagck you for buyi’g it of course, a’d all that, but really, I thidk I deed it, like dow,” Evan says before proceeding to cough horrendously.

Marcus grimaces, but hands the liquid over to Evan. Evan manages to swallow the substance before he sneezes into the air three times in a row.

“You kdow, it’s probably a good thi’g you bought this because dow we’ll have sombe for when you combe dowd with this,” Evan says.

Marcus snorts in amusement. “Don’t worry about that. I haven’t been sick in years. Just one of the many benefits of a healthy diet and regular exercise,” he says, looking so smug Evan wishes he could throw something at his face.

Instead, Evan glares. “You are so addoyigck for that.”

Marcus leans in closer from his spot on the table. “I’m sorry. I’m so what? It’s hard to understand you because you’re so full of snot.”

Evan glares again, then snorts thickly. “Addoyi’g. You are HH EDTChUUUuuuhhh!”

If Evan hadn’t turned on his side to face Marcus, Marcus may have had a chance. But Evan did turn on his side, so Marcus’s face receives quite the generous amount of spray.

“Sorry,” Evan mumbles. At this rate, he’s apologizing almost as much as he’s sneezing.

Marcus blinks, then wipes off his face with his arm. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. My immune system can handle it.”

Evan doesn’t think anyone’s immune system is equipped for this thing, but he sure hopes Marcus’s is. This feeling only increases as the evening goes on.

Sometimes Evan forgets how nice Marcus can be. They’ve lived together for a few years now, and Evan definitely considers him a friend, but they’re both busy and despite being roommates, their paths don’t always often cross. But Marcus does nice little things for him throughout the rest of the day — covering up his poor pathetic body with blankets, bringing him more medicine, and even cooking ramen for him (since it turns out they didn’t actually have any Campbells). He also makes sure Evan has a hefty supply of toilet paper roll — after he ran out of tissues — and a wastebasket conveniently placed next to him.

Most importantly, he doesn’t complain when Evan launches sneeze after sneeze into the air. Marcus assured him any damage has already been done, and when Evan thinks back to the droplets coating his face from that full on sneeze he’d directed at him — well, Evan figures he’s probably right.

Evan spends the rest of the day nestled in blankets on the couch, dozing in and out of sleep, while Marcus plays movies on the TV and keeps him company.

After the morning he had, he considers the evening to be perfect. Or, relatively perfect, at least. He’s sicker than he’s ever been, but he’s warm and comfortable. Or, mostly comfortable — his congestion, sneezing, and the painfully raw skin around the edges of his nostrils beg for his almost constant attention. But most importantly, he’s no longer drenching people in his germs.

And Evan couldn’t really ask for more.

* * *

Marcus does come down with the cold, of course. Trevor, too. And seemingly everyone Evan knows.

When Evan returns to work five days later — still sniffling and coughing, but mostly functioning — he gives a feeble attempt at defending himself. He mentions it could have been Courtney who got almost their entire team sick. She did, after all, go home sick the same day as Evan. But that argument quickly unravels when someone points out Courtney had a stomach bug. And everyone who’s called off has been hacking up their lungs and sneezing non-stop.

So, Evan reluctantly admits that perhaps there’s a slight possibility he may be responsible for starting a minor cold outbreak in the store.

To make an already embarrassing situation worse, his boss shows him an online survey that makes him blush. In the survey, a customer mentions how the store lets “unhygienic” employees interact with customers and relays how she “came down with the worst cold of her life” after a rude manager “purposefully sneezed all over her just because he didn’t want to do his job.”

After he leaves the store feeling stressed — having only three people to work the registers and the sales floor does not make for a good shift — he heads to school for his evening class.

* * *

As he stands in the elevator, his eyes widen when he sees who steps inside.

It’s him.

The instructor who’s single-handedly responsible for the most humiliating day of Evan’s life.

The man gives Evan a quick, friendly smile before clear recognition settles over his face. Evan tries not to glare as he uses a tissue to quickly wipe at his nose.

It’s awkward for a few seconds until the man speaks. “Listen, um…. Gosh, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just…. Did I get you sick? Be honest.”

Evan blows his nose — perhaps more dramatically than necessary — and this time does glare at the man. “Yeah. You got me sick,” he states, simply. “I’m just now getting over it.”

The man winces. “I am so sorry.”

There is so much genuine sympathy and regret etched into the man’s expression that Evan finds himself softening. “It’s fine. You couldn’t help it,” he finally says.

The elevator dings and the two get off on the same floor, but they both stay stopped outside the doors. “Listen,” the instructor begins. “Was it, like, the most sick you’ve ever been? I’ve never had anything like that in my life.”

Evan gives a wry laugh. “Hands-down the sneeziest and snottiest I’ve ever been.”

“Right?” the man says, emphatically. “Again, I am so sorry. I can’t apologize enough.”

Evan offers a small smile. “It’s okay, really. I don’t think anyone stands a chance at not getting that cold. It really wants to spread. I was doomed the moment I got on that elevator,” he says giving an exaggerated, forlorn look.

The instructor smiles. “For sure. Thank you for being so understanding.”

The two exchange more pleasantries before they walk off to their respective classes.

The guy’s nice and Evan doesn’t have it in him to resent him any longer.

After all, Evan knows now from personal experience that with a cold like that — sneezing all over everyone you come across is simply inevitable.

#snz #snzblr #cw: mess #cw: contagion #snz kink #snz fic

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tklpilled · 21 hours ago

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your sweet red rose

riddle likes to stick to a routine. it’s simpler that way, no surprises or unexpected turns. he knows exactly how things are supposed to be and he makes sure they stay that way. the other students are well aware of this; it's why they try to stay out of his way, although he thinks it's more out of fear of what he'll do to them, rather than actually caring about his schedule. he’s stuck to the same routine since freshman year, only tweaking it a bit once he became housewarden.

somehow, inexplicably, floyd leech has wormed his way into that strict routine.

it took some getting used to, of course. walking to his usual study corner in the library only to see the most annoying person he’s ever known wasn’t exactly pleasant, even less so when said annoying person began sneaking into his room, too. but part of what makes floyd so damn irritating is that riddle’s threats always seem to bounce off of him, and of course, he can’t do much more than threaten, considering floyd’s signature spell. so riddle is stuck with him. it isn’t consistent. floyd shows up whenever he wants. riddle has learned to stop caring so much, or else his blood pressure would constantly be skyrocketing.

riddle is in his bedroom, homework papers splayed across his bed as he works through them. floyd sits beside him, practically coiled around riddle’s body with his face nestled in the crook of his neck.

riddle doesn’t pay him any attention, now long used to his antics. at least, he doesn’t, up until there’s a warm and sharp feeling at his collarbone.

“no,” says riddle, poking floyd’s head with the tip of his pen. “you’re not biting me.”

floyd whines like a child, squeezing riddle tighter. “why not? it won’t hurt…”

“human bites can be very dangerous,” riddle says, still not looking up, “and i can’t imagine how that translates to someone like you, considering your teeth are sharper and you’re not fully human anyway. i need to be in top shape, you know.”

floyd grumbles, untangling himself from riddle’s body. “yeah, whatever.” he crawls down towards riddle’s legs, sitting on the bed next to them. he tilts his head, examining them curiously. “so weird…” he trails a finger down the back of riddle’s leg. “what's it like?”

“hm?”

“having legs.”

“...you have legs,” riddle points out, finally looking over at him.

floyd shrugs. “but they're different. they aren't as real as yours.” he runs a finger down the leg again. “so? tell me.”

goosebumps raise over riddle’s skin at the featherlight touch. “i’m really not sure what you're asking. they feel the same as yours, i’d assume. stop that.” the last part is accompanied with a tiny kick as floyd repeats the action for a third time.

“huh? goldfishie is ticklish?”

“what?” riddle stiffens up so subtly that it's barely noticeable. it wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone not watching him as closely as floyd is. “no. just stop it, i'm trying to focus.” he's trying to change the subject, but really, he knows it's useless. there's an unspoken rule when it comes to tickling, one that riddle despises; if an individual says they aren't ticklish, one must test it for themselves. plus, once something has caught floyd’s attention, there's no distracting him until he loses interest.

even so, he doesn't expect the feeling of knuckles pressing into both his sides at once. his body spasms, accidentally throwing his pen onto the floor and scattering his papers as he makes an embarrassingly loud noise. he whips his head around to glare at floyd, who simply grins back.

“d-don't do that!” riddle scolds, sitting up so he can begin to reorganise his papers. he rubs at his side to try and get rid of the lingering tingles.

“but i wanna tickle you.”

huh?! riddle freezes, feeling the familiar sensation of his face turning pink, but this time not induced by rage. he turns to look at floyd, the room growing suddenly warm. “you—! i don't want you to!”

floyd pouts. “why not?”

“b-because…!” riddle stumbles over his words. “i'm busy right now!”

“you're busy?” echoes floyd, curling back around riddle's body as he lays back down. “so i can tickle you when you're done?”

damn it. riddle squeezes the pen in his hand, pointedly looking at his paper and nowhere else. “...fine.” he regrets the words even before they leave his mouth, and floyd’s look of pure excitement does nothing to help.

as it turns out, riddle should have let floyd do what he wanted to begin with. because now he’s teasing him, just centimetres away from touching him, and it might just be worse than the tickling itself.

“you’re gettin’ all twitchy around here,” floyd says, mostly to himself, his hand hovering around riddle’s midsection. “this a bad spot?” he giggles, wiggling his fingers in the air as he approaches and stops just before touching riddle’s side. “azul’s real ticklish here too, you know. and jade—” he moves towards riddle’s neck, and the housewarden scrunches up his shoulders even though there’s nothing actually there, “right here. i wanna see how you compare to them.”

riddle doesn’t respond to any of it, though he can feel his face burning as he tries desperately to focus. it’s getting hard to remember the answers when there’s nothing but ticklish thoughts running through his mind.

it takes a few minutes longer to finish than it should.

riddle is tempted to keep going; keep writing down something, even just random scribbles, anything that will postpone his demise. at the same time, though, the anticipation is killing him. he thinks the tickling would be more bearable than this.

so he sets his pen down, sighs, and turns to look at floyd. he tries to ignore the burning under his skin.

“...i’m done.”

floyd’s reflexes are terrifyingly fast. riddle blinks and suddenly he’s face-up on his bed, floyd settled happily atop his hips. he giggles as he looks down.

“goldfishie’s cute when he blushes.”

riddle grumbles, covering his face with his hands. “just hurry and get this over with!”

he doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed about his plea before floyd’s sharp nails are scribbling all over; his neck, his stomach, his sides, and riddle is suddenly laughing harder than he remembers ever laughing before. which, quite honestly, isn’t a high bar to rise above, given that he hasn’t had much to laugh about at all throughout his life—but still.

“stop, stohohop!” he cries, head thrown back as his hands find their way to floyd’s wrists. he’s always been incredibly ticklish, and floyd is one of the last people he ever wanted to find out—but now that it’s happened, he doesn’t hate it as much as he wants to.

and he does want to hate it. this is so…unbecoming of him; as a housewarden, as valedictorian, as a subject of the queen, but…as he laughs, he feels lighter than he has in years.

floyd’s eyes are practically sparkling. “i’ve never heard ya laugh so much before!” he exclaims, scratching at riddle’s lower ribs and making him cackle, so free, so undignified. it’s too out of place.

riddle hiccups between laughs, fits of giggles spilling out uncontrollably. “ihihi—i demand you stohop thihis!” he wants to cringe at how wobbly his voice sounds.

“eh?” floyd pouts, not letting up on his attack for even a moment. “but goldfishie promised i could tickle him…are you going back on that?” as if to reprimand, he tickles a little harder, veering on the edge of painful and way too ticklish. “that’s gotta go against one of your dumb rules.”

in a normal situation, this is the part where riddle would begin to scold; the queen’s rules, however foolish they may sound, are all important and to be respected. if he could, he would; but right now, he lacks the ability to speak more than a few words without crumbling to giggles once again.

“where's goldfishie most ticklish, huh?” floyd asks, skittering his fingers up and down riddle's sides. “‘cause it looks like you're just ticklish everywhere. what about here?” he reaches to pinch above riddle’s kneecaps, and riddle squeals and kicks and laughs and not much more, because there’s not much more he can do.

“i-i don’t knohohow!” riddle confesses, hands pressed over his face to hide and muffle himself. he’s been tickled before, but only briefly. he had no way of knowing how bad it would be.

floyd barks out a laugh at this, the sound intertwining with riddle’s for a second. “you don’t know? does that mean i get to tickle you ‘til i find it?” he flashes a sharp, dangerous grin, crawling under riddle’s arms.

“no, it does nohot!” yelps riddle, arms shooting down to protect himself. “st-stop it, i cahan’t take it! plehehease!”

he’s not normally the type to beg, but this entire situation is making him desperate and his nerves feel more alight with each touch. he tries to grab at floyd’s wrists, to push him away, hoping he’ll get bored and focus on literally anything else. being floyd’s victim isn’t anything he’s not used to, but this is new and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to handle it.

it’s not long before his grip slackens, lashes growing damp as his strength is all but sapped out of him.

it takes a while to realise that the tickling has stopped.

he blinks his eyes open, deep and heavy breaths making his chest rise and fall, interrupted by stray residual laughs. he looks up, mismatched eyes meeting his. floyd’s hands are off of him now, but he’s still situated atop riddle’s thighs, not letting him move.

floyd giggles. “you’re real fun to play with.”

riddle can almost feel the heat rushing to his already warm face. “d-don’t tell a soul about this,” he hisses, “not a single person.”

“hm? ‘course i won’t.” floyd pokes riddle’s stomach one last time, as if the ensuing squeak is the punctuation at the end of his sentence. “teasing goldfishie is my job.”

#tklfics #twst #twisted wonderland #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #florid #tickle fic

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windsson · 5 hours ago

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He doesn’t appreciate what Bruno saying that does to him. It shouldn’t! They aren’t even like that- Bruno was talking about touching his face, idiot. What made it more frustrating is Makani has no idea if blushing is visible on him; he knew from people saying it that blushing made you pink, but not only did he have no clue what pink even looked like any more, but he had no idea if blushing made him pink.

He knew he had to be blushing though, he could feel it in his face, remnants of a lightning bolt that went straight from his head down to his toes in an instant. He just prays it dissipates quickly- he was being weird, and he didn’t even mean to do that, anyway. He didn’t want his new friend getting the wrong idea- he was the only friend he had, after all, if he lost Bruno he’d be…alone again.

To try to brush it off, Makani laughs down at the ground, shrugging a shoulder.

“Well, you really can’t get as much information from doing that as you’d think- I mean, I have no idea what I look like, and I can touch my own face whenever I want. But yeah, actually, maybe just for a second, it couldn’t hurt.” He’s trying to play it off casually. Just two bros touching faces alone together, nothing weird about this.

He continues to talk through it as well as another way of making it feel less awkward, or at least that’s how it starts, but Makani’s sincerity don’t let him feel awkward for too long. He did genuinely want to do this, the last time he had was…gosh, maybe 13 years old? He didn’t get to connect with people like this. Makani was always distant from people, in his own world, the only touch he ever received usually being harsh grabs on the wrist from his father (the ring of bruises on his right arm being proof enough of that.) Makani wanted connection, he wanted physical contact, he wanted any kind of belonging that didn’t make him feel utterly left out. He had been in too many rooms crowded with people and felt utterly alone.

“I really am happy, by the way- I’m sorry if you were nervous to do all this,” he says, very tenderly and apprehensively putting his hands on the sides of Bruno’s face to start.

“I know this won’t happen in a day, but man, this is the first time in my life I haven’t been scared for the future. I know what’s coming and it’s- woah, you need to shave, dude,” he stops and laughs.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I wish I could grow facial hair- it never comes in right so I just gave up.” Bruno’s cheeks are more sallow than Makani envisioned- he was entirely smaller to hold than he imagined. His nose felt similar to his own, which Makani thought meant Bruno must have a big nose- his father had told Makani he had a big nose, anyway. He wouldn’t say anything since it sounded like a bad thing, not that it ever mattered to himself.

The yammering to break the tension, if there was any, gets slower and more sparse the longer he goes, concentrating harder and getting a little lost in the sensation, and trying to fit together a mental image of his friend. He stops completely, however, when the back of his hand brushes against Bruno’s hair.

“I’m sure we’ve got a lot to uh, to…talk about, though- with this. I don’t know what your…your family will say, this is weird news to get, and I- woah!…Gosh, your hair is soft! How do you DO this?” He excitedly gets two gentle handfuls of each, his excited-rambling voice coming back for just a second before he realizes how odd he’s being.

Makani let’s go and puts his hands in his lap, clearing his throat and smiling politely.

“I’m sorry- I just said a second and I uh…thank you, in any case-but no, um,” he tucks his hair behind one of his ear, definitely not as soft, continuing,

“This is…wild. I-I mean how is this even going to happen? D-Does anyone even want me here? Where would I be, how does…” he laughs a little, incredulously, “This is so incredible but I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling right now. Wh-What do we do now?”

“Dude. That was the greatest thing I’ve ever got to be a part of.”

In comparison to his nervous friend’s upright posture, Makani was catching his breath leaning back onto his elbows, and by the state of his hair, he had been through a tornado. It was wrapped around his face like a fishnet, Makani needing a moment to get some strands out of his mouth.

“I get to stay…I get to- Bruno, are you even hearing yourself? I get to stay!” He crawls over to where Bruno had shuffled off to, intending to reach out to (happily) shake some sense into Bruno, but his thoughts get interrupted when his hand collides with something.

“No matter what, this is good news, I just wish I knew h- ah- oh, what’s this…thing?”

He runs his hands over the glass, feeling the etches on its surface and tracing vague shapes with his fingertips.

“Where did you get this…metal? No, wait…” he taps his knuckle against it, “Glass. It’s like…an upside-down house, and an upside-down pers- wait!”

He grabs the glass plate off of Bruno’s lap and flips it right-side-up for himself, putting it down on his own lap and tracing his fingers as if he were reading in Braille.

“You said it was me, in front of your house, walking down a…yeah! Okay! This is the road, yeah? So this little thing in the middle is me!”

He was so small in the frame, his fingers couldn’t make out a ton of detail in the face, but Makani still eagerly swiped over the picture to try to intuit any kind of information about the drawing.

“Wow, my hair feels long. Do I just keep growing it out?” He laughs a little, chin still raised in concentration to try to turn the abstract feelings in his fingers into something more tangible.

“I know like, vaguely what I look like? The last time I saw myself I was 8 years old, so I’m always guessing- it’s not as important to me as it used to be, but I do still wonder, sometimes,” he chuckles. He does allow himself a few seconds to trace the mysterious hand, fading into a blob of just smooth, unmarked glass. Of course he was curious about that, and he’d ask questions and wonder in due time, but his excitement over this revelation meant the little questions could wait.

I get to stay. I’m safe.

He was going to sorry about the details later; including that it was kind of weird to learn he was about to start living with these people he’s known for a month, whose hand was he holding and why (and trying not to be disappointed with the reality that someone was probably guiding him somewhere, Occam meet razor,) no, right now he was going to allow himself to just be happy and excited for a moment.

He didn’t understand why Bruno was so nervous before, this couldn’t have gone any better.

“I know you probably have some important stuff to tell me about this, but give me just a second to do something stupid before any bad news,” he says with a smile, trying to subtly get across to Bruno that he wasn’t mad, he liked the fortune, no one was in trouble. “Do you wanna hear something stupid about me? Then it’s serious time, I promise.”

Makani puts his fingertips back on the rendering of his face, no way of really being certain if Bruno’s magic-fortune-telling-glass-wind-sand-thingy had actually rendered him accurately. He snickers down by his chest, clearly embarrassed about whatever he was going to say, but wanting to tell nonetheless.

“What I’ve been doing with this thing, trying to like, feel what I look like, I definitely did this to your door before you answered it,” he laughs at himself, “I didn’t know it was carved! And when I realized it was you, I was trying to gather all the I formation I could in…5 seconds. I was just trying to figure out what you looked like…from a door, so probably not super close, yeah?”

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