#note that if they look bad it was because I was using my phone and couldn't make the cursor small enough
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leesolbeesol · 3 days ago
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LIGHTWEIGHT
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univeristy!au taesan x fem!reader (ft. the rest of bonedo!)
SUMMARY: Meeting Taesan at a basement party doesn't go as planned, what happens when you can't get rid of him? Do you even want to?
GENRE: fluff, slightly suggestive in one chapter, university!au (mentions of fraternities, classes, lectures, dorms, etc.) WARNINGS: Taesan gets punched, he doesn't deserve it but everything is okay | swearing | mentions of moaning but it doesn't get too crazy, reader makes fun of Taesan for it | fem!reader | heavy mentions of alcohol in the first chapter | EXCESSIVE flirting | ends with a confession!! NOTES: I have never been to a frat party. I have never participated in Greek life. I do not drink for personal reasons. I have never dated Han Dongmin (unfortunately). In other words, this is likely very unrealistic because my information comes from speculation, reddit threads, and other fanfics on tumblr dot com. This was so fun to write WC: 16.2k, divided into 6 "chapters" of varying length
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RIDE OR DIE
You shift on your twin bed and feel the crinkly sheets shifting under your weight. You glance at the egg-shaped off-white clock on your wobbly, school-provided desk. The clock hits noon, your roommate will be home any minute and you’re hoping to power through the end of this report before then. Since you chose her as your roommate freshman year (because of maybe five instagram messages), Jen’s been your best friend, your literal ride or die, but she’s not the best body-doubling partner for cranking out assignments. When she’s with someone, she needs to provide commentary on whatever's going on, which is both a blessing and a curse. It’s a curse when it comes to being someone’s study partner.
The wooden door opens in an instant, and Jen’s frame appears in the doorway, flanked by about three bags. “Oh, dear roommate!” She greets you in song. She lets the bags fall from her arms with a thunk on the floor, and a couple papers scatter on the floor out of one of many of her partially-zipped backpacks. She marches towards you, waving her phone in your face.  “Look at this! One of our sisters invited us to a party Sigma Chi’s is throwing this evening!” She says excitedly before steadying her gaze on you. You back up as a carefully manicured finger stretches out towards your face. “We need to go.” She always refers to her sorority sisters as your (plural) sisters, which you think is sweet. It’s her way of including you. You figure that, at some point, she decided ‘my sisters this, my sisters that’ got a little bit exclusionary.
“No.” You answer her and turn back to your computer, entering the link for a hopefully-penultimate citation. This is the one thing you’re maybe not so “ride-or-die” about with Jen. You like parties, sure, but you aren't going to give up a good night’s sleep (without midterms, and all) so easily.
“What do you mean? It’s going to be so much fun!” She whines. “We just finished our midterms, we need to celebrate! What could you be even working on anyway?”
“There’s a presentation after midterms for some fucking reason, I don’t know. Plus, it's a totally bad idea to bring me. Nothing good happens at frat parties.” You tell her, pointedly. You do this dance with her semi-frequently: she invites you, you say no, she asks why, you say why, she asks again, you (sometimes) give in. You’ve got this waltz down to a science.
“Can you finish it later? Come on, please? You skipped out on the last three.” She looks at you with pleading eyes, ignoring your advice. You wonder if this was how she got everyone to do her bidding; pouting at them with her big brown eyes. You eye her suspiciously. It was true: you had denied her invitation to the last three events and probably the last three hosted by Sigma… what was it? Sigma Key? Whatever. You don’t particularly like most frat boys. In your experience, they tend to be on the annoying side… the very annoying side. The avoid-at-all-costs side.
You look at her as a smile grows on your face, “Will you do my laundry for a week when we get back from break?” At this point, you were considering going anyway, but you were going to try and milk it.
“And I’ll take out the trash.” She smiles back. Now… maybe hanging out in a dingy basement flanked by drunk college kids doesn’t sound that bad, right?
“Promise?”
She raises her hand as if to be sworn in to lawyerhood—or whatever they call it. “I, your loving, adoring roommate, solemnly swear to do your laundry and take out the trash for two weeks when we get back from break.” You suppress a laugh.
“What time is the party?” Satisfied, you surrender, albeit happily. She does manual labor for a couple weeks and you only have to go with her for a couple hours? Sounds like a dream.
“11pm.”
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BUDDING ALCOHOLIC
The faint taste of tequila on your lips is your only reminder of your promise not to get the fuck out of dodge. If you hadn’t pregamed this party, you would have been regretting coming right about now, even if it means two weeks worth of chores being eliminated from your future. The music is noise-complaint worthy and not that good, even as far as frat music tends to go. Your best guess for timing is that it’s about midnight, and a couple of your peers are already drunk by the looks of it, making out by the window and stumbling on the grass out front. It already smells like vomit as you walk through the front door. To be fair, you’ve never been to a frat house in the daytime, so maybe the smell of vomit is just a permanent feature.
“You’re the best! Thanks for coming!” She swings an arm around you, at least a little tipsy. You shift in your Jen-approved outfit: a (very) tight black tank top, light-wash jeans, and a pair of Jen-borrowed, frat-designated, almost-destroyed sneakers. You’ve gathered from your brief excursions into the world of Greek life that this is the frat uniform.
“Hey, Jen-fer!” A guy, clearly a brother, comes up to the two of you with a cheeky smile on his face. It seems like every time someone greets Jen, she has a new nickname. Or maybe he’s just drunk and slurring his words. The guy looks like “people call me Chad but you can call me tonight” personified in his khaki shorts and impressively only slightly wrinkled t-shirt, sporting your school’s mascot with ‘VARSITY BASEBALL’ across it in loud, chunky lettering. “Who’s this?” He inquires as a girl swings her arm around his neck. The smile never leaves his face as he leans down to peck her. You watch as the girl and Jen have some sort of telepathic conversation by exchanging big smiles and little waves — she’s a sister, maybe? You really only know the girls that Jen’s closest to: Madelin (spelled like mandolin), Avery (who you thought was a boy for a couple months because you only know one other Avery, a boy), Elliann (whose name you remember how to spell only because you wrote Ellyanne once and you got a talking-to), and Gene (whose contact you have saved as the jeans emoji).
“Ugh, Jay! She’s my roommate, I told you about her.” You smile weakly as she points her attention towards you, “this is Jay. You remember Jay, right? From Econ?”
“Yeah… from Econ.” You mumble something unconvincing because you very much do not remember Jay from Econ. There are about a million Jay’s at this school. There’s Jason’s and James’s and Jongseong’s and Joshua’s and Julian’s who all go by Jay. Hell, there’s even a Jachariah (pronounced exactly like Zachariah but substitute the Z) who goes by Jay in your English Comp class. You think it would make sense to go by Jack (Like Zack) because there are less Jack’s, somehow, but whatever. When you return from zoning out, Jen starts talking at you. Some people are touchy drunks, some people are sad drunks, but Jen is a very, very talkative drunk. To be honest, she’s a talkative sober too.
She asks you to choose between the two drinks in her outstretched hands, naming both, though you can’t identify the taste or ingredients either, even with the name provided. Both looked like water.
Fuck it, what’s the difference? “Um, that one.” You say, pointing to the red cup in her right hand.
“Great! Are you okay on your own? I’m going to talk to Ellen!” She smiles big. Who’s Ellen? You have no idea. “Oh, hey! Meet my friend —hic! This is Tay!” She waves to someone behind you, and beckons them over with a finger. Great, now you have a Tae to keep track of.  Her goodbye is sonorous, “Bye bye!” 
“Bye, Jen-fer.” You tease her with the drawling nickname, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she waltzes off. You break into a slow smile as you see her leave. If you could remember what feeling sober is like, you would know by the drowsiness alone you’re a little more than tipsy. If Jen is a talkative drunk, you’re a sleepy drunk. You take a big swig of the red cup and it burns as it goes down, making you cough instinctively to get rid of the sensation. After taking a moment to compose, you shotgun the whole cup. Aside from the burning, you’re left with the distinctive aftertaste of artificial sweeteners sticking to your throat. 
You back up a little, and bump right into a wall. You curse, thinking you probably looked stupid doing that… that is, before you nearly jump out of your skin when the wall puts a hand on your shoulder. Sufficiently scared, you jump right back to where you started like a tennis ball. 
In your inebriation, you're pretty sure it might be the worst mistake of your life to look at the wall when you land eyes on the definitely-not-plaster you bumped into. 
You realize that she was saying Tae, not Tay. Tae, though you know him as Taesan, is the name of a—kinda emo—guy in your World Literature class who you decided was cute one time when zoning out in a lecture and have been a little shy around ever since. Why is he here? A frat does not seem like his scene. Your drunk self agrees with your sober self on the former issue, however. He is cute—really cute. His hair is straight and black and his bangs fall just above his eyebrows. You were definitely catastrophizing, because bumping into Taesan is maybe the best thing you could have hoped for at this Greek-whatever party.
“Oh… it’s Taesan!” It doesn’t even cross your mind to suppress the giant grin that spreads across your face as you say his name as you sway. “Can I call you that instead of Tae? Too many ay’s around, I think.” You mumble, feeling as cloudy as ever.
He shrugs, “Sure, I mean, I call you by your full name, usually.” 
Mostly ignoring him, you continue, focusing on the way the edges of his lips curl like he’s suppressing a smile. Squinting at him, you monologue. “You’re cute. But you’re bad at…” You squint harder, circling your finger in front of his face as if to cast a spell. He looks a little confused with his straight eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t look scared—yet. If you were in your right mind, you would have been amazed and totally terrified that you hadn’t scared him off with the wiggly finger. Maybe the slipped compliment at the beginning helped build some rapport? “You’re bad at… analysis.” You decide on pinpointing a weakness of his. Now, his analysis is actually pretty good. Sure, he's not going to win any awards with it, but who is in an undergraduate World Literature class taught by a less-than-enthusiastic professor nearing retirement? The alcoholic fog is just a little much, anyway. Maybe you’re more of a lightweight than you care to admit. 
“I think my analysis is pretty good, actually.” He frowns, but doesn’t seem offended in the slightest. He’s always quiet in lecture, you’re surprised he hasn’t made a quick excuse to get away yet.
You part your lips as you squint harder and point up at his face again, grasping for words that don’t come all that easy to you. “You… should kiss me.” As the words fall out of your mouth, he seems to look around a little bit in surprise. To your luck, he still doesn’t run screaming.
It’s his turn to point a finger at himself and his cool, bad-boy act slips, “kiss—kiss me?” He stutters, going wide-eyed and glancing around like this is a big reality TV-style prank and there are cameramen waiting in the shadows of this sticky, stinky basement, itching to catch him off guard. Perhaps you’re subconsciously practicing rejection therapy. 
“Yeah… you should analyze kissing me.” You attempt a smile as you try to keep your eyes open. The music is pounding in your ears as you stare into the gap between him and the wall to his left.
Still dumbfounded, he tries to find words, now staring at you staring off into space, “well, uh… you… that would be cool, but… I don’t… I don’t think you actually want to kiss me. You smell like tequila.” The alcohol is definitely taking its toll on you, evidenced by the way you lean forward and slump onto the boy in front of you, closing your eyes. His words don’t even go in one ear and out the other, they go over your head entirely. You could feel his body heat even through his thick navy tee. You hear his heartbeat and—you’re no medical student—it’s loud. With your eyes closed, you hear the DJ switch the song to something with less bass and you feel a warm hand come to your shoulder blade, patting it awkwardly. You hear an attempt at words coming from his vocal chords, but you hear nothing identifiable as human language. Just a few um’s and maybe an uh.
“Hey, Tae!” You hear Jen approach behind you, calling out to the boy who you’ve designated as your new mattress. You open your eyes for a second, and you’re kindly greeted with a view of his chest. Slowly analyzing your field of vision (which includes a fuzzy wall and his shirt), you blink once, twice, and then, the third time you close them, they stay closed. As fast as that, you’re gone: disappeared, asleep.
Before you can open your eyes again, you’re assaulted by a pounding headache. You haven’t felt a headache like this since the first time you got drunk with Jen. You’d assumed you’d learned your lesson. This time, it’s not a good thing that you exceeded your own expectations.
You open your eyes and see a rather unwelcome sight of Jen who has her hands on your shoulders, shaking you. It’s certainly not helping your headache. As you come to consciousness, you become aware of the damp, suffocating sweat that clings to your body and the aching that you feel in each and every of your muscles and joints. You can’t even lift a finger.
“Hey. Wake up! Don’t worry, you’re not dying. It’s just a hangover.” She consoles you, but she doesn’t stop pushing you, however. “You drank way too much.” She laughs, drawing out her words and turning her head to the side as her hair falls in front of her face.
You muster your words, “what?” Your voice is grainy and low. You feel like pure, unadulterated hell. The pounding in your head doesn’t stop, it just migrates from one side to the other. Back to left to front to right and back again like a cue ball bouncing around the table.
“You… are… hung… over.” She says like she's trying to teach a baby to say mama. You groan and roll over, freeing yourself from her manicured hands and burying your head in your sheets. As you roll over, you feel the familiar and deeply uncomfortable scratch of the seam of your jeans. You were still wearing the clothes you wore to the party, hooray! “And,” she continues, “you’re going to tell me why Han Taesan is at our door.” Her voice sounds half like she’s scolding you and half like she’s waiting for you to spill. Processing this information, you scrunch your eyes and groan again.
“He’s not.” You deny with a murmur despite the knocking that you hear on the door. The person at the door, reportedly Taesan, knocks one, two, three times.
“He is. He wants to know how you are… tell me what happened between you two!” She urges.
“You’re lying. He is not at the door.” Maybe if you say it enough he’ll go away. Manifesting, you know? You want to know nothing about why he’s here. The party last night was a blur. You remember drinking, seeing a couple familiar faces, bumping into Taesan and then it’s dark and you wake up in your bed with Jen shaking you.
“He is.” She says solemnly. She cocks her head and continues in a more sympathetic tone, “do you want me to tell him to go away?” She asks.
“Yes.” Regardless of whether you want to see him, specifically, you don’t want to see anyone at all. You’re still in your clothes from last night, your whole body hurts, you feel like total crap, and you doubt you showered last night. You do not want to see Han Taesan, and that’s final.
“Yes, ma’am.” She says and jumps off the tall bed. Through half-lidded eyes, you see her crack the door and exchange words with the visitor. You confirm it’s Taesan when his stupid face appears in the crack. Almost involuntarily you close your eyes. As the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind. Even with a foggy mind and a throbbing headache, you know nothing good can come out of talking to him, or even seeing him, when you’re so wildly hungover. You feel like a ghost haunting your body. You hear the door shut, and you open your eyes to see Jen shimmying over to you with her eyebrows raised and a disbelieving smile across her face. You close your eyes again, you do not want to see or hear what she has to offer unless it’s an ibuprofen.
“I can’t believe he came to check up on you! Isn’t that sweet? I have no idea what was happening with you two before I got there, but he was so cute about you. He looked so nervous! It’s not like him at all.” You can practically hear her dancing around in excitement. “Your love life never goes anywhere, this is so exciting!” You grumble in protest at her jab at you. She’s been begging to let her set you up with someone, but the only people she knows are frat bros and sorority girls, neither of which are your type, usually. Is Taesan part of a frat? Doesn’t seem like him.
“Jen… advil… please.” You reach out for her with a weak hand.
“You’re not dying.” She assures you, but dutifully returns to your bedside with two little red pills, a bottle of water, and a bag of goldfish. This is how Jen is, you’ve learned; poking fun at you while still looking out for you. “Come on, take them.” She says, holding out the pills. “You’re lucky it’s a Saturday. For a hangover, you need water, food, and sleep.” She recites. Maybe hangover care is a required class for members of the sorority known for the most functions.
“Thanks…” You mutter, bringing a weak hand to your still pounding forehead. “What happened?” You ask. It might help to know what you’re up against in terms of embarrassment.
“Before I got there? No idea. After I got there? Well, you were passed out,” she laughs, “I had no idea you could fall asleep that fast. He looked crazy confused, having you slung over him and all, you know? Anyway, he was dry sober, he just got there. I had the car, obviously, and so he offered to give you a ride back to the dorm in my car. Now, I went with you, of course. For one, I’m always going to come with you when you’re asleep and being taken care of by some man. Two, there’s no way I’m letting any man drive my car without serious supervision.” Now, this elicits a stifled laugh from you, after which you immediately wince in pain. Laughing isn’t good medicine for hangovers, apparently. “Anyway, he picked you up bridal-style, it was really cute, and brought you to our car, and then drove both of us home. I put you to bed, and he left after.” She states, "I wiped your drool, don’t worry.” She nudges you with an elbow.
“Ugh, Jen. Don’t joke with me right now.”
“No, seriously, you did drool. It’s one of, like, five reasons I’m never going to put you in a room with alcohol ever again.”
“I told you it was a bad idea to bring me.” You lament. You don’t like the idea of drooling in the vicinity of Taesan. And he carried you to the car? Seriously, not a high point for your ego. It’s not even about your germinal maybe-crush on him. “Give me some goldfish.”
“You always say that it’s a bad idea, but okay.” She hands you a handful and you shove it into your mouth. It doesn’t mix well with the morning-breath taste and somehow lingering tinge of alcohol. Your head is pounding and if the headache doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment might.
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THE ILLUSION
Dr. Woo claps his hands together as the final undergrad enters the lecture hall. The long tables that act as desks proceed away from the central board in stairs. 
“Yeah. Big project coming up, right?” He says with a hint of fake enthusiasm. “It’s going to be a group project, if two people count as a group. Hooray.” A resounding groan emanates from the student body. Dr. Woo is visually unphased by this. “Despite the fact that choice is an illusion, you can pick your own partners. This is college. I don’t care.” He waves a hand dismissing any rebuttal, not that any was coming. Regardless of any other feelings about Dr. Woo, everyone knows he’s a great (read: easy) grader. “Anyway, go crazy. You all know the topic.”
Your heart drops as the room immediately erupts in chattering. Your circle was small at best, and you knew no one in World Lit except for… oh no. You feel a tap on your shoulder. Almost in slow motion, you turn around and see Taesan’s damned handsome face.
“Hey,” he says, very, very casually, “do you want to be my partner?” Oh, what the fuck.
“Um…” You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not that you don’t want to be partners with him, really. It’s just that you don’t want to recoil in embarrassment every time you work on a project worth 20% of your grade. 
He cocks his head to the side, “so?” You’re pretty sure his face could bring world peace. Have him try to convince a warlord to stop fighting by flashing a smile and they’d be a pacifist in under ten minutes.
You sigh, “yeah. Sure.” You try to smile, it doesn’t work that well. Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? Do it for the plot, right? Choosing to partner with him is definitely for the plot. You’re not entirely convinced that he’s pure in his intentions to partner with you; maybe this is part of a bigger frat boy scheme.
“My analysis is actually good, I swear.” He says as he pulls back the chair next to you to sit down. Is that a reference? To what? You are thoroughly confused, clearly remembering very little of that fateful night. He tucks his hands behind his head and leans back.
“What?” You laugh a little, if only out of awkwardness. 
He presses his lips together and they contort as if a laugh is threatening him. “Nevermind. It’s nothing, really.” He is utterly unconvincing when he lies. Maybe he couldn’t convince the warlord.
“Taesan, what?” Your arms cross as you lean back in your chair. Around you, there’s a buzz of new partnerships and dates being set to meet. You two, however, are alone in your own world. In your periphery, Dr. Woo is staring you down. You’re pretty sure he can sense when work isn’t getting done. You can’t tell if he’s just a salty old man or a teenager with a gossip itch trapped in an old professor’s body.
Taesan notices, “Dr. Woo is creeping me out. I’ll tell you in the hall.” He picks up one of your pens and hands it to you in a non subtle suggestion for you to pack up. 
You sling your backpack over one shoulder (despite how you’re told it’s bad for your back) and lead Taesan out of the lecture hall.
“So, are you partners with me just to make fun of me?” You probe him as he catches up to you. “I’m taking you to my dorm, by the way. We can get started on the project.” There’s a silent addition of ‘even if you’re being an asshole, I chose to be stuck with you for some reason’ when you give him a purposeful glance. Maybe Dr. Woo is right. Maybe choice is an illusion. He looks completely lost.
“No, no. It’s not like that, really. I didn't mean to make you feel bad, I just thought it was funny.” He turns around and shakes his head to punctuate his point. 
“Is it better if I don’t know what happened at the party?” One eyebrow raises and you stare him down with some weird level of confidence. Maybe knowing that he’s seen you drooling, drunk, and looking crazy makes you feel like you don’t have much else to lose.
“No, nothing bad happened. You were just drunk. It happens to the best of us.” He shrugs as you enter onto the green.
“Don’t drag this out, let me bite the bullet if I want to.”
He laughs a little, “alright. In summary, you backed into me, told me I was cute, told me my analysis sucks,” so that’s what that was about, “and told me I should kiss you and I told you that you were too drunk,” oh, what the fuck, “and then you fell asleep on me and Jennifer came over. I carried you to the car and drove both you and her home because she had a couple drinks and I had none. I checked up on you because I knew you were going to have one hell of a hangover.” Great, you’re stuck with this fucker you borderline harassed while blackout drunk.
“You were right. It was one hell of a hangover.” You grumble, looking at the floor to avoid any eye contact with him.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re not the first person to tell me I’m cute when they’re drunk.” He teases and you roll your eyes. In your heart, though, this is deeply, deeply embarrassing. The thought of what happened stings like a blade in your heart and in your mind. It’s not as bad as the hangover, but it’s pretty damn bad.
“Yeah, right. I was drunk, okay?” Your words are biting. “Why are you partners with me, then? I wasn’t that great the one time you met me.” Maybe you don’t want to know the answer, but the words are already out of your mouth. You scuff your heels as you walk, still avoiding contact with the one and only Han Taesan.
“You’re cute and you’re smart.” He shrugs and you break your rule of avoiding his eyes because now you’re staring at him in disbelief. “Plus, you’re great at keeping me humble.” He meets your eyes now and you’re immediately regretting thinking anything about the previous compliment meant anything at all.
“If you keep being a jerk, I’m going to keep you humble as hell.” You grumble.
“Sorry,” he frowns mildly, “the first part holds more weight.” And now, you’ve flipped. It does mean something… maybe. You face forward again to hide a smile that he totally catches anyways. You’ve made great time alongside Taesan, you’re almost to your dorm.
“Thanks?”
“My pleasure.” He postures. “Why were you there in the first place? No offense, but you don’t strike me as an alcoholic. An alcoholic can handle being drunk better than that.” It’s sort of a compliment, you guess.
“None taken, I don’t believe that being an alcoholic is in the cards for me.” You snort. “Jen dragged me there. I told her it was a bad idea, but she convinced me to go anyway by bribing me with doing my least favorite chores for a week or two.” You explain, crossing your arms and he laughs. “No offense, you don’t seem like you’re part of the frat nor do you seem like an alcoholic. So, what were you doing there?” You redirect. It’s true: he doesn’t seem like a brother nor a drinker.
“I lost a bet. Riwoo bet me that I couldn’t fit fifteen grapes in my mouth and I wanted to prove him wrong because, well, he’s Riwoo, but I lost the bet.” A laugh bubbles up from your chest imagining the situation. Not only did he try, but he tried and failed. “My punishment was either to go to a frat or to do mine and six of my roommates’ laundry for a semester. I picked the frat, obviously. I’ve lived with those guys for long enough to know that all of them stink like hell.” He adds, grimacing. “Plus, ‘doing laundry’ meant changing the sheets and picking up laundry, too.” He looks at you, pointedly.
“You’re lying, no way.” You laugh, partly with him and partly at him.
“You clearly haven’t met my roommates, this way?” His finger points to the building that you’re rooming in with Jen. You pray she’s not there or you’re going to be met with a litany of highly invasive questions.
You nod at his direction, “yeah, there are like seven thousand people here and I can recognize about thirty faces max. That’s like nothing-percent.”
“Good for me, then. I don’t think I’d be the first person you’d be calling cute if they were there with me.” The tone of his voice is light, but in his eyes you see that he fears it’s the truth. Huh, Taesan is just like the rest of us, who’da thunk?
“Where did your cool guy act go?” You tease, leading him up the stairs to your dorm, distinguished by the handmade felt pennants, spelling your’s and Jen’s names. “Drunk me wasn’t lying when she said you were cute, seriously.” You assure him. “Now, I just have to learn if your analysis is as bad as she said it was.” You push open the door with your back, mostly so you don’t have to face him after calling him cute to his face. Last week, you would have run away on the spot; Taesan has you acting like a bad ATM—all out of order.
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ENTOURAGE
You hated to admit it, his analysis was great. By spending hours writing and rewriting scripts to memorize for your oral presentation, you watched Taesan connect dots you didn't even know were there and recall obscure details from lectures that happened to be integral to the coherence of your project. You can practically see the cogs turn in his head, the way he bites the inside of his lip when he’s really focused, the way his face lights up when he gets an idea, the way he slides his thin wire glasses up his straight nose with a knuckle when they slip down because he furrowed his eyebrows too much.
This is how you find yourself at four on a Wednesday afternoon, weeks after your first incidental meeting with him: admiring his work on your dorm floor.
“Damn, Taesan.” You still kept to calling him his full name instead of Tae, you felt like it meant something. “This is amazing, I would have never thought to connect those passages, we read that first book ages ago!” You shook your head, his analysis was that good. Maybe not award-winning, but definitely worth an A, even in your harshest grader’s class. He smirks as he laughs a little, taking off his glasses and stretching his hands up, grasping at nothing while trying to stretch his back. You two had been sitting for hours on the hard floor of your dorm room; you told him to sit on your chair, but he refused, demanding he sit next to you so that he can ‘see what you’re writing’ better.
“You brought up At the Bottom of the River in the first place.” He deflects your praise. You’ll gladly take the compliment even if you had no part in his discovery. As you shrug his deflection off, you feel his arm come down around your shoulder and you jump a little, not expecting the touch. Of course, his hand feels nice where it rests, but you’re still not quite used to the way Taesan evidently shows affection. The first time he pulled the classic ‘I’m-just-stretching-actually-I’m-putting-my-arm-around-you’ move, you didn’t expect it in the slightest. You had finished a part you were putting off and he moved to stretch, suddenly putting his arm around you and shaking you while cheering you on about your victory. The laugh you let out when that happened was something entirely unprecedented for you, you laughed until your stomach hurt and your eyes watered, and you couldn’t even pinpoint why.
“Yeah, sure.” You look at him, exaggerating your skepticism with your one raised eyebrow, his arm still around you.
“When’s Jen getting back? Do we have time to mess around or should I go before she starts pestering you?” He asks, half-joking as he tilts his head towards yours. Jen had taken a liking to him, if not too much of a liking to him… for you. Whenever you and Taesan were together and Jen spotted you, she made the least subtle comments possible telling you to get together, wiggling her eyebrows and full of exaggerated winks. It wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Hey, look at the position you two are in right now: foreheads so close they’re almost touching, alone in your dorm, with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. Still, you’ve gathered that’s just kind of how Taesan is with his friends. From what you’ve heard, he’s like that with everyone. It’s not unique to you.
“She said she’d be back at five, so…” you check the egg clock, “like, thirty minutes?” 
“Nice.” He purses his lips. “Are you nervous for the presentation? It’s tomorrow, you know?” Taesan has his sensitive moments, for sure. He sounds—he is—genuinely concerned about how you’re feeling about it, you can hear it in his voice. He’s not great at hiding things like that. Even when he’s making fun of you, it’s never malicious.
“I’m fine. I’m nervous, but it is a big presentation, after all. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” You tell him, flexing an arm to prove your point, though the action is inhibited by his arm still around you.
“Never doubted you for a second, Miss Independent. You can still be nervous though, it’s okay to be nervous.” 
“Are you nervous? You sound like you’re projecting.”
He exhales, “yeah, I’m nervous as hell.” He laughs a little after the admission, but it’s not a humorous one.
“Hey, text me if you get nervous before, right? Doesn’t help to keep it to yourself. And, no offense, but I think I’ll be better at commiserating with you than your roommates, however lovely they are.” 
He exhales. “Yeah, thanks.” He’s being surprisingly soft, and you can’t help but seize the opportunity to connect a little with the sensitive side of Taesan instead of the cool, nonchalant Taesan. From what you’ve gathered, his Nirvana-decorated headphones, monochrome black clothes, and his sullen resting face makes him less approachable to your peers.
“You’ll be fine. As you said to me when we were partnered, you’re cute and you’re smart. You’ve got it.” You tell him, leaning your head onto his shoulder. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Can you feel someone’s heartbeat through their shoulder? Probably not, but the human body is full of surprises. One surprise is how hard you can see his pulse through his carotid artery, pulsing in his neck. Good God, this boy is going to get high blood pressure if his heart is always going a million miles an hour. “Tell me about writing music. I’m tired.” You tell him, closing your eyes. 
You’re brought back to what you were told about the first time you met him. This time, however, you falling asleep on him isn’t so much of a surprise. Your knowledge of composition contrasts Taesan’s, you know little more than the basics. Asking him to talk about it is an easy route to a one-sided conversation where you get to listen to him talk, which is always a good time. He gets so animated, it’s hilarious and adorable.
“Your wish is my command.” He laughs, and you feel the vibration against your head and he starts on a critically tangential spiel. 
Before you can get too comfortable leaning on Taesan listening to him talk about rhyme schemes, the door swings open. Jen walks in after opening the door with her signature slam. Why you haven’t gotten any complaints yet, you have no idea.
“Oh… my God.” You can practically hear her freeze in the doorway. Out of sight, out of mind, so you keep your eyes closed.
“Jen, no one’s dying.” You assure her, suddenly deeply uncomfortable, shifting on the floor.
“You’re right, no one’s dying. My heart is so happy, look at you!” She almost giggles.
“Is this a good time for me to go?” Taesan starts to ask the pivotal question that’s going to determine exactly how embarrassed you are going to be this afternoon.
“Yes—” “No—” You and Jen say in unison. You open your eyes just to glare at her, seeing her standing over you.
“No… I’m going to get to know my best friend’s… group project partner.” She winks very not-subtly at you. Taesan looks at you just as you look at him, and he shrugs. 
“The more the merrier, right?” He asks. The rhetorical question becomes immediately very literal as Jen continues.
“Oooh… I like the way he thinks, girl.” She says, pointing to you. “Taesan, invite your roommates over, too. We can have a party!” She’s almost clapping with how excited she is, rolling back on her heels.
Taesan lights up, “oh hell yeah! I’ll see who’s available.” Oh, Taesan. Always the extrovert.
You groan, but it’s futile to try and stop the scheming. How did this get so bad so fast? “No drinking.” You instruct them.
“Half of them can’t even drink legally yet, plus, do you seriously think I’m going to drink the night before our presentation? No way.” He assures you, and you groan again in hesitant acceptance.
“I’m never letting you drink again. Don’t worry about that.” She promises you quietly before switching back to hyped-up Jen mode. “Oh, this is so exciting! When can they get here?” She’s sitting cross-legged in front of you two now, rifling through contacts on her phone in its sparkly case.
“Well,” Taesan pauses, “If they’d answer my texts—” ding! Almost like he scripted it, he gets a notification. “And there we go. Turns out they’re just hanging out at our place, all of them are free. Do you want them here now?”
“Hell yeah, I do! We should watch a movie… what movie should we watch? Don’t tell me they like horror…” She pushes her eyebrows together in what sounds half like a threat and half like a plea.
“Yeah, not that I know of.”
“We should watch 10 Things I Hate About You.” You suggest.
And that’s how you got to be sitting in a circle on your room’s floor with Taesan, Jen, and every single one of Taesan’s five roommates. You’d only briefly met a couple of them in passing before. Right now, you’re even managing to not cut each others’ throats out while playing UNO! What an achievement!
“And the color is… wait for it!” Taesan’s roommate with the light brown, almost orange hair and rounder, blueish-green black glasses says, leaning around to intimidate the others with a giant smile on his face. Everyone erupts in laughter at him. You remember that this is Riwoo, the one who dared Taesan to stuff 15 grapes in his mouth in the first place. “Blue!” He announces.
Your last card was red. Damn it.
Jaehyun immediately slumps over, Sungho frowns, Leehan stares at the card deck and Woonhak stares, terrified, at Jen when she jumps up, screaming “Uno!” as she slams her blue five on the pile. Shouts resound from the boys around you. Taesan is laughing. 
As the room erupts around you, Taesan nudges you with his shoulder, showing you his card. His last color was red, too. “We’re both winners in my heart.” He tells you with a wink. What a sap. You push his face away with a hand, stifling a laugh as you feel a heat come to your cheeks. Your light push makes him dip away from you like the inflatable tube men outside gas stations.
“You’re so corny.” You tell him as you take in the scene unfolding around you. Inviting Taesan’s friends over was a great idea. Jen is yelling at Jaehyun, Jaehyun looks terrified. Woonhak and Sungho are yelling at Riwoo, Riwoo is laughing at them. Leehan is laughing at Riwoo laughing at Woonhak and Sungho.
Taesan catches you smiling at the camaraderie, “if people yelling at each other was all it took to make you smile, I’d have invited them over way earlier.”
“Taesan,” you laugh, “I don’t like schadenfreude. It’s nice to see Jen let loose sometimes. I don’t think she gets to argue with anyone very often.”
“If she wants anyone to argue with, I’m available.” He spreads his arms to punctuate his point. At this, you laugh even harder. As you look around again, you see everyone laughing and collapsing on the floor, except for Jen, who’s pretending to fume and sulk on her bed. You know her well enough to catch the smile that pulls at her lips.
“It’s like watching kids at the park.” You motion towards Taesan’s friends, who’ve clearly become very comfortable around you and Jen.
“This weird authenticity is kind of their whole M.O.” He smiles, very clearly adoring their antics. “Imagine having to do their laundry though. I’m glad I chose to go to the party instead.” He pretends to shiver which draws out a laugh from you.
“Yeah, if you had chosen to do their laundry you also wouldn’t have been able to see me drool on you when you carried me to the car.” You snort. You’ve made peace with your drunken night. After all, you’ve already lost your dignity and he’s still hanging around.
“It was so cute though!” He contests and you roll your eyes at him. You have sworn up and down that he doesn’t like you like… that. Even if he did like you, you’re pretty sure no one likes anyone else enough that their drool is cute. Therefore, Jen’s points are null. Simple as that.
“I’m just soooo adorable,” you roll your eyes, “you don’t have to rub it in, dude.” you smile incredulously at him, throwing one of your legs over the other, just short of taking out Riwoo’s leg.
“I’m not joking!” His tone is defensive in ultimate Taesan fashion.
“Yeah, sure.” You tell him as Jen reaches out to you and pulls you to your feet, leaving Taesan alone on the floor.
Jen whispers to you, “so, when’s the wedding?” You roll your eyes.
“Shut up, you always do this.” You groan. “Do you get some sadistic joy from seeing me uncomfortable?” You cross your arms, almost elbowing Woonhak. This room is not big enough for eight people to fit in comfortably.
“Can I be the maid of honor?” She ignores your complaints and you let out an exaggerated groan in response.
“Don’t make me regret not making him go home.”
“Fine, fine.” She looks to be backing down. That is until she smirks, meeting your eyes again. “I’m not the only one who sees something!” She says cheerily before bouncing off as far as one can, which is about a foot. She looks back at you and winks before (lightly) punching Woonhak in the back to get his attention. She’s immediately drawn into some debate of some sort or another. Earlier, Leehan had assigned you both fish and Jen had been assigned a ‘Cherry Barb’ and she immediately took issue with the name for some reason or other. It was very cathartic for Taesan to watch someone contest Leehan’s fish opinions. He was totally dumbstruck; it was hilarious. Then, of course, you got an informational speech from Leehan which quelled Jens’ argument. Now, she’s a Cherry Barb.
Maybe this is how it should be, friends arguing with friends and laughing about it after, cramped in a too small room. When you meet Taesan’s eyes, you see the sparkle in them tell you he thinks so too. Maybe your friends will become the opposite of children of divorce, gaining family instead of it being separated. Is that just children of marriage? Ugh, Jen’s infected you.
“So, when’s the wedding?” Taesan wiggles his eyebrows, clearly having heard the conversation. You roll your eyes.
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BREAKING CODE
Jen is passed out on her bed on the opposite side of the room. The egg clock greets you with the time in blaring white: 11:32 pm. Head in your hands, you groan. No amount of free-on-youtube reality TV was going to calm your nerves. None of your favorite episodes are helping, even the one you have open on your computer. 
After the boys had left, you guaranteed yourself that everything would be fine. Your presentation would go great, no questions asked. Now, sitting in your room practically alone, you feel way less optimistic. 
Thoughts of Taesan cross your mind and you furrow your eyebrows, trying to shoo them. You wonder if he’s awake right now, if he’s anxious like you. You try to calm yourself by thinking that it could be worse, the presentation could be 30% of your grade. Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t help. Your phone, thrown aside earlier and laying on the bed, is practically inviting you to make a bad decision with its open, empty screen.
You stare out the window, contemplating whether or not to take the risk and text him. Your window opens up to a view of the door to enter your dorm building, and you can see the freshly fallen snow settling around it. The snow covers the creaky benches and even the overhang above the door. It’s while you're doing this contemplating that, to your fortune or maybe misfortune, the risk decides to take you with a ding from your phone.
On your home screen, you see a contact pop up and you freeze. You read the name again, it still says MOUNTAIN. Taesan put that as his contact name.
You look again, you weren’t hallucinating. It’s Taesan texting you. Is he nervous? Did he seriously take you up on your offer? You were simultaneously hoping that he would text you while hoping that he would never, ever even think to.
You steel yourself and open your phone, that’s when you get your answer.
[MOUNTAIN]: are you up [MOUNTAIN]: i’m nervous are you
You did tell him to text you if he was nervous. That offer, however, happened when you were feeling a little bolder. You are not feeling especially bold right now.
[you]: i might be [MOUNTAIN]: meet me lets go to the convenience store [MOUNTAIN]: chills me out before midterms usually and this is like the same thing
You didn’t need to even try to make a bad decision, the bad decision came to you, enticing you with the lure of a convenience store and a chance to escape your stuffy dorm.
Resting your phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling like a corpse with the way your hands are positioned, you weigh your options. Mentally, you make a list.
PROs:
You see Taesan
You get a snack probably
CONs:
You see Taesan
It’s been established that crazy shit goes down when you see Taesan past like nine pm—it’s like your friendship is a vampire but night-intolerant instead of day-intolerant
The last time you made a for the plot decision it didn’t turn out that bad. Yeah, partnering with Taesan could have sucked, but it didn’t. Going to the party was a kind of yolo-esque decision, too, and that was kind of a blessing in disguise. You rationalize your preference for meeting him with the fact that you know him better now. He’s not a rando and, as far as you know, he’s not evil.
You only live once, right?
You pick your phone back up and text him before you can rethink it.
[you]: meet where? [MOUNTAIN]: outside your dorm building in 10
You squint at the screen. His place is like a twenty minute walk away and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have a car, that would be weird for him. You can’t pinpoint why, but you don’t like the idea of him owning a car, despite the fact that he’s driven Jen’s with you in it. Ugh.
[you]: okay
You are totally chill about this.
Looking over at Jen in her bed, you decide you don’t want to be interrogated about this decision yet. She will not let you hear the end of it, and that’s not going to calm your nerves. It’s kind of against customary law safety recommendations to not tell your roommate where you’re going at night, but you decide that’s not applicable here.
Taking your computer off your lap and swinging your feet over the side of your bed as quietly as possible, you assess the situation. The nice thing about totally embarrassing yourself the first time you met him is that you now don’t particularly care about how you look. You’re wearing Jen’s mother’s giant Hartford Whalers hockey team brand shirt and some irritatingly red plaid pajama pants that totally crash with the cool blues and greens of your shirt.
Tiptoeing to the square, wooden-framed mirror hung in the entrance you check how your hair looks. You pull on your oversized puffer jacket as quietly as possible from the command hook-provided coat hanger adorning off the back of the exit door. The zipper is cold in your hands as you check to make sure Jen is oblivious to your impending excursion. She is still fast asleep, evident from the way her chest slowly rises and falls and the faint snores that you hear from her. 
The door handle is freezing to the touch. You expected as much from a dorm building with as little central heating as it tends to cater, but it’s still unpleasant. The door opens with a loud creak. You stand assured that no one has successfully snuck out of any single one of these dorms because the floorboards creak and the doors practically announce over the loudspeaker when anyone opens them.
Thankfully, Jen is none the wiser as you glance back at her, she’s in the same sleeping position you last saw her in: lying on her stomach with one leg thrown up closer to her chest and an arm flung over her head. It’s completely bizarre and totally adorable of her.
You make your way through the straightforward yet somehow labyrinthine halls of your dorm building. As you approach the glass entryway, you see Taesan illuminated by the orange streetlight, leaning against the red brick of the adjacent building standing on a recently-hardened layer of snowfall. He’s layered an unzipped black puffer jacket, similar to yours, over a gray hoodie and accessorised with a hat that makes his head look round like an egg. He’s rubbing his gloved hands together to keep them warm. He sees you before you even open the door, and his face lights up when he does.
After suppressing a smile, you scold him, “I can’t believe you called me to meet you at this hour!” 
“You told me I could!” He defends. You notice how you can see his breath against the cold air. It’s colder than you thought, you push your bare hands further into your pockets.
“How did you even get here so fast? Do you secretly live in the next building, or something? Are you my tropey boy next door?” You nudge him, wiggling your eyebrows as if this was some plot straight out of a fanfiction.
“Yeah, right.”
“Come on, you’re not secretly pining for me?” You tease him, sinking deeper into the collar of your coat on account of the biting wind that hits you once you leave the sanctuary of the protected building and, though you’re not willing to admit it to yourself, because the boy next to you makes your cheeks hot.
“Yeah, I’m secretly hanging off of your every word, just waiting for the moment I can confess my undying love for you.” He rolls his eyes. Noticing your hands shoved in your pockets, he changes the subject, “are you cold? I brought some extra gloves, do you want them?” His words are surprisingly considerate considering the incessant teasing you subject him to daily.
“Yeah.” You laugh, freezing as he takes the knit black gloves out of his pocket. Taking them from him and putting them on, you adjust them carefully. They’re far too big for you, but it’s the thought that counts, right? The “thought that counts” is definitely keeping your hands warmer. As you examine your new apparel with a smile, you feel a pressure over your head. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed him taking his hat off and now he is pushing it onto your head. You jump back, “hey! You could have lice!” Your smile disappears in favor of a pout. The hat does feel nice on your ears though.
Taesan bursts out laughing, “I do not have lice, I promise.” Still laughing, he elaborates, “plus, you’re cold. Your ears were so cold they were getting red.” You glare at him as he only laughs harder. Instinctively, you throw up your hands to cover your ears
“Point me to the convenience store or I’m going back inside whether you’re nervous or not.” You grumble.
“Okay, Miss Grump. Just follow me.” He says with a stupidly charming smile and grabs your wrist before picking up the pace. To him, picking up the pace means speed-walking, but for you, it means jogging.
“Ack!” You jump at the sudden movement, “Taesan! You can’t do that!” You try to free your wrist and, when you succeed, you cross your arms, standing solid in place as he turns around.
“If you don’t come with me, I’ll yell that you think Heath Ledger is super sexy during the presentation!” He yells, running backwards. Your jaw drops open. You want to trust Taesan enough to think he wouldn’t do that, but you also know Taesan well enough that he totally would do that. It was a bad idea to watch 10 Things I Hate About You with him, Jen, and his roommates after the Uno game. You do not need your personal preferences aired out to an auditorium of your peers and Dr. Woo. Plus, the only thing you like about Heath Ledger is that he essentially serenaded Kat Stratford!
Damn it. Stuck between would and would not, you narrow your eyes and start sprinting after him before he can turn a corner.
“You’re so on, Mr. Mountain!” He turns to look behind him, seeing you gaining fast on him as you run as fast as your legs will take you towards him. It’s his turn to be surprised, and he speeds up. After all, he wasn’t going that fast in the first place. As you close the gap between the two of you, you can hear his infectious laughter that makes you press down a swelling in your chest. You do not like Taesan, you assure yourself. It’s all in good fun. It’s only good fun. Focusing on the challenge ahead, you see Taesan just ahead of you, about to turn down a sidewalk.
He’s right behind a snowbank. If you’re the sun and the snowbank is the earth, he’s the moon in a solar eclipse.
It’s impulsive, your next action, truly. Presented with the right circumstances, however, you like to take your chances. With a shout that’s more primeval than you intended it to be, you grab onto his puffer jacket and tackle him onto the earth that is the snowbank.
It’s almost like slow-motion when you, with an evil smile, keep your eyes focused on Taesan as you see the world around you slowly become more horizontal as you fall, yourself falling on his back as he falls flat on his chest.
When his front compresses the snow enough to stop his descent towards the obscured grass, you hear him let out a moan. A moment of silence passes as both of you process what just happened. You’re propped up on your hands (gloved, thanks to Taesan) and he’s lying on his back, hands thrown above him because of his attempt at stabilization during the fall. His lips are slightly parted in shock, and his eyes are wide open, staring at you. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. He totally moaned when he fell. At least you can play teasing offense on him instead of having to defend why you tackled this man that is in no way, shape, or form your boyfriend. To be fair, men whimpering is hot. It’s just that you didn’t expect the man whimpering to be Taesan. It doesn’t really fit with his image.
You hold yourself up with one hand, clutching your stomach as you double over in laughter. “Oh my gosh, this is hilarious! I’m going to tell Riwoo that you moan when you get pushed around by women. He’ll never let you hear the end of it!” Taesan looks completely scandalized. His mouth is open and he looks totally terrified, you almost feel bad for him. 
Almost.
He covers his eyes with his gloves, “don’t you dare say anything.” Tears form in your eyes as you attempt to suppress a laugh to try and spare any more of his dignity. That doesn’t extend to teasing, though. It’s simply too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“What if, during the presentation, I yell out that you moan when someone pins you down?” You theorize him, sitting down on the dry ground next to him, throwing your legs over his stomach.
Still holding his hands over his eyes, he mutters a defensive response, “it’s not like that!” Flat on his back, he looks, somehow, handsome with snow visible in and contrasting against his darker hair, and his gloves covering his reddening face in embarrassment. If you’re lucky, maybe this is how he felt watching you fall onto him when you were drunk the first time you met. It’s more adoration than disgust.
“Aw, there’s no shame in it.” You coax. He is completely and totally embarrassed, you can tell by the way his ears are bright, cherry red.
“Don’t tell anyone, okay? What do you want?” He whines, refusing to look at you even when you try to pry his hands away from his face.
“Whatever we do and wherever we go together, it’s on you. Monetarily, I mean.” You push a finger into his chest as he finally frees his eyes from his own grip, daring to look at you face on.
“You serious?” He groans, he’s still red but looks to be over the initial shock. Either from the biting wind swirling around you or because of your teasing, his cheeks are coated in a dusting of red.
“Yeah, unless you want everyone to know about your sexual preferences.” Releasing him from your pushed finger, you cross your arms and shrug innocently.
“This is blackmail. This is extortion!” He complains, covering his eyes again.
“So… yes or no?” You grab his wrists and rip them from his face, revealing his angsty stare.
“...Yes, I’ll pay. Will you let it go now?” His words are harsher and he’s sulking, glaring at you. Maybe you pushed it too far.
“Hey, I meant it when I said it’s nothing to be ashamed about.” You let go of his wrists, opting to rub his shoulder instead, in an attempt to reassure him. “Listen, I lost my dignity by falling on you and drooling when we met, and you lost your dignity just now. Let’s just say we’re even.” You smile optimistically, hoping it will psych him into believing you because what you say is the truth, even if it’s a touchy subject, apparently.
Once he’s reminded of your not-so-cute meet-cute, he seems to relax a little. “You did drool like crazy. Do I really have to pay?” He’s smiling now, thank God. He rests his hands on his chest, looking way more comfortable.
“Yup. You do.” You laugh, it’s a softer laugh than your earlier fit, though. “Convenience store?” You prompt him, offering a hand to have him get up. As your hand interlocks with his, a smile tugs at the sides of your lips and you still can’t tell if the heat in your face is from the wind chill or Taesan. “And, take your hat back, idiot. Your ears are red.” The hat traps all the heat radiating from your flushed face and it makes you almost feel sweaty.
He laughs a little before speaking, “thanks for the hat. My ears are just so cold.” He jokes. “The store is just this way.” He points to the right he was going to take when you knocked him down. He was leading you the right way, at least. “Never try to blackmail me again, I swear.” He threatens, pouting, and then shoves you, however lightly. He doesn't look very scary.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.” You retort. He glares at you, keeping eye contact as you walk closer to the glowing, welcoming arms of the convenience store in the form of its bright lights, illuminating the street from the inside, casting an eerie glow onto the otherwise dark and snow-ridden street. In response to his look, you childishly blow a strawberry at him. This hasn’t been either of your finest hours. Your antics draw out a smile from him, at least. Practically skipping along, you try to change the subject to something less personal, maybe. “What did you expect when you called me out here? You said you were nervous, after all.”
“Yeah, I did say that. I got the pre-presentation nerves, you know? ‘Thought we could talk about it.” He rubs his neck. This is definitely a less personal topic, but that’s not to say it’s impersonal.
“So, talk.” You command, avoiding eye contact mostly so you don’t laugh, replaying him falling over.
“What is there to say? I had some nerves.” He laughs, opening the silvery door to the convenience store, stepping aside to let you through.
“What a gentleman,” you muse, “how’d you learn that? Rom-coms?”
“I’m allowed to be nice, too, you know. You watch more romantic comedies than me.” He rolls his eyes.
“I do it ironically.” You drawl. “I was nervous too, to be honest,” you were not going to tell him that you were watching rom-coms trying to relax, that would be a little too much ammo for him, “Jen was fast asleep and I was just kind of… lying there.” You pick up a miscellaneous chip bag, lazily inspecting it.
“Oh, I totally get it. The only other person awake was Leehan, and he was going to trap me in fish conversation if I even so much as approached him.” You snort at this. Even from your brief interactions with Leehan this afternoon, his passion is palpable. You can just see it in his face that he’s a little bit of an uber-nerd about those particular animals. Nerd is being used affectionately, of course. His interest is admirable. “Do you want those chips?” He asks, pointing to the bag in your hand.
“Not really, I like those other ones better.” You shrug, pointing to the alternative, an equally fluorescent bag of slightly better-tasting chips. “We can tame the worries together,” you smile at him, reaching behind you to grab your preferred flavor, “the question is how.”
“Going to the convenience store is a pretty good start.” He pushes his bottom lip into the top one. As you watch this action, he suppresses a smile, suddenly. “I have an idea.” Of course he does. He says this with a growing smile on his face as he locks eyes with you. “We should have a snowball fight.” Your own smile grows as he waits for your response.
“We should.” You nod. This time, you have an idea, a bad one. “Only if you moan again.” You charge him with the scandalous comment, and he looks affronted again, and immediately reaches out a free hand to shove you.
“Don’t say that so loud!” He hissed, looking around the almost empty store to see if anyone heard him. “That stays between you and me.” You roll your eyes but you can’t hide your amusement.
“Yeah, okay.” You walk off towards the cashier across the store to buy your snacks, sticking out your tongue at him. On the way, you inspect and in turn pick up a chocolate bar and a mediocre-looking apple to buy with your chips; it’s all about balance.
Taesan comes up behind you as you place your haul on the mini conveyor belt and gives a small bow to the cashier. He sets down two bags of chips and an enoki mushroom snack that has Japanese writing on it, for which you give him a disgusted look. Perusing his other selections, you smile when you see the second chip bag, for which you change your disgusted look for one of gratitude.
“Aw, did you get those for me?” You ask, pointing to the less perfect, but still pretty good flavor.
“No, I got them for… um…” He pauses, seemingly unable to think of someone else he would get them for. It’s kind of cute, if not a little embarrassing. “I got them for you. I can be kind, remember?” Sassy man apocalypse.
“Duly noted.” You purse your lips. You look at him expectantly, going from him to his card on the back of his phone, again.
“What?” He asks, innocently. Sungho wasn’t joking when he said that he looks like a cat. As he realizes you’re deadass, he narrows his eyes and turns to you, “are you serious about the whole paying thing?” He cocks his head.
“I was pretty clear. That is, unless you—” You’re cut off by Taesan clamping a hand over your mouth, for which he gets a repulsed and highly suspicious glare from the middle-aged cashier, he meets this with another bow, unclasping your face from his grip. When you’re let go, you raise your eyebrows at him as if to say ‘really?’ His hand smells like lavender soap, it’s kind of pleasant, actually. From the state of his and his roommates’ everything-but-sleeping room, you wouldn’t have guessed they were in possession of floral hand soap. When you’re done thinking about how he smells, you’re feeling a little embarrassed and also physically being led out of the store, hopefully after Taesan paid.
“Was that really necessary?” You ask, hands free because Taesan’s holding the store-provided bag that houses all of your treats.
“I don’t need anyone hearing about… that. Especially a middle-aged anyone.” He clarifies and fair enough. You take the opportunity, however, to scoop up a clump of snow (distinctly not yellow, you checked) and pitch it at him. Still carefully holding your bag, he looks at you with a sense of betrayal. “Oh, I’m going to get you.” He threatens before hurling a snowball that splashes against your only water-resistant coat.
Snowball after snowball is thrown, before your brief yet intense brawl is cut short by ice cold rain slicing through the air around you. Without Taesan’s hat, the sleet pummels your head and it hurts. Your puffer has no hood. Before you can let out an ‘ow,’ even, you find your oasis above you, a puffer. Taesan’s puffer. He managed to, in the short time it started sleeting and you noticed it, drop all of his stockpiled snowballs, pick up the convenience store’s bag, take off his puffer jacket, and cover your head with it, protecting you from the harsh, half-frozen rain. When you look at his face to your right, he looks totally angelic. The streetlight behind him makes him look like he has a halo from the light filtering through the edges of his hair. He’s smiling, despite all the teasing and irritation you put him through in the short time you’ve been out of your dorm.
“Yikes, that came fast.” He comments, looking around and noticing how the sleet pelts down around the two of you. “I’ll take you home, I think it’s our cue to wrap this up.” He suggests. His sweetness contrasts against the wistful feeling that unexpectedly forms when he mentions parting. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation or maybe it’s the chill getting to you, but you feel like you’re on cloud nine, it’s the most you’ve laughed since Jen told you the crazy goings-on between her highschool ex-girlfriend and one of her friends. Apparently, her ex-girlfriend is absolutely smitten for her friend and said friend completely ignores her at every turn. You laughed until your cheeks hurt that day. Your cheeks don’t hurt from laughing, necessarily, but it’s the same sort of freeing feeling. You don’t know what to make of that, but you’re damn sure you like the way he’s smiling at you.
“Whatever you say. Thanks for the roof.” You beamed, pointing up at the make-shift shelter he’s made for you.
“My pleasure, Miss Grump.” He says this with a posh accent that makes you laugh. You have no idea since when he’s started calling you Miss Grump, but there are worse names, probably.
“Don’t make me kick you.” You threaten, trying (and failing) to suppress the grin that tugs at your lips.
“Sorry, Madame Grump.” He corrects, still holding the cover over your head.
 “I’m not even being grumpy.” You warn him, not even trying to hide the smile that spreads across your face. “Come on, get moving.” You cue him to start the walk back to your dorm.
“Your wish is my command, Miss—” 
“Don’t you dare.” You threaten and bump your shoulder into his. The walk back to your dorm is short, it took you far longer to get to the convenience store because of… well… tangential events. Checking your phone, you finally learn the time. It’s fucking two in the morning. Great! You’ll get essentially no sleep, but that’s nothing a little caffeine can’t fix.
“I dare more than you think I do.” He purses his lips.
“Okay, I dare you to admit you moaned when you fell.” You challenge him with a smirk.
He groans, “I pick truth.”
“This isn’t truth or dare, you don’t get to pick. Plus, truth would be ‘did you moan when you fell.’” You can see your dorm from where you stand in front of the red brick building, it’s still brightly lit. Hopefully that means that Jen is still asleep and hasn’t woken up to turn the overhead off.
“You can’t subpoena me so I’m not playing this game.” He shrugs, stopping underneath the overhang above the glass door that marks the entrance to your building and the separation from Taesan. As he steps aside, taking his puffer with him and putting it back on, you’re suddenly and unfortunately aware of his body heat now that it’s gone.
“I’m less nervous.” He says with a smile that seems almost confidential, like a secret only you know. He’s undeniably easy on the eyes with his stupid hat and soaked gloves and hoodie. 
“Me too.” The words come out of your mouth softly. Somehow, they’re vulnerable words to say. “Goodnight, Taesan.” After your parting words, neither of you make a move to leave. His full name feels more meaningful than his nickname, somehow. You stand there, lit up by the LEDs of the hallways, staring at each other, and you’re not entirely sure why. The tension might be thick, it might not be, you can’t tell by the way you’re focused on his face. Well, it’s not exactly his face. It’s the way his hair frames his face, yes, and the way that his eyes scrunch when he smiles, even slightly, it’s also the way his egg hat looks and the way his hoodie is so damp because he was trying to keep you warm and dry. 
Then it’s all over. When the tension breaks, it’s not like it’s cut through. It’s more like it dissipates. It dissipates thanks to the man who barrels down the street adjacent to your bubble, blasting a Spanish ballad and singing his heart out. Soy capitán, soy capitán, soy capitán! blasts through the complex. You break eye contact with Taesan just to laugh at the oddity passing you. You watch him coast down the street on his green bike, singing, without a helmet, hands-free. Your mother would not approve. Taesan’s not laughing, but he’s beaming and staring at you as you crouch down because of your laughter. You try and convince yourself it’s not even that funny, but something about the era of the night just makes you heave with how hard you’re laughing.
“I mean,” recovering, you let out a sigh, finally releasing a breath that you don’t remember holding, “it is a college campus.”
“You can say that again.” His hands are on his hips, and he’s managed to pry his eyes away from you. The sleet’s stopped somewhat, but the ground is still icy from the snow and sleet and rain that have frozen and refrozen over the past few days. The same wistful silence settles between you two after the interruption.
“Maybe it’s a sign.” You laugh in disbelief. Now you’re sure you’ve laughed more than when Jen told you about her friend’s drama. Way more.
“A sign for what?” He questions, jocose and almost suspicious of your deduction.
“A sign you’ve violated like a million rules of common decency!” Another voice, one other than the singing man’s melody and Taesan’s and your chatter, is heard echoing throughout. “Han Taesan, I’m going to beat your ass!” The voice threatens angrily. At first, you don’t know where it’s coming from. At second, you don’t want to believe where it’s coming from. You slowly look up to your open dorm window and see Jen’s disheveled figure poking out with the single most serious scowl you’ve ever seen her wear. The only time that gets close to this nouveau expression is the time she decked a guy for… being a total freak for one of her friends, let’s say. Your body is confused on whether to panic, run, or just freeze. Waiting to act is still an action, and it’s the prognosis your body suggests. You freeze, looking from Taesan to the window, where Jen is notably absent.
You look at Taesan. 
You look at the window. 
You look at Taesan. 
You look at the hallway.
Taesan looks terrified, you look utterly and visibly confused, and for Jen… well, it looks like there's smoke coming out of her ears as she storms down the hallway towards the doors that open to reveal your two-person symposium. Jen slams open the door and, if it wasn’t specifically made not to slam, the impact of the slam would have reverberated until even Dr. Woo heard it across the campus in his (probably sound-proofed) office where he probably still is because, you know, he’s Dr. Woo.
“You motherfucker, what did you do to get her to go out without telling me! What are you hiding? Are you a criminal? Are you a smoker? Oh no, you’re just a piece of shit trying to get in her pants!” Jen steps in front of you, blocking everything but Taesan’s head from your view. From what you can see, Taesan hasn’t been sucker punched yet. His eyes are wide and he’s holding his hands up like he’s waiting for her to swing, and maybe he is. You know he doesn’t know her well enough to know that she wants to beat the shit out of him, but she did say explicitly that she was going to beat the shit out of him so he had some reason to suspect that that’s what was incoming.
“W-what? I don’t— I didn’t do any of that stuff!” He’s shaking his hands wildly and Jen still looks like she’s about to swing by the way she’s pushing a finger into his chest. Still too shocked to do, well, anything except watch.
You see her rear up in a way that’s all too familiar to you, and when you remember you can move, “Jen, wait! It’s–” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you see her closed fist collide with his cheekbone and the impact make him reel back, clutching the affected area with a mittened hand. He almost knocks his head into the pole supporting the overhang, and you can see he’s visibly out of it. Is this a good time to mention that Jen is freakishly good at karate? What Jen is, however, not amazing at is analyzing the situation. As she battles with the follow-through of the swing, she loses her footing on the icy ground, falling flat on her ass. Now, both parties accompanying you are on the icy ground and you’re the only one still standing.
You act in a delay. “Jen! He didn’t do anything, I swear!” You reach for her shoulders that are no longer there, trying to stop an action that’s already happened. You watch as Taesan crumples further into a fetal position and you stand there in shock.
“See!” She spits, snapping her head back to look up at you. “He’s not even trying to help me up!” Her eyebrows are furrowed and angry.
“Jen,” you almost can’t help but laugh, “you decked him, he doesn’t even know what planet he’s on.” You look from your best friend to your… Taesan, and wonder how you attend to both of their bullshit situations at once. “Okay, first of all, Jen, please don’t punch his ass again—”
“Yeah, I’ll punch him in the gut.” She snarls, cutting you off.
“No! There will be no punching.” You declare, trying to sound confident but you’re so bewildered it comes out more as a question. You turn your attention to Taesan, whose nose is bleeding ever so slightly. He’s holding his hat-clad head in his hands and is grimacing in pain. You mirror him, a grimace appearing on your own face as you look upon his pitiful condition. This is going to be so fun to explain. “I came out here because I told him he could call me if he was nervous for the presentation tomorrow and I’d talk to him about it and so we went to the convenience store and… I’m fine! He’s not just trying to get in my pants, he would’ve done that already if he wanted to.” You ramble, using logic that probably wouldn’t withstand in court but works well enough when you talk a million miles an hour to a less than law-savvy subject, that subject being Jen. The subject, Jen, looks scandalized by this information.
“Where did my innocent baby go?” She pouts, getting up to put her arms around you. “Where did my sweet, lightweight, baby with no love life go? She’s sneaking out to see boys?” 
“Jen, I’m a grown woman.” You tell her, incredibly blasé and stiff as she embraces you in a hug. From over her shoulder, you catch Taesan’s eye. When your eyes meet, he laughs and then winces. It probably wasn’t a good idea to welcome an uncontrollable movement when you have some sort of abrasion on your cheek and blood coming out of your nose. Jen pulls back to look at you and shakes her head, you can almost hear her saying they grow up so fast. Maybe this is the same kind of telepathy that goes down between her and her sisters. Maybe you get it. Jen, coming back to earth from her sappy, self-appointed caretaker meltdown, narrows her eyes and looks from you to Taesan, and then from you to Taesan, again.
She opens her mouth and lets out a puff of air as if to start speaking, but she only does so a few seconds later. “So… there was no reason for me to deck him?” She asks, raising an eyebrow in genuine confusion. You nod, solemnly. Her jaw drops and her eyebrows push together. She puts her tongue in her cheek, mind reeling. This is when she realizes she gave this poor man a bloody nose and probably a black eye for no damn reason. Suddenly, she fixes her gaze on you, “you’re the one I should be chewing out! Do you know how many staples of girl code you’ve violated?! You could have died!” She exclaims, clearly ready to give you a talking-to, way worse than when you spelled ‘Elliann’ as ‘Ellyanne.’ She’s like OSHA but for general female wellbeing.
You reach out to grab her hands that are moving dramatically to illustrate her point, “okay, you can chew me out after Taesan isn’t bleeding out.” She seems to relax like a combative patient injected with midazolam.
“I’m not bleeding out.” He huffs, but is still holding his nose bridge, so he’s still bleeding, at least, and that’s not exactly ideal. 
“You look like shit, though.” You tell him
“Thanks,” he groans, “can I get some tylenol, or something?” Yeah, he totally looks like a hurt puppy. It’s kind of cute, you guess.
“Yeah, we’ll get you patched up.” You assure him, breaking away from Jen to attend to Taesan.
“No ‘we.’ Only you. Don’t let her punch me again.” 
“We’re over the combat phase, it’s fine. Get up, do your legs still work?” You try to say your biting words as comfortingly as possible. It’s past two in the morning, you’re too over-tired to try to pick your words so they’ll feel better for the receiver. What’ll make Taesan feel better, physically, at least, is tylenol and making sure his nose isn’t broken.
“My legs don’t, my ass hurts like hell.” Jen complains, but helps in picking Taesan up anyway.
“It’s very hard to break a tailbone, a nose, on the other hand…” You raise your eyebrows but say no more. Taesan gets up just fine, but still clutches his nose. “Campus clinic’s probably closed, we have a first-aid kit, though.”
Jen issues a half-hearted-sounding yet fully meant apology in the form of a mutter of “sorry for punching you, man.” 
“You’re cool, man. Cool that you were looking out for her.” He gives her a small thumbs up. It’s a weird moment of friendship between these two. For having met barely a week ago and having spent five hours together tops, these two have a more tumultuous relationship than most twin siblings at the age of nine, which is saying something considering most have chased each other with a knife by the age of five and a half. Jen has gone from asking to be the maid of honor to decking the presumed groom and now having a hopefully more stable relationship with said groom. So much plot it’s not even ‘for the plot’ anymore, you’re just riding the wave of unexpected inciting events.
“The more the merrier.” You mutter as you sling Taesan’s arm over your shoulder. Why he abets this when the damage is to his face, who knows. The more the merrier indeed in your cramped dorm, trying to ignore how the cold compress on his bruise keeps melting even though it’s so cold and the fact that you have an injured and sleep-deprived boy on your hands.
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GOT GOOD
You bite the inside of your cheek, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to express your dismay. You kind of bombed your presentation. 
Scrap that, you really bombed your presentation. 
As you step out of the lecture hall following the sea of your peers, you step aside to press your back into a free wall. It’s one of the moments where you need to just detach. Crossing your arms for stability, you melt into the wall. The overhead light that you can see even through your closed eyelids is obscured every so often by a moving body. This drowsiness is familiar.
Amid the frequent passings of students, the light is masked for longer than would be caused by someone in passing. You know who it is.
“Hey, it wasn’t that bad.” You open your eyes to a squint and see Taesan leaning against the wall next to you. Despite how you try to ignore it, you’re immediately drawn to the squashed berry purple color that blossoms on the inflamed skin under his left eye, giving way to a lighter almost green tint near his nose. Jen got him good. Your blinks are slow, the scant hours of sleep are getting to you. You slept through your alarm, foreboding you from even getting coffee before the presentation. Despite his injury, he’s smiling.
“I lost where I was like every other sentence.” You attempt to mirror his smile, but it doesn’t really work, leaving you with a smile that reaches your eyes but not your lips, somehow.
“It’s Dr. Woo, you’ll be fine. He doesn’t care nearly as much as you do. We got all of our information out. It doesn’t matter how graceful it was.” He lays out his reasons and you cock your head, weighing the possibility that he’s right.
“Are you like a vampire, or something? You don’t need sleep?”
“I’m used to it.” He shrugs. Maybe living with five as many people as you do makes you sleep way less; especially since it seems like Taesan is their chaperone despite the fact that Sungho and Riwoo are older than him, you’ve learned.
“You shouldn’t be. Sleep is good.” You close your eyes again, and a silence settles over you. You’ve created your own little bubble in the hallway, and it might not even include Taesan. Right now, it’s just you and your desperate need for rest. You are not the kind of person to pull an all-nighter.
“I told you you were going to crash.” He reminds you and you hum in response. “Look,” he gets your attention by putting a hand on your shoulder, “the boys are out, come back to my place and you can take a nap. I know that your room still smells like disinfectant.” A smile creeps across your face at this. It’s true: your room smells like the pungent iodine that you used to clean the minor abrasions on his cheekbone. You still have no idea why Jen has that much power in her.
“Lead the way.” 
“It’s way closer to this building than it is to your building, it’s barely any walk at all.” He assures you. Regardless, you have to speed walk to keep up with the pace.
“Do you have hot chocolate, or anything?” At your drawled request, he tsks. Pressing his lips together, you take that as a no.
“I’ll see what I can do. Woonhak owes me like nine favors.” He laughs a little at this, and you smile too. Unremarkably, it hasn’t become spring overnight, and so the wind is still nipping at your face. You were wise enough to wear your Taesan-provided gloves, though. Looking at Taesan’s face and the way the wind makes his face a little pink, you’re pretty sure you could find the whole color palette on his face. Except blue, maybe. You’ve got the other colors covered. Red for his cheeks, orange, yellow, green, and purple for his bruise. Huh, that bruise contributes a lot. “It’s just this way.” He says, guiding you with a pointed hand towards a complex highly similar to your own. Same red brick buildings and same overhang. The difference is that, you know from picking your roommate, this building is the apartment sector. Frankly, it’s incredible that Taesan and his roommates are all friends. You know other people who got apartments, or even quads, who aren’t so happy.
As you step into the entrance way, you feel the warm air hit your face. This building is much warmer than yours, maybe that’s a good thing. Walking up the stairs, Taesan is steady behind you. You wonder if he’s thinking about catching you like he had to the time you were drunk off your ass.
As soon as you enter the apartment dorm, your focus tunnel visions on the soft couch in the middle of the room. It looks like heaven as you step towards it. You were unfairly ripped from the comfort of your bed for that fuckass presentation and now you can return to your natural state, sleeping. You thank whatever power is out there because this is so incredibly opportune.
As soon as you shed your backpack and winter coat and collapse on the couch, you’re out like a light. No words from Taesan can wake you now, even if it is him professing his undying love for you. No, it’s up to your internal clock to make you up, lest you sleep forever.
Your internal clock does wake you up. You’re groggy, but it’s still light out, so you couldn’t have slept for so long. As you assess your situation, you notice two differences.
First, you’re warm.
A navy blue throw blanket has been carefully draped over you, and you’re pretty sure you didn’t do that yourself. You bite the inside of your cheek—happily, this time. It’s proof he does care, and maybe you’re letting the gesture get to your head. You do… not like Han Taesan, right?
Second, you’re alone in Taesan’s living room.
There are no signs of life, not from his roommates nor from the mountain himself. That’s more puzzling. You would have assumed he would have stayed for one reason or another, maybe he went out to get hot chocolate? He told you that he would have Woonhak do it.
Looking around the room, you take in the sights. There’s a modest TV with various video game consoles, there is a section of the room clearly designated for guitars, and it’s remarkably clean. Not too bad for five early 20-somethings and one 18 year old. It’s kind of impressive, actually. There isn’t any leftover food out and even the dishes in the sink have been rinsed, if not thoroughly washed. You pat down the area around you in search of your phone, mainly to check the time, but also to figure out where the hell Taesan went. Something about his absence hurts your heart in an uncomfortable way. You would have liked to see him when you woke up. Still… you do not like Han Taesan… do you? No, no. You don’t like him, that’s silly. He’s just your partner for a group project.
As you locate your phone, you hear the door open behind you and you swing your head around to see Taesan standing in the doorway with a hand behind his back and a bag in the hand that’s visible to you. Another bag, nice.
“Good morning.” He smiles at your state. The way he looks at you suggests your hair is out of order. You fail obviously as you try to subtly sort it out.
“I had a great nap. You have a good napping couch.” You bring a hand up to rub your right eye even though your mom says it causes astigmatism. It would suck to have contacts in right about now.
“Well,” he says, setting down the bag on the counter, “I have your hot chocolate.” You’re pretty sure your face lights up at this, it’s the perfect thing for this kind of dingy day. “And,” he continues, “I got it from a café near here; store-bought isn’t as good.” He takes a cardboard carrier out of the bag and presents his finds to you, two lidded cups.
“You sure know the way to my heart.” You mean that on a deeper level that you hope he doesn’t catch. “What’s behind your back?” You ask, pointing to the obvious hand still tucked behind him. 
He looks sheepish and brings the hand to his front, “I got these for you.” His cool act is far gone, he seems almost timid. In his left hand he grasps a bouquet of an assortment of colorful flowers. There are assorted yellows, blues, pinks, purples, and reds. It’s like a sunset wrapped in brown paper and tied in a pretty twine bow.
“Taesan!” You exclaim excitedly, jumping up from the couch to go collect your gift. “Why?” You poke. He’s quiet for a second, the question seems to echo throughout the room. A chorus of ‘why.’ You meet his eyes for just a second, but the shared glance makes your heart beat faster. He seems to bite his tongue, there’s a shining reflection of the kitchen light in his dark brown eyes. You don’t see them crinkle up, indicative of a straight face.
He swallows like his throat is thick, “I got them for you because I like you… I like you romantically.”
You’re not sure if your heart swells or drops.
From this one statement, you learn two things. You learn that Han Taesan likes you, and you learn that you like Han Taesan. You really like Han Taesan. You like the way he’s cold but kind and the way his bangs fall and his endless care for his roommates and his hardworking nature. 
You like Han Taesan.
You take the bouquet in your hands, analyzing the flowers. You notice they’re mostly tulips, but flanked by carnations, baby’s breath, and bluebells. A smile grows on your face as you look back up at him. He looks absolutely terrified. It’s not worth it to tease him here. He’s vulnerable, you should be too.
You begin to open your mouth, but before you can, he continues in an attempt at defense, “listen to me, please. I thought you were cute and smart even before the party and all of those incidents, but now that I know you I can’t not tell you. You’re witty and stubborn and playful and it’s so easy to talk to you. You were cute when you were drooling, I didn’t know that was possible. You make fun of me but I like it because you’re so kind. I… I like you.” He confesses, he’s talking fast and you think your heart might burst with excitement. Excitement isn’t the right word—euphoria? Joy? Happiness? Exhilaration? No word is quite right for how you feel about Taesan. “The tulips symbolize love.” He says under his breath and the flowers take on a whole new meaning. You feel like a tulip. Tulips symbolize love.
The smile that bursts across your face makes his eyebrows release all their tension immediately, “Taesan, I like you too. I really like you,” you tell him, “tulips symbolize love.” You look down at the bouquet and see the array of tulips that smile back at you.
“Can I kiss you? I’m not drunk, I swear.” He promises. The allusion to your first meeting makes you laugh. You met with an ask for a kiss, and now he confesses with an ask for a kiss.
“Yes.” You whisper, and he throws his arms around you, pressing his forehead to yours. You sway like that for a moment, you feel the cold of his jacket against your arms and the pressure of his hand on the small of your back. You look at him and in his eyes you see him. No walls, just you two. Just you and Taesan.
You wrap your arms around his neck, one hand still holding the bouquet and pull his lips to yours. Warmth blossoms in your chest—his kiss is soft and tender and he tastes like mint. Mint might be your new favorite flavor. His lips fit perfectly with yours. You feel the soft press of his fingers into your back, pulling you closer to him. Your lips part slightly and you’re out of breath before he even starts to pull away. His kiss is just like him, just when you think you know him all, he shows you a new surprise, something new. After stalling for just a second, he pulls you back to him and deepens the kiss. You could kiss this minty boy forever.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours again, fluttering his eyes open and shut.
“I wrote a song about this. A serenade.” He says breathlessly.
Even in the dead of winter, you think your heart melts all over again.
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NOTES: Shoutout Hartford Whalers even tho they sports disbanded! SINGING MAN CAMEO! The singing man is a genuine character in my life. Living in the city center of a major city means I get LOTS of people doing weird shit like the emoji guy (who wears outfits only with bright fucking emojis, my friends have seen him too, he’s wacky), the tree guy (a man who always walks around with a fallen branch on his head, no idea why), and the supercar medical worker (woman in scrubs who drives down the streets with a loud ass car that looks like one of those fuckass shoes with big holes in them you know what im talking about the kidney shoes). I take a pic and keep them in a folder on my phone called “recurring characters.” I have never seen the singing man. He walks past my house every weekday at 11pm and I like to have my windows open and he sings loud Spanish ballads. I love him. Singing man my beloved. Sorry this is a slowburn, it was forced out of me i fear. is this a slowburn? methinks so.
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currentfandomkick · 3 days ago
Text
Ridiculous idea below:
Duke can admit to feeling bad about Danny being left with the zombies that everyone became during an Arkham breakout. He didn’t mind hanging out with him when he had the time, but he does have the day shift and is the only one with it.
The visit was pretty random, and no one really was focusing on a ‘why’ Bruce’s cousin Jack sent his son there, or why the kid had asked to go.
Because Danny didn’t care for the rich part. Boy was working poor through and through and winced when prices were mentioned. Duke understood, as did Jason.
He did note that Jason and Danny had some weird tension between them, but that wasn’t his business.
And Danny didn’t care for Gotham. When Duke asked why he came for a visit, Danny had mentioned his sister wanting him to have more family, but Jazz hadn’t come along to bond with them too.
Duke had most of his initial theories scorched as why this random relative may be visiting, and one of the looser idea confirmed on day ten.
“Fuck me this shit never comes out.”
Duke opened Danny’s door without thinking.
Danny was bleeding green. Neon green from his hand. There was red in there too. But a lot of green.
“Fuck me—Alfred shouldn’t have to put up with this crap.”
“Danny,” Duke began slowly, closing the door behind him.
Things were making sense. When they first met Danny had been a bit spooked about the question about the scar on his arm and up his neck. The others said there wasn’t one, and Duke dropped it. His future sight was acting up pr something about a possible future.
It wasn’t the future. Past event. One that made Danny meta.
Did his parents know? Was this them brushing it under the rug, planning to cut off support? Or was Jazz predicting that option and sent Danny to them as a possible safetynet for him?
Danny winced, deer in headlights and shoved his comforter and hand behind him.
“Heeeey Duke, how was your shift?”
“It was okay, you need any help with the paper cut and stain?”
Danny was twitchy now. Probably hadnt planned on telling them. Made sense—Duke knows he’s the only one Danny hung out with since coming here.
“Uh, it, it doesn’t come out. And i have to use the Fenton Fishing Line or else the bandages dissolve.”
Duke nodded along, slowly grabbing his phone and put it on speaker.
“Hey Alfred, can you help me stitch up Danny? He’s like me but different meta gene expression.”
“Right away Master Duke.”
“Thanks Alfred.”
Danny looked cornered, but Duke pulled him to the bed and sat him down. “Hey, its okay. Bruce has seen me accidentally flashbang the house because i was half awake and spooked when one of them showed up over my shoulder? Most he’ll do is get help for controlling any secondary abilities you have and accommodating it with medical BS from the family doctor. He’s cool. You’re safe.”
Danny was clearly shutting down. Fear response or overwhelmed—signs of quiet panic attack. Shit.
“Just breathe with me, okay? In two three hold two three out two three.”
Duke stayed with Danny as they kept on going. He knew telling Bruce was important, but that’s not what Danny needed.
“Some of the family was there when my powers started up. They are cool with it—even the weird vision thing i have. I’m going to guess that scar on your arm isn’t visible to you?”
“…not if i don’t transform.”
Duke nodded at that, glancing over at Alfred as he came in and assessed the situation.
“Master Danny, may I see the wound?”
“Just wear heavy duty gloves… my blood can uh, dissolve things depending on what i eat and i was not tracking my acid intake.”
“Very well. Does this happen often?”
“No, cardboard got me when i was opening a package. Friend sent me a care package.”
Alfred hummed, taking the spool of fishing line and threading it before he began to stitch up the side of Danny’s finger.
“That is very thoughtful of them.”
“Yeah, Sam and Tucker sent me some things i kind of need—less uh, ectoplasm in the air that i can process than expected.”
“That you can process Master Danny?” Alfred prodded carefully.
Danny looked to Duke.
Duke nodded.
“I sort of hadn’t run into corrupted ecto before and uh, purifying it is harder than i thought. So my friends sent some that i can take without my stomach eating itself or my blood canibalizing itself and my organs start shutting down.”
Duke’s stomach clenched at the thought.
“Which is, not good. I can make a purifier but i needed them to send parts and ecto until then. I can usually make my own but uh, not able to now for reasons.”
Duke nodded along. “Like make like cookies or make like vitamin d?”
“Vitamin D. Its uh, complicated. Either be around my friends or stargazing does the trick. Sometimes being with my parents or helping the ghosts back home does it too.”
Duke catalogued the ‘ghosts’ part for a later date.
“Anything else you may need while here?”
“…do you have heating blankets? Sometimes my abilities go real icy and i stop producing heat and ice over. I only overheated one time after getting hit with a lot of lightning and no way to cool down.”
The Nappers
Dpxdc Prompt #10
Danny was really excited to spend the summer with his second cousin(?) he didn't really remember, but apparently Jack Fenton's cousin was Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne, a serial adopter.
Jazz had discovered the connection and gave him a call to see if he'd mind Danny staying over for summer because Danny decided he was going to tell his parents at the end of summer about his ghost problem, and Jazz wanted him to have a safety net.
He didn't really have a big family at home, with his parents being largely... absent and Jazz moving to Gotham for college. It would be great to be in a house that wasn't empty again.
Now if only his newly discovered family could stay awake long enough for Danny to talk to them.
"So how's living with our cousins?" Jazz asked him through his Fenton-phone. He flopped onto his bed and groaned.
"They're all seem nice but I haven't really seen enough of them to know yet."
"Danny, you've already been there a week, shouldn't you know them at least a little bit? You usually warm up to people quickly, as long as they aren't trying to kill you."
"Man I kinda wish they were out to get me, then I'd probably see more of them than I have already."
"..."
"..."
"Okay Danny walk me through our family, and what you know so far about them."
"Well first there's Dick, he apparently lives in Bludhaven and supposedly comes back to Gotham to visit fairly often, haven't seen any of him yet though."
"Then there's Jason, I've seen him come over after dinner a couple of times, but he's seemed in a really bad mood and I'm getting weird vibes from him so I haven't talked to him much yet either."
"Cass, Steph, Tim, Damian, and Bruce are the ones that actually live here at the manor and outside of when I first arrived I haven't actually seen them awake enough to talk to me. Anytime I've caught a glimpse of them they're taking naps and I'd feel bad waking them up, Tim especially (he looks like he needs the rest)."
"What are they, nocturnal or something?
"That's what I thought too! But the Manor is even more dead during the night than the day. If I had wanted to live with a bunch of zombies I'd have spent summer in the zone, not come all the way here."
"The only people that have stayed awake long enough for me to actually get to know them are Duke and Alfred! Duke's great, but he seems to have a day job so I only see him for breakfast and dinner and any time I can catch him before he sleeps after. Alfred's amazing, but he already has so much to do around the Manor, I feel bad bothering him."
"It is only the first week you're there, and there was a huge Arkham breakout your first day so everybody around Gotham is a bit tense while the Bats are trying to recatch everyone. Could you give it another week for me? See if it'll be an option for if our parents react badly?"
"For you, Jazz, I'll give it another week, but I can't just trade one empty house for another."
"Thanks, little brother."
"Love you, Jazz, bye."
Danny hung up the phone and sighed, he new there was something off with his cousins, but he couldn't quite place it. Constantly napping, disappearing during the nights, but always on guard when they were awake.
He had a week to figure it out, but if he didn't there'd be no real lost love. He'd come up with some excuse, stay with Jazz for the summer or something. If his parents reacted badly and he didn't have this safety net, it'd be difficult sure, but Danny and Jazz would figure it out.
Danny thought it would be nice to have some other family that had his back for once, but hey, maybe he just had shitty luck when it came to blood relations.
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theghostavocadoe · 3 days ago
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At least one of the Remnants (or multiple your choice) helping Cloud with his delivery service so they can make some money?
(and also because they do worry about their "big brother" but they'd never admit that aloud i think)
Phone calls in the morning were a common occurrence when owning a business. Cloud had gotten used to answering each call with the same barely-there enthusiasm and getting onto business. This morning was one of such occurrences as he scribbled down some notes on where to pick up and drop off today's deliveries.
When he set the phone down and turned around, his heart nearly leapt out through his throat when he came face to face with the tall, imposing shadow that definitely was not there before.
"Good morning," Yazoo greeted.
Cloud was still clutching his racing heart. "Sweet Minerva. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
Yazoo tilted his head like an owl. "Apologies, that wasn't my intention."
Cloud had to take a deep breath before he continued. He knew Yazoo had a tendency to make little to 0 noise, but he usually wasn't one to approach Cloud first thing in the morning. "Then what was your intention?"
"I heard you over the phone," Yazoo replied. "I want to make an offer."
Suspicious. "An offer?"
"I will help you with 30% of your work today," Yazoo began, "And in return, I get 30% of the pay."
Even more suspicious. The remnants usually had no need for money since they often lie or steal their way into getting what they wanted.
"You're asking for money? That's not like you."
"We're trying to be upstanding citizens." Not him. We. Meaning the other two were planning on helping Cloud at some point as well.
Cloud couldn't help the squint of suspicion that crossed his face.
Yazoo tilted his head in the other direction, lips slightly turning into a frown. "What, you don't believe me? You wound me, Cloud. We're doing our best to--"
"Alright, alright." Cloud waved him off. "You can help."
Yazoo smiled. "Excellent."
-
Yazoo's idea of "helping" turned out to be "looking pretty to borderline seduce their customers into buying their services." Cloud had no idea where they'd learned such business practices, and he wasn't about to ask.
Part of him felt a little bad. But to be fair, he asked the same stuff on his own delivery trips. Here's your package, sign here, consider buying our subscription service for saving on future purchases, blah blah blah. Yazoo just happened to have the advantage of being a tall, slightly imposing, mysterious, beautiful, gender-ambiguous person batting their eyelashes at you to give you the impression that you had a chance with such an individual if you did what they wanted.
It was also quite convenient to have Yazoo around when a difficult customer made a scene and received a sharp glare that immediately shut them up.
Every customer he'd asked before and had been rejected from was suddenly pleasant as a flower and signing papers for their subscriptions. After their fifth customer had closed their door, Cloud turned to Yazoo.
"Are you using your powers?" He asked.
Yazoo shook their head. "No. You'd be able to tell if I did."
Hm.
"I'm just using my natural capabilities to get what I want. Is that a crime?"
Well, legally speaking, no. But morally...
"Okay, fine. I trust you. But lighten up on the flirty glances, alright? Don't give them the wrong impression on what this service actually is."
Yazoo giggled as they sauntered back over to their bike. "As you wish, Cloud~"
-
Despite their teasing, Yazoo did take Cloud's words to heart and held back on the flirting. Their methods still had just as much effect. By the time they were done, Cloud had made twice as much gil as he usually does on a delivery trip.
On the way home from their final delivery, they stopped at the corner store to buy a few goodies with a portion of their spoils. After that, it didn't take long to make it back to Seventh Heaven.
Once the door to the building was pushed in, the two were immediately assaulted by the younger kids. Marlene tugged at Yazoo's coat and asked what he brought, to which the taller crouched down and handed her a bundle of lollipops. Denzel stuck to Cloud while watching the altercation and giggled when Marlene happily sprinted off with her treats in hand.
Cloud portioned out the money he got from the trip and took out what he guessed to be was 30%, and then handed it to them. "Here's your salary."
"My salary? Does that mean I get PTO?" Yazoo joked as they took the money and began counting it.
"No." Cloud blinked. "How do you know what that is?"
"President Shinra once gave me a job offer. I refused, naturally." Yazoo folded the money and slipped it into one of their pockets. "It came with a lot of documents that I ended up throwing out."
"Smart."
"I'm happier with this job anyway. Thank you for letting me help. It was more fun than I thought."
Cloud smiled and gave Yazoo's shoulder a teasing jab. "Don't get used to it. Your siblings might swoop in and steal your spot."
"I'll be sure to wake up earlier then."
And with a grin, Yazoo headed off and up to their room.
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thezombieprostitute · 22 hours ago
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Tech Tuesday: Bucky Barnes
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Summary: Things are going bad for you at work which leads to things going bad at home.
Warnings: Bad bosses, Caretaker stress, Work stress. Please let me know if I missed any.
Word Count: ~1.7k
Previous
Tech Tuesdays Masterlist
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To say you were exhausted would be a gross understatement. Not only are the University students are back, more than doubling your workload in the mornings, but your new boss, Mr. Walker, seems intent on waving his dick around and reminding everyone that he's in charge.
You'd tried complaining to the owners but they insisted that their nephew just needed some time. That he'd helped so many other places increase their revenue. Your arguments about him cutting corners and working everyone to the bone were met with a simple, "we'll talk to him". Unfortunately they also told him who complained and now you're his favorite punching bag.
Walker also messed with your schedule left and right, throwing off any sense of routine which made things even more difficult for Robby. You've practically begged for a consistent schedule because Robby is getting worse. He doesn't do well with sudden change and has been lashing out more at his advocates, hurting his chances of getting good help with his appointments and whatnot.
And then there was guilt you were feeling about your new relationship with Bucky. You'd pined for him for years and here you were, barely able to get any time at all with him. You were just waiting for the moment he decided you weren't worth it. When he figured out he could do better.
It hurt so much because, when you introduced him and Robby, the two got along so well. But now your relationships with them were so frayed. You were scared to bring Bucky around in case Robby hurt him.
Your only real solace was that Bucky seemed happy with texting and occasional phone calls. But you know it can't last. You want to just break things off, tell him to find someone better, but talking to him is your lifeline to keeping your sanity. Which only makes you feel even more guilty.
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When Bucky walks into the coffee shop and sees you, he knows you're struggling. He recognizes the signs of someone overworked and at their wits end. Hell, he's been there so many times himself. He's suspected that you've been downplaying your exhaustion and stress. Looking at you, he knows he's right.
He wants to punch your manager. But that would only create more trouble for you. He wants to get you out of here and promise you you'll never have to work another day in your life. But he can't afford to. He wants to rescue you, somehow, someway. But he's only human.
Then he gets an idea and he mentally kicks himself for not thinking of it sooner.
Going up to the counter, he smiles softly at you, wishing he could reach across the counter and comfort you. You smile but give him only the standard greeting you're supposed to give all customers. He feels a pull in his chest as he realizes how much he misses the excited greeting you used to give him. But it also confirms for him that your manager is here. He gives you a nod of understanding and puts in his usual order.
As you're getting his coffee, a large man with a prominent mustache comes out from the back office. Bucky knows this guy has to be the asshole manager.
"Excuse me," Bucky gets the man's attention. His name tag reads "August Walker".
"Can I help you sir? Is this employee not helping you?"
"No, no, no," Bucky is quick to correct. "She's great, as always. I was wanting to talk to you about the quality drop around here. I'm a regular customer and, I gotta say, the past month or so there's been a real drop in quality. I mean, i go out of my way for this stuff, but it's tasting worse than the crap I could get from McDonald's while costing more of both time and money."
"We're trying out some new vendors," Walker replies. "I'll make sure to note your complaint."
"If you want, i could talk to my cousin, Jefferson," Bucky continues. "Guy owns his own coffee or tea shop or whatever. I could ask him who his suppliers are for you."
Walker's mustache twitches in irritation. "I appreciate that, but there's no need."
"Are you sure? Because his shop is incredibly successful. Could be good to get some inside intel."
"I'm sure," he sneers. Bucky has to keep from punching him so hard his mustache flies off.
Before Bucky can say anything, though, you place his order on the counter with the standard, "here you are, sir. Please have a nice day." Bucky can see your eyes urging him to just go so he does.
As soon as he's out the door, though, he calls his cousin.
"Bucky! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Jefferson's tone is always that playful, seemingly just shy of sinister, that pulls people in.
"Are you hiring?"
There's a moment of silence before Jefferson answers, dropping all pretense, "did you get fired? Do you need help keeping your apartment or anything?"
"No, no, no," Bucky assures. "Not looking for me, but for a...a friend."
"A female friend perchance?" Jefferson resumes his tone from before.
"Well, yes, but she's genuinely qualified. You know I wouldn't push for someone if thought I thought they couldn't actually do the job.'
"That's true," Jefferson acknowledges. "So are you hoping to woo her with your connections?"
"Trying to get her out of a bad job with a shitty boss," Bucky confesses. "You know about Cuppa Joe's?"
There's a bit of silence as Jefferson thinks. "Oh, yes! The little mom & pop shop! I thought they were doing well."
"They hired their nephew as the new manager with the promise of making them more money."
Jefferson hisses at the information. "That's never good. Tell you what, you let me know when you're stopping by with her and I'll drop everything to give her an interview, okay?"
"Thank you, so much! I owe you big time for this!"
"Grace could use some help with her math and programming homework."
"You've got it."
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The fallout from Bucky's comments seem to be minimal. Either that or Bucky's given Mr. Walker a different target for the time being. Business had been declining and Bucky finally voiced a big part of the why. You keep yourself small and quiet. Responding to all demands with a simple, "yes, sir."
Internally you were screaming at yourself. Was Bucky telling the truth about his cousin? Was he lying to cover up for you? Or did he withhold information because you weren't important enough to him? The doubt just further feeds into your fears that he's no longer interested in dating a screw-up like you.
Your crying as you lock up the building for the night and double checking the bus schedule, another unfortunate side effect of the shift switching being the need to memorize all the bus route times. You go to head for the bus stop but see Bucky in his truck. He smiles a little as he sees you and gesture for you to join him. Well, if he's going to dump you the least he can do is give you a ride home, right?
As soon as your buckled in and on the road Bucky says, "we need to talk."
"I know," you sniffle.
"You know?"
"I haven't been able to see you as much. I'm constantly tired and worn out. It makes sense that you don't want to keep dating."
"Woah, woah, woah!" Bucky exclaims. "I never meant that!"
"What?"
"It's not your fault you got an asshole boss right around the time I finally got the balls to ask you out. It's not your fault your mom died making you primary caretaker for your brother. And it is definitely not your fault that I haven't been helping you out as much as I should."
"But you have been," you counter. "Our chats, even just by text, get me through the day. I used to dread getting a notification on my phone but now I look forward to it because it's most likely you. I'm the one who hasn't been doing enough."
The two of you are quiet for a few minutes before Bucky finally says, "we really need to work on our communication."
You chuckle at that. "Yeah, we really do."
"What I meant by 'we need to talk' is that I finally got off my ass and asked my cousin if he was hiring."
"Wait, your cousin...Jefferson? He actually owns a coffee shop? I thought you were making that up for Walker."
"Nope, it's real. And real successful," Bucky informs you. "Now I can't get you the job, of course. But I did get you an interview."
"When?"
"Whenever you're ready for it. I just gotta call him ahead of time and then it's all you."
"Where?"
"Mad Hatter's Tea. But don't worry about the bus routes, I've got enough time off I'll drive you myself."
"Mad Hatter's Tea? Your cousin owns Mad Hatter's Tea?!"
"You know the place?"
"Bucky! That place is so high scale! It's practically catered to the rich students who attend the university!"
"Is that a problem?"
"It might be," you whine. "I can't imagine his shop uses the regular machinery that I'm used to."
"Do you want me to call and ask him about it?"
"Yes and no," you hesitate. "I want to know, but I also don't want to psych myself out in case I don't know the machinery. The mechanics have to be pretty similar, right? And I don't want to talk myself out of even trying just because I don't recognize some make or model number."
"Makes sense," he nods. "How about, for now, we'll go through the drive thru, get you some food, as well as one of Robby's favorite meals. I'll drop you off at home and you can get some real sleep tonight?"
"Real sleep sounds like a dream," you smile at him.
He chuckles at the joke. "And the second you're ready to take on that interview, you call me, okay? I will drop everything for you."
You start tearing up again. "You're too good to me, Bucky."
"No, I'm being a good friend," he replies. "I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to be your friend. I was just telling a half truth because I also wanted to be your boyfriend. I can't be a good boyfriend if I'm not a good friend, right?"
"That does make sense."
"Great," he kisses your hand. "Then lets get some food and, hopefully, get you a better job."
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Next
Tech Tuesdays Masterlist
Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;
@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly;
@stellar-solar-flare
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dandylion240 · 2 days ago
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Previous/Beginning/Next
Josie was almost jumping in anticipation at being able to see Bobby again. It had been almost two weeks since they’d been in school. They’d spoken on the phone but that wasn’t the same. “What,” she demanded after catching her brother side eyeing her.
“Nothing,” Ryan giggled. 
“You’re making fun of me,” Josie sighed looking sad. “It’s bad enough that Papa doesn’t like him. I don’t need you teasing me too.”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan apologized. “I just don’t understand what you see in him. He’s just a boy.”
“He’s not just a boy,” she said with a dreamy smile on her face. “He’s a dragon.” Adding to herself he might even be her dragon. The thought made her stomach feel funny like butterflies had taken flight inside her.
Shaking his head Ryan muttered “whatever” before joining his friends who were waving to him to join them.
Sighing, Josie mumbled to herself “he doesn’t understand.” Standing on her tiptoes she tried to look over the heads of other students hurrying to greet friends after the long holiday break. 
“Looking for me?” Bobby asked, grabbing her from behind. 
She squealed in surprise and alarm. Several people turned to look as she was swung around in circles, her feet bumping into backpacks. “Put me down,” she cried between giggles.
“Josie and Bobby sitting in a tree,” a familiar voice began to chant “k-i-s-s-i-n-g.” 
To Josie’s horror, several others took up the chant “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Josie with a baby carriage.”
“Bobby put me down,” she demanded this time with a firmness she seldom used.
“Why?” he asked, spinning her around in circles.
“Because I asked you to,” she said, finding it difficult to believe she had to have a reason other than that. She’d been brought up to believe that if you didn’t like something all you had to do was ask for them to stop. 
“Ok fine,” he said, letting her drop to the floor.
She felt a sharp pain in her ankle when she made contact with the floor. Her ankle buckled beneath her, hurtling her to the floor. Tears sprang to her eyes as she heard the same kids who were chanting moments before jeering at her. 
That wasn’t very nice,” Jolene said, stepping in front of Bobby.
“Neither was chanting but that didn’t stop you,” he said standing his ground in front of her.
“I was teasing,” Jolene defended herself “what you did was mean.”
“She wanted down,” he shrugged, “she’s down.”
Turning her back on him Jolene squatted down next to Josie. “Are you alright?” she asked.
“My ankle hurts,” Josie dried her eyes on the back of her hands “I think I sprained it.”
“I can take care of that,” Jolene said, putting her hand on Josie’s ankle.
Josie felt a cool sensation “that feels so much better.”
“I’ve been learning the bones in the body,” Jolene grinned. “Once I know how things are supposed to look, I can fix it.”
Josie heard the note of pride in her cousin’s voice. “Thank you,” she said, accepting a hand up. 
“So was that lover boy?” Jolene asked as Bobby walked away from them hurrying to class.
“That was Bobby,” Josie confirmed, picking up her things. “We better get to class.”
“Yeah but we’re gonna talk about this,” Jolene said “meet at recess.”
“Yeah ok,” Josie said as she hurried towards her classroom. She couldn’t help but wonder why Bobby had acted so strangely. Was her papa right?
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sweettjrose · 16 days ago
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FREE PNGS! GET YOUR FREE PNGS!!!
Get 'em while they're hot
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poetryofyouth · 4 months ago
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boss went to the office sick last week, on a call she joked about how "she's gonna give it to all of us haha" now i am sick, most likely from her and joke's on her if I don't feel well tomorrow morning then I'll not work as is my legal right and she will have to deal with me not being there
#i like#KNEW it#when she was joking about this#I KNEW i was gonna catch something#now i feel a truck ran me over basically#i only have a low fever right now and hhnnggg i would feel bad calling in sick with 'only' a low fever but#i don't FEEL good and if I feel like that tomorrow then like i am not gonna be any use to anyone#and i would much prefer not getting anyone else sick unlike SOME PEOPLE#it is kinda funny tho because I have been worrying about maybe burn out danger#and tomorrow is my scheduled psychiatrist appointment anyways#and i was gonna maybe ask her to write me a sick note because of mental health reasons#(or at least ask if she thought it was justified)#if now i have early-ish stage burn out AND a cold /flu / probably Covid / whatever then at least calling in sick is twice as justified#or maybe - two half justifieds make one full justified?#I just hope if i still feel bad tomorrow morning i can have the psychiatrist appointment via phone or zoom or something#bc i do not want to have to travel to her it is a 3h round trip but that is the price i have to pay#to be seen by a doc who is not a psychopath#so many psychiatrists are just evil and she is the first of WAYYY too many (six not counting a few i only ever had one first apt with)#yeah anyways the only issue is there are a bunch of events this weekend i was really looking forward to#and i will legit cry if i have to miss them BECAUSE MY FUCKING BOSS WOULDN'T AT LEAST WORK ONLY FROM HOME if she didn't want to#take sick leave#like we have that option we can do almost everything without having to go to the office#i hate it here i wrote in my calender i would quit my job this thursday but i don't want to do that while i'm on sick leave yknow#well i'll figure it out ig
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pomegranatesarchive · 6 months ago
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Hi can u do a smau with max where reader is a doc for f1 and when max unfortunately has an accident she is one of the first responders(dont know what they are called!!!) And he just stares at her and its like love at first sight for him(he fell first and HARDER!!!!!) and everyone online could see it as well
Some teasing from other drivers as well
And proceed how u deem fit
Loved the sister in law one!!!!!!!
doctor lady | max verstappen
pairing: max verstappen x doctor!reader
summary: max never thought he would be happy getting a injury that puts him out of racing for three months, but when he has a doctor like you? he can’t help but be a little happy.
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liked by landonorris, yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 816,074 others!
maxverstappen1: we are allllm good guys!!!!!!!!!!!!! we are aliveee wnd well babybyvy 🤘AND me and lanHOE (becuare he id a BOE) got a pretty doctory lady 🥰🥰🥰 she’s sooooooooioiiooooo nice and prety AND she made us NOT feel pain so we love her 😍😍😍😍😍
view comments below!
user1: they got him on those GOOD painkillers
user2: we’ve seen drunk max, but drugged max? a whole new level
landonorris: guy our lady doctor is soilioooooooooo prety 😍
maxverstappen1: HEY NO 😡😡 i alreadys called dibs!!!!!! she’s MY prety doctor lady. she game ME her instagran and i’m takin HER on a date!
yourusername: if my supervisor is reading this, i gave him my instagram and agreed going on a date with him because he was being difficult, started crying, and wouldn’t take his medication until i did.
maxverstappen1: HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL LOVE
user2: started crying??? max verstappen started crying???
user3: pain meds do that to you 🤕
user4: i need a video of that right now
user5: he is out of IT. i can’t wait till he wakes up and realizes what he’s done
charles_leclerc: happy you’re okay mate!
maxverstappen1: oh charles i have missed you dearly 🥰🥰 so happy you got 1st!!!!!!!
charles_leclerc: thank you max ❤️
maxverstappen1: i can wait for you to meet my future wife!!!!!!!! you’ll love her! she saved me life ❤️
charles_leclerc: someone please take his phone away
maxverstappen1: NOOOOO I JUST WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY FUTURE WIFR 😡
user6: max, charles is just trying to save you from the embarrassment
user7: when he sobers up, he either won’t give a shit and continue OR he’ll be so embarrassed and he’ll never show his face again
yourusername: everyone, please don’t pay mind to max, he is under very heavy drugs, and is not in a right state of mind. we have tried confiscating his phone, but he starts kicking and becomes difficult.
user8: i know this girl is scared for her job 😭
user9: having max as a drugged out patient seems horrible
user10: literal nightmare material
maxverstappen1: MYYY LOVVER HELLO
user11: good lord #freeyn
danielricciardo: i would say, i hope you recover, but i have a feeling you don’t want to recover?
maxverstappen1: I DONTTTT I NEVER EANT TO RECIVER BECAUSE THAT MEANS NOT SEEING MY BEAUTIFUL LADY DOCTOR SO NO!!! NO RECOVERY FOR ME
danielricciardo: screenshotting all of this for later 🤣
landonorris: i’m hungry, maxie can you tell lady doctor i’m hungry?
yourusername: you can talk to me lando. i’ll go get you something.
landonorris: NOOOO I CABR TALK TO THE LADY DOCTOR MAX SAID I CANT AND HE DAID IF I DID HESS GOING TO KILL ME AND I DONT WANT TO BE KILLED AHHHH
maxverstappen1: YOU FONT GET TO TALK TO MY PRETTY DOCTOR LADY IM GOING TO JILL YLY LANDO
user12: this is genuinely like the funniest shit ever 😭
user13: can’t believe in 10 years from now we’re going to look back at this and laugh
user14: 10 years?? bitch im LAUGHING RIGHT NOW
redbullracing; speedy recovery max! 💓
maxverstappen1: NOOOO NO SPEEDY RECOVERY NO RECOVERY FOR MAX
user15: head injury so bad he lost his love for racing
user16: on a serious note, his injury’s did seem pretty bad, especially his leg…
user17: honestly i’d be surprised if he returned to racing immediately
landonorris: maxie and me got separated :(((( 😞☹️😕😭🥺 lady doctor is is MEAN
yourusername: you two were arguing and disturbing the other patients.
maxverstappen1: DONT CALL MY LADY DOTCIT MEAN!!!!
user18: went from being worried to laughing out loud because wtf is this??
user27; lando and max crashing was NOT on my 2024 bingo card
user28: f1 having a big crash was not on MY 2024 bingo card
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liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, landonorris, 619,027 others!
redbullracing: unfortunately, due to last weeks crash regarding lando norris and max verstappen. max has been forced to take a three month leave of absence from racing, as he has severely fractured his lower leg. he has immediately started physical therapy, let’s wish him a speedy recovery ❤️‍🩹
view comments below!
maxverstappen1: what a shame 😕 truly saddened by this outcome 😞
user19: what??
landonorris: take a wild guess as to who’s going to be his doctor for three months?
user20: PRETTY LADY DOCTOR???
maxverstappen1: maybe 🥰
user21: we’ve entered the era where max does not gaf about racing as long as he gets to see yn
user22: does this mean he’s not winning the wdc?
user23: he still can, he just has to win basically every race after the 3 months, which isn’t exactly impossible for him
charles_leclerc; so sad for max!
user24: your ass does not feel sad for max 😭
user25: he has his eyes on the wdc!!!
user26: HE ACTUALLY HAS A CHANCE TO WIN BOW
maxverstappen1: @/yourusername, ready to take care of me for 3 months :D
yourusername: no
maxverstappen1: 😕
user27: HAHAHA
danielricciardo: LOSER
landonorris: HAHAH GET REJECTED
charles_leclerc: EMBARRASSING
oscarpiastri: that hurt to read
maxverstappen1: SHUT UP WHO ASKED YOU
user28: tbh i wouldn’t be excited to have max as a patient for 3 whole months with how he acted that night in the emergency room
user29: that man is secretly crazy and you can’t convince me otherwise
user30: i love how max is clearly like head over heels for yn, but she can’t date him because he’s her patient 😭
user31: she can’t?
user30: NO!!! that’s unethical, she can date him after the 3 months but not during
user32: that not being common knowledge to some people is concerning…
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liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 917,027 others!
maxverstappen1: day one of physical therapy a success ✅
view comments below!
landonorris: so, how many times did she reject you today?
maxverstappen1: ZERO.
yourusername: 10**
landonorris: TENN??????
maxverstappen1: i just don’t understand why she won’t say yes 😞
yourusername: because it’s severely unethical and will get me fired
maxverstappen1: so what i’m hearing is that you’ll go out with me when i’m no longer your patient?
user33: let the countdown begin
charles_leclerc: missed you at the race today!
maxverstappen1: no you didn’t
charles_leclerc: no i didn’t! MAX IT FEELS SO GOOD TOO WIN
maxverstappen1: yeah i KNOW.
yourusername: don’t worry charles, he was watching you during his whole therapy session, and cheered so loudly when you won that we got complains from patients on the other side of the building!
charles_leclerc: I KNEW IT!!!
maxverstappen1: you said you wouldn’t tell anyone yn 😕
user34: it’s so…unsettling seeing max be so publicly affectionate
user35: RIGHT?? like why is he so open about this??
user36: he has no shame…
yourusername: i told you to stop taking pictures of me while i’m working
maxverstappen1: but you just look sooooo pretty
danielricciardo: she doesn’t want you bro
maxverstappen1: SHUT UP
user37: she’s stronger then me, because if i had max verstappen down bad like that?
user38: no literally, i would’ve made him mine the same day we met
user39: why is max posting regular pictures?? it’s weird
user40: he’s trying to impress yn
user39: well he’s going about it all wrong. because these photos just don’t match?? cat, hospital, and then a crappy photo of a therapy room?? horrible horrible HORRIBLE
user41: damn…
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liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 619,017 others!
maxverstappen1: 2 months down…1 more to go!
view comments below!
user42: HE IS COUNTING DOWN
user43: WE KNEW IT!!!
landonorris: i can’t belive you tricked me into going to a photo shoot for you
maxverstappen1: that is not what happened.
landonorris: you told me we were going golfing, next thing i know i’m watching you get your picture taken like 92884 times 😑
maxverstappen1: just say your jealous
landonorris: OF WHAT???
user44: he’s getting better at being aesthetic
user45: he’s learning!!
user46: are we all going to skip past the fact that max, a hater of everything, had a whole as photo shoot for his instagram?????
maxverstappen1: yn told me i should post more photos of myself for the instagram
user47: so you had a whole photo shoot????
maxverstappen1: yes
user48: oh he’s in love
danielricciardo: looking good max 😍
maxverstappen1; thank you for the support daniel!
landonorris: was that a dig to me?
maxverstappen1: yes.
landonorris: I WAS EXPECTING GOLF
yourusername: looking good max
maxverstappen1: really??? you really think so??
yourusername: yes (with the upmost professionalism)
maxverstappen1: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
user49: why did max just add “yn thinks i look good 🥰” to his bio
user50: LMAOO I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING???
user49: no 😭 he very literally put “yn thinks i look good 🥰” in his bio
user51: why does it look like max is in the doctor training room?
maxverstappen1: because i am!!
user51: THEY LET YOU IN THERE????
yourusername: my boss is a huge f1 fan. so he lets max do whatever he wants 🙄
user51: i’m sorry that’s so funny 😭
user52: does max just follow her around all day??
yourusername: pretty much, yeah
user53: you have no idea how much i want to be you
charles_leclerc: wow max looking good
maxverstappen1: thank you charles
charles_leclerc: aren’t you going to put “charles thinks i look good” in your bio?
maxverstappen1: i don’t care about you enough for that
user54: DAMN THATS COLD
user55: those cats are so cute 🥺
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liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 914,078 others!
maxverstappen1: guys i did!!!! i got a date with the pretty doctor lady 🥰🥰
view comments below!
user56: when he falls first and harder >>
user57; this man is literally obsessed with yn it’s insane
landonorris: beat me too it
landonorris: THIS IS A JOKE PLEASE DONT KILL ME
maxverstappen1: nothing funny. i didn’t laugh. you aren’t funny.
landonorris: 😕
user58: WE CHEERED!!!
user59: i still think it would be funny if she just said no even after the 3 months
yourusername; i thought about it, but he’s rich and pretty so 🤷‍♀️
maxverstappen1: pretty :D
user60: she’s so pretty
maxverstappen1: like i’ve been SAYING.
user61: i’ve never seen a man so down bad before
user62: it’s unnerving
user63: a doctor, pretty, and funny?? max hit the jackpot
user64: they both hit the jackpot 😒 it pisses me off
user65: LMAO WHY??
user64: seeing people live the life i want makes me unexplainably mad
danielricciardo: you’re joking right? she’s not actually dating you?
maxverstappen1: what’s that supposed to mean
danielricciardo: it means she’s too good for you @/yourusername are you being held hostage
yourusername; yes
danielricciardo: OH I KNEW IT. DONT WORRY HELP IS ON THE WAY
maxverstappen1: you guys are mean.
yourusername: this means i can never be your doctor again
maxverstappen1: what if once day, on my way home i crash, and its a big crash with smoke and fire, and i get taken to the hospital but i refuse to let anyone touch me that isn’t you, would you still not help me?
yourusername: there’s just something so undiagnosed about you
user65: HAHAHA
user66: max is just so unexplainable
charles_leclerc: are my eyes deceiving me or did she finally say yes 
maxverstappen1: SHE SAID YES
charles_leclerc: OH YEAH OH YEAH I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT BUDDY
maxverstappen1: OH YEAH OH YEAH
user67: my lestappen heart 💔
. . .
notes: enjoy this while i spend the rest of my night learning how to play the sims
thank you for requesting!!
6K notes · View notes
boowritess · 8 months ago
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part 2 lol
so apparently it's really fucking hard to get into the SAS. and ontop of that I've been getting tiktoks of people going around an army base asking why they joined. most responses were to pay off student loans, bills, school, (someone said there's was 6 years of prison or school and *mental note for idea*), the recruiter lied or spoilt them, barracks bunny.
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141 (poly?) x notsobaddasssoldier!reader
and now i can't stop thinking of soldier!reader. who really half-assed their way through everything - only doing the job for the money and to pay off student loans + they had nothing better to do.
who somehow ends up being adopted by Price (kinda like Gaz i guess ???) all because reader happened to be in the right place at the right time and saved Price's ass while managing to complete a mission the Task Force were doing.
and it's not that you saved his ass or completed the mission that makes Price go *this is mine* - it's the fact that afterwards all you can say is-
"this shit is so not worth paying off my student loans."
"oh fuck i forgot to cancel my subscription. fuckk- waste of fucking money"
- all the while a building is burning in front of you but yeah just not at all concerned about what had just happened. so price just *grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you up, claiming you as part of his task force now.*
(lol you probably can't do that irl but this is fiction sooo suck my ass.)
and laswell's just like no... they are very much still green john. way too green. no.
but it's too late. he's already introducing you to the task force. singing your praises and you're just like
"man he promised to pay off my student loans and give me food." basically how ur recruiter got ya ass.
enough said. you get the whole off the books speech, saving the world by doing things others wouldn't like. but u couldn't give a rats ass - you should but nah...
and like... you know you're the rookie... you're still green... but some of the shit 141 do you just...
"so you just gonna kidnap the wife AND the child...? right... kid, you wanna watch bluey? here..."
"and you do this often...? crazy."
but you don't exactly protest. how could you with how much you get paid. you kinda just side-eye and look away when it's geta a lil crazy. *bombastic side-eye*
and the other 141 guys - oh my days. become just as enormed as price and want to start really trying to amplify your skills. but every time, they start explaining how to do things - the best way to go about a situation or how to fight a certain way.
you pull this face. like your top lip pulls back, your eyebrows scrunch together, and there's a slight frown on your lips as they speak. like you look confused/disgusted. but you don't even realise cause-
"why're you pulling that face?" 141
"that's... that's just my focusing face..."
"oh..." 141 feels bad
then when they do take you in feild you're shaking your head no. like you haven't been around that long. what the fuck? now you're bout to infiltrate an enemy base!?!?!
"can i just wait in the car?"
"no." price
"i'm gonna vomit."
"aim at the enemy." ghost
people think that because you're suddenly in this badass task force that surely they're just using you for your assets.
they all think you're the 141 barracks bunny. and maybe you should be pissed or annoyed or grossed out. but all you can do is sigh and pause from the burger price got you, and let out a long exhale.
"fuck... maybe i can just do onlyfans or be a pornstar... shit maybe it's not too late..."
"military is bascially sex work - selling my body..."
"not that different from what i'm doing now. body being used, check. body sore in the strangest places, check."
your tone so empty, blank and nonchalant, but there's a serious look in your eyes that when you grab your phone out to maybe do a little research on how you could do that, your phone is snatched from your hand by one of the guys and they walk out the room without a second look back.
with an annoyed huff, you go back to eating your burger. but suddenly, you turn to the person who genuinely thought you were a barracks bunny.
"hey you think if i be a barracks bunny i get out of missions and shit?"
"...that's not how it works..." rando.
"fuck."
and maybe you try...
like you go to price's office and the guys are already in there, chatting about something that you should really pay attention too but you can't be assed. instead you unashamedly start to speak...
"if i suck ya'll dicks can i get out the mission?"
"no. you still have to join." gaz says amused
"even if you-" *que long sigh from price* "even if you suck our dicks."
"that's fucked up. i should've done porn."
and with the most hurt and broken-hearted look on your face, you leave the office, closing the door with a dramatic sigh. the guys just stare at the door in... confusion, amusement, and maybe arousal if ya'll dig that
idk man just gimmie more soldier!reader who just really ain't the fucked, there for money, lowkey hungry and doesn't know what the fuck is happening. kinda a pet or little sibling energy that the 141 love.
bonus*
"wait so they aren't sucking our dicks?" *soap says getting slapped in the back of the head by ghost
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a/n: brain is rottinnggg. i should be doing so much other shit but... cod just consumes my brain 24/7
6K notes · View notes
alisonwritesimagines · 9 months ago
Text
Count On Mom ~Batfamily Imagine~
Summary: The kids try to get Bruce to get away from the computer. Luckily, there is always one person who can take his mind out of anything including Batman duties. You.
Author’s Note: Haven't posted much in a while and I kept seeing a lot of Batfamily stuff at the last convention I went to so here we go!
BatFamily Masterlist
Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her
Warnings: boob flashing, hint to smut
Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!
Do not repost this anywhere!
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Three of the batkids stared at their adoptive father as he had been stuck in front of the screen in the Batcave. None of the moved as they watched Bruce in some kind of trance.
“How long since he moved?” Dick asked Cassandra and Jason.
“A day,” Cassandra monotonous answered.
“I think he blinked a minute ago, does that count?” Jason asked.
“It’s official. Alfred called it. He said he’ll bake cookies if we can get Bruce to stop working,” Duke said as he walked into the batcave.
"Step aside," Jason said as he cracked his knuckles. "This will be over in no time."
As the kids began to try to get Bruce to move away, no effort was made to moving Bruce.
"I got an idea," Dick said as he took out his phone.
You felt your phone ring, making you put the groceries down onto the kitchen island so you could answer your phone. You had just gone to the store to grab some ingredients to make dinner for tomorrow's dinner.
“Hello?”
“Hey mom! Are you and Damien almost done with grocery shopping yet?”
“We just got home. Why?”
“We’re trying to pry Bruce off of the computer in the Batcave and Alfred said he’d make us cookies if we get him away from the screen.”
“I’m on my way,” you say with a chuckle at the end.
"Already began to bake the cookies. I know you'll be able to get him away," Alfred told you.
"Of course I can. That's my superpower in this family," you joked.
When you got to the Batcave, you saw your husband tiredly staring at the screen in front of him. The dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep made you upset but you knew there was one thing you could do that would always get his attention.
"Aw my poor husband," you say.
"You got this mom?" Jason asked you.
“Step aside kids and close your eyes,” you tell them as you walked over to your husband.
“What are you going to do mom?” Dick as as he covered his eyes. The rest of the kids quickly covered their eyes to avoid to see what you were going to do.
You climbed onto Bruce’s lap before lifting both your shirt and bra in front of him. Bruce quickly snapped out of his daze before looking up at you with a smile.
“Tempting me my love?”
“Maybe,” you smile as you pulled your shirt and bra down.
“Let me have my cookies and you can have me,” you whispered into his ears as you stood up.
“Okay kids. Enjoy Alfred’s cookies,” you say as you headed out.
The moment the kids uncovered their eyes, they watched in shock as Bruce already began to make his way towards you.
“Leave it to mom for getting Bruce to do anything other than his Batman duties,” Jason said.
"I wonder how she does it," Duke says out loud.
"Because dad's got it bad for mom," Dick tells him.
By the time Bruce got to you, you were eating your chocolate chip cookies that Alfred had made with Damien. You winked at your husband as you kissed Damien’s head.
“Alfred, why don’t you and the kids go out for a bit? It’s lovely outside,” you tell him.
“Of course,” Alfred said before walking over to get the rest of the kids. You began to head upstairs to your room, knowing that you had stirred something in Bruce.
“You coming Bruce?” You called out. You smirked as you heard Bruce’s fastened footsteps.
You let out a laugh as you felt him pick you up. You held onto him as he rushed over to the bedroom.
“I owe you some alone time don’t I?” Bruce asked you with a smile.
“Yes you do. Now, while everyone is out of the house, why don’t you make it up to me?” You asked him.
“I plan to," Bruce said before kissing you passionately.
5K notes · View notes
dilf-docs · 2 months ago
Text
All Roads Lead To Rome
pedro pascal x younger!reader
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summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!! use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me), pedro wearing a skirt tehee
word count: 3,519 words
side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!
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"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"
Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.
"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"
The young man chuckles.
"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"
He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.
"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"
"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"
"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".
"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"
He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.
"Too bad I don't need you to"
Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.
"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"
"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.
"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"
He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.
"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"
"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.
"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.
"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"
"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.
"Stop being misterious and just drop it"
"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"
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When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.
During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.
Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.
You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.
It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.
To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.
Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.
You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.
And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.
"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".
"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".
"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.
So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"
"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.
"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"
"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"
"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.
"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.
"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".
You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.
"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"
He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.
"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"
"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"
"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.
"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"
Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.
"You must be punished for what you did today"
You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"
"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"
"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"
"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.
Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.
"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"
You swallow, "I am"
He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.
Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"
"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"
"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"
"I'm a naughty girl"
He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"
"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.
"You were a little brat, amor"
You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"
He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.
"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"
You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.
"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"
You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"
He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.
"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"
You whimpered "Badly, papi"
"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"
You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"
"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"
"No one!"
You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.
"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"
You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.
"That's your punishment"
"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"
“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"
You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.
He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:
"You have to take this off, what if we-"
"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"
"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.
As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.
"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"
You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.
Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.
"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"
You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.
"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.
You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.
You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.
"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"
He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.
"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"
When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.
"You gotta reward me" you cough out.
"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.
"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.
"Princess..." he warns.
"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.
"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"
"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.
"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.
"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.
"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.
A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.
His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.
Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.
"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.
You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.
"I miss your tummy" you pout.
"I miss eating too" he whispers out, tiredly. He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.
"No matter how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"
He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.
You're real, and his.
As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.
"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,
You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.
"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"
"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"
"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"
When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.
"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".
"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"
"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"
You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"
"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"
"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"
"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"
"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.
"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"
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snowballseal · 4 months ago
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Tipsy Tricks
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Sylus X Reader
Summary: You and Sylus agree to focus on work for a little bit, meaning you don't have time to see each other. That is...until you get a panicked call from the twins saying their boss is drunk and needs someone to cuddle with.
Word Count: 1836
Note: FLUFF - Sylus is drunk, but honestly, I feel like he can handle his alcohol well so he does a bit of acting. It's all just to get your attention and he's a little more clingy. Also, Luke and Kieran my beloveds.
---
“Miss, we need your help!”
You blink at the sudden shout that comes through your phone the moment you answer it.
“Luke?”
“Please Miss! Boss is not acting himself!”
“Kieran? Wait- hold on, just-”
“Ah! We’re too late!”
“Please Miss, come save us!”
You blink again as the call ends just as abruptly.
What the-?
You stare at the now dark screen for a long moment, just trying to process what happened. It’s late, late enough that you’re already dressed in your pajamas and winding down in bed. The last thing you were expecting was to get such a panicked call from Luke and Kieran.
What were they even talking about? Why do they need saving? Is something wrong with Sylus?
The thought wedges into your chest like a thorn, sharp and uncomfortable. You hadn’t heard from the Onychinus leader - your lover - in a few days due to his busy schedule. Neither of you liked it, but you agreed it was best he just focus on work, and you’d do the same to keep yourself occupied.
Getting a call like this only makes your anxiety skyrocket.
You don’t even bother wasting the time to change, throwing a coat over your pajamas and snatching your keys as you hurdle out the door. 
---
“Miss!!! Oh you’ve come to save us, thank you!”
Luke and Kieran throw the door open before your knuckles even touch it. You jump back, chest heaving from having run all the way from the transport station. They look just as frazzled, well, as frazzled as two men in masks can look. 
“What’s wrong? Is Sylus okay? Why are you guys freaking out?” You shoot out questions quickly, grabbing one of the twins by the shoulders. “You guys were infuriatingly cryptic over the phone! Seriously, who calls in the middle of the night like that?”
“We’re sorry,” Luke leans in, trying to rescue his brother from your vicious grip, “We just didn’t know what to do. Boss hardly ever gets like this!”
“He kept talking about you so we figured you could help us,” Kieran insists, ducking away with the help of his brother.
“Okay, but what’s wrong? Is he hurt?” You press for more details, concern only growing. “What happened to make him act weird?”
“He’s drunk.”
Your jaw shuts with an audible click, going tense as you stare at them incredulously. Seriously? All of this, all of the panic, the urgency, because Sylus got drunk? You take a deep, slow breath, trying to ease the immediate desire to knock their heads together.
“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you called me. In the middle of the night. After I had settled down for bed. Screaming bloody murder over the phone. Because Sylus had too much to drink?”
“...yes.”
“That’s right.”
You close your eyes. Another deep breath. Slowly, the panic that had washed over you recedes, leaving a sliver of irritation and amusement. You really should expect nothing less from them.
“Okay,” you sigh and prop your hands on your hips. The two seem to relax, like they had actually expected you to smack them. Which you might have, if they hadn’t sounded truly distressed earlier. “So why is this such a bad thing? Sylus is an adult, he can handle being a little drunk, but you two are acting like the world is ending. Why?”
“Well you see-”
“Boss gets incredibly physical when he’s drunk-”
“Not in a violent way-”
“Unless he’s around people he doesn’t like.”
“Right.”
You blink slowly at them, “...so?”
“It’s scary!” Kieran crows.
“It’s like having a kodiak bear trying to give you a hug!” Luke adds, curling his fingers in a gesture you’re sure is meant to mimic said bear.
“We love the boss, but we can’t handle him like this.”
“And he kept asking for you! So we called.”
Ah.
You take a moment to really process all of it. Sylus is drunk. Sylus is a touchy drunk…
It’s too good to pass up on
“Alright, boys,” you hum, an excited grin slowly spreading across your lips. You clap both of them gently on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. You can go hide wherever you usually do.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
“We knew calling you was the right decision. Please take care of our boss.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The twins skitter off as soon as you let them go, leaving you alone in the foyer. You quietly slip your coat off, hanging it up properly before making your way further into the base. Not knowing exactly where Sylus could be, you check all the obvious places. The bar. His bedroom. The kitchen. All of which are empty.
Finally you come to the den. Each step makes your heart race a little quicker, the thick silence putting you on edge. A drunk person shouldn’t be so hard to find. But as you step into the room, looking over every nook and cranny (despite how large the man in question is), you once again find it empty.
Where on earth could he be?
“My, my, a kitten’s wandered into my home.” You nearly jump out of your skin when an arm curls around your waist, drawing you back against a solid chest. The familiar warmth of his touch is like a balm to your nerves. You glance over your shoulder, gaze meeting a pair of sleepy vermillion eyes, their depths hazy and dark. “You broke our agreement, sweetie.”
You bite back a smile, “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to if a certain someone hadn’t gotten tipsy and scared the boys.”
Sylus huffs, his face dipping to nuzzle into the crook of your neck in an uncharacteristically soft show of affection. His breath is dizzyingly warm against your skin, his nose tracing featherlight along the column of your throat, like he’s breathing you in. It makes you feel dizzy. You clutch onto his arm to anchor yourself, breath hitching when his lips press tenderly against your racing pulse. 
“I’ve missed you.” 
The words are a mere whisper, the sound rumbling through his chest, so deep you can feel it with how his body leans into yours. You let out a shuddering breath, eyes flickering shut.
“I missed you too, Sy.”
So much. You didn’t want to admit to yourself just how much his absence had been wearing you down. Little by little until you could feel the gaping emptiness, like a stream carving a canyon. You were homesick. And it makes your heart flutter to know he felt the same.
“How about we sit, huh?” You suggest softly, and his arms tighten. Turning your head, despite the awkward angle, you press a reassuring kiss to his silvery locks, “I’m not going anywhere, love. I can’t support your weight much longer, though.”
Seemingly appeased, Sylus lets out an understanding hum. In a puff of black smoke, you find yourself settled on the couch, your back pressed into the soft leather with Sylus laying on top of you, his arms still curled around your waist, head resting on your chest. He nuzzles into you like a cat, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.
It’s adorable really. And jarring. While Sylus has never shied away from being affectionate, it’s always been in his rough, teasing way. This feels tender. Vulnerable. While you were originally planning to tease him to no end, you find yourself overwhelmed with a gentle kind of adoration for the man, your fingers softly fussing with his hair.
“You know, I think I like this side of you.”
“Hmmm, is that so?” Sylus mumbles sleepily, his eyes barely open as he gazes up at your face.
“Yah,” you breathe, tracing the relaxed line of his brow, fingers skimming down his cheek to brush the corner of his lips, “You’re acting so cute and docile. Maybe I should start calling you kitten.”
Even sleepy Sylus won’t let that stand. The second your fingers graze his lips, he nips at them, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you snatch them back, inhaling sharply. Heat curls in your chest, matching the heat burning behind his gaze as he flashes you that lazy yet dangerous smile.
“Don’t mistake my affection for passivity, sweetie,” he rumbles, pushing himself up just enough to graze his lips against yours, the smell of expensive alcohol and his rich cologne clouding your senses. “You should be more wary of a man when his restraints are loose. There’s no telling what he might do once you fall for his trap.”
Ah. You hold back a giggle, eyes narrowing up at him with mirth. So that’s what this was all about.
“Trap, huh? Is that what this was? Did you get tipsy and scare the twins on purpose so they’d call me?”
Sylus doesn’t look ashamed for even a second, offering a nonchalant shrug. The way his ears go red, though, tells you that you’ve hit the nail on the head.
“Aw, you did all that just cause you missed me?” Reaching up, you loop your arms around Sylus’ shoulders and draw him even closer. Your lips brush his as you murmur, “You could have just called, pretty bird.”
“And what fun would that be?” Sylus tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your lips. 
He wants to kiss you breathless, the sensation of your lips ghosting against his driving his already muddled thoughts wild. The way you look under him, hair a mess, dressed in such cute pajamas, is a perfectly tempting image, but it’s the fact that he can’t quite think straight that makes him hold back. While getting drunk was certainly a good way to get you here, it was not conducive to anything else he might want.
And simply having you by his side is enough.
You sigh as Sylus presses a sweet kiss to your lips. Unlike most of your kisses, this one isn’t about passion or hunger. Intense, yes, but intense in a way that feels like devotion. It’s reverent and slow, leaving a lingering hum under your skin as he draws away.
“Will you stay?”
Fondly, you rub your nose against his ever so slightly, “Of course.”
“Good.”
Sylus lowers himself back into you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your arms loop around him, fingers going back to his hair. The silence that envelops you is comforting, the only sound being that of your mingled breath. His warmth covers you so completely, you can’t help but relax, eyelids growing heavier with each second that ticks by. Sylus’ breathing steadily grows deeper, lulling you further and further into sleep. Until you slip under, your lips pressed to his temple as you fall asleep.
And that’s how Luke and Kieran find you the next morning. Cuddled up, with their boss curled around you protectively, like two lounging cats.
You wake up to a notification on your phone.
The picture immediately becomes your new background.
(And secretly, Sylus also makes it his, too.)
---
Hope you enjoyed, my lovely fishies!!!
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januaryembrs · 8 months ago
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YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader
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Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple �� perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶
Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?
Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)
warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.
authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship
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There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 
He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 
Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?
Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 
He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 
They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 
“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 
Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.
They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 
She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 
Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 
They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.
Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 
Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 
“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 
They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 
Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 
He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 
“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”
They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”
“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”
His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 
“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 
She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 
“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 
“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 
She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 
“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”
The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 
“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”
Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 
“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 
Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 
Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 
His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 
Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 
“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 
“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 
“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”
“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 
“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”
She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 
“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”
He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 
He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 
Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 
“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”
And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.
She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 
She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 
It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 
“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 
But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 
“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 
She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 
“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”
“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 
“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”
“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”
But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 
Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 
He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 
“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”
She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 
“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 
His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 
Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 
She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’
She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 
He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 
They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 
He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 
She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 
And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 
Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 
But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 
It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 
He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 
The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 
He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 
“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 
She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 
“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 
“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 
 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 
And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 
Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 
“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 
She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 
“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 
Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”
 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 
She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”
His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 
She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.
“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”
His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 
“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 
She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 
“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.
“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 
She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”
He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”
She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 
“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 
Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 
Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 
But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 
She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”
Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 
3K notes · View notes
ham1lton · 1 month ago
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NOT A CHILL GIRL.
pairings: lewis hamilton x chronically online fiancée!yn
faceclaim: jordana brewster
summary: chronically online, funniest on the grid, and the proud owner of a face card that never declines—at least, according to yourself. your fiancé might raise an eyebrow at the first claim, the world might debate the second, but no one’s arguing with the third.
warnings: just jokes. don’t take any of this seriously.
author’s note: hope u enjoy bunny anon! :D
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liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram and 187,938 others.
ham1ltonshaderoom: celebrity stylist, and fiancée of f1 legend lewis hamilton, yn yln took to instagram stories to share some concerning posts. what do we think about these captions, ham1ltons?
view all 23,837 comments
yourinstagram MAMA I MADE IT
— user1 yn you have dressed some of the top celebrities and this is what you’re excited over??
— user2 forget that. she’s fucking LEWIS HAMILTON!!! and this is what she’s excited over???
user3 this is a v tame post for yn LMFAO
— user4 like she’s posted worse 😭
user5 she’s so unserious i’m obsessed
— user6 my fav wag
user7 i love the fact she’s dressing zendaya, showing up to her hot fiancé’s races and still finds time to shitpost
— user8 she’s so me
user9 she should be embarrassed. she’s grown
— user10 she will never see this btw
user11 i need to know lewis’ thoughts on these posts
user12 she’s the moment. i want to be her so bad.
— user13 successful in her own right AND secured the bag. #needtoBEthat
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INSTAGRAM LIVE
yn i’m using lewis’ ninja creami to make slushies and sydney isn’t picking up her phone because she’s on set. so entertain me, my little gladiators.
user1 what flavour slushie are you making and why is it pure tequila
yn no. it’s a margarita mix. mostly anyways. all about balance babes.
user2 worst red carpet outfit request you’ve ever gotten?
yn girl some actor asked me to dress him up in head to toe camo… i wanted to be sick.
user3 yn, when’s the wedding? lewis is literally ready to propose again.
yn not until jungkook confirms he’s off the market. i need to know i’m not leaving options on the table.
user4 did you see lando’s post underneath your birthday post to lewis.
yn i did and i’m angry. how dare he be funnier than me on my own shitpost.
user5 who’s better at gift-giving, you or lewis?
yn me. obviously. lewis once got me a pen because “it looked sleek.” it was a nice pen, but still a pen.
user6 yn, if you could style anyone in history, who would it be?
yn harry styles but in 2012. imagine the chaos if he let me near those blazers.
user7 how did you guys meet?
yn via a mutual friend at a party. i thought his choice of shoes was disastrous and he thought i was funny. so obviously i went home with him that night. then i fell in love or whatever.
user8 you are literally the blueprint for chaotic but lovable. never change.
yn never will, little gladiator. never will.
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liked by yourinstagram, thirstystan1 and 1,098,125 others.
lewishamilton: sunday best, thank you theststyle
view all 19,827 comments
yourinstagram why won’t this damn app swipe RIGHT?!?!?
— lewishamilton wrong app sweetheart
— yourinstagram oh shit 😓 can you show me how to download the right one? ever since ashley madison shut down and farmersonly.com banned me for “unsolicited flirting,” it’s been tough out here.
— lewishamilton maybe try clownsonly.com—heard they’re taking new members.
— yourinstagram wow. this from the guy who once googled “how to impress a bad bitch” and got caught.
— lewishamilton a bad bitch was impressed, wasn’t she? checkmate.
— yourinstagram yeah, well, don’t get used to it. also, happy valentine’s, loser. 💖
— lewishamilton happy valentine’s, clown. ❤️
— user1 y’all are some weirdos 😭🩷
user2 YN GIVE HIM TO MEEEEEE
user3 #NEEDTHAT
— yourinstagram #TOOBAD
— user3 YN PLEASE 😭😭😭😭😭😭
user4 need this relationship NOW
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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)
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2K notes · View notes
qurbanjaan · 3 months ago
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My experience and personal view on veiling as someone who grew up under a Burqa
When I was born, my father didn’t want me because I was a girl. When a girl is born, she isn’t cherished like a boy. Your life is received as a deadweight (note: I’m not saying this is something that happens every single time, just most of them) and a disappointment by the family. When your first breath comes in, the honor is on your shoulders.
My parents were so disappointed they gave me up to my aunt and uncle until I was one year old. When I was three, my father tried to sell/promise me into marriage. My grandmother, his mother, was the one who intervened and stopped him from doing it.
As I grew up, I noticed clear differences between me and girls from less conservative families, but everything was relatively normal until I hit nine years old. When it happened, I suddenly stopped traveling with my parents, stopped being able to leave the curtains open, couldn’t wear the clothes I used to wear even though I was still a child… as I grew older and older, the restrictions increased as my uncle and my father said I was becoming a beautiful woman and “I would be a problem for their family”.
Then, when I noticed, I wasn’t allowed to appear on windows, get packages from the mailman, go out in the yard, have a phone, stay alone in my room, talk to men (even if it was something as trivial as buying groceries), going out alone, needing to looking down when men walk past you, stay in your room when there’s visitors and don’t make a noise so they can’t hear you, not speak too loudly either, not share your name… the list is endless.
And, when you grow up inside a such conservative, traditional and religious family, your only future is disappearing. Along with having no voice and no face, servitude is as inescapable as death.
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When you’re under a piece of cloth, you become faceless, you have no identity of your own. Outside the house, you’re a ghost. Inside the house, you’re a servant. You have no choice over yourself. This is your identity, a servant ghost who’s screams people pretend not to hear.
To a certain level, when you try to reflect on it, the veiling can be comforting. Being invisible can be comforting, no one sees you, you don’t need to worry about a thing. You can hide all your thoughts and most shameful actions from the daylight and no one is going to find out about them. But, when you are under the veil, your identity becomes something only you know about. To the rest of the world, you don’t exist, you’re not human. The veil will slowly dehumanize you, you will start fading away and there’s nothing you can do about it because how can someone attribute a face to a piece of fabric with a mesh on eye level?
And don’t fool yourself, the longer you keep your veil on, the harder the expectations will be. You may only need to cover now, but in some time, they will ask you why are your toes showing and why are you not hiding your hands behind the veil too, and why are you even outside your house? You should be home, protecting your family’s honor, you’re disgracing your family, go home.
And you may think “I’m invisible to the outside world but in my house I’m irreplaceable”, are you? How irreplaceable will you be when a younger, better wife comes in and the only safety you may have is the idea that your children will grow up to take care of you? How would someone possibly feel bad for you when you are nothing but a black trashbag? If you become a beggar, how will they see the suffering on your face if it will be covered and hidden away from the world?
I can’t be hypocritical and say that I don’t feel a sense of security under the veil, but it’s a false sense of security. When the time for your death comes, you won’t have your name on your grave, you won’t have a face. All you will ever have been is a servant, invisible to the outside world, with no God above to wonder “what about her?”. How dear are you inside those walls?
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poetsblvd · 9 months ago
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bisous 𖤓 carlos sainz 𝒙 leclerc!reader.
❨ summary. all he wanted was a kiss, it’s not his fault the paparazzi caught it, and it’s totally coincidental that your brother’s going to kill him. ❩
❨ faceclaim. @/claudiamariewalsh on instagram <3 ❩
❨ notes. i had sm fun doing this! though it did exceed the limit i was looking at, becoming a bit long, but i do wanna do a part two to this because imo the charles x carlos beef is gonna be really funny!! i hope you enjoy xx ❩
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.
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liked by charles_leclerc and 30,987 others.
yourinstagram. wined and dined xo
view all 11,345 comments.
username when god has favourites 😩
username holy shit
charles_leclerc mon poupette! tellement jolie.
yourusername je t’aime cha xx
username my brother is a dick compared to charles lmao
arthur_leclerc bet you were smelly.
yourusername bet you came out of a gutter.
username now that’s more like my brother
username not carlos creeping in the likes 👀
username girl bffr he’s like 6 years older than her??
username so lol #zaddy
username don’t ever say ‘zaddy again’.
landonorris wined, dined and sixty-nined.
charles_leclerc get out.
yourusername ew you weirdo
landonorris so it’s funny when kevin in the office says it??
yourusername he has rizz, unlike you.
maxverstappen1 real.
landonorris i hate you.
francisca.cgomes so stunning my girl 😻
yourusername love u forever keeks <33
username someone look at me like she does in the third pic 😭
carlossainz55 espléndida
yourusername 🤭❤️
charles_leclerc ???
arthur_leclerc ???
landonorris ???
username lando what??
landonorris felt a bit left out there 🤷‍♂️
⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.
carlossainz55 added to their stories.
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seen by yourusername and 800,567 others.
yourusername replied to this story.
⤷ mon coeur 🫶🏼
⤷ je t’aime tellement !!
landonorris replied to this story.
⤷ did you wine her and dine her??
⤷ ;) ;)
charles_leclerc replied to this story.
⤷ i bought yn a ring so similar for her 21st!
⤷ what a small world eh mate?
⋆⭒˚.⋆ text messages between yn and charles.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ text messages between yn and carlos.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.
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liked by carlossainz55 and 47,222 others.
yourinstagram sunny days ☀️
view all 24,432 comments.
username SOFT LAUNCH I REPEAT SOFT LAUNCH !!
username carlos crying in the likes lol
username someone check on big bro charlie 😭
charles_leclerc poupette???
charles_leclerc que se passe-t-il?? ( what’s going on? )
charles_leclerc you didn’t say BOYS were gonna be on this trip!!
yourusername is my hair not pretty?
yourusername you haven’t complimented it yet?
yourusername it’s healthier and you haven’t noticed :((
francisca.cgomes you should be ashamed charles_leclerc
pierregasly absolutely sick of you charles !!
landonorris even i noticed her stunning hair! it’s smoother!
maxverstappen1 disgusting behaviour
charles_leclerc ??? no ??
yourusername oh?? it’s not healthier? i’m not pretty anymore?
francisc.cgomes HOW DARE YOU charles_leclerc
charles_leclerc NON poupette desolee
yourusername don’t talk to me.
username me when i dream
gigihadid 😻😻
arthur_leclerc stunning hair btw
yourusername love u tur
username he’s being nice??
arthur_leclerc too bad it doesn’t help the ugly face lol
username nvm
charles_leclerc pick up the phone poupette
charles_leclerc you’re very pretty !! you’re hair is so shiny !!
charles_leclerc we’ll go shopping soon poupette 💌
yourusername okay charlie love u 🥰
arthur_leclerc i want a new ps5
charles_leclerc get it yourself.
carlossainz55 hermosa
username poor boy
username mans desperate fr
username not when she’s soft launching mate 😭😭
⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram
carlossainz55 added to their stories.
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seen by charles_leclerc and 1,678,432 others.
yourusername replied to this story.
⤷ photographer of the year !
⤷ very much thought you were gonna use the pic of me falling.
⤷ love u
charles_leclerc replied to this story.
⤷ girls’ hair get better every day.
⤷ looks oddly similar too tbh
⤷ where’d you say you were vacationing again mate?
charles_leclerc can no longer view your stories
landonorris replied to this story.
⤷ shiny hair 👀
⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ text messages between yn and kika.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ texts between yn and charles, and charles and carlos.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram
yourusername added to their stories.
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seen by carlossainz55 and 986,444 others.
charles_leclerc replied to your story.
⤷ poupette you’ve never done anything wrong in your life.
⤷ i’m not mad, call me please
⤷ desolee bebe
⤷ i have that new chanel you wanted ❤️
landonorris replied to your story.
⤷ so unserious lmao
pierregasly replied to your story.
⤷ charles is going to buy the entire mall y/n !!
⤷ tell him you’re not mad at him
⤷ DONT LISTEN TO KIKA
francisca.cgomes replied to your story.
⤷ tell pierre to piss off
⤷ let charles buy you what he wants.
⤷ omg tell him you want a ferrari !!
⤷ IN PINK !!
carlossainz55 replied to your story.
⤷ mi vida your brothers texting me again
⤷ it’s very weird he’s apologising now??
⤷ he’s asking me if you want a pink ferrari??
⤷ bebita you should have told me you want a pink ferrari??
⤷ with a matching bag okay my love 🩷
arthur_leclerc replied to your story.
⤷ TELL CHARLES YOU WANT A PS5
⤷ LO TOLD ME TO FUCK OFF
⤷ STOP TELLING ON ME Y/N
lorenzotl replied to your story.
⤷ i’m very happy for you mon chou ❤️
⤷ ignore arthur he doesn’t need a new ps5
⤷ he makes his own money.
⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.
carlossainz55 added to their stories.
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seen by charles_leclerc and 1,410,333 others.
charles leclerc replied to your story.
⤷ who do you think you are buying MY sister a pink ferrari
⤷ you be with her, okay. you date her, okay. but buying her things?
⤷ and a matching bag???
⤷ you piece of shit.
⤷ when i said we were brothers i didn’t mean this!
yourusername replied to your story.
⤷ ma vie 💌
⤷ je t’aime tellement <3
arthur_leclerc replied to your story.
⤷ y/n wants a ps5!!
⤷ brother 😃😃
francisca.cgomes replied to your story.
⤷ you picked up the correct bag for her!!
⤷ she also likes chanel and hermès !!
⤷ you’ll be outdoing charles in no time !!
⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.
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⋆⭒˚.⋆
❨ disclaimer. i do not own any of the images above, all were found on pinterest, this is purely for fun and nothing is based on real life ❩
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