#please ​take kids seriously about things

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Synopsis: When talented producer Y/n (known professionally as the mysterious "Celeste") accepts a position at JYP Entertainment to help Stray Kids with their comeback, she expects to focus solely on creating music. What she doesn't expect is the immediate connection she feels with Han Jisung—the group's quick-witted, sensitive rapper and producer who's been following her career from afar.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Heartbreak

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Chapter 12: Sacrifices

"So when did you first realize you had feelings for Han?" Hyunjin asked, leaning across the café table with the intensity of a professional interviewer. "Was it love at first sight? Gradual realization? Moment of epiphany?"

"Can you please lower your voice?" you hissed, glancing around the small café nervously. "This isn't a public television special."

It had been three days since Hyunjin's dramatic discovery of your relationship with Han, and you'd foolishly agreed to have lunch with him and Felix—a decision you were rapidly regretting as Hyunjin treated the outing like an exclusive scoop for a gossip magazine.

"He's physically incapable of being discreet," Felix explained apologetically, though his own eyes sparkled with similar curiosity. "But seriously, when did you know?"

You sighed, realizing neither would drop the subject until you offered something. "I don't know exactly. It was... gradual, I guess. Working together, seeing different sides of him. There wasn't one specific moment."

This wasn't entirely true. You could pinpoint several moments when your feelings had crystalized—Han's vulnerable sharing of his solo tracks, your dance at the street festival, his thoughtful apology after movie night. But those felt too personal to share, even with friends who knew about your relationship.

"And the physical attraction?" Hyunjin pressed, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Because I've seen the evidence firsthand, and it seemed pretty intense."

"Hyunjin!" you exclaimed, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as Felix nearly choked on his drink.

"What? I'm just saying what I observed as an objective third party who accidentally walked in on—"

"We know what you walked in on," you interrupted hurriedly. "And I'm not discussing that aspect of our relationship over lunch in a public café."

"Fine, fine," Hyunjin conceded, though his smirk suggested the topic was merely postponed, not abandoned. "Let's talk about the future then. What happens when you go back to LA?"

The question landed like a stone in your stomach, effectively dampening the mood. Nine weeks remained in your contract—a countdown that loomed larger with each passing day.

"We're taking it day by day," you said, repeating the line you and Han had agreed upon. "Not overthinking the future."

Felix studied your expression, his usual playfulness giving way to genuine concern. "That's a good approach in theory, but... feelings have a way of getting more complicated, not less. Nine weeks is both a long time and not long at all."

You pushed your food around your plate, appetite diminishing. "I know. Believe me, I think about it more than I should. But what's the alternative? End things now to avoid pain later?"

"Or consider options that don't involve ending things at all," Hyunjin suggested. "Long distance? Visits? You transferring to JYP permanently?"

"My life is in LA," you reminded them, though the thought didn't bring the certainty it once had. "My career, my apartment, everything."

"Careers can be transplanted," Felix pointed out gently. "Especially for someone with your talent and reputation. JYP would probably offer you a permanent position if you wanted it."

The suggestion wasn't entirely new—the thought had crossed your mind on particularly weak moments when contemplating separation from Han seemed unbearable. But the practical complications were significant, not to mention the professional implications of making career decisions based on relationships.

"It's too soon to be thinking that way," you insisted, as much to yourself as to them. "We haven't even defined what we are beyond 'secret girlfriend' and 'day by day.'"

"Has Han said anything about what he wants after your contract ends?" Felix asked, his perception cutting straight to the heart of your unspoken concerns.

"No," you admitted. "We both avoid the topic. It's easier to just... be present."

"Avoidance as relationship strategy," Hyunjin mused dramatically. "Bold choice."

"Says the relationship expert," Felix teased, nudging him.

"I'll have you know I've had many deeply meaningful relationships," Hyunjin protested with dignity.

"With your mirror, maybe," Felix quipped, causing you to laugh despite the heavy turn in conversation.

"You wound me," Hyunjin clutched his heart theatrically. "But back to the matter at hand—what's your next secret rendezvous with lover boy?"

The nickname made you roll your eyes, though you couldn't help smiling. "Tonight, actually. He's coming over to work on his solo tracks."

"Ah yes, 'work,'" Hyunjin used exaggerated air quotes. "Very professional. Much music. Such production."

"We do actually work," you defended, though your blush probably undermined your credibility. "Just... not exclusively."

"Well, make sure you lock your door this time," Hyunjin advised sagely. "My innocent eyes can't handle another traumatic experience."

"Your eyes are many things, but innocent isn't one of them," Felix laughed.

The conversation shifted to safer topics after that—comeback preparations, the group's upcoming schedule, Felix's latest culinary experiment. By the time lunch ended, your spirits had lifted, the camaraderie with Felix and Hyunjin a welcome respite from the secrecy that characterized most of your time in Seoul.

"Text us if you need alibis tonight," Felix offered as you parted ways outside the café. "Hyunjin and I are masters of distraction if anyone gets suspicious."

"I don't even want to know what that means," you laughed, grateful for their support despite their relentless teasing. "But thank you."

"For friendship and discretion services," Hyunjin declared with a dramatic bow. "We accept payment in cake and gossip."

"I'll keep that in mind," you promised, waving goodbye as they headed back toward the company building while you returned to your dorm.

The afternoon passed slowly as you caught up on production notes and correspondence with your team in LA. Your manager had been sending increasingly detailed questions about your return—projects waiting for your attention, clients eager to work with you again, the apartment you'd sublet that would be available upon your return.

Each message felt like a reminder of the life waiting for you across the ocean, a life that had once been all-consuming but now seemed strangely distant compared to your Seoul existence. The thought of returning to your LA routine—without morning encounters with Felix and I.N., without late-night production sessions with 3RACHA, without Han—created a hollow feeling in your chest that you tried not to examine too closely.

By evening, you'd pushed aside these uncomfortable thoughts in favor of anticipation for Han's visit. You arranged your dorm for both comfort and productivity, making sure your production equipment was set up properly while also tidying away any evidence of the day's disorder. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed your appearance—casual but intentional, comfortable but flattering.

When the knock at your door came precisely at seven, right on schedule, a familiar flutter of excitement coursed through you. Eight and a half weeks into your secret relationship, Han's presence still affected you like the first time, a reaction that showed no signs of diminishing with familiarity.

You opened the door with a smile that faltered slightly when you saw Han's expression. Something was off—his usual warm greeting replaced by a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Hey," he said, stepping inside as you closed the door behind him. "How was your day?"

"Fine," you replied, studying him with growing concern. "Lunch with Felix and Hyunjin, then production notes. Are you okay? You seem..."

"I'm fine," he insisted, though his posture remained tense. "Just tired. Long day at the studio."

You weren't convinced, but decided not to press immediately. "Want something to drink? I have that tea you like."

"Sure," he nodded, setting his laptop bag down but making no move to unpack it. "Tea would be good."

As you busied yourself in the kitchen, you cast occasional glances at Han, who had settled on your couch looking uncharacteristically stiff. None of the usual relaxation that came with being in your private space was evident in his body language. Something was definitely wrong.

"Here," you said, offering him the steaming mug as you sat beside him. "Want to tell me what's really going on?"

Han took the tea with a murmured thanks, staring into the cup as if it might contain answers to questions you hadn't asked yet. After a moment that stretched uncomfortably long, he finally looked up, his expression so serious it sent a chill through you.

"We need to talk," he said quietly.

Three words that never preceded anything good. Your heart rate accelerated, anxiety blooming in your chest. "About what?"

Han set his mug down carefully, as if the simple action required his complete concentration. "About us. This... situation."

"Situation?" you repeated, the word feeling clinical and wrong for what existed between you. "That's what we're calling it now?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Han continued, not quite meeting your eyes. "About where this is going. What happens next."

Your lunch conversation with Felix and Hyunjin flashed through your mind. "I thought we agreed to take things day by day. Not overthink the future."

"That's not sustainable," Han said, his voice flat. "Not with your contract ending in nine weeks. Not with the professional complications. We need to be realistic."

The sudden shift in his perspective blindsided you. Just days ago, he'd been calling you his girlfriend, insisting your connection was worth whatever complications came with it. Now he was speaking like a business consultant assessing risk.

"Where is this coming from?" you asked, confusion mingling with growing dread. "Did something happen?"

Han ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of inner turmoil. "Nothing specific. I've just been thinking more clearly about the situation. The contract clause exists for a reason. Your career has to come first. The comeback is too important for distractions."

"Distractions?" you echoed, the word landing like a slap. "Is that what I am to you?"

"That's not what I meant," Han backtracked, frustration flashing across his face. "But you have to admit, all this sneaking around, the secrecy, the risk—it complicates things that should be straightforward."

"So what are you saying exactly?" you pressed, needing him to be direct rather than circling whatever point he was building toward.

Han took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I think we should end this. Go back to being colleagues. Friends. Before anyone else finds out and there are consequences we can't control."

Though you'd sensed the direction of the conversation, hearing the words spoken aloud sent a wave of cold shock through your system. "You want to break up."

"I want to be practical," Han corrected, though the distinction felt meaningless. "Felix and Hyunjin know already. It's only a matter of time before someone else discovers us. The professional risk isn't worth it, especially when..."

"When what?" you prompted as he trailed off.

Han's expression shifted to something carefully neutral, as if he'd practiced this part. "When I'm not sure my feelings are as deep as I thought. The secrecy, the forbidden aspect—it probably intensified everything, made it seem more significant than it is."

The statement struck with devastating precision, targeting your unspoken insecurity that the circumstances of your relationship had manufactured an artificial intensity. That without the thrill of secrecy, the connection might prove less meaningful than it seemed.

"You don't mean that," you said quietly, searching his face for signs of the Han you knew—the one who looked at you with unguarded affection, who shared his most personal creative work, who remembered tiny details about your preferences and history.

"I do," he insisted, though something flickered in his eyes that contradicted his words. "I've had time to think more clearly, and I'm not convinced this is more than a temporary attraction complicated by proximity and professional collaboration."

Each word felt calculated to create distance, to diminish what had grown between you. The clinical assessment was so unlike Han—the emotional, intuitive artist who expressed himself through music and poetry—that it raised your suspicions even as it cut deeply.

"So all those things you said about caring about me beyond the physical, about feeling a connection you've never experienced before—that was what? A line to get what you wanted?"

"No," Han protested, genuine distress breaking through his composed facade. "I meant those things when I said them. I just... I think I got carried away with the idea of us rather than the reality."

You stood abruptly, needing physical distance to process the emotional whiplash of his words. "The reality seemed pretty clear when you were calling me your girlfriend three days ago. When did this dramatic realization occur? After Hyunjin caught us?"

"It's been building," Han claimed, though he wouldn't meet your eyes. "The more I thought about the complications, your eventual return to LA, the professional risks—it made me question whether what I'm feeling is worth all that."

"And you decided it's not," you concluded, hurt morphing into anger at his unilateral decision. "Without discussing it with me. Without even giving me a chance to weigh in on my own relationship."

"I'm trying to be responsible," Han insisted, standing as well but maintaining distance between you. "Your career could be seriously impacted if this gets out. The contract clause—"

"Don't hide behind the contract," you interrupted. "If this were just about professional concerns, we could discuss options, find solutions. This is about your feelings changing, or apparently never being what you claimed they were."

Han flinched slightly at the accusation. "I never intended to mislead you. I genuinely thought... but now I'm not sure, and it wouldn't be fair to continue something I'm uncertain about."

The explanation felt hollow, rehearsed—at odds with everything you'd experienced together. But the raw hurt coursing through you made it difficult to see past his words to whatever might lie beneath them.

"So that's it?" you asked, hating the slight tremor in your voice. "We just go back to being professional colleagues like nothing happened?"

"It's for the best," Han said, the phrase sounding like a line from a script rather than his genuine belief. "Better to end things now before they get more complicated, before anyone else finds out."

You crossed your arms, anger becoming a shield against the pain threatening to overwhelm you. "Well, thank you for your honesty, however belated. You're right that professional considerations should come first. The album, the comeback—that's why I'm here, after all."

Han looked like he wanted to say more, to soften the clinical dismissal of what you'd shared, but instead nodded stiffly. "I should go. We both need space to... readjust."

"Of course," you agreed with forced composure. "I'll see you at the studio tomorrow. Nine o'clock, right? For the final vocal arrangements?"

The deliberate return to professional topics created an invisible barrier between you, one that Han seemed simultaneously relieved by and pained to accept. "Right. Nine o'clock."

He gathered his laptop bag—still unopened, you noted distantly, the pretense of working on his solo tracks abandoned entirely—and moved toward the door. There, he paused, turning back with an expression that contained a complexity his words had lacked.

"Y/n, I—" he began, then stopped, whatever he'd been about to say dying on his lips. "I'm sorry."

The simple apology could have meant anything—sorry for starting this, sorry for ending it, sorry for the pain he was causing. Before you could ask, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

You stood motionless in the suddenly empty dorm, the silence deafening after the emotional earthquake that had just torn through your world. The mug of tea Han had barely touched sat cooling on your coffee table, a mundane detail that somehow made the surreal conversation more concrete.

It was over. The connection you'd been nurturing for weeks, the feelings you'd finally allowed yourself to acknowledge and explore, the secret joy that had sustained you through the challenges of your assignment—all finished in a single conversation you hadn't seen coming.

The professional mask you'd maintained during Han's departure crumbled as the reality sank in, tears finally spilling over as you sank onto the couch. The worst part wasn't even the rejection itself, but the clinical way he'd framed it—reducing what had felt profound and genuine to a temporary attraction intensified by circumstance.

Had you completely misread everything? Assigned deeper meaning to interactions that were, for him, merely convenient and temporary? The possibility was humiliating, a professional blindspot you couldn't afford.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Felix: "How's the 'music production' going? 😉"

The innocent teasing, unaware of the dramatic shift that had just occurred, brought a fresh wave of pain. You couldn't bear to respond, to explain that there would be no more secret rendezvous or private moments to joke about.

Instead, you curled into yourself on the couch, allowing the tears to come freely now that you were alone. Tomorrow would require composure, professionalism, the ability to work alongside Han as if your heart wasn't shattered. But tonight, in the privacy of your dorm, you could acknowledge the depth of what you'd lost—not just a secret relationship, but the profound connection that had made Seoul feel like home.

Han leaned against the wall outside your dorm, eyes closed in silent agony as he listened to the faint sound of your muffled sobs through the door. Each stifled cry felt like a physical blow, knowing he was the cause of your pain while being unable to explain the real reason behind his actions.

The memory of his meeting with Manager Kim earlier that day replayed in his mind with merciless clarity.

"Han, a word in private," the manager had said after the morning rehearsal, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "My office. Now."

Confused but compliant, Han had followed, wondering what special project or feedback warranted a private meeting.

Once the office door closed, Manager Kim's professional demeanor had hardened into something more concerning. "I'm going to be direct. There are rumors about you and Producer Y/n having an inappropriate relationship."

The statement had hit like a physical blow, though Han had attempted to maintain a neutral expression. "Rumors? From where?"

"It doesn't matter where," the manager had dismissed. "What matters is whether there's truth to them. You're aware of the contract clause prohibiting romantic relationships between producers and artists, correct?"

Han had nodded, mind racing to identify who might have spoken, who might have seen something. Felix and Hyunjin knew, but he trusted them both implicitly. Perhaps someone had noticed a lingering glance, interpreted a professional interaction as something more.

“I'm not asking for a confession," Manager Kim had continued, his tone softening slightly. "I'm warning you as someone who cares about both your careers. If these rumors are true, end it immediately. If they're false, be even more careful about appearances."

"What exactly would happen?" Han had asked, unable to prevent the question despite it being essentially an admission. "Hypothetically, if there was a relationship."

The manager's expression had turned grim. "For Y/n? Immediate termination of her contract. A formal note in her professional file about breach of contract. Blacklisting from future JYP projects, which would likely extend to other Korean entertainment companies. Her reputation in K-pop production would be essentially destroyed."

The severity had stunned Han into silence, the potential consequences far exceeding anything he'd imagined when balancing professional risk against personal happiness.

“For you and the group," Manager Kim had continued, "it would depend on timing and circumstances. Disciplinary action certainly. Nothing career-ending, but significant nonetheless."

The disparity had been clear—your career would bear the brunt of any discovery, while he and the group would likely weather the storm with minimal damage.

"Like I said," the manager had concluded, standing to indicate the meeting was ending, "I'm not asking for confirmation or details. I'm just ensuring you understand exactly what's at stake. Whatever decisions you make from here should be fully informed."

The "fully informed decision" had been agonizingly clear. Han couldn't risk your career, your professional reputation, everything you'd worked for—not for a relationship that had an expiration date anyway with your eventual return to LA. The only solution was to end things cleanly, decisively, in a way that would ensure you wouldn't fight to continue something that could destroy your career.

So he had lied. Claimed his feelings weren't as deep as he'd thought. Suggested the intensity had been manufactured by circumstance rather than genuine connection. Said whatever would make you accept the ending without questioning too deeply, without pushing back in a way that might lead to discovery.

Each word had been carefully chosen to create distance, to diminish what existed between you, to make the break as clean as possible—and each one had felt like a betrayal of the truth, a denial of the most genuine connection he'd ever experienced.

Now, listening to the muffled evidence of your pain through the door, Han wondered if he'd made the right choice. If there might have been another way to protect you without causing this devastation. But the risk to your career had been too great to ignore, the potential consequences too severe to gamble with.

With leaden steps, he finally pushed himself away from your door, unable to bear the sound of your grief any longer. The walk back to his own dorm passed in a blur of numb detachment, his mind already constructing the professional mask he would need to wear tomorrow in the studio, the composed facade that would hide the truth of his breaking heart.

Nine more weeks of pretending indifference. Nine weeks of working closely together while maintaining artificial distance. Nine weeks of seeing daily reminders of what he'd sacrificed for your protection.

It would be the performance of his life—one with no audience except his own conscience, no applause except the cold comfort of knowing he'd protected your career at the expense of his own happiness.

As he entered his dorm, finding it mercifully empty of roommates who might question his expression, Han allowed himself one moment of complete honesty before locking away his true feelings behind the necessary lie.

"I love you," he whispered to the empty room, the words he couldn't say to your face, the truth that would have to remain his secret burden to bear. "And that's why I had to let you go."

Next>>

Taglist: @iknow-uknow-leeknow @loveconsumingmedia @lze325 @hanniesbubuwife @offl-ine @leaz888 @seungmins-strawberry @hhwangsmoon @river121798 @psychobitchsthings @sammhisphere

[fandoms-in-law]

Say Yes

Summary: Steve definitely doesn't want to agree to whatever brings the Party into Family Video asking him to just agree.

Author's Note: This week I have had a breakdown after watching a VR video of a carcrash that did NOT have enough warnings given about it. Why the hell did my brain decide driving lessons were the best things to use for the 'Say Yes' loveheart sweet? You're not getting any actual lessons written about.

~

“Okay before you start, we’ve planned everything. You just need to agree.” Dustin began, grinning at Steve in the way the kid thought was charming. The fact he only smiled like that when he wanted someone worked constantly against that.

Steve frowned at him for a moment before turning away to carry on loading the returns onto the trolley to be re-shelved. “That definitely does not make me want to agree to anything. What is it you’re asking and why would you greet anyone like that?”

Mike glared past him, towards where Robin had been working. “Robin was meant to have told you already.”

“Except I don’t agree and definitely did not say yes to being your support against Steve.” She called, uncaring of the glares being thrown her way, but did offer the explanation up at Steve’s questioning noise. “By the way, what they’re asking for is group driving lessons from you.”

“No. Definitely not all together.” He shuddered at the thought. “One learner is bad enough but having everyone else distracting them? You would kill us all in the first lesson.”

“Then start with me, you already know I can drive.” Max goaded and he scoffed.

“No, I know you imagine you can, and I know whoever lets you behind a wheel next should have called Hopper and an Ambulance ahead of time.

Dustin came over and nudged his side, attempting to be playful, “One at a time then, while the rest of us hang out at yours. Come on Steve, don’t you want us to stop bugging you for rides.”

He stared back attempting to be emotionless, before shaking his head. “Robs, have I taught you to drive?”

“Nope. You said, and I quote, ‘One of us has the smarts to change the world and the other is happy being her chauffeur. Don’t take that job from me.’ By the way, we still haven’t decided what job I’m aiming for to be able to pay you to drive me around.” She stated.

“I don’t even want you teaching me, but say yes so we can all get some peace.” Mike grumbled.

“Yeah, say yes Steve. You are a good teacher anyway and we can’t all fit in your car still.” Lucas spoke up for the first time.

Will snickered behind him, “Mike, you literally suggested Steve because you don’t want your sister teaching you. I’ve had a couple lessons with Jonathan, so I’m just here to learn alongside my friends. Please say yes so we can do that.”

Steve looked the group over with narrowed eyes, settling on El, “And has Hopper agreed to me teaching you? That seems like something he’d want to share.”

“He has a lesson plan to share with you so I can learn some from both of you.” She replied seriously. “Please agree.”

He walked away from them, pushing his hands through his hair then tugging it back into place as well as he could without a mirror to check.

Looking at the pleading or expectant looks of the group he groaned.“One at a time. Different evenings and nobody hangs out at my home without me there. If in three months you’re making decent progress, I might MIGHT allow you to come along in groups of three, but that’s a big If.”

Despite his instructions matching neither of the things they’d asked for the younger teens all cheered until he cleared his throat. “And have you got your provisionals already? Because I’m not teaching you without them.”

“We’ll get them!” Dustin quickly promised. “Get them as soon as we can and show you how well we did to get them.”

Steve groaned again. He did not want to imagine these young teenagers driving at all, and definitely wasn’t looking forward to teaching them all. But the excitement and repetitions of “He said yes” going around the group was kind of adorable.

“They’re growing up quickly, aren’t they?” Robin commented leaning on his shoulder. “You going to get empty nest syndrome when they head off to college?”

He snickered, jabbing his elbow back, “Give over, I’m not their dad.”

“Pretty sure you are.” She teased back, before both of them went back to work, ignoring the teens now focused on picking out a movie to watch that evening.

[hockeyspiral23]

Things I've Learned Over My First Year As an Author on AO3

(in the Empyrean fandom)

The things you write that you love will rarely be the things other people love. But, if you're lucky, you'll find a small group of fervent supporters who will love and enjoy said things just as fiercely as you do.

The closer to canon it is, the more people will likely enjoy it ... especially if it deals with canon ships. Generally.

More exposure isn't always better. You might think it might be nice to have something blow up and get to a large size (... well, relatively speaking within the fandom), but it's also terrible, because of the increased levels of criticism, expectation, and how it will color anything you write moving forward. Yes, I'm speaking of the truth in our scars. Yes, I'm happy it got the notice it did, but I also regret it. I'm wavering on whether I truly want to write the sequel or not (despite having jotted down bits and pieces) ... especially because I genuinely loved the remix, felt it was the improved version ... and it got a fraction of the attention and the same - if not more - criticism. I also feel so much pressure to seriously deviate from canon and write an entirely new story … and that was never my intention with the first one. Truthfully, I almost wish ttios hadn't gotten big for how much it ended up fucking with my mental health. And I will 100% say that it is probably a me thing.

The community is both wonderful and terrible. I'm incredibly grateful for the community and have met some wonderful people, but certain spaces are incredibly cliquey. I do not think they intend to be, but it certainly feels like it. And I know I'm not the only one to feel that way.

(and we already know how much I feel on the periphery of things - and I will say that that was written specifically regarding a portion of the community.)

~*~

I've published 500,444 words in one year. I have a few other projects marginally started and one or two about half-finished. But right now, I don't really feel like finishing them and publishing them. Quite honestly, I'm disheartened and have been questioning on whether I want to keep writing for a little while. I've barely written shit over the past few weeks. Had I not already had a good chunk of ttios: fate's remix written by the time I was finished posting the truth in our scars, I may not have posted much of anything else.

If you enjoy your writers, tell them. Be kind to them. Interact with them. Even if they seem weird, or awkward, or a little off. Even if they're not at the popular kids table. Because honestly? The lack of interaction has made me less likely to interact with a lot of fics as well, despite me knowing how much authors appreciate it. But it's really made me less inclined to interact in the fandom overall.

Before you share constructive criticism, even if you don't mean it to come across as condescending or hurtful, sometimes it'll still be interpreted that way. So please be careful with your phrasing. Or find a way to say it privately.

Related: seriously, don't read several thousand (literally hundreds of thousands) of words by someone, seemingly enjoy them ... but have your first ever comment on their works be words of criticism - even if they're sandwiched in (half-assed) compliments. This might be the fucked up brain talking, but for me? I'd rather you have not complimented me at all because it feels like you're only doing it because you want your criticisms to go down easier. If you'd been commenting all along, I'd probably take your shit less hard and actually constructively like you were hoping. (I will also admit that they probably would have gone better had I already not been in such a shitty fucking place regarding the story in general.)

The above two things were basically why I felt like I had to justify every single fucking thing I did in ttios: fate's remix by the end ... and as a writer, I don't believe I should have to justify every single fucking word I write. If the story isn't what you want it to be, CLICK THE FUCK OUT OF IT. And do it quietly. I do it all the time. Unless it's specifically requested, I'm not going to tell someone why I'm not reading their work anymore. Not everyone is going to like everything. I understand that. But it's something I fucking know - you don't need to tell me that you think it's shitty and that I'm disappointing you.

(do you email/comment on actual author's posts similar things when you don't like their books? or the book doesn't go as planned? if so, never read anything where the author has already died because they'll never get to read your opinion.)

IN ANY CASE ...

Maybe (hopefully) you'll see me soon. Maybe you won't.

But thank you for a hell of a year.

[marvelrivalsplayer69420]

domestic headcanons with gambit, daredevil, and punisher

a\n: i love domestic stuff, please feel free to request and ask me stuff that is domestic and just generally cozy bc i love it sm <3

tags: just pure fluff, gender neutral reader, mentions of food poisoning in Matt’s section

Gambit ♠️

Remy loves domesticity. he already enjoys doing stuff like cleaning and cooking, but doing them for the both of you makes it even sweeter for him. because he’s not doing it just for himself anymore, he’s making this house a home for both of you. and after a life of thievery and running around, he takes that very seriously. he’s not gonna run anymore, not when he has you.

his second favorite thing to do (after making dinner) is planning dinner; bargaining what you both want, what he hasn’t made in a little while, and new stuff he wants to try out in the kitchen.

he’ll let you choose one night, then he chooses the next, then you choose the next night, and so on. or he’s willing to bargain and blend what you both want. he wants to do a fish and shrimp fry but you want tacos? bam, fried fish and shrimp tacos so you can both get what you want.

he always makes too much food for just the two of you, so he likes inviting friends over for weekly dinners and letting them take some leftovers home with them.

lowkey gets a little offended if you want to order out or go out to eat for a holiday when he’s got a whole plan in his mind about what to serve for dinner and who he wants to invite over. even if it’s a holiday you don’t really celebrate. he wants to make a nice dinner for it and decorate a bit for it too.

“What?? Whatchu mean you don’ know ‘bout havin’ a 4th of July dinner?”

“I dunno, just… I never really celebrated it as a kid, I don’t really care much about the holiday… but hey, if it’s that important to you, I guess we can do something big for it.”

“Non, non, I ain’t really in love with 4th of July, cher. I was just plannin’ on invitin’ some of our friends over for one of my crawfish boils. It’d be a good day for it, non? Gon’ be real sunny out dere.”

speaking of decorating, Remy loves saving decorations and putting them up. even if he tends to put them up like a week early and take them down a week late. it just makes the house feel more lived in and fun. he also loves decorating with you.

man he loves bathing with you; telling you to go get the water warmed up while he finishes cleaning up after dinner before coming to join you in the tub or shower. for him, it’s purely romantic though he is willing to make it sexual if you want it that way. it’s a way for you and him to decompress after the day, even if it wasn’t a difficult day at all. he just loves being warm and close to you.

if you let him, Remy is happy to help you wash your hair or your back. he’ll be humming out a tune while he slathers you up in soap and calling you pretty names before hugging you from behind, his chest pressed to your back so that when he pulls away his front is covered in soap.

insists that you and him brush your teeth at the same time in the morning and evening, just so he can be even closer to you.

he loves to sway with you in the kitchen, in the dining room, in the shower, or really anywhere in the house. just his arms wrapped around your waist from front or behind and just swaying side to side, his cheek pressed against yours as he murmurs something sweet.

he lives for the embarrassing moments with you; dancing in the kitchen to a silly song, accidentally dropping something but not breaking it, or flubbing your words and accidentally speaking nonsense.

Remy never makes fun of you if you do something embarrassing in front of him. he just smiles and takes your hand to reassure you that you mean the world to him and doing something so small won’t make him think less of you.

he loves your silly side and is always encouraging you to be carefree and happy, even if it might take a little coaxing. but he’s just fine making a fool of himself at home if it makes you laugh.

“Dere it is! I missed dat sexy laugh, thought I was never gon’ hear it again. Now c’mon, let’s get our groove on, mon coeur.”

Daredevil ⚖️

Matt likes to cook for you when he can and the meals turn out pretty good most of the time. not the best cook — and that’s not out of him being blind, it’s just that sometimes he lets food expire and he’s nearly killed himself by accident because of it. you’d think that a guy who has a heightened sense of smell would have higher standards of food for himself, but he doesn’t.

thankfully, your existence in his home reminds him to throw milk away and make sure leftovers are properly packed away because he can’t bear the thought of him somehow accidentally poisoning you with his cooking.

speaking of leftovers, he always saves some. even if there’s barely anything left, he saves it for a little snack later for either of you. he also prefers reheating stuff over the stovetop than through the microwave; saying something about the texture being off.

he’s not the best at cleaning and is willing to improve, but at the same time he is very, very grateful when you clean. he can tell when you did the floors or dusted and he always says thank you and gives you a little kiss afterward.

sometimes when he does laundry, he mismatches socks. if they’re fuzzy socks or have some embroidery on them, he can usually pair them up right, but if they’re just plain solid-color cotton socks that are like the same length, expect him to accidentally pair a white sock with a grey sock or a black sock with a purple sock.

he actually prefers hanging his clothes up rather than folding them. he only folds his socks, underwear, and shorts. he rolls up comfier clothes like sweatpants and pajamas and sets them on the closet shelves so they’re easier to store. he tries to fold your clothes, but forgive him if they end up a little wonky.

during the colder months, he likes setting out warm pajamas and fuzzy socks for you on the bed while you’re taking a bath. he's also telling you to dress warm constantly.

“Put on your socks, sweetheart. I don't want your feet to get cold.”

“Put on your coat, honey. I don’t want you to get sick.” He says as he drapes it over your shoulders and even zips it up for you.

he does all the dishes with yellow dish gloves on up to his elbows because he doesn’t like getting wet. he does the dishes every time he notices one in the sink, like it’s a job just for him.

this is because Matt didn’t grow up with a dishwasher and he’s used to doing them constantly on his own, so it’s kind of just ingrained into his routine to do them every day. he’s perfectly content doing the dishes if you don’t want to or you don’t like it. even if you ask to do it, he will still end up doing it out of habit.

“I was gonna wash those dishes.”

“Well, you should've beat me to it, sweetheart.”

Matt loves laying in bed with you. listening to you watch videos on your phone or whatever you have on the TV while he lays his head on your shoulder, chest, or lap and listens to your heartbeat and laughter. always asking what you’re watching or what’s going on on-screen.

he would love listening to audiobooks and podcasts with you. just sitting in bed cuddled up, each of you with one headphone in one ear and his arms curled around you, pressing you against his chest and side as you both listen together. it’s his favorite thing to do before bed.

Punisher 💀

you will have to ask to do chores in your own home when Frank’s around. the second you wake up, all the morning work is done and breakfast is probably in the process of being made, if he isn’t waking you up with breakfast in bed.

he will not let you carry the laundry up and down stairs, he handles it like it’s a mission. the most he lets you do is take some of your clothes and put them away if you have a certain organizational system for your clothes. but he’s also learned that so half the time your clothes just appear back in the closet or drawer right where you saw them before you put them on.

he’s getting chores done before you’re even able to think about them. by the time you remember to start the dishwasher, Frank’s already in the middle of taking them out of the dishwasher and putting them away.

“Wait, when did you start the dishwasher? Let me help you—”

“Nah, let me take care of this alright? You go sit down and read your book, sweetheart.”

you’re never going to hold a grocery bag again. he’s carrying them all for you, even walking out of the store he refuses to let you hold one. god forbid you bring home groceries and try to put them away on your own, he’s immediately coming up to you, picking you up, and putting you on the couch so he can handle it all himself. he’s muttering under his breath about how you’re gonna be the death of him.

he likes to cook for you. after a long time of not really bothering to make great meals for himself, there’s this new-and-old kind of feeling that he’s cooking for someone else again. it’s sweet and rewarding for him to take care of you, but it also reminds him of the days when he had a whole family to cook for.

takes note of your favorite meals and usually goes with what you prefer to eat, albeit with nutritional additions, such as trying to sneak some meat or vegetables into it. if you like mac and cheese, he’s putting bacon in there. if you like spaghetti and meatballs, he might just sneak some vegetables into the meatballs and he’s using the pasta with the extra protein in it. he’s also constantly keeping leftovers and either taking it to work with him tomorrow or finding some way to make you eat it later.

he insists on spoonfeeding you when you are sick or injured or just really tired:

“C’mon, eat another bite for me.” Frank firmly encourages as he holds a spoonful of soup right in front of your face, his lips curling up slightly when you finally take it. He’s already trying to sneak another bite to you like he’s feeding a toddler in a highchair. Both of your hands are free and you could be feeding yourself, but he insists on feeding you this time.

he’s always giving you massages. walking up behind you and rubbing your neck when you’re sitting on the couch or sitting down beside you and putting your feet in his lap so he can massage them.

if you mention hurting, his head pops up from a hundred feet away and he’s already making his way over to you to check it out. he will make you sit down and grab your sore arm or hip or feet and just inspect it closely; moving it through the range of motion and asking if it hurts when he moves it a certain way.

then (not a) doctor Frank is going to recommend a very gentle massage or some painkillers or that you need more nutrients and he’s going to make you a big meal with tons of nutrients and try to get you to eat as much of it as possible.

he lives for the soft moments when you’re both cuddled up before you fall asleep. he loves laying you on top of him, able to feel your heartbeat against his own and press kisses to your cheek and face while you’re all sleepy and warm. he laughs when you say you’re not tired and end up yawning.

“I can see you trying to keep your eyes open, just close ‘em. Go to sleep, baby.”

when Frank can’t sleep, he just spends a while watching you sleep. propped up on his elbow in bed next to you, looking over you and listening to you breathe while he tucks you in a little. he just basks in these quiet moments, feeling a little safer knowing you’re resting and he can protect you.

[maidragoste]

A part 2 to Worry? Maybe one where the reader and Frank take the boys on beach vacation after he is clean and sober form rehab and became an attending in the ED. The reader could also tell Frank she is pregnant with a baby girl…

Hi Anon, thank you so much for your request!. I'm so happy that someone is interested in Frank and this reader. I hope you like it, even if it's shorter than the first part.

As I always say, please don't hesitate to like, comment, and reblog. The interactions always motivate me to keep writing 🥰🥰💖💖

If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you have a good reading!

You were sitting under the umbrella, watching with a smile as Frank played with the boys, pretending to be a sea monster while they splashed water at him, trying to scare him away. Minutes earlier, you were also playing with them until you started feeling dizzy while picking up Luke, your youngest son, so you decided to take a break.

Your eyes met your husband's blue ones. You knew he was worried about you, so much so that he almost canceled the beach trip, but you insisted that you were feeling fine because you didn't want to miss this day. You had planned it after Frank had completed another month clean, besides the kids were too excited and you didn't want to miss the opportunity to go to the beach, with Frank's job who knows when you'd have time to do it again? So this morning, you did your best to calm your nausea and tiredness. Carrying baby number three is really tiring you out. You still haven't told your husband about your pregnancy so he thinks you're just going to contrast the same thing Tanner had a week ago when he got infected by one of his schoolmates.

Frank must have seen something on your face because it's not even a minute before he calls the boys seriously and speaks to them briefly. You assume he's telling them not to get too carried away and to stay where you two can see them, before starting to trot over to you. He sits down next to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, hugging you. You can't help but smile when his hand rests on your belly. Maybe he subconsciously knows? Or does he know but is waiting for you to tell him yourself?

"I'm fine," you assure him, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

“Are you sure? Your face is lacking color, and you're still tired,” your husband insists, worried. “We can go back to the beach another time. Your health is more important to me. We can stop by the hospital for a quick checkup.”

You decided to nip your husband's concern in the bud. You didn't want him to start running through the worst-case scenarios. Today was supposed to be a fun, relaxing day.

“Frank,” you placed your hand over the one he had on your belly. “It's nothing serious, baby three is just making me tired.”

Your husband's eyes widened in surprise, and a moment later, a big smile appeared on his face before he launched into your kiss. You could feel in his kiss all the infinite love he had for you and the family you were forming. You felt happy.

"Fuck, I love you," Frank said, breaking away from your lips and resting his forehead against yours. "I love you. I'm so lucky to have you and the boys, and now you're going to make me a father again. Thank you for giving me everything. Thank you for choosing me." As he continued, both his eyes and yours glazed over with emotion.

"I'll always choose you," you gave him a quick kiss. "I love you."

"I love you more," he declared, caressing your belly. "I hope it's a girl this time," he admitted, imagining a mini you following him everywhere.

“I can already see you having tea parties with her,” you smiled at the image of a little girl with your husband’s blue eyes asking for a tea party.

“I can’t wait,” he kissed your forehead, and hearing the children’s laughter, his eyes returned to the sea. “Do you think they’ll accept the idea of ​​being older siblings?”

“Let’s hope so.”

[literaturemeetsreality]

Please let me word vomit a bit. Having Ifa brainrot like imagine that whole exchange between Ororon and Ifa about why they’re in Fontaine for the new event but you’re with them and the whole time in Fontaine, besides getting Cacucu back and the smuggling case, you’ve been trying to get Ifa to understand you like him. Like trying to set the mood for a romantic stroll through the city or at the festival and bro is literally NOT taking a hint. You’re trying to get out of the bro-zone and he’s being completely oblivious, but he’s just busy trying to hide the equally massive crush he has on you so is missing all your cues.

Ifa: so I’m getting the grandson treatment too? See? Doesn’t matter how much older you are than this dude. Hang out with him long enough, and you’ll eventually find yourself being treated like a kid.

Ororon: Meaning, everyone looks after you. What’s so bad about that?

They continue on, and Paimon and the Traveler ask for for your side.

Paimon: So are you here on vacation too Y/N?

Y/N: Sort of, I tagged along for the chance to see the nation, but I was told to make sure these two don’t get up to any trouble. It was going smooth, up until just recently at least.

The whole group watches Ifa and Ororon bicker.

Ifa: “In that case, guess I better start over. Hi guys, my name’s Ifa, and I just turned five.

Paimon: Oh, Paimon gets it! Y/N’s the responsible adult!

Ororon&Ifa: Seriously, bro☹️

Paimon: So what about Cacucu?

*** open dialogue after Cacucu is back***

Paimon: so what are your plans while you’re here! Are you staying for the rest of the festival?

Y/N: Sightseeing is definitely on the agenda! Now that Cacucu is back safe, we should take the time for a stroll. Fontaine has lots of beautiful places to see, romantic even, wouldn’t you say?

(You flick the feather at Ifa’s shoulder, but he turns away and pulls his hat down)

Ifa: Um yeah totally, sightseeing’s cool.

You frown at his disinterest but continue talking to Paimon and the Traveler

Y/N: and Ororon finally found another film he wants to watch so we’ll fit that in somewhere too.

Meanwhile Ifa’s trying to cover his blush because he thinks you’re just teasing him again and he can’t let you know how much it affects him.

Cacucu: you’re bombing bro!

Ifa: shhh!

****

And I read a post about Ifa confusing Y/N because he’s trying not to call them bro and friend-zone himself. Like what if Y/N is trying to figure out why he’s not calling them a friendly term of endearment anymore because yes they like him but they were friends first and he used to always call them dude/bro so that must mean something is wrong now. And he happens to also be distancing himself while they’re in Fontaine because he can’t wrestle with his feelings while around Y/N.

And what if Y/N heard him say it to Cacucu or Ororon. I love the misunderstanding and slight miscommunication trope😩 it’s playing out like a movie:

Ororon: Y/N asked me if you’re mad at them

Ifa: What? Bro, no, why would they think that? And why wouldn’t they ask me about it?

Ororon shrugs: Maybe because their best bro has been avoiding them and not calling them a bro like he always does

Ifa: What did you tell them?

Ororon: Bro code

Ifa: is.. is that what you said or are telling me, dude?

Ororon, proud of himself: Both

Ifa: 😓

Ifa: Bro, come on, you know why. I don’t want to be bros with Y/N anymore.

Door opens, and you’re there like 🥺

Ifa can’t catch a break and is screaming inside like:

Y/N: You could’ve just told me if I did something to make you mad, Ifa. But not wanting to be friends without talking to me is wild.

Ifa is scrambling to explain and is panicking while you get more upset. Ororon and Cacucu watch and somehow have popcorn at the ready to share.

Ifa: No, bro- not bro- I mean yes, Y/N-

Y/N: So what, you weren’t even going to tell me? Was I supposed to just take a hint? Guess I should’ve the way you’ve been avoiding me.

Ifa: No, I haven’t, I just..

Y/N: Just what? Anytime Ororon went off to do his own thing, you acted like you couldn’t stand to be alone with me. And now you’re saying you don’t want to be friends anymore?

Y/N: Oh archon, you found out didn’t you? Ororon must’ve told you or you finally got a clue

You put your hand on your forehead and laughed. Ifa was still trying to find the words that wouldn’t dig him into an even bigger hole.

Ifa: What?

Y/N: If you don’t like me back Ifa, you could’ve just talked to me like an adult. I can handle rejection. Or are you actually five years old?

Ifa: WHAT

You shook your heard, unable to believe your friend would avoid you and end your friendship because of your crush. Even if he doesn’t like you back, you thought you meant more to him.

You were about to leave, thoroughly disappointed and heartbroken when Ifa grabbed your hand.

(Cacucu: Oh dear! Oh dear!

Ororon: this is getting good; both were still aggressively munching on popcorn.)

Ifa: Y/N- darlin’ I wasn’t avoiding you, I was just being stupid because I didn’t know how to tell you I’m in love with you.

(Ororon gasped, then proceeded to cough violently as he choked on a kernel.

Cacucu: Epic fail, bro!

Ororon, wheezing: wait, I already knew that)

Ifa and Y/N enjoy the remainder of the festival and return to Nathan as couple. Suspiciously, when they shared the news with their friends, all were happy for them but half begrudgingly exchanged hands and mora was passed around, most of it landing in Ororon’s pocket.

Y/N: you bet on us?

Ororon: what can I say? I know my bros, and most of this is because everyone else thought it’d take longer

Ifa: how about you split the earnings three ways and we’ll call it even

Cacucu: count me in, bro!

Ororon: aw, man

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

As a kid my family used to make fun of me for stuff that is apparently exclusively reserved for “old people” like rolling across the room in a rolly chair to grab something (instead of getting up and taking three steps) or sitting down at a table to do quick food prep like cut fruit or scramble an egg (instead of just standing at the counter for 90 seconds) TURNS OUT what they called laziness was just disability all along haha TURNS OUT I just needed a mobility aid yet here I am today still without one because they gaslit me into believing I was “just lazy” and it took me decades to finally understand that’s not true. haha who knew

[mad-hunts]

AHH, it's almost midnight, so you all know what time it is... (don't worry i'm about to say what time it is, y'all LOL) it's cursed image time!! also, this grave is from the arrow TV show, tumblr, so please don't come at me —

but oh... look, it's barton at joker's funeral, you guys AHHH

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[smilesrobotlover]

Sorry about my panic, I always had terrible looking teeth as a kid, and dentists would harangue me about not taking care of my teeth. I brushed my teeth regularly, I used to good toothpaste, I flossed, I did everything I could to take care of my teeth and the doctors and family members who only looked at my teeth would say I didn't brush my teeth at all. I got bullied about it to the point where I never smiled with my teeth showing, and I vividly remember being told in high school by a girl I thought was a friend that she didn't want to take me to her place because she didn't want her mom thinking she was friends with crackheads. All of this to say, I have A LOT of trauma regarding my teeth, and I'm still struggling with my dental health. None of it was my fault, I understand having teeth that naturally need more care than the average person. Im sorry for spazzing on you. Teeth aren't something normally talked much about.

You’re fine, it sounds rough. Again I appreciate the concern and advice and it’s always good to know if something is actually damaging for your teeth (people don’t realize how important oral health is I’m afraid).

[iboughtyouviolets]

If you have ever been around a cishet wyt boy (let's face it, they aren't MEN with that attitude) that has been needlessly cruel. You too may have been a victim of JoeyMcFlyfuck.

[autisticlee]

have realized the way my sister talks to me is a trauma trigger and I can't escape it because no matter what I do she still talks to me that way and i've told her to stop because I hate it and it makes me feel horrible so please try to talk to me differently. but she just rolls her eyes and continues to say worse things. she gets to live her best life and be happy because the way she treats me doesn't affect her at all, while I have to spend the next week with trauma related flashbacks and rumination and feeling like shit against my will. and she doesn't care. it's my problem that she's my problem! she doesn't need to take responsibility for anything! she grew up being taught she's invincible and can treat me like shit and never get punished. she learned to fake cry and get me in trouble. no one believes me or cares. i'm the bad kid and she's a perfect angel. because of that, my parents don't care and tell me to "ignore/get over it"

IF CURING TRAUMA WAS EASY AS DECIDING TO GET OVER IT– 😒

[dreaming-medium]

Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

———

A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

—————————————————————————

Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

[steddiehyperfixation]

silly little thing for my @steddiebingo prompt: nerds | 758 words | T |

"Hey, maybe he can help," Robin says, sweeping a hand towards Dustin who's just walked into Family Video for his regularly scheduled afterschool bug Steve and Robin time, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh come on." Steve shakes his head. "The kid doesn't want to hear about my trash heap of a love life."

"Oh, no, I absolutely want to hear about that." Dustin perks up at the opportunity to learn about Steve's trivial suffering.

"We're trying to figure out why Steve goes on a million dates but can't seem to find someone he actually likes," Robin fills Dustin in. "Tell him, Steve."

Steve groans, dragging his hands over his face before splaying them out sarcastically, as that's the only thing he can really do in protest right now. Dustin's looking at him expectantly, and Steve has no choice but to tell the kid all about Linda and Heidi and Brenda and Lucy and whoever else he's been out with recently, doing his best to answer any subsequent questions as PG as possible.

"Well of course you haven't found the one yet, you keep trying to date a bunch of normal, basic, girly girls. That's not your type," Dustin informs him once Steve's done talking.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Oh, it isn't?"

"You can't really be that stupid, can you?"

"No, please, Henderson, enlighten me on what you think my type is."

"You're into nerds," he says like it's completely obvious.

Steve scoffs. "I am not into nerds. You know, just because I hang around you little weirdos all the time does not actually mean I want to hang around even more weirdos in all the other aspects of my life too."

"Seriously, Steve, think about it," Dustin argues. "Think of all the girls you've actually been really genuinely into in your life. They've all been nerds! Nancy-"

"- is not a nerd."

"She's a straight-A student and a journalism super geek. She's a nerd."

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs grudgingly. "Alright, fine, but-"

"And you were into Robin-"

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me."

"-who you can't deny is definitely a nerd," Dustin continues.

"You know what, actually, he does have a point," Robin says.

Steve looks at her in betrayal. "Don't encourage him!"

"That girl you told me about that you liked in middle school who was super into Star Trek, and the other one who wanted to write a fantasy novel one day- oh and the elementary school crush who was always reading a new book every day..." Robin lists, ticking each one off on her fingers.

"I told you all that in confidence!"

"They were all nerds!"

"Exactly." Dustin grins, vindicated and insufferably smug. "Ergo, you, Steve Harrington, need to find yourself a nerd."

"I am not into nerds!" Steve protests hopelessly.

"What more proof do you need?" Dustin says. "You're into nerds."

"Totally into nerds," Robin concurs.

Steve huffs and throws up his hands. "Fine! I'll admit I'm into nerds if it will make you two shut up about it!"

Eddie happens to wander into the previously empty store at that exact moment, catching the tail end of the conversation as he approaches the counter. "What's all this about nerds?"

Steve freezes, glances Eddie over and stares at him strangely for a few long seconds. "Holy shit," he mutters.

His gaze cuts to Robin, whose eyes go wide when she meets his look. "Holy shit," she agrees.

"Oh my god."

"Oh my god."

"Dude."

"Dude!"

Eddie blinks at them. "Are you two having some sort of joint stroke or something?" He looks at Dustin as if the kid might have a better clue of what's going on. "Can you understand them?"

Dustin shrugs, equally mystified. "Don't look at me, man. They're weird."

The incomprehensible parroting conversation is still going on.

"Okay," Steve's saying, taking a deep breath in through his nose and exhaling determinedly.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Robin grins and shoves at his shoulder.

Steve finally turns back around and leans on the counter in front of Eddie with a classically charming smile. "So, Eddie, are you free on Saturday?"

Eddie smiles back despite his confusion. "Yeah-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin bursts out suddenly.

"Oh my god," Robin agrees with a knowing smirk.

Eddie glances at Dustin. "Oh no, not you too."

Steve exhales a long-suffering sigh and pushes himself off the counter, marching around to grab Eddie by the hand and drag him away from Dustin and Robin. "So. Saturday?"

"He's into nerds," Dustin whispers, wide-eyed.

Robin nods sagely. "He's into nerds."

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hi honey, i absolutely love your fics, they've made me smile, laugh, cry and scream in cuteness. i was wondering if you could do this trend:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMB7Aupdp/

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMB7D47xE/

but with the drivers and their daughters/sons, like driver says 'im so hungry i could eat a child' and their kids reactions... if you dont want to, there's no problem at all. love 🩷🩷

Only Kidding

It was a slow Friday at the paddock—calm skies, mild temperatures, and everything running on time for once. Lando sat back in the team hospitality lounge, his race suit unzipped down to his waist and tied at his hips, a plain white T-shirt clinging slightly from the heat. But he didn’t care about that.

All his attention was on the small girl curled in his lap, playing with the braided bracelets on his wrist.

“Careful,” he said gently, watching her fingers tangle a little too tight. “That one’s from Monaco. I like that one.”

Yn looked up at him with the same big brown eyes that made people double take whenever they walked by. “I’m being careful, Daddy.”

“I know you are,” he said with a smile, brushing his hand over her curls.

She looked so much like him it was a little ridiculous sometimes. Same nose, same smile, same stubborn little pout. His heart squeezed just looking at her. Five years old and already the most important thing in his world—no contest.

Max walked into the lounge with a cold drink in one hand and a slightly mischievous grin. “Mate, she’s gonna braid those onto your face if you don’t stop her soon.”

“She can do whatever she wants,” Lando replied without hesitation. “She’s the boss.”

Yn beamed proudly and held up his arm. “I’m decorating!”

From the couch beside them, Ria laughed. “You’re doing a great job, love.”

Lando leaned his head back with a soft sigh. “God, I’m starving. I could eat a whole child.”

There was a pause.

A very small, very deliberate pause.

Yn froze. Her tiny fingers stopped playing with his bracelets. Slowly, she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“You could… what?” she asked, voice quiet and slightly horrified.

Max choked on his drink.

Lando blinked, confused by her sudden stillness. “What?”

Yn carefully slid off his lap, step by step, not breaking eye contact.

“Baby?” he said, raising a brow.

She didn’t answer.

She walked—no, tiptoed—straight to Ria and climbed into her lap without a word, still looking at Lando like he had grown fangs.

Ria burst out laughing the moment Yn clutched her like a safety blanket.

“Oh my god,” Max wheezed. “She thinks you’re gonna eat her!”

“I was kidding!” Lando said, now cracking up too. “Yn, baby, I swear—I was joking!”

Yn blinked slowly at him, her little hands fisted in Ria’s hoodie.

“Why would you say that?” she asked seriously, as if this was a courtroom and he was on trial.

“I was hungry! It’s just a joke people say sometimes!”

“You said you could eat a child,” she repeated, dramatically betrayed.

Ria was shaking with laughter now. “Honestly, I’d go hide too if my dad said that.”

Lando leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Come here, monkey. I promise I’m not gonna eat you. You’re my whole heart, remember?”

She hesitated, still snuggled against Ria.

“You said you were hungry.”

“I was. But I meant I could eat, like, a really big sandwich. Or a mountain of pasta. Not you.”

Max threw in, “Yeah, I don’t think you’d taste very good anyway.”

“Max!” Ria hissed, laughing harder.

Yn’s mouth twitched.

Lando noticed. “Uh oh. Is that a smile?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” She turned her face into Ria’s shoulder, giggling quietly.

“I got you,” Ria said softly, kissing her head. “We’ll protect you from the Big Bad Hungry Dad.”

“I’m not the Big Bad anything!” Lando insisted, dramatically affronted. “I’m your dad! I read you bedtime stories and make dinosaur-shaped pancakes!”

“You do,” Yn admitted shyly.

“And I sing terribly in the car just to make you laugh.”

She nodded again.

“So can I please have my snuggle-bug back?”

She finally looked at him properly, serious again. “You really won’t eat me?”

“Not even a nibble.”

“Not even a toe?”

“Not even a toe.”

Yn wriggled out of Ria’s lap and padded back over. Lando opened his arms wide, and she dove into them like a little rocket. He hugged her tight, lifting her slightly onto his lap again.

“You scared me,” she said into his chest.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful with my jokes, yeah?”

“Okay.”

From behind them, Max mumbled, “You know, if you just packed snacks like I told you—”

“Not the time, Max.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[meenaxskz]

it glows in the dark (bf!han jisung x reader)

drabble | bf!han x reader au genre: light smut | crack warnings: mature suggestive content | language Summary: han bought fluorescent green glow-in-the-dark condom and a smiles like he just cured world hunger. you? you’re just trying not to pass out laughing. a/n : i wanted to make all the members but i can only imagine jisung doing this kind of things lol

You’re straddling him on the bed, lips on his jaw, everything moving fast.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes, hands gripping your hips.

“I missed you more...”

And then mid grope, he goes :

“WAIT. WAIT. WAIT.”

You freeze. “What?!”

He wiggles out from under you like a lizard “I HAVE A SURPRISE.”

You blink. “Unless the surprise is your d—”

“TA-DAAAA!”

He holds up a shiny silver packet.

You squint.

“…No.”

“Oh yes.”

It’s fluorescent green. With a label that proudly reads:

GLOW UP: For When You Want Your Dick to Be the Night Light.

You stare. He grins like a kid who just won at a claw machine.

“IT GLOWS. BABE. IT GLOWS IN THE DARK.”

You cover your face, already laughing.

“Why would you BUY that??”

“Because I CARE about SEXUAL INNOVATION.”

“Because you’re an unhinged menace”

“Because imagine this: the lights go out. BOOM. Green saber. Science fiction but sexy.”

You wheeze. “You’re insane.”

He winks. “You ever wanted to say 'Omg, I saw stars' during sex and actually mean it? Because I can give you glowstick dick.”

You fall off the bed.

---

The room is pitch black.

Except for the fluorescent green light glowing from one very specific area.

You’re on your back, trying to compose yourself.

Jisung is above you, dick fully luminated, posing like a Marvel villain.

“Prepare yourself” he whispers dramatically “for the GLOW OF PASSION.”

You choke. “Jisung—please—”

He thrusts once. You scream laughing.

“You’re glowing like a nuclear noodle!”

“Shhhhhh” he whispers, pressing a finger to your lips. “Let me light up your life.”

You slap his chest. “I can’t take you seriously.”

He gasps. “Is that what you’d say to green lantern in bed?!”

“Jisung I’m BEGGING YOU-”

He sits back on his heels, still very much illuminated and way too proud.

“Okay, but like...look at it. This is peak performance.”

“It’s radioactive! You look like your dick went to Chernobyl.”

“Why are you being mean to me in my moment of power?!”

You try to straddle him. You really try.

But you’re shaking from laughter.

Hands on his shoulders. Face buried in his neck.

“I’m trying to ride you, I really am-”

“Then ride the lightning, baby.”

You lose it.

Collapse on top of him, wheezing into the sheets.

He flops dramatically onto the bed with you.

The room now filled with the low green glow of his still very much ready junk.

Silence.

Then softly:

“…This was supposed to be the hottest night of our lives.”

You turn your head. “It is. You just accidentally made it sci-fi.”

He sighs. “Next time I’m buying the color changing one.”

You pause. “THERE’S A COLOR CHANGING ONE?!”

He grins. “We’re gonna need sunglasses for that one.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.