#yeah i made another one of these because i have a problem | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

psycholuvrgirl · 2 days ago

Text

duplicity! [teaser]

rafe cameron x sweetheart!pogue!oc [baby porter]

summary: baby porter, the pogue princess, asks rafe cameron out on a date after losing a bet. to her surprise, rafe says yes.

warnings: nsfw (very brief smut)!

a/n: this is just a teaser for this series. this series will follow the plot of obx, so a lot of it is going to seem very familiar, just with a twist because baby will be in it

wc: 2.1k

it was meant to be just one simple task: ask rafe cameron on a date. baby lost a bet with jj and the punishment was simple, but the problem is baby porter is, unlike most pogues, terribly shy.

“guys i don’t think i can do it,” she says, glancing across the boneyard where rafe was standing. he has an arm wrapped around his sister, sarah, laughing with kelce and topper about god knows what.

“you lost, baby, you gotta do it. deal’s a deal,” jj says.

“deal’s a deal,” she breathes out. “okay. i can do this.”

“you can do this,” kie assures.

baby stands from the log she was sat in, crossing the sandy expanse until she was right in the lion’s den of kooks. also unlike most pogues, baby got along with most of the kooks—she wasn’t like other pogues, which meant she wasn’t treated like one. so her presence didn’t seem to unnerve anyone in the group.

“sup, baby,” topper says, throwing back a swig of his beer.

“hi baby,” sarah says with a warm smile, “what’s up?”

“uh, well, actually…” baby straightens her back, clearing her throat and doing the best to sound as confident as she can. “i’m here to talk to rafe.”

“me?” rafe asks, pointing the lip of his bottle to his own chest.

“mhm,” baby says with a nod.

the kooks ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at this, making rafe mutter threats at them as he follows baby away. she shoots the pogues a glance—a final plea to be done with this, but they all just give her encouraging thumbs-ups. so she continues to lead rafe to a more secluded area.

“am i in trouble with the pogue princess?” he teases.

“don’t call me that,” baby says through a whisper.

baby isn’t sure when she earned the nickname “pogue princess” but she didn’t like it, not one bit. it made her feel weird, but for some reason the nickname coming from rafe’s lips didn’t seem to bother her as much as it normally would. but she quietly scolds him all the same.

they both take a seat on a large branch that washed ashore, rafe’s whole body turned towards baby as he awaits whatever it is she dragged him out here for. baby clears her throat, uncrossing her legs just to cross them back over.

“so, rafe…” she says.

he lets out a laugh. “so, baby…” he takes a sip of his beer. “what d’ya need?”

if baby has learned one thing from her pogue friends, it’d be to just “let it rip” in any circumstance that could remotely use that advice. so that’s what she does.

“will you go on a date with me?” she asks, words tumbling out faster than even she can comprehend.

“what?” he asks with another laugh, “i have no idea what you just said, b.”

she clears her throat again, sitting up straighter. “i said…” she looks down at her nails, picking at the pink polish coating them. “will you go on a date with me?”

she braces herself for rafe’s reaction. she expects laughter, for him to holler in her face and say the big “no” as if she just asked him for a million dollars.

“sure.”

her eyes bug out of her head, head snapping up to look at him. “what did you just say?”

“sure,” he repeats.

“y— you wanna go on a date? with me?” she asks. a small smile raises to his lips, the smile turning into a quiet chuckle. he nods, and baby’s eyes only widen further. “seriously?”

“yeah, i mean, you’re cute,” he says, “why not?”

her skin burns at the compliment. “you think i’m cute?”

“why do you sound so surprised? you know you’re cute,” he says.

“no i don’t,” she says.

“well…” rafe scoots closer to her, his cologne invading her senses. “i can assure you…” he kisses her left cheek. “that you, baby…” then her right. “are very cute.” his lips meet hers, just for a moment. the kiss is over almost as soon as it began and baby porter is still left a blubbering mess after it. her mouth opens to speak, then closes, then reopens. no words come out though, making rafe laugh just a little more. “how about tomorrow night? i’ll pick you up at around seven?”

she nods wordlessly and he chuckles.

“i’ll see you then,” he says, standing from the branch. he holds out a hand to her and she takes it, letting him pull her up effortlessly.

“see ya,” she breathes out.

he leans over, pressing a kiss to her cheek before walking away. she stands there stunned for far too long, and when she finally snaps back to reality she scurries back to her friends.

“how’d it go?” john b asks.

“should we start planning the wedding?” jj asks.

“he… he said yes,” baby says.

kiara’s head nearly snaps off from how quickly she turns, pope drops his beer on the sand, john b’s jaw falls slack, and jj spits out the beer in his mouth.

“he what?” pope asks.

“you’re going on a date with rafe cameron?” jj asks. before baby can answer, he howls with laughter. “oh my god, that is priceless!”

but, for some odd reason, baby porter didn’t find this funny—not even a little bit, not even at all.

“what are you even worried about?” jj asks, “it’s rafe fucking cameron. you don’t need to impress the guy, you just need to get this over with.”

a honk from outside pulls baby’s attention away from her friends. “that’s him.”

“we’ll walk you out,” pope says. baby turns to pope with a scrunched face. “what? it’s for safety reasons.”

baby sighs, reluctantly standing and allowing her four friends to follow her out of the chateau. rafe is on his phone, standing next to his car, and looks up at the sound of the front door shutting. he looks over baby’s outfit—a sundress over a bikini, just in case. his eyebrows raise as he looks her over, then his face falls as he notices the pogues behind her.

“have her home by eight,” jj says.

“jay, it’s only seven,” baby says, shooting jj a glare.

“fine. eight thirty,” he says.

“ignore him,” baby says with a small, nervous giggle. rafe laughs with her, but it’s evidently forced for her comfort.

“just, don’t do anything stupid,” kiara says, ever the blunt one in the group. “bring her back in one piece, okay?”

“okay,” rafe says, in hopes that they’d go away. and his wish is granted because they all reluctantly head back inside, tossing looks over their shoulders at baby. she doesn’t seem to notice though. no, not when her focus is on the tall man in front of her.

“hi,” she says.

he smiles. “hi.” he makes his way to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips that makes her heart flutter.

and the rest of the night goes the same. he brings her onto the druthers for a picnic under the stars, bringing them to the middle of the ocean so they have privacy, the stars and a few candles being the only light they have on the deck of the boat.

“have you ever gone night swimming?” baby asks.

“hasn’t everyone?” rafe asks. both of them are laying next to each other, most of the food packed away by now. they stare up at the stars as the silence of the night engulfs them, only breaking the silence every so often.

“probably,” baby says with a laugh, “i guess that was a silly question.”

“did you want to?” he asks, turning his head to look at her. “did you want to go night swimming?”

she turns to him with a bright smile, nodding rapidly. rafe gets up from his spot, helping baby up. he strips off his shirt as she gets rid of her dress. rafe runs and dives off the end of the boat and baby follows him, diving into the cold ocean. they both resurface, letting out joyous laughs when they see each other.

despite everything she’s been told about rafe cameron, baby actually finds herself having the best night of her life with him. her heart sinks a little at the thought of everyone’s judgements making it take this long for her to ever get to know the beautiful boy in front of her.

“why are you frowning?” rafe asks.

“oh, am i? i didn’t mean to,” she says. baby swims closer to him and he grabs her, letting her wrap herself around him.

“are you not enjoying the date?” he asks.

“no, i am!” she exclaims, her heart quickening at the thought of him believing this is anything other than perfect. “i’m loving tonight, honest!”

“then what’s wrong?” he asks, tucking a soaked strand of hair behind her ear.

“it’s just… you’re so different than what i expected,” she says, “i wish i had asked you sooner.”

rafe doesn’t bother with words. he was never good with words anyways. instead he presses his lips to hers, their lips moving passionately with one another. heads twisting as baby holds onto rafe just that much tighter. like he might slip away if she doesn’t, like the moment might fade to nothing if she lets him go.

the brush of something against her leg has baby scrambling to climb rafe, ruining their perfect kiss as she yelps.

“what was that! something touched my foot!” she exclaims. rafe breaks into a fit of laughter, but she’s still trying to climb him as if he’s a tree. “it’s not funny, rafe!”

she quickly swims over to the side of the boat, hauling herself up and shivering on the ledge. he follows her up and guides her inside. the air is warmer down below and rafe wraps a towel around baby’s shoulders.

“there you go,” he whispers.

“thank you,” she says with a shy smile.

rafe responds by reconnecting their lips, cupping her cheek with one hand as the other lands on her waist. her arms wrap around his neck, letting her hands move through his hair. when his tongue slips against hers, caressing it sensually, she lets out a whimper that goes straight to rafe’s dick.

he gently nudges her down onto the couch. he hovers above her without detaching their lips. he pulls at the tie of her bikini top, slipping the fabric away. he pulls back and looks down at her with hearts in his eyes.

“wow,” he whispers. baby crosses her arm over her chest, but he gently pries it away to continue admiring her. then, he dives in. his lips wrap around one nipple, his hand massaging the other. he switches after some time, leaving baby to mewl at the sensations he’s causing.

“kiss me again,” she says, trying to pull him up. he obliges, climbing back up to bring their lips back to their prior rhythmic dance together. his hand slips down her body, falling beneath her bikini bottom and massaging her wet slit. she lets out a quiet whimper as he gathers the wetness on his fingers, then a loud moan when he brings his fingers to her clit.

“you like that?” he asks. she nods her head and he dips back down to kiss her, swallowing every moan that falls from her pretty lips.

he slowly pushes one finger inside of her, then another. leaving her a mess underneath him. she grinds up towards him, chasing her own release.

“rafe, please,” she pleads as he slips his fingers in and out of her.

“please what, baby?” he pants. she’s past using words at this point, too lost in her own pleasure to make her mouth form anything coherent. so she takes matters into her own hands, literally. she drops her hand down to cup him, massaging him through his board shorts. she slips her hand inside, wrapping her tiny hand around his length. they both grind into one another’s hands, chasing their highs. when they both get their release they lay there, content with one another’s company.

interrupted by the ringing of baby’s phone, they both reluctantly go back to the deck to retrieve the device.

“did he kidnap you? what’s taking so long?” kiara asks.

baby rolls her eyes, “i’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“tomorrow?” john b shrieks.

“goodbye guys.”

since that night, rafe and baby have been inseparable. in secret, that is. both went home to report to their friends that the date was just a bust, both knowing that if their friends knew about their successful date that they’d never hear the end of it. so that’s how the relationship went. sneaking out late at night, long weekends spent alone together, calls until the early morning. it worked for them — secret, intimate, and just perfect.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader smut #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx fic #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction

208 notes · View notes

nightwingsgypsyrep · 3 days ago

Text

Ok so I’ve been umming and ahhing about making this post for a while. I’ve always kinda planned on it, but seeing these tags on a previous post of mine (no hate to this user) made me want to post something now. It’s also gone 3am. So it’s not really going to be very clean and tidy, and will probably be a bit rambling, but I can always post a ‘tidy’ version another time.

So! Tackling Dick Grayson’s Romani/GRTSB heritage (warning: it’s a long one)

So, as usual, a few disclaimers: 1) I am not American. 2) I myself fall under the GRTSB umbrella - for clarity, I am from the fairground/circus so a Showman, but my family were simply ‘gypsies’ before getting involved in that in the Victorian period, so I use gypsy/traveller/Showman for myself. I also speak Romani and grew up in the culture and on the grounds. I’m not just talking out of my arse, I promise. 3) I do not pretend to have read every comic. However, this post will be based in things which DC have published (yeah I know it gets retconned every two minutes but hey, I’m working with it), even if some of it is more speculative/Headcanony, it will all be canon-compliant/what makes sense based on my own experiences. 4) That being said, everyone who does in some way fall under the GRTSB acronym will have different experiences and opinions, and all are equally valid and should be respected. 5) I use the term ‘gypsy’ a lot. Where I am from, it is not a slur, but is used almost a catch-all phrase for GRTSB people, by us. We also see Dick use it so I’m going to. I personally don’t mind if people use it (so long as they don’t use it as an insult) but not everyone will feel that way, so it’s always better to ask individuals. 6) this post is intended as a fun exploration of a character whom I relate to based on our shared heritage (when it’s really rare to find characters like that). I’m not trying to dictate to you how you should interpret Dick’s character. You’re welcome to different opinions and interpretations - this is just one of mine! :)

So, first, what is GRTSB? Well, it’s an acronym which covers all aspects of the gypsy/traveller umbrella. It is used in British legislation. It stands for Gypsy Romani Traveller Showman (aka fairground and circus) Boater. Under British legislation, only the first three (Gypsies, Romani, and Travellers) are considered an ethnic identity, whilst Showmen and Boaters are considered a cultural identity.

This is absolutely FULL of problems and has been hotly debated for years, with different people identifying in different ways. People who share the same/very similar ethnic heritage (i.e. siblings, or cousins) can have completely different points of view on what they identify as. As such, don’t take it as gospel - it’s more of a guideline than anything. Especially since a) these groups often intermarry, meaning that someone can be multiple at once; b) if a Showman stops travelling with the fair and settles, they don’t become a non-traveller, because it’s in your blood, not just a job; c) people can trace their heritage back past a particular group - e.g. my own family (circus and fairgrounds aka Showmen) can be traced back to at least the 1600s, before fairs were really a thing - at the time, they simply identified as gypsies. They didn’t stop being gypsies just because they changed their job/founded a circus/fairground. As such, many in my family identify primarily as a gypsy or traveller, and a Showman secondarily, whilst others do the opposite, or identify as just a Showman or just a traveller/gypsy. Like I say, this classification is not perfect, and is hotly debated, especially at the present time.

So, now, onto the subject of Dick Grayson. I included the tags above mostly because of the ‘tell me you don’t know a character without telling me you don’t know a character’, because, firstly, rude. secondly, the poster makes reference to the Golden Age. And yeah, obviously DC aren’t going to make reference to Dick being a gypsy in the Golden Age - do you really expect writers in the 40s to care enough about the nuances of a character’s ethnic heritage, especially a gypsy, at a time when it was still common even in countries like England (where legal segregation wasn’t a thing) to have signs on pubs like ‘no blacks, no Irish, no dogs, no gypsies’ - btw we still get those occasionally? However, if we look at the comics which have been published in the eighty five years since Dick’s debut, we see a lot of references to Dick having Romani/GRTSB heritage. Again, I’m not well read, but in Grayson’s run, at least, we do see Dick speaking Romani and self-identifying as a gypsy (Nightwing #91 btw). So I’m sorry but it is definitely canon that Dick has at least some Romani heritage (since Romani, by culture, is not taught to non-travellers on purpose, and is thus only passed down from parent to child. Hell, even some of my cousins who are half gypsy - Diddakois - don’t know the language!), and the fact that he speaks it and IDs as a gypsy does suggest that this is something important to him and his character. I know that being a gypsy is certainly a big thing to me (with how the world treats us, you have to be proud of it and have it be important to you to make it worth it).

So now we come onto the second part of my rant: wtf is going on with Haly’s Circus.

So, an important bit of context is, what makes a gypsy a gypsy? And the answer to that, in my opinion, is a mix between culture and blood. You can’t be a gypsy (unless in circumstances like adoption) unless you have both. What I mean by that is, if you’ve got one gypsy great great great grandparent, but weren’t bought up with the culture and morals, you have gypsy heritage but are not a gypsy. However, if you are a gypsy and you decide to settle down in a house, work in an office, and never speak Romani again, you are still a gypsy. Similarly, if you suddenly decide to take on the gypsy lifestyle (maybe work on the fairgrounds or in the circus, or go travelling like the New Age lot), you are not a gypsy, because it’s not in your blood - hence why it’s an ethnicity, not a cultural thing really. As such, it is common for there to be a us vs them mentality even with those working on the ground - you have the gypsy/traveller/Showman who tends to own/run things, and then you have hired non-GRTSB staff (traditionally called chaps, but this has fell out of fashion in recent years).

Now, I make this distinction because Haly’s Circus is really odd in that regard.

Most gypsy (or Showmen - like I say, it can be both at the same time) ran circuses and fairs tend to be family affairs. For example, it might be John Doe’s Circus on the tin, but the Smith family (which Mr Doe’s sister married into) will often work with and alongside the Does in the running and operating of the events. Largely, this is on an ownership level, with various relations then owning the surrounding supporting elements (e.g. sideshows, fairground rides and joints, food kiosks). Other family members might then help ‘mind’ the stuff, or you can hire non-GRTSB staff to help.

Now to draw on my own family history: historically, in the Victorian period, etc, it was common for the gypsy family who owned the circus to also perform in it. For example, in my grandfather’s circus, my grandmother was a lion tamer and equestrian performer in parades. They did also hire non-traveller performers, but there wasn’t such a distinct line. However, by the 30s approximately, this had changed to be a more managerial role, with it being more common to have purely hired performers in the main event. The exception here was for sideshows and fairground rides - it is still common today for these to be ran/worked by GRTSB people (e.g. my grandmother did the dookering - fortune telling - and my grandfather did the boxing; today, we still run and operate the rides and kiosks).

However, we know that Haly’s circus was not like that. We honestly don’t know if Haly was a gypsy or not. Also, usually, gypsies have such big families and are surrounded by them, but we know that the Graysons died with no living family (no William Cobb does not count here) and had no relation to anyone at Haly’s. I suppose if you want a canon answer, you could point to how Haly’s was used by the Court of Owls, but it could just be Like That. This is unusual but not unheard of, but still worth pointing out I think. Alternatively, it could originate from one of the non-GRTSB started circuses which were popular around the turn of the 20th century. Since being a gypsy is really tied to your family name and, ethnically, means you have to be born into it - you can’t just start a fair and claim to be one-, even 120 years later, these families are still met with scepticism - they could marry into a 100% gypsy family in 1901, and have all of their descendants do the same, and still the older generation would look at their surname and scoff and say they’re not a real traveller because that one great grandfather 100 years ago was not a born-and-bred traveller. But honestly, I think 100 years is enough to integrate. So, to summarise, Haly’s circus is quite unusual in that it does not appear to be operated by only gypsies/Showmen, even if it still common for circuses not to be performed in by just gypsies.

Now, to answer, how Romani is Dick Grayson?

Like I say, canon does explicitly tell us that he has Romani heritage, placing him firmly within that second category of the GRTSB acronym (and he also identifies with the more general Gypsy identity). However, it’s frankly unlikely that the writers really went in depth with the whole GRTSB thing, so I think we can tentatively suggest that he might have also identified (keyword here being ‘might’ - this is more canon-compliant HC here y’all) as a Showman (called a Carney in the US) because the whole deal with being a Showman is the circus/fairground aspect (but, like I say, it is still a ‘gypsy’ identity as you must be born a Showman, you can’t just sign up, because it is based on a mutual gypsy heritage which predates fairgrounds/circuses, which means it still fits into what we know of Dick in canon. As such, Dick being a Showman is hardly canon, but it is 100% compliant with what we know of Dick in canon). As I’ve said, they are not mutually exclusive. He could ID as both or either, or just prefer the all-encompassing ‘gypsy’.

Now, we also know that Dick is not 100% gypsy (but tbh who is nowadays? I have two non-gypsy great-great grandfathers). Although Dick’s family history is limited, we know that his great grandfather William Cobb was likely not a gypsy (he could be ethnically, it’s not ruled out, he might have just settled, but let’s go for safety’s sake here and just say he’s not). Similarly, his partner was from a wealthy non-gypsy family, meaning that ethnically, their baby (John Grayson’s father) was likely not a gypsy (though could potentially have been a Diddakoi aka a half-gypsy, if we believe William Cobb to be a settled gypsy). However, since this baby still grew up amongst the circus, it is not impossible that he ended up marrying a gypsy, which would make John Grayson half gypsy - aka a Diddakoi. In fact, I would argue that it is even likely, owing to the fact that Dick speaks Romani, and the fact that Romani is only taught to other members of the family, meaning that somewhere in the Grayson family, a Romani speaker had to be introduced. Mary Grayson (formerly Lloyd), on the other hand, probably was Romani/GRTSB herself. I say this, based mostly on her closeness with the OG Richard aka Raptor from Seeley’s run, who was Romani, and the fact that it is really common in gypsy circles to mostly mix with other gypsies, meaning that it would make sense for the pair to meet based on the fact that they were both gypsies/Romani. Therefore, I would argue that even if Dick is not wholly Romani/gypsy ethnically (but, like I say, who is nowadays?), I think there is enough both blood and culturally to make a pretty good case for him IDing as such, and foregoing the need to make any distinction. (Also, especially nowadays when Diddakois are increasingly more common, it’s not even that prejudiced to be a Diddakoi. A lot of my cousins are and you don’t even think to mention it). Aka. He’s a gypsy. Nuff said.

Then, I suppose, the final thing I’ll address is the ‘whitewashing’ issue, or, what I really think is a non-issue.

Sure, a lot of ethnically Romani people are dark skinned. There is a reason why the term gypsy exists. Now, as my grandad will tell you, gypsies originated from Northern India about 2000 years ago, before moving into Europe. However, a lot can happen in 2000 years. There are a lot of people in the UK, at least, who identify as purely Romani who have very pale skin. My family has a real split: my dad’s side of the family is quite dark, and are often mistaken for being South Asian in the summer due to how dark they get when they tan. Meanwhile, he refers to my mother’s side of the family as being ‘poxy and pasty’. My mother is a full-blooded traveller btw, same as my dad (barring their singular non-gypsy great grandad they each had). You just can’t paint everybody with the same brush. Take me for example: I am pale af and take after my mum’s side of the family, but I’ve still got the stereotypical dark curly hair and blue eyes of gypsies (which my boy also shares). Genetics are weird. So whilst I am a big fan of dark skinned Romani Dick Grayson, it’s also still ok and accurate for him to be paler. This does not make him any less Romani. (Like I say, this is all based on my experiences in the UK).

SOOO… TLDR:

Dick definitely has Romani heritage. This has been canon for decades and cannot be taken away from him.

He canonically self-IDs as a ‘gypsy’ (as well as the Romani heritage), and may also be interpreted as being a Showman (even if this is more of a European term) if you want to see him that way, especially since a lot of Showman families (mine included) can trace their families back past the origin of the fairground to when they simply identified as gypsies or Romani (hence why Dick might ID as a gypsy with Romani heritage. Honestly, this is mostly in the realm of canon-compliant Headcanon now)

The GRTSB classification system is a mess y’all and everyone has a different opinion. Just roll with it and don’t get into the debates is my professional opinion.

Being Romani/a gypsy/a traveller/a Showman is something you are born into. You can’t just become one, or stop being one. So, if we presume that William Cobb had no Romani heritage/was not a settled-down Gypsy, even after he joined Haly’s he did not become one. It really is in your blood, and is tied to family.

Haly’s circus is unusual because it’s mostly not a family affair (though points for the Graysons sticking with it and inheriting their roles - that is realistic!). It’s unclear how many of the members of the circus are Romani.

Dick also has non-traveller heritage due to the William Cobb thing. His grandfather, at least, was probably not ethnically Romani (though he might have been half if we want to view William Cobb as having Romani heritage/being a settled gypsy). However, since Dick canonically has Romani heritage, IDs as a gypsy, and speaks Romani (a language which is closely guarded amongst gypsies), it had to come in somewhere. Honestly, I think we can comfortably view him as being at least 3/4 ethnically Romani/a Gypsy, but also since modern Dick Grayson was not born during prohibition, this really isn’t a problem as it’s really common for Diddakois (half gypsies) to be treated as full gypsies nowadays.

As much as I love darker skinned Dick Grayson, it’s not a requirement. A lot of the GRTSB community (especially in Western Europe/Britain/Ireland) are on the pale side. This does not take away from their identity.

So that’s my rant. It’s like 3.30am so it’s probably a complete mess but hopefully it gets down the basics, at least insofar as it relates to my experiences and understanding as a gypsy from the fairground/a circus family. People will probably have different experiences (especially since I’m in the UK). Although I have based all of this on canon, and as such it should all be canon-compliant to my knowledge (I’ve still not read all the comics!), it is also equally based on my experiences, so you may interpret it completely differently. The beauty of Dick’s character is that he has been built up over 85 years, and as such, we have to do our best to interpret what was laid down in the Golden Age by writers with no idea of what Dick’s character would grow to be. As such, canon really is a bit of a sandbox, and this is my own go at it!

If anyone has any questions/wants clarification/notices any obvious contradictions with canon since I’ve not read them all yet, please feel free to point it out! This is not intended to be a lecture/call out post/dictatorship on how you view canon, just a small exploration of my interpretation of a character whom I relate to as a Romani speaking gypsy from the fairground/circus myself.

#I’m low-key terrified to post this pls don’t hang draw and quarter me #batman #batfam #dc comics #dick grayson #nightwing #romani dick grayson

197 notes · View notes

vicsstufff · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER TWO — SWEET trash TALK

warnings: my girl camila gets in problems, language, fighting (?), disturbing behavior, protective p (?), shortt.

BTS masterlist

pairing: hopkins!p.bueckers x exchange student!oc

taglist: @rebecca-woso , @unadulteratedcyclepaper , @authentic-girl03 , @starlighttsv , @avvwritesstufff

authors note: seconddd chapterrr, i have been so lazy to write omg like its baddd. i also had a minor surgery on friday but im recovering now and i wont go to school for a hole week! enjoy! comment if u wanna be added to the taglist!

ONE WEEK BEFORE SCHOOL.

“how about you go and get tickets for the upcoming game? high school season starts very soon.” michel reached for his wallet and grabbed some money inside it and handed it to camila. michel loved basketball, he did it for some time and even planned on doing it in college but his plans got interrupted once he moved to washington. adrianna didn’t share the same passion as michel did, but she did enjoy it watching it and supporting teams, it remembered her the last year of high school, when he was a cheerleader for the american football team, she even showed camila some tricks! life’s had been too good to be true, she tried the so famous milkshakes ‘p’ told her about, she went camping in the near by woods and saw a girl that looked oddly similar to what ‘p’ described herself. from afar she looked very animated and cheerful, everyone had a smile drawn on their face near her and it even made camila creep a smile while she focused on her.

camila reached for the money and started to mentally count the money and after placed it on the back of her pockets, “the leftover money, you can spend it on anything you want.” michel softly spoked with a assuring smile and camila gave a small nod making her way out the house door.

the afternoon chilly air filled up camila’s nostrils quickly while closing the door behind her, her nose become a softly pink that made her fingers grip into her hoodie, almost sprinting to the closest store near a school that sold tickets.

she entered the store when she suddenly bumped into someone, she closed her eyes waiting for another impact to happen, when she heard a loud groan coming from the person she bumped with. she slowly opened her eyes to see.

a dark haired girl glared down at her light pink shirt, dripping from the chocolate milkshake that had fallen upon her because of the sudden crash, “oh.my.god..look what you have done! dumb bitch!” the taller girl shouted not before launching her—now empty— milkshake away from her, “can’t you see were you’re going!?” she barked at camila, the curly haired girl took a deep breath before speaking to defend herself, “you were right in front of the door!” camila snapped back at her. the fuming woman gave her an acknowledgment look, looking closely at her face and the clothe she wore, when her eyes stopped at her hair, her nose wrinkled, a sign of disgust. camila did made a mental note about how curly haired people were kinda extinct in this area, but it looked like this girl had never seen a curly person never in her life and she observed camila like if she was a disgusting bug that landed in her milkshake. “jesus, rose. let’s go, you can later buy a new one.” a girl behind her grabbed this called rose by her wrist and dragged her out the store.

camila felt rotten inside when rose give her hair a nasty glaze, she didn’t really define it this morning and forgot to put on her bonnet on before going to sleep, it wasn’t that terrible, but rose made it feel like if her hair had gained consciousness and insulted her in every way possible.

“looking for tickets?” a voice took her out of her state of mind, it was coming from the register. “yeah, um. sorry for the inconvenience.” camila added quickly, gathering herself into walking to the register, taking out the money from her pocket. “no worries, rose is a regular problem around here.” the guy explained, taking something behind the counter. “i recommend you to stay out of her way, even if you go to the same school.” he stated, camila’s eyes widen with the response he gave to her. “how do you know where school i’m going to?” she inquired, a stranger knew about her transfer to a new school, did he also know where was she born? “rumors fly fast. brazilian?” he added, handing her the tickets. “um, yes.” camila snatched the tickets from the strangers hands and stumbled with counting the money almost launching it towards the register.

she made her way out of the store, it was now clearly dark, the parking lot was now lonely and the kids that were near the park had gone to the safety of their homes. a wet, tangy nose sniffed her hand rapidly, she looked down surprised to see a small golden retriever, once the dog noticed they got finally someone’s attention, their tail wiggled with emotion and started letting out small barks.

“oh, hello buddy.” camila reached down to pet the small creature, the pure night brought with it a gentle breeze, but strong enough to make camila shiver under her hoodie, the puppy didn’t escape the cold air, making it also start to shiver, that camila did notice.

she knew monica needed a little company and michel has been dying to adopt a golden retriever—it reminded him of his dog back in canada— camila gently grabbed the dog, scooping it around her arms as if it was going to protect the cold dog.

she took a moment to analyze the pup under her protection, when a sharp pain appeared on the bridge of her nose, a gushy feeling making its way down her nostril, landing on the soft fur of the body she was holding dearly. the dog sniffed the gently the blood disturbing his back. “shit— uh” camila gasped under her shaky breath, looking behind her, into the store, the guy was still looking at her, almost wanting to burn holes into her clothes, this made camila shiver even more. going back into that store was not a good idea.

her phone started vibrating in her pocket, she struggled to keep the dog safe in her arms while taking her phone out, the word ‘p 💗’ decorated the screen brightly.

“yoo, i just saw rose fucking nepobaby and she was fuming!” p exclaimed happily, “i wonder who got her like that.” camila bite down her lip starting to walk towards her house. “it was—um, me.. actually..” camila mumbled, just high enough for p to hear her. “no way..” p gasped, in the background you could hear rumbling across whatever room she was destroying. “let’s leave that conversation for another time..” camila said low, embarrassed.

she was barely new to the town and she was already causing problems, adrianna warned her, yet she didn’t listen. “did you lose something?” she added quickly not wanting the conversation to die. “my uniform! i swear i left it beside my backpack.” p let out a loud sigh. “okay, um, about rose.. why call her a nepobaby?” camila questioned sniffing her nose trying to prevent anymore blood flowing from her nose. “she sucks at basketball, she is only in the team because her daddy is rich!” p exclaimed, pumping herself into laying on her bed, exhausted from looking everywhere, “are you catching a cold? wait— did rose do something to you?” p quickly insinuated hearing the constant sniff from across the line. “just some bloody nose. i’m okay.” camila explained.

her footsteps becoming quicker and unstable, her throat was attacked by the feeling of being burned, she could taste the metallic blood in her mouth, the golden retriever dedicated itself to lick the dry milkshake that stained camila’s hoodie.

“not to worry you, but you and rose are going to the same school.” p laughed before quickly shouting down the giggle threatening to come out of her lips, “that just made my night worse, maybe my whole school year too.” camila groaned putting down the puppy and started fidgeting with her keys. once she entered the house, silence adorned the warm walls, monica came sprinting towards her, amused by the sudden view of new company.

“don’t worry love, if she does something to you, she will pay, trust.” p whispered, a lovely smile creeping its way into her lips, “not only on the court.” camila attacked quickly, marching her way up her bedroom.

“if she has soo much money, why doesn’t she go to a private school?” camila whined into her pillow, “she did, but! her father changed schools because of her bad grades.” p explained, gathering herself up, determined to find her uniform.

“she is going to eat me alive..” camila whimpered

“im supposed to do that.” p let out, not thinking twice about the weight of her words.

“paige! what the fuck!” camila let out a high chuckle laying her back on the bed looking tensely at her ceiling. “want to go for milkshakes before first day of school?” p hinted, “sounds like a plan.”

102 notes · View notes

nameless-jamie · 22 hours ago

Text

I Want You...Professionally

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing

A/N: A tiny little fluff scenario. Just for the vibes.

It was vacation time for Jamie's favorite assistant. Well, his only assistant. She had organized everything, a temporary assistant for Jamie, a good book she could read while relaxing on her couch, but she obviously didn't calculate Jamie's brattiness.

Y/N had barely been out for a week when the first text came in.

Jamie: Who the fuck is this Jerry lad?

She frowned at the message before another one followed.

Jamie: He’s in my kitchen, Y/N. My sanctuary. What’s next? My fucking shower?

Jamie: If he touches my shampoo, I’m calling the police.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. She had warned Jamie that a temp assistant would be sent to work for him while she was on leave. He probably didn't listen. It was supposed to be a good thing—someone to help manage his schedule, make sure he made it to training on time, and prevent situations exactly like this, all while Y/N could chill for like a week. Just one week, please!

Instead, it seemed like Jamie had decided to make it his personal mission to be as difficult as humanly possible.

Y/N: He’s literally just there to help. Be nice.

Jamie: Define “nice.”

Y/N: Don’t scare him off in under a week.

Jamie: Cannot promise that babe.

It did not take a week.

It took two days.

By that time Y/N got an angry phone call from Rebecca. Jamie had apparently run through the poor temp guy so fast that Rebecca had personally told her, “You need to deal with your idiot. Right now!”

And if the exasperation in her voice hadn’t already told Y/N everything she needed to know, the look on the temp’s face when she arrived at the club to talk to him, spoke louder than words could.

The man looked exhausted. Defeated. Like he had seen things no personal assistant should ever have to see.

"Jerry, hey how are things?" Y/N approached the man carefully and spoke in a soft voice. Damn, he looked like he was about to break.

“I can’t do it, Y/N” he had said, shaking his head. “He’s impossible.”

“Yeah,” she had sighed. “He does that sometimes.”

"He sleeps bottomless. BOTTOMLESS! He told me that I have the energy of a wet paper towel. And he only ever eats protein bars."

Jerry started crying out of frustration and hugged Y/N's shoulder, a little too tight. Nice, her favorite blouse is now tear-stained. Fuckin' Tartt.

Y/N patted Jerry's back awkwardly. "Shit, okay. I'll deal with it."

So when Jamie showed up at her flat unannounced that evening—because of course he did—she was more than ready to deal with him.

“Jamie,” she deadpanned, crossing her arms. “What the fuck.”

Jamie blinked at her. “What?”

“You terrorized him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You made him cry, Jamie.” Y/N deadpanned.

Jamie scoffed. “I barely said anythin'. He cried over one little comment.”

“You told him he had ‘the energy of a wet paper towel.’”

Jamie shrugged. “He did.”

“Jamie.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping onto her couch like he had just run a marathon. “Nah, you don't get it, t'was a whole nightmare. He was just there all the time. Following me around, tellin’ me what to do, actin’ like he knew me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You mean like how I do my job?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not like you.”

“Oh, really?” She crossed the room, standing in front of him. “Because you’ve never had a problem with me following you around before and telling you what to do. But suddenly, this guy shows up, and you turn into a little shit?”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “I am a little shit. Always been one.”

She huffed. “Jamie.”

“What?” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before looking up at her.

"Why is it different with me, tell me." She put her hand on his arm lovingly, trying to coax the answer out of him.

Jamie was frustrated. "I don't know. Maybe because you get me and... And maybe I don’t want someone else bossing me around, yeah? Maybe I just want you.”

The words hit her like a fucking freight train.

Jamie must’ve realized what he had said because his mouth snapped shut, his jaw tensing.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“In, like, a professional way?” Jamie said as more of a question than a statement.

“Jamie,” she said, with a warning voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head like he wanted to take it all back. “Forget it. I'll go apologize to the guy.”

“No Jamie, wait.” She stepped closer. "I mean you should definitely eventually apologize, you made the guy cry for god sake! But wait..."

Jamie met her gaze, something uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

She licked her lips, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. “You want me?”

Jamie’s throat bobbed. “Yeah.”

Her heart stupidly skipped a beat. “In, like, a professional way.”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smirk. “Sure. That.”

Her breath caught.

And then, because Jamie Tartt was a menace—because he could never just say something and leave it at that—he tilted his head, voice dropping to something dangerously soft.

“You okay, love?”

She could’ve said yes.

She should’ve said yes.

Instead, she let out a sharp breath and muttered, “Fuck you.”

Jamie grinned and turned toward the door. “Knew it. I'll be off then, apologizing to Berry.”

"His name is Jerry!"

"I knew that!"

The silence that followed after Jamie left wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was full of things left unsaid. Y/N thought about his words and their meaning a lot. Maybe I just want you.

Maybe they weren’t ready for the next step yet, and maybe they were, but for now, they both knew one thing—neither of them was going anywhere.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x reader #afc richmond #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #roy kent #jamie tartt imagine #PA x Jamie Tartt

56 notes · View notes

28harryssunflower · 2 days ago

Text

It was always you

“You know, I think I’m actually cursed.”

Harry barely looked up from his phone as you flopped onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, burying your face in his pillow. “Yeah?” he said lazily. “What kind of curse we talking about? Eternal clumsiness? Never getting the last slice of pizza?”

You groaned and threw a pillow at him, which he dodged effortlessly. “No, you idiot. A love curse.”

That got his attention. He smirked, locking his phone and tossing it onto his nightstand. “Oh, this could be good. Go on, then. Tell me about your tragic, love-deprived existence.”

“I’m serious, Harry!” You sat up, hugging the pillow to your chest. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never even had my first kiss. Meanwhile, you’re out here hooking up with a new girl every week like it’s your part-time job.”

“Full-time, actually,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes but continued. “I just… I want someone to love me, you know? Someone who looks at me and thinks, ‘Yeah, she’s the one I want.’”

Harry watched you for a moment, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. Then, with his usual smugness, he leaned back against the headboard and stretched out his arms. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve already got me. No need to search any further.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” he grinned, opening his arms invitingly. “Come on, I’ll even cuddle you, since you’re always so lonely.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

You flipped him off but, despite your protests, you eventually curled up against his side, sighing softly as his warmth surrounded you. It was familiar. Comforting. Safe.

But safety wasn’t love.

And that was the problem.

So when you finally got a boyfriend, you were ecstatic.

Harry had been just as excited for you at first, grinning as you rambled on about your dates, about how sweet your boyfriend was, about how it felt to finally be wanted.

But slowly, things started changing.

It started with little things - canceling plans last-minute, leaving his messages on read. Then, you started avoiding him altogether, barely sparing him a glance in the halls. When he tried to talk to you, your boyfriend would pull you away, whispering something in your ear that made you frown but ultimately follow him without a second thought.

The worst part was, you didn’t even seem to realize what was happening.

And then you forgot his birthday.

Harry spent the entire day pretending not to care, but he did. God, he did. His mum had even asked why you weren’t there - because you were always there. But he just muttered something about you being busy, shrugged off her concerned look, and spent the rest of the day staring at his phone, waiting for a text that never came.

But he didn’t go to your house to confront you. He didn’t text you. He didn’t call you.

This time, he just let it go.

By Monday, he didn’t even bother trying anymore.

You were his only friend - had always been his only friend. Without you, he was alone.

So he leaned into it.

He walked through the halls with his hood up, earphones in, ignoring everything and everyone. He leaned against his locker alone, scrolling through his phone. He was just another body in the hallways now, and maybe that was fine.

Until he heard the laughter.

Harry didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Your boyfriend and his friends stood at the other end of the hallway, their laughter carrying over the dull roar of students. He was pointing at Harry, smirking as he whispered something to his friends.

Harry clenched his jaw and slammed his locker shut. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

But, of course, your boyfriend had other plans.

“Oi, loser!”

Harry exhaled slowly through his nose but didn’t respond.

“You deaf too?” Another voice chimed in - one of his friends, probably. “Or just fucking pathetic?”

Harry gritted his teeth, gripping the strap of his bag. Just walk away.

But then your boyfriend stepped in front of him.

“You know, it’s sad, really,” he sneered. “You following her around all these years like a lost puppy. Guess she finally got tired of your pathetic ass.”

Harry’s fists curled.

“What?” Your boyfriend smirked. “Nothing to say?” He shoved Harry’s shoulder, making him stumble back a step. “No comeback, huh? Figures. You were always just a waste of space-“

Harry swung.

His fist connected with your boyfriend’s jaw, sending him staggering back. But before Harry could do anything else, hands grabbed him from behind, shoving him hard against the lockers.

And then the punches started.

One to his stomach. Another to his ribs.

A fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

A knee to his gut knocked the air from his lungs, and suddenly, he was on the ground.

More kicks. More fists.

Blood filled his mouth. His vision blurred. His head spun.

And then he heard your voice.

“Harry?!”

The beating stopped instantly.

You pushed through the crowd, your heart stopping when you saw him.

Harry was barely breathing, blood smeared across his face, his lip split, bruises already forming along his jaw. His arms trembled as he tried, and failed, to push himself up.

Your chest tightened, tears blurring your vision as you shoved your boyfriend out of the way and dropped to your knees beside Harry.

“Oh my god,” you choked out, cradling his face in your hands. “Harry, stay with me, okay? Don’t fall asleep. Just- just keep your eyes open.”

He groaned, barely conscious.

You snapped your head up, looking at the crowd. “Someone call a fucking ambulance!”

No one moved.

“Now!”

Finally, someone fumbled for their phone.

Your boyfriend scoffed behind you. “Why are you wasting your time? He’s a loser.”

Then he reached for you.

The second his hand touched your arm, you whipped around, eyes blazing.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me, you prick.”

He blinked. “What?”

You shot up to your feet, shoving him back. “It’s over.”

He laughed. “Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic-“

“Piss off!” you screamed, voice breaking. “Get the fuck away from me!”

A few teachers finally arrived, pushing through the crowd. Someone pulled your boyfriend back, while another crouched next to Harry, checking his breathing.

Minutes later, sirens blared outside.

You held Harry’s hand the entire way to the hospital, whispering apologies through your tears, telling him to just stay awake, that you were so, so sorry.

He squeezed your hand weakly. “Told you… you don’t need… anyone else.”

A broken sob left your lips. “Shut up, idiot.”

When his parents arrived, you barely got the words out before breaking down entirely, burying your face in Anne’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed. “It’s all my fault.”

Anne just held you tighter. “Oh, sweetheart.”

You didn’t leave Harry’s side. Not for a second.

Because maybe love had been right in front of you all along.

The hospital room was too bright, too sterile, too quiet except for the steady beep of Harry’s heart monitor.

You sat beside his bed, gripping his hand tightly, even though he was barely conscious. The sight of him like this - bruised, battered, barely able to open his eyes - made your chest ache with guilt.

You had let this happen.

And you weren’t leaving him again.

“I want a second bed in his room.”

The nurse blinked at you, glancing between you and Harry’s sleeping form. “I’m sorry, but only family members-“

“I don’t care,” you cut in, voice shaking but firm. “I’m not leaving him.”

The nurse hesitated, clearly torn, but then she sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

That night, they wheeled in a second bed for you.

It was small, uncomfortable, and cold, but you didn’t care. It was close enough to Harry. That’s all that mattered.

You barely slept.

Every time he shifted, every time he let out the faintest groan of pain, you were up, adjusting his pillows, checking his IV, making sure he had everything he needed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, his hand found yours.

“You’re still here?” he mumbled, voice hoarse, eyes barely open.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips quirked up just slightly, the ghost of a smile. “Good.”

And then he fell back asleep, his fingers still loosely wrapped around yours.

The hospital stay lasted a week.

A week of helping him sit up when his ribs hurt too much. A week of spoon-feeding him shitty hospital food because he was too drugged-up to do it himself. A week of pretending not to cry when the doctors explained how much pain he’d be in for the next few months.

A week of never leaving his side.

By the time he was discharged, you had practically memorized his breathing patterns, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was uncomfortable, the way he clung to your hand every time he fell asleep.

And despite everything, despite the pain, despite the bruises, despite the way you had abandoned him for so long - he still wanted you there.

You didn’t understand it.

But you weren’t about to question it.

The first night at his house was rough.

He could barely move, every breath sending a sharp pain through his ribs. You helped him get into bed, carefully adjusting his pillows, setting his pain meds and water on the nightstand.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Yes, I do.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then sighed. “Alright, Nurse Bossy.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Shut up and take your meds.”

He did. But when he winced, shifting slightly, you immediately reached for him, helping him lean back.

His gaze softened. “You’re gonna take care of me, huh?”

You swallowed. “Of course I am.”

Harry studied your face, something unreadable in his expression. “Even after everything?”

Guilt twisted in your chest. “I don’t understand how you can even look at me after what I did,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing against yours. “Because you’re you.”

You blinked at him, eyes stinging. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

Harry tilted his head slightly. “That’s not for you to decide, is it?”

Your breath hitched.

After a moment, you sighed and carefully curled up beside him, resting your head on his good shoulder.

“I’m still sorry,” you murmured.

“I know,” he whispered. “But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

The next few weeks changed everything.

You never left his side. Every morning, you helped him sit up, made him food, made sure he took his meds. You helped him shower, helped him dress, even sat through hours of shitty reality TV just to keep him entertained.

And through it all, Harry changed too.

Gone was the playboy who hooked up with someone new every weekend. Gone was the smug flirt who never took anything seriously.

He still joked around, still teased you endlessly, still acted like the Harry you had known your whole life. But something was different.

He wasn’t looking for anyone else anymore.

Because he already had you.

Neither of you spent a single night alone after that.

If he wasn’t staying over at your place, you were at his. You always shared a bed, sometimes he stayed up late watching movies while you fell asleep against his shoulder.

But no matter what, you were together.

Always.

One night, weeks after everything, he traced lazy patterns on your arm as you lay curled up beside him.

“You’re really never leaving me again, huh?”

You swallowed. “Never.”

He exhaled, pulling you a little closer.

“Good.”

If anyone had told you a year ago that you and Harry would end up like this - tangled together every night, inseparable, happy - you would have laughed in their face.

But now, lying in his bed with his arms wrapped around you, his lips brushing lazily over the top of your head as he mumbled half-asleep nonsense, you couldn’t imagine life any other way.

Everything was just… good.

Better than good.

Perfect.

School was different now.

Where Harry used to be surrounded by girls hanging off his every word, he was now only ever with you. He still had his cocky smirk, still joked around with his old friends, but when it came down to it, he only had eyes for you.

And he made sure everyone knew it.

Whether it was his arm slung over your shoulder in the halls, the way he pulled you into his lap when you sat with him at lunch, or the way he casually shut down any girl who so much as batted her eyelashes at him - it was clear.

Harry Styles was taken.

And he wouldn’t shut up about it.

“My girlfriend’s actually the smartest person in this school,” he’d brag to your teachers when you aced a test.

“My girl made the best fucking pancakes this morning,” he’d tell his friends, even though he had literally helped you burn them.

“My girl,” he called you. All the time. And you secretly loved it.

You rolled your eyes at his antics, but every time, you’d find yourself blushing, hiding your smile as he grinned at you like you were his entire world.

Because, well… you were.

Your families were just as obsessed with your relationship as Harry was.

Anne had always loved you like a second daughter, but now that you were officially dating her son, she took it to a whole new level.

“I knew it,” she’d say every time she saw you two cuddled up on the couch. “Knew you’d end up together. Should’ve placed a bet.”

Harry groaned. “Mum-“

“You two were practically married as kids anyway,” she continued, waving him off. “Might as well make it official.”

You laughed. “We’re still in high school, Anne.”

She just shrugged. “You’ll get there.”

Your own parents weren’t any better.

Your mom practically beamed every time Harry walked through the door, already treating him like a son. Your dad had been a little skeptical at first (probably remembering Harry’s less-than-stellar reputation), but after seeing how much he adored you, he came around quickly.

“Just take care of her,” your dad had told him one evening, clapping a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry had looked him dead in the eye and said, “Always.”

That had been the moment your dad fully accepted him.

From then on, family dinners turned into “future planning sessions,” where your parents and his would casually drop comments like, “When you two get married,” and “Your future kids are going to be adorable.”

You’d groan and hide your face in your hands while Harry just smirked, clearly enjoying it.

“You hear that, love?” he teased one night as you lay in his bed, scrolling through your phone while he played with your fingers. “They want grandkids.”

You shot him a look. “You’re literally seventeen.”

He shrugged. “So? You think they’re wrong?”

You sighed, setting your phone down to look at him properly. “Do you?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He just studied your face, eyes soft, thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Then he smirked. “Nah, they’re definitely right.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder. “Idiot.”

He just laughed and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You love me.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

But he knew the truth.

And so did you.

Being with Harry felt like breathing - natural, effortless, something you didn’t even have to think about.

When you were alone with him, the rest of the world disappeared.

No teasing from your families about marriage and grandkids. No whispers at school about how Harry Styles finally settled down. No past mistakes, no guilt, no fears.

Just him. Just you. Just this.

Nights at his house were your favorite.

It usually started with a lazy movie night, where Harry would let you pick something - though he always found a way to distract you before the ending. Sometimes with kisses pressed against your jaw, other times by burying his face in your neck and mumbling about how you smell so good, love, what is that? until you finally gave in and let him pull you into his arms.

You always ended up in his bed, tangled together, legs hooked over his, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced slow circles on your back.

Harry loved to touch you.

Not in a desperate, needy way - though, let’s be honest, sometimes it was that too - but in a constant way.

His hands were always on you, even in the smallest ways. His fingers brushing over your knuckles when you walked side by side. His palm resting on your thigh when you sat next to him. His lips pressing against your temple whenever you leaned against him.

And when you were alone, when it was just the two of you wrapped up in his sheets, his touch was even softer.

He’d run his fingers through your hair, whispering little nothings, sometimes teasing, sometimes serious.

“Gonna marry you one day,” he murmured one night, voice heavy with sleep.

You huffed, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his stomach. “You’re obsessed with me.”

Harry chuckled, shifting so he could press a kiss to your forehead. “Obviously.”

You smiled against his skin, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

This was home.

Mornings slow and filled with warmth.

Harry was not a morning person. He liked to stay in bed as long as possible, groaning dramatically whenever you tried to move.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled one morning, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“I have to pee.”

“Pee later.”

“That’s not how it works, idiot.”

Harry groaned, tightening his grip on you. “Fine. But you’re coming back.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, kissing his cheek before slipping out of bed.

When you returned, he had stolen your pillow, hugging it to his chest like some sort of oversized teddy bear.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, crawling back in beside him.

“Mm.” He tossed the pillow aside, pulling you into his arms instead. “Better.”

You let him be clingy, let him tuck his face into your neck, let him hold you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Afternoons spent doing absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.

Some days, you stayed in bed all day, wrapped up in each other, talking about everything.

Harry loved to ask questions.

What’s your happiest memory?

If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?

If we were stranded on an island, would you eat me or let me eat you first?

(You didn’t dignify that last one with a response.)

Other days, he’d convince you to go on little adventures with him - late-night drives with the windows down, ice cream runs even when it was freezing outside, sneaking into the neighborhood pool just to float on your backs and stare at the stars.

Everything was better with him.

Even the boring, ordinary moments.

Some nights, you didn’t sleep at all.

You’d stay up talking, whispering under the covers like kids sharing secrets.

One night, after hours of just being with each other, Harry tilted your chin up, eyes soft in the dim light of his bedroom.

“I never really knew what love was,” he admitted. “Not before you.”

Your breath caught. “Harry…”

He swallowed, his fingers brushing over your cheek. “I know I’ve said a lot of stupid shit in the past, and I know I was a dick before, but I-“ He exhaled sharply. “I love you. You know that?”

You stared at him, heart swelling in your chest.

“I know.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

You smiled, cupping his face in your hands. “I love you too.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

And then he kissed you.

Slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. Like he was never letting you go.

And he never did.

You and Harry barely fought.

Sure, you bickered all the time - about who got the last slice of pizza, about his terrible taste in reality TV, about the way he always stole the covers at night. But it was never serious.

Until tonight.

And it was stupid.

It started with Harry forgetting to pick you up from school when he had a day off and you weren’t driving home together.

You waited outside for over an hour, your phone battery slowly draining as you sent unanswered texts, your frustration growing with every passing minute.

By the time you walked home - freezing, exhausted, and pissed off - Harry was sprawled out on his bed, completely oblivious.

“Oh, hey, love,” he greeted casually, grinning. “Didn’t hear you come in-“

“You forgot me.”

Harry’s grin faded, eyebrows furrowing. “Shit.” He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “I- I didn’t mean to, I just-“

“Oh, you just what?” you snapped, throwing your bag on the floor. “Got too distracted being lazy to remember your girlfriend?”

Harry scowled. “I wasn’t being lazy! I was studying.”

You scoffed. “Studying what, Harry? The inside of your eyelids?”

His jaw clenched. “I said I didn’t mean to. What more do you want?”

“I want you to care!”

“I do care-“

“Not enough.”

Harry stood up then, his expression darkening. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I don’t love you just because I made one mistake.”

Your nostrils flared as you glared at him. “It’s not just one mistake, Harry. You never take things seriously. You’re always so fucking carefree-“

“Oh, I’m so sorry for not being miserable all the time,” he shot back sarcastically.

Your hands balled into fists. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass,” he snapped, stepping closer.

You stepped closer too. “I hate you.”

His chest was heaving now, eyes burning into yours. “Yeah? I hate you more.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, angry, all teeth and heat and hands gripping a little too tight.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, his body pressing yours against the wall.

You gasped into his mouth, nails raking down his back.

He bit your bottom lip in retaliation, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered, “So fucking annoying.”

You dug your nails in deeper. “You love it.”

His response was a growl, his lips crashing back into yours, his hands grabbing, pulling, taking.

You didn’t stop. Not when he lifted you onto the bed. Not when he hovered over you, his hands gripping your wrists. Not even when he smirked and whispered, “Still hate me?”

Afterward, you lay beside him, panting, your limbs tangled together, skin still burning from his touch.

The room was silent for a long time.

“I hate you,” you muttered, turning your head to glare at him.

Harry chuckled breathlessly, rolling onto his side. “I hate you more.”

You both stared at each other, eyes narrowing - until, suddenly, you both cracked.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and before you knew it, you were giggling, your forehead dropping against his shoulder.

Harry grinned, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

You nodded, still laughing softly. “Yeah.”

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. “But you still love me.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

Harry smirked. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were warm now, soft, all the anger from before completely melted away.

You leaned in, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to his lips.

He sighed against your mouth, his fingers threading through your hair.

After a moment, he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Still hate me?”

You smiled, “Yeah.”

He grinned, kissing you again.

#harry styles #one direction #short story #headcanon #one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

46 notes · View notes

psychemochanight · 2 days ago

Text

More HC because I forgot many :D

Part 1 :D

Again, a little disclaimer:

These are just my favorite HCs, whether made by me or by the fandom, if you don't like any of them, that's completely respectable and you obviously don't have to agree with all or any of them. If you don't like them, just ignore them please, it's not worth arguing over HC about a fictional character.

That said, here are more HC (not all of them yet, but yeah, I'll add them as I remember them):

Dick is the kind of person who is always smiling, even when there is danger. If he's not smiling and cracking jokes, he's completely serious. No one has any problem admitting that they don't want to see that Dick, because he's scary.

Dick hates hospitals, and he hates being sedated even more, even in the batcave.

Years being kidnapped, yep.

His first instinct after waking up and analyzing his situation with his senses without giving any signs of waking up, is to run immediately. If they can avoid it, they never sedate him completely, the times he jumped up from the stretcher without taking into account his injuries were enough to know better.

He sits in the weirdest positions ever.

If he pays more than five minutes of attention to his hair, it's actually wavy, almost curly, if he doesn't, it's almost straight.

He grows his hair long when he is depressed and doesn't feel like taking care of it.

He rarely gives any other signs of being depressed now, so almost no one notices it these days.

He associates aromas with different people.

Sometimes, because of the perfumes worn by his family and friends, he knows that they have been in his apartment.

Yes, he sometimes lives on cereal, but it's definitely not the only thing he knows how to prepare, he just is so tired to cook.

Canonically, in several runs cereal is, in fact, his favorite food, so- besides having a sweet tooth, it helps him stay active (sugar rush 24/7).

He canonically prefers simple, comforting foods, so, another trait of his undiagnosed AUDHD :D

Alfred and Bruce say that Dick has a child's palate, he insists that the problem is not the taste, but the texture... It doesn't help his case.

Obviously he eats healthy food, but it always has to be something simple, he finds very elaborate dishes difficult to eat.

He had a pretty hard time at galas with the fancy food the first few times, until Bruce noticed that Dick wasn't eating and started including simpler dishes on the menu.

This is also why people sometimes think he doesn't know how to cook, because he only makes simple dishes, but it's not because he doesn't know how, it's because it's the only kind of food he likes.

In fact, despite preferring sweet over salty, or even his taste for junk food, Dick is very conscious of what he eats, and always has his head counting protein, calories, sugars and other nutritional values; this way, he keeps his diet stable even if he allows himself these "whims"... when he remembers to eat.

He actually likes stuffed animals, he just doesn't have any. (DC, what are you waiting for to give this man his stuffed elephant?)

Dick is an ambivert.

I would even say that he is more introverted. Not the incorrect definition of people, who confuse introversion with being reserved, shy or not liking to socialize. but the one who needs his time alone to recharge his energy. .

When Dick met Superman, it was despite Batman's "no meta-humans" rule, and his argument when Batman was going to scold him was "he's not a meta-human, he's an alien."

Bruce had to concede the point to the kid for the loophole, and update his rule.

This depends on the run to be canon or not, but I prefer to think that Dick never actually went to school before Bruce, and it was exclusively his charisma that helped him blend in with the other children, as if he had always attended educational institutions.

Although Bruce knew Dick was intelligent, even he was surprised that he was so able to not only catch up, but excel in the educational field, considering he never attended school. More than because of Robin, it was one of his teachers the first one to call him Golden Boy, since he considered him a prodigy.

At Gotham Academy you had to take at least one language class to graduate, and it couldn't be one you already knew, but Dick already knew all the ones in the program, so he had to pretend to learn french.

One of my favorite HCs in the fandom is Dick helping out with the Watchtower's computer system, especially considering it could very well be canon (if only today's writers wouldn't forget that Dick is also an amazing hacker and not just a social skills specialist 🙄).

This mentioned, my personal HC to justify all the things that the writers leave out of the character that were once regular in him (and that now belong to his siblings), is that he himself stops making an effort in these things. When he was Robin, he was alone with Batman, so he had the obligation to not only be on par, but to fill all the spaces that Batman left, so he specialized in everything. Now that he has a full team, he no longer has the obligation to cover everything himself, so he allows himself to just continue filling the remaining spaces, mostly related to the social part (when he's not working alone, of course).

This does not mean that he no longer continues to instruct himself in those skills that his siblings have, he does, he is always learning, but he no longer has the need to demonstrate it in any way, so he just lets people even think that he is incompetent in those areas, even if it is the opposite (it helps a lot when you are underestimated on the field after all).

He invented a few insults during his time as Robin, which somehow became a real vocabulary when other heroes and later civilians started using them.

His puppy eyes are too powerful, even as an adult.

Although everyone jokes that he is old because of all his years of experience in the hero thing, Dick actually looks so young.

On a good or bad day (depending on who you ask), it even happens that people ask for his ID to confirm that he is of legal age (usually for drinking). He never knows whether to feel flattered or offended.

I decided to pretend the suit wasn't a bare-legged leotard, mostly because I like to think that the suit was actually his acrobat suit, just with the red vest on top, and since they always draw the suit with the legs part... U know.

It also depends, considering the current continuity, Dick was now born in more modern times, and the tights now usually have covered legs; but if we still place it in the 40s, then it makes more sense that the suit is like the original.

For comfort, I'll pretend that his legs are covered, also I'll pretend that he has some protection and isn't just walking around with exposed skin to get hurt, even if hitting him with a bullet must be damn difficult because he jumps as a flea.

Toe point and tiptoes, like, A LOT.

He starts babbling random facts about history or math formulas at the most random moments.

He's the kind of person who always knows the answers to people's questions about facts he doesn't really need to know.

"I wonder where the word "'macaroni' originated from"... And he just starts telling you the whole story.

(My father is like that, and I always wonder where he learned all that, my God).

He likes action series. He also likes police and mystery series, but it's a pain to watch this kind of series with him because he keeps guessing the ending and always gets it right.

He also loves black and white movies.

He likes classic rock and jazz music, but has no problem listening to other genres. He also likes pop music, although more bc he likes to annoy his brothers with it.

He is a bit obsessive compulsive, not all the time, and he doesn't have the disorder as such; but sometimes he really needs to be in control of things and follow routines (part of his AUDHD and PTSD speaking for him).

As I said before, I don't think Dick has anger issues, he's just overstimulated, but this doesn't mean he doesn't feel angry or frustrated on many occasions.

When this happens, he has two main ways to let go of his anger... The healthy way is to exercise, train or simply unload his mind while his body is in motion, he also tends to meditate on occasion.

Sometimes it's not so healthy, as he actually lets himself get hurt while training.

The unhealthy way, is to go beat up the thugs.

Sometimes he doesn't let his anger out voluntarily, and ends up exploding against those who don't deserve it. When this happens, it is almost always in verbal form.

Dick doesn't insult directly, but with the eloquence he has, he doesn't need insults to seriously hurt someone.

He can't say that he has never self-harmed, but he doesn't do it in the form of cutting himself, but rather by letting himself get hit or failing to stop particularly painful falls.

Actually, even though he doesn't have the highest self-esteem, he doesn't really have an identity crisis. It doesn't matter that he's a good actor, he never doubts who he is. He doesn't really invent personas in front of anyone, he just shows facets of his personality as appropriate (the only moments where he acts like someone he is not, there is always something of his person even in those roles).

During a certain infamous arc the identity crisis was a little more real, but he recovered from it.

Although he is an acrobat first, he still knows a lot about gymnastics, both men's and also women's actually. More for fun than for training.

Even if he miraculously has free time, instead of resting, he is probably practicing something new.

His friends swear that Dick only stays still when he's dissociating.

And that's all (for now) ✨

I've repeated some of them on purpose to make the explanation more explicit- but I hope most of them still make sense.

#dick grayson #nightwing #robin #nightwing headcanons #dick grayson headcanon #just my thoughts about dick grayson

49 notes · View notes

lcvebuckley · 3 days ago

Text

a recipe for disaster (and love)

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

prompt : day 2 - cooking together | word count : 1.6k | rated : G

a little late but this prompt is the first one i've worked on and it's been in my drafts since mid-jan so i was so excited to share this!! it took a bit longer to edit cus it's my first attempt on a crack-ish fic and i'm a little skittish about it hhh also might be a little ooc for tommy but let's just pretend he can't cook 👍

enjoy! ♡

“Babe, I don’t think this is right,” the older muttered, frowning at the bowl. “How many cups of salt did you say it was? Two right?”

Silence.

“Tommy,” Evan said slowly, walking over like he was approaching a wild animal. “I said two spoons, not cups.”

Or in which Buck's cooking lesson had gone wrong.

full version below or read on ao3

------------------------------------------------------

It started with a complaint. Not the typical “I’m hungry” complaint, but the kind that simmered just below the surface, coming after a long shift, a bruised shoulder, and precisely zero decent meals. Tommy had been running on caffeine and protein bars all day, the kind of combination that made him cranky enough to snap at his own reflection if it looked at him wrong.

By the time he got back to his place, he was a walking embodiment of exhaustion and mild annoyance. Evan was already home, cheerful and relaxed, humming to himself as he moved around the kitchen with ease, a pan sizzling on the stove, the scent of garlic and something buttery filling the air.

Tommy’s stomach growled aggressively, which he thinks was quite obvious since he noticed how the younger froze before turning around, flashing that annoyingly perfect smile—like he wasn’t out here casually committing acts of culinary excellence while Tommy was out there fighting for his life with a vending machine that ate his dollar earlier.

“Hey, babe!” Evan greeted, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his curls slightly damp which Tommy assumed is from a recent shower. “I made dinner.”

The older dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and trudged over, not forgetting to lean in for a quick kiss. Having Evan to come home to has been the perfect antidote for his bad days and today was no different.

The plate Evan set down was a work of art—some kind of roasted chicken with golden, crispy skin, surrounded by perfectly seasoned vegetables. It looked like it belonged in a magazine.

He picked up a fork, took a bite, and nearly groaned out loud. It wasn’t fair. Nothing should taste this good.

And that’s when it happened. The words escaped before he could stop them.

“You know,” Tommy started, casually enough to pass for nonchalant—except it wasn’t. Not even close. Evan looked up, attention snagged instantly. “I’m jealous the 118 gets to eat your cooking every day while I have to wait two days just to see you, let alone have dinner together.”

Evan blinked. Once. Twice. Then a slow grin—the kind that made Tommy’s stomach flip in that irritating, lovesick way—spread across his face like Tommy had just issued a personal challenge.

“Oh,” Evan said, leaning against the table, arms crossed in the way that made his biceps look unnecessarily good. Tommy tried not to think about that because, apparently, his offhand comment had intrigued his boyfriend more than intended. “Is that the problem?”

Tommy realized what was happening a second too late. He could’ve backtracked. Played it off. But no, his pride wouldn’t let him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stabbing another forkful like it had personally offended him. Which it kind of did in a way. “Must be nice, having a personal chef at work. Meanwhile, I’m over here with dry sandwiches and sad granola bars.”

Evan’s grin only grew. “You could just… learn to cook, you know,” his voice was dripping with amusement, his eyebrows arching like he was already imagining the thought of Tommy cooking.

Tommy shot him a look. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if it bothers you that much, I can teach you.” Evan’s voice was annoyingly casual, like he wasn’t shattering Tommy’s fragile ego with a single sentence. “That way you won’t miss my cooking so much when I’m not around.”

Tommy couldn't help but to feel a little offended. “I can cook,” he protested. Sure, he wasn’t exactly Evan-level in the kitchen, but he’d made eggs and bacon before. Perfectly edible eggs and bacon. There was also that one time he tried stir-fried rice… but he preferred not to talk about that.

Evan bit down a chuckle. “I didn't say you can't,” he replied, his face morphing into that smug look Tommy secretly loved—but also knew meant he was about to get teased within an inch of his life. “I just think you’re… a little amateur.” he finished, his hands waving around as if they could make his words feel less like a stab.

Tommy’s mouth opened, then closed. He couldn't even deny it.

“Which is why I’m willing to teach you,” Evan added. “I’ve perfected my skills over the years thanks to Bobby, and I think you’ve got potential—as long as you follow my instructions,” his grin stretched wide, all gleaming teeth and overconfidence.

Tommy, of course, could never say no to Evan.

And that’s how, two nights later, he found himself standing in their kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron on (which obviously comes from Evan’s apron collection), and he's glaring at a box of spaghetti like it owed him money.

Evan’s so-called “lesson” started off easy enough. They were making pasta carbonara—simple ingredients, simple steps, Evan had said. Foolproof.

The younger moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, confident and effortless. He cracked eggs with one hand, diced pancetta with precise flicks of his knife, all while humming some random tune. He assigned Tommy the “easy” tasks, which felt suspicious.

“Just start boiling the pasta and mix the seasoning for the sauce. I’ll handle the pancetta,” Evan said, flashing a grin like this wasn’t a setup for failure. Well, Tommy's failure specifically.

Tommy nodded like he understood the assignment. In fairness, it sounded easy. Boil water. Season the egg mixture. No problem.

Except now the mixture looks odd and Tommy felt like he did something wrong. “Babe, I don’t think this is right,” the older muttered, frowning at the bowl. “How many cups of salt did you say it was? Two right?”

Silence.

The kind of silence where you could hear Evan’s soul leave his body.

“Tommy,” Evan said slowly, walking over like he was approaching a wild animal. “I said two spoons, not cups.”

Tommy froze, the whisk dangling from his hand like a weapon of culinary destruction. His brain short-circuited. Embarrassed? Yes. Stupid? Extremely.

The younger burst out laughing and started wheezing as he clutched to his sides and Tommy groaned, dropping his head onto the counter in defeat. “I feel like an idiot.”

Still laughing, Evan slid behind him, wrapping his arms around the older’s waist in a warm back hug. His laughter softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to Tommy’s shoulder, resting his chin there. It was supposed to be comforting, probably. But it was distracting. Evan’s warmth pressed against him, his breath brushing against Tommy’s ear, and suddenly the bowl of regret salt mixture didn’t seem so important.

“You’re not an idiot,” Evan murmured, though his voice was still shaking with amusement. “You’re just… aggressively enthusiastic about salt.”

The older groaned louder, trying to bury his face in his hands. But Evan was relentless, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Tommy’s neck and shoulder, his arms tightening in comfort. “You’re doing fine,” he murmured, even though he was still chuckling. “Seriously. Look at you, whisking that mixture like a pro.”

Tommy huffed, turning slightly to glare, but the younger just smiled and stole a quick kiss, all soft and sweet like he wasn’t still laughing internally. Tommy wanted to laugh along so bad but instead he groaned, dropping his head back against Evan’s shoulder. “I'm still an idiot.”

“You’re my favorite idiot,” Evan whispered, punctuating the words with quick kisses along Tommy’s jaw, peppering them like little apologies for laughing. “Plus, you’re way too hot to be bad at anything. It’s honestly kind of comforting that you have flaws.”

God, Tommy felt both flustered and annoyed. He swatted at Evan’s arm half-heartedly, but the younger just laughed and kissed him again, this time lingering a little longer, soft and warm against his cheek.

The chaos didn’t stop there. In the distraction of affectionate teasing, the pasta water boiled over dramatically, sending a hiss of steam into the air like it was personally offended by their public display of affection. Tommy panicked, knocking over the pepper grinder, which rolled off the counter dramatically like it had somewhere better to be.

Eventually, by some miracle, they salvaged the dish. Somehow.

The carbonara wasn’t perfect. Slightly too much salt—even when they redid the egg mixture that was Tommy’s salt disaster mix, the sauce a little thicker than Evan’s usual. But it was edible. Decent even. Good enough to stop Tommy from complaining about not having Evan’s cooking every day. For now.

They collapsed at the table, Tommy stabbing his fork into the pasta with exaggerated exhaustion. He tasted it cautiously, then nodded. “Okay. It’s not as good as yours, but it’s not terrible.” Evan also took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before smiling. “Told you. You’ve got potential.”

“Remind me to not ever do this again,” Tommy muttered, shoving his plate aside and reaching his hands toward Evan. After the day he’d had—culinary disasters and enough salt to season an entire city block—all he wanted was to hold Evan’s hands and forget about the embarrassment.

The younger grinned, propping his chin on one hand like he wasn’t responsible for half the chaos. “One dish isn’t gonna keep your mouth shut, baby.”

Still, he reached over with his free hand, letting Tommy intertwine their fingers. His grin softened as the older absentmindedly played with his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tommy rolled his eyes, squeezing Evan’s hand gently. “Can’t you just cook for me?” he asked, practically begging. He even tried to do one of those wide-eyed looks Evan always pulled whenever he wanted something—big, dramatic, puppy-dog eyes. But judging by Evan’s snort, it wasn’t nearly as effective. Mental note: work on that.

The younger shrugged, casually smug. “Maybe when we’re married and I become your househusband, sure,” he said with a wink. “But for now, you’re on your own.”

Tommy blinked, pretending to be caught off guard. He forced a laugh, but inside, his heart did a somersault. Little did Evan know, there was already a ring hidden in Tommy’s sock drawer.

Yeah, Tommy thought, stealing one more look at Evan’s soft smile, maybe not for long.

#911 #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #tevan #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #bucktommyfluffebruary #nana writes

22 notes · View notes

thealternateuniverse · 1 day ago

Text

T-shirt

Got 7 (python era because they all look magical in their comeback) x reader

Warnings: Mentioned of drugs, alcohol, and cursing | Also, I apologize for dragging your faves here 😭, it's for the plot.

word count: 6824 (kinda long)

You had been hanging around the boys for as long as you could remember, and somewhere along the way, you developed a silly infatuation with Mark.

But everything changed the day you returned the shirts you had borrowed—those same oversized shirts you always woke up in after crashing at their place.

-------

You jolted awake, immediately aware that the room was far too bright—strangely so, given that your room barely got any sunlight. Blinking against the light, you scanned your surroundings and were met with the all-too-familiar gray interior of Mark’s room. Great. You’d blacked out drunk again and somehow ended up here.

Perfect. Just perfect.

At this point, Mark was probably sick of you, always throwing yourself at him when you were wasted.

You searched for your things and sighed in relief when you saw them neatly placed on Mark’s nightstand—especially your phone. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

Last night had been a blast. Jackson had gone all out hosting the weekly frat party, even inviting the alumni. And Bambam? He had one simple job, to make sure you made it back to your dorm. Clearly, he’d failed miserably.

You sighed realizing you are wearing....probably one of Mark's shirt. How you changed, you have no idea.

You tiptoed your way out of Mark’s room, careful not to make a sound as you headed toward the living room. But the moment you stepped in, you froze.

Yugyeom.

Standing there, shirtless, his sweatpants dangerously hanging low on his waist, his tattoos on full display like they had a personal greeting just for you.

“Uhh… how bad was I last night?” you asked, bracing yourself for the inevitable humiliation. Whatever the damage was, you’d make a mental note to suffer over it later.

Yugyeom simply rolled his eyes and took a slow sip from his Pocari Sweat bottle.

Well… damn. That was kind of hot.

“Dunno,” he finally said, voice casual. “Mark hyung and I had to drag you and Bambam here.”

Trust Yugyeom to be his usual sassy self. Judging by how disheveled he looked, he was probably just as hungover as you. Another reminder to curse Jackson later for whatever lethal concoction he had served last night.

“That bad, huh,” you muttered.

Yugyeom scoffed. “Yeah. And your confession to my brother sucked so bad I wanted to dig my own grave because of secondhand embarassment.” He shook his head, as if physically cringing at the memory.

Your stomach dropped. Confession? Oh, no.

Mark already knew about your infatuation with him, of course he did. But what he actually thought or felt about it? That part remained a mystery. He’d always treated you like a little sister, though. Doted on you, looked out for you… and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Damn it. He definitely saw you as nothing more than a kid sister.

You groaned, rubbing your temples as if that could somehow erase the embarrassment.

“So what? At least he knows I like him,” you said, forcing confidence into your voice. Own it. No regrets.

Yugyeom let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. “News flash—you're not his type.”

You wanted to cry.

Your head was pounding from the hangover, Yugyeom was ruthlessly crushing your delusions, and now you had yet another embarrassing confession to add to your growing list of regrets.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“I hate you!” you shouted, frustration bubbling over.

Yugyeom barely spared you a glance, taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah, whatever, brat.”

"Probably why the girls always liked your brother." You snapped, crossing your arms.

"Because you're straight up mean and an ass, Yugie. Even if you were the last man on Earth, I'd rather fuck a cow. "

You spun around with a dramatic stomp, refusing to let violence win today, even though you were dying to kick him.

"I'd rather too if you're the last woman on earth. You're a whack anyway." He shouted, you intentionally slammed the door when you got out of their apartment and started the walk of shame to your dorm.

--------

You sighed for the hundredth time, gripping the paper bag tightly. Your friends had been pestering you all day, asking what was inside and why you weren’t your usual, enthusiastic self yapping about Mark. You had retreated to your room and sulked after Yugyeom rubbed it in your face that you weren’t Mark’s type and called you a brat. Then you had all the shirts you borrowed from him washed, ready to return them to Mark and maybe, just maybe, start moving on from your feelings for him.

"Oppa," you called out to Mark. He was talking to JB but excused himself to turn toward you.

"Y/N... are you okay now? You blacked out last Saturday." he asked, his voice filled with concern. You didn’t answer, only handing him the paper bag. He hesitated for a moment before taking it from you.

"Sorry for the trouble, and I guess I’ve gotten used to borrowing your shirts every weekend." You said scratching the back of your head.

Mark took a peek of the shirts inside the paper bag, confusion still over his face.

"Uhh.. well I don't mind the trouble, as long as you are safe. But these shirts are big enough to be mine. These are Yugie's."

Your jaw dropped.

What the actual fuck!

"WHAT THE FUCK?!! OPPA ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

Your scream caught Mark off guard. Other students turned to look at the two of you, curiosity in their eyes.

How the hell had you ended up wearing Yugyeom’s shirts? It had been his T-shirts all along?

Mark chuckled, clearly finding the situation amusing.

"Well, he usually takes care of us when we’re too drunk. Doesn’t drink much himself, except for last night. Jackson made sure we all had hangovers."

More reason to beat the crap out of Jackson. But that could wait... first, you needed to deal with this minor inconvenience. You had always assumed the shirts you’d changed into whenever you crash at their apartment after parties were Mark’s, but now it turned out they were Yugyeom’s.

Turns out, even the room was Yugyeom’s! You always seemed to wake up in their apartment, but you’d never noticed it was his. Whether it was from a hangover or hunger, you were usually too out of it to pay attention.

"Oppa, I think I’m going to have a headache," you said dramatically, massaging your temples. Concern flashed across Mark’s face, but a smirk crept in when he realized what was really going on.

"You can ask Yugyeom. My job’s just to make sure I drop you guys off, then I’m off to my gi—"

Mark’s eyes widened, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. You grinned, piecing it all together.

"Oppa, you dating someone, don't you?" Surprisingly, you didn’t feel disappointed that Mark might like someone else. Instead, you felt a strange excitement bubbling up.

Mark tried to hide the blush creeping up his neck by lowering his head and scratching the back of his head.

Too bad it wasn’t Mark who was taking care of you when you were drunk—no, that little shit Yugyeom had to do it instead.

"And I think you like Yugyeom, you're just infatuated with me."

Your smile faltered, then dropped.

Yugyeom? Hell no! He’s straight-up evil. It’s like he exists just to make your life miserable.

You remembered how he’d always tease you back in elementary school, exposing your crushes to everyone. Not a single attractive trait about him.

"You're kidding, right?" You shot Mark a glare. He raised both his hands in surrender.

"A'ight. I'm just teasing you."

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. Great! Things turned out differently this time.

--------

"Man, Y/N is out again," Jackson said, shaking his head as he handed Mark another shot of Hennessy.

"Where is she?" Mark asked, scanning the room.

Yugyeom clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair to mask his irritation. Why did they keep inviting her to these parties, knowing damn well she couldn’t handle her liquor especially with the way Jackson and Johnny threw them?

"Yugie, you're not drinking tonight?" Youngjae offered him a glass, but he shook his head.

God, he wanted to get drunk. He’d had a few shots already, but he couldn’t let himself go past his limit.

"I'm good. I have class tomorrow." Lie.

He didn’t have any classes. His hyungs looked at him like he’d just grown a second head.

"Since when do you care about attending class?" JayB gave him a knowing look.

"Yugie, you've been sneaking out of the parties lately. What are you up to?"

Mark snorted, and Yugyeom shot his brother a glare.

"Nothing, hyung. Just not feeling it lately," Yugyeom mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Jackson raised a brow, not convinced. "Right. And it just happens to be every time Y/N is around?"

Yugyeom scoffed, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. Her parents will kill him and Mark if they don't take care of her. "Coincidence."

"Yeah, sure." Mark chuckled, taking another shot. "So, where is she this time? Passed out in the bathroom? Dancing on the table?"

Yugyeom rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his chest tightened. He hated how predictable this was. Every damn party, it was the same thing. Y/N drinking way past her limit, getting into trouble, and him like a fool watching from the shadows, pretending he didn’t care.

Johnny, who had just walked up, smirked. "Last I saw, she was out on the balcony with some guy. Looked pretty cozy."

Yugyeom's grip on his glass tightened. "Who?"

Johnny shrugged. "Some dude from the basketball team. Seemed harmless, but you know Y/N—"

Before he could finish, Yugyeom was already pushing past him, making his way toward the balcony. He wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he got there.

All he knew was that he had to get her out of here.

"Your brother is whipped." He managed to hear JayB before swimming in to the crowd

Yugyeom had been roaming around the house, searching for you, but to no avail. Every room, every hallway, even the bathrooms—nothing. It was as if you'd vanished.

Meanwhile, Y/N had already made your way back to where everyone was gathered.

"Have you seen Y/N yet?" Mark asked, noticing the sulk on Yugyeom's face.

Before anyone could answer, a familiar laugh rang through the air.

"There she is!"

All heads turned just in time to see you stumbling toward them, practically draped over Bambam like a human koala. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck, you clung to him as if he were your lifeline, making it nearly impossible for him to walk straight. The two of you wobbled forward, an amusing sight of chaos.

Jinyoung's brows furrowed as he took in the scene. "What the hell—where the hell have you been?" His voice carried a mix of concern and exasperation.

Bambam groaned, struggling to pry your arms off. "Hyung! Y/N is a handful," he whined before gesturing helplessly. "The gummies must have kicked in!"

"Where did you even get gummies?" Yugyeom asked, irritation lacing his tone.

"Jungkook," Bambam answered shortly before leaning back against the couch.

At that moment, her bloodshot eyes lit up as she spotted Mark. "Oh, Mark Oppa!" she slurred, stumbling toward him. Mark was quick to catch her before she could fall.

He steadied her and turned to everyone. "Let her ride out her high first, she's both drunk and high. How many did she take?" His eyes scanned her for any signs of injury.

Bambam shrugged. "I don’t know. She was already at it when I found her."

Mark sighed and carefully sat her down beside Yugyeom. Luckily, she was too high to cause any trouble just sitting there, completely spaced out.

Yugyeom's night wasn’t going as planned. Jackson was on a mission to make sure everyone was too drunk to go home or to attend class the next day. JayB sat quietly, zoning out. Jinyoung had already passed out. Youngjae had snuck off to leave before he got too drunk. Jackson was everywhere, shoving drinks down everyone’s throats. He came back dragging a drunk Minghao and Jaehyun behind him. Mark just watched in silence, but Yugyeom noticed he was barely holding it together.

Yugyeom could feel his eyelids getting heavy, his exhaustion and alcohol setting in. Meanwhile, Y/N, freshly off her high, challenged Jackson, claiming she could still handle more shots. But she kept knocking things over, clearly out of it. Yugyeom had to sit her down, restraining her from grabbing more drinks. In the end, he took her shots instead.

"Hyung, we need to get out of here." Yugyeom nudged Mark while holding a passed-out Y/N in his arms.

Mark nodded, draping Bambam’s arms around his neck so they could sneak out quietly. They didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to Jackson. ---

"Yugie, it's already past Y/N’s curfew. She’s out cold there’s no way she can sneak back to her dorm," Mark said, glancing at the passed-out Y/N on Yugyeom’s lap.

Yugyeom’s head was pounding, the alcohol hitting him harder now. They had just dropped Bambam off.

"You can let her sleep in your room. You sleep in mine. Do anything stupid, you're dead," Mark warned, shooting him a sharp glare through the rearview mirror. It's always the same warning when Y/N had to crash in their flat during the weekend. Her parents will kill both of them if something happens to her. "Why, where are you going?" Yugyeom asked with curiosity, a grin spreading across his lips.

His brother shot him another glare, so Yugyeom quickly shut up. "You should be worried about me, Hyung," he muttered. Knowing Y/N, taking care of her when she’s drunk is like looking after a toddler, such a handful. Good thing she is out tonight.

Yugyeom shook his head, remembering he had to carry her all the way here. Damn, he was tipsy, and he prayed he’d make it to his room without falling over.

He groaned as he finally laid you down on his bed, collapsing onto the floor beside it. He was too dizzy to move. "Fuck." Y/N cursed

Yugyeom got up to check on you, surprised to find you awake. His eyes widened as he realized you were stripping your clothes off.

"Shit... what the hell are you doing?"

He immediately sprang up from the floor to stop you, but you were too stubborn.

Yugyeom cursed silently, his frustration growing. She'll never fucking touch another alcohol Just why am I the one who had to deal with this? Fucking gummies Fuck Jackson, Fuck Jungkook

Out of all the times, Nayeon Noona had to not be available now. She was the one who usually took care of this stuff. His duty was to drag or carry Y/N home, not deal with... well, this.

"Huh? Who TF—oh, Yugie," Y/N said, flashing him a sheepish smile.

"Y/N..." Yugyeom groaned in frustration. He walked over to the bed, gently trying to lay her back down. He wanted to sleep too, he’d had enough drinks to know a hangover was coming tomorrow.

But Y/N had other plans.

"It’s hot in here, Yugie. Where’s Mark Oppa? He’ll change my clothes." Y/N started scanning the room for Mark. When she didn’t see him, she pouted.

Yugyeom felt his ears burn. Since when did Mark change her clothes? It had always been Nayeon!

"Okay, I’ll get you a shirt, and you can change yourself, brat. No Mark tonight," he said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

He walked over to his cabinet to grab a shirt. Luckily, he wasn’t running out of shirts just yet, most of them were still with Y/N, and she hadn’t bothered to return any of them.

Yugyeom turned around, holding out the shirt for her—only to freeze in place, cursing under his breath. "What the—?"

She was already naked, save for her underwear. His eyes widened in shock as Mark’s earlier warning echoed in his head.

"Goddamn it." Yugyeom groaned, quickly looking away as he walked toward her.

Yugyeom tossed the shirt, and it landed right on Y/N’s face. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room, exhaling a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Leaning back against his door, he muttered under his breath—

"Just what the fuck."

He and Mark had known Y/N since childhood. Back then, she was shy and timid, always clinging to them for protection. If they weren’t around, she’d inevitably get picked on by bullies.

But middle school changed everything. The once quiet and reserved Y/N was long gone. After being spoiled by Jackson, JB, and Jinyoung, she had turned into a complete brat—throwing fits whenever she didn’t get her way.

And her growing infatuation with Mark? It irritated the hell out of Yugyeom. Mark was too nice to reject her outright, always treating her like a younger sister. But Y/N? She saw things differently.

Yugyeom woke up with a pounding headache, the effects of last night’s drinking hitting him full force. He was still wearing the same shirt from the night before, his hair sticking out in every direction. Too exhausted to change, he had simply collapsed onto his brother’s bed.

Yugyeom froze. She was awake.

Slowly, he turned around to face her. Thankfully, she was wearing a shirt—his shirt. It was oversized on her, hanging loosely off her frame. He gulped. Damn, when did she start looking hot in my clothes? She always wore his shirts, so why did it feel different now?

"Dunno..." he answered casually, shaking off the thought. "Mark hyung and I had to drag you and Bambam here."

Y/N’s face twisted in disgust. "That bad, huh?"

Yugyeom scoffed. "Yeah. And your confession to my brother sucked so bad, I wanted to dig my own grave from secondhand embarrassment." He shook his head, physically cringing at the memory. Having to endure her slurred, love-struck confessions on the way to Mark’s car was pure torture.

Y/N, however, seemed unfazed. "So what? At least he knows I like him," she said with confidence.

Yugyeom let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. "News flash—you're not his type."

Y/N’s face turned red, and she shot him a glare. He knew he had struck a nerve. It was always the same—the fuming expression whenever things didn’t go her way.

"I hate you!" she screamed, her frustration boiling over.

Yugyeom wanted to tease her more, but he knew better than to entertain her tantrums. Instead, he barely spared her a glance, taking another sip of his drink. "Yeah, whatever, brat."

Y/N huffed and crossed her arms. "Probably why girls always liked your brother." She gave him a smug look before adding, "Because you're straight-up mean and an ass, Yugy. Even if you were the last man on Earth, I'd rather fuck a cow."

Yugyeom’s jaw clenched. He didn’t give a damn if girls preferred his brother over him. It wasn’t like he was interested in them anyway.

Y/N spun around with a dramatic stomp, storming out of the room. Yugyeom sighed, rubbing his temple. Between his pounding headache and Y/N’s tantrums, this morning was already a disaster.

"I'd rather too if you were the last woman on Earth. You’re wack anyway," he called after her, but the only response he got was the sound of the door slamming shut.

"Women!" he muttered in frustration, running a hand through his messy hair.

Not long after, the door creaked open again, but this time, it was Mark. His older brother looked just as disheveled, still wearing the same clothes from last night, holding paper bags in his hands.

Yugyeom blinked. "What the hell happened to you?" --------------------

Y/N’s laugh rang across the cafeteria, drawing attention to her and Mark. Whatever they were talking about must have been hilarious, judging by the way she leaned into him, grinning from ear to ear.

Jinyoung and Youngjae exchanged a glance.

"Y/N seems extra clingy today," Jackson commented, shaking his head before taking another sip of his smoothie.

Yugyeom furrowed his brows, watching the two of them curiously. Mark and Y/N had been inseparable since this morning, and for some reason, it was bothering him more than it should.

"Anyway, Jooheon’s throwing a party tonight for his birthday. Are you guys coming?"

God. Yugyeom had just recovered from the worst hangover last week, and now there was another party.

"I’m in if you guys are going," Youngjae said.

Jinyoung sighed. "I’ll go, but I’m not staying long. I don’t want another hangover. Last week was the worst—fuck you, Jackson." He shot the older boy a glare, but Jackson only laughed in response.

"I’m coming! Jooheon invited me earlier," a familiar voice chimed in.

They all turned to see Y/N, now settling into the seat beside, unfortunately—Yugyeom.

"Yeah, and we'll have to drag your ass back home when you're drunk," Yugyeom said dryly, rolling his eyes at Y/N.

But she didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, she turned to Mark and Jay B with a sweet smile.

"Oppa, you're going to drive me home, right?"

Yugyeom sat up straighter. Did she just ignore me?

Mark sighed. "Just don’t go over your limit, Y/N. Please?"

"Of course!" Y/N beamed.

Yugyeom scoffed under his breath. "Just what the hell."

"Yeah, so you don’t inconvenience us into driving you home," he snapped.

Y/N shot him a glare. "What’s up with you?"

"Nothing!" Yugyeom barked back, quickly gathering his things and walking out of the cafeteria.

For some reason, he was pissed today. Since when did Y/N start following his brother around like a lost puppy? He understood the obsession, but did she really think sticking to Mark all day would get her anywhere? ---------

"Slow down, Yugie. It’s not even midnight yet." Jungkook took the bottle from Yugyeom, eyeing him warily. His friend had been drinking like a madman all night.

Yugyeom didn’t understand what was wrong with him either. He’d been cranky all day.

"I’m good," he muttered, trying to sound convincing. But Jungkook clearly wasn’t buying it.

His gaze swept across the room until it landed on Y/N, who was laughing—no, flirting—with Wonwoo. His grip on the shot glass tightened.

Mingyu and Jungkook followed his line of sight before exchanging a knowing look.

"Tsk." Yugyeom clicked his tongue and downed another shot, drinking like it was his last night on earth, completely disregarding the inevitable hangover.

"You’re drinking like you’re heartbroken, Yugie," Bambam teased, completely oblivious to the daggers Yugyeom was mentally throwing at Wonwoo and Y/N.

"And I think I just figured out who broke your little heart." Mingyu grinned, glancing between Y/N and Yugyeom.

---------

You promised Mark and JB that you wouldn’t drink too much tonight. So, you made it your mission to interact and avoid alcohol as much as possible.

You arrived a little late but made sure to greet Jooheon and hand him your gift when you walked in.

"Y/N, my girl!" Jooheon embraced you warmly.

"Happy birthday, Heony," you said, returning the hug.

"Enjoy the night, girl. You look beautiful," Jooheon winked, making you blush at the compliment.

"Thanks! And happy birthday again."

Jooheon placed both hands on your shoulders and led you towards where the boys were hanging out.

"You might want to keep up. Yugyeom’s been drinking like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s not even midnight yet."

But you had sworn to keep your drinking in check tonight.

"Perfect. Thanks, Heon." You gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Instead of diving into more alcohol, you grabbed a margarita. The plan was to avoid overindulging and stay busy by chatting with everyone. You decided to make a detour and joined Wonwoo, Hoshi, and Minghao.

"Mind if I join?" you announced, flashing a smile.

"Y/N, thank god. These two are boring me," Hoshi grinned, clearly relieved to have some fresh company. "What's up?" You asked, sitting down beside Wonwoo.

“Not much lately. Same old boring school stuff,” Minghao said, pulling out his phone to check something.

“Boo hoo. School is boring,” you teased, casually sipping your margarita.

Wonwoo glanced around, his gaze landing where JayB, Jackson, Jinyoung, and Mark usually were. “You’re at most of these parties. Surprised the boys aren’t hovering?”

You followed his gaze but didn’t spot them. They were either scattered or just keeping a low profile, not that they ever hovered, but they always made sure they could see you.

You chuckled. “Nah, I can go anywhere because of them.”

"And Yugyeom looks at me like he’s going to kill me later."

Your smile faltered. You’d been trying to push Yugyeom out of your mind these past few days. The shirts you took from him were still in your possession, Mark refused to take them when you tried returning them, they weren’t his so he basically told you to return it yourself to Yugyeom.

You and Yugyeom fought like cats and dogs daily, as if his sole purpose in life was to annoy you and ruin your day. Yet, somehow, he still looked after you. It didn’t make sense. He always seemed the least concerned, never missing a chance to call out every stupid thing you did yet there he was, always watching over you.

"What did I do?" Wonwoo asked, sounding offended. "Say he likes Y/N, and instead of joining him, he joins us? What will you feel if you are Yugyeom?"

What the hell? Likes you? More like he’s dying to kill you. First Mark, now Minghao. The idea was absurd. You couldn’t help but cackle.

"You guys are overanalyzing. What he feels toward me is pure hatred, mutual, by the way," you said, shaking your head.

"Wanna bet, Noona?"

Everyone turned at the sound of the new voice. Mingi.

Since when did he get here?

"Mingi, sneaking out again, huh?"

Mingi scratched the back of his head as he plopped down beside you. Being a freshman and the rowdiest one at that, it wasn’t exactly surprising.

"Don't tell anyone," he said with a grin. "Jooheon hyung invited me. His party’s way too lit to miss."

Mingi is the definition of chaotic energy wrapped in a freshman package. Along with his partners-in-crime, San and Beomgyu, he’s always at the center of the mess, loud, unpredictable, and effortlessly funny. Despite his wild antics, there’s an endearing charm to him, making it impossible to stay mad at him for too long.

To you, he’s like an annoying but lovable little brother, constantly trailing behind with his silly little crush. He doesn’t take it too seriously, but that doesn’t stop him from sticking around whenever he gets the chance. Whether it’s teasing, playfully pestering, or just showing up uninvited, Mingi has made it his personal mission to be wherever you are much to their amusement (and occasional frustration).

You glanced over at Yugyeom. He wasn’t looking in your direction anymore, but you caught the moment Jungkook took the bottle from his hand. Was he drunk already? Yugyeom rarely got drunk, his alcohol tolerance was impressively high.

"So, Noona? What do you think? Looks like Yugyeom hyung really likes you," Mingi said, leaning forward with his best attempt at puppy eyes.

You looked around at the others, all watching you expectantly. The attention made your cheeks warm, and you couldn’t help but blush.

"N-no, obviously we’d kill each other before that ever happened," you stammered, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But what Mingi did next caught you completely off guard.

“Oi! Mingi, you little shit! Why'd you kiss her?!”

Your eyes widened as you turned to see Minghao smacking Mingi, who seemed utterly unbothered. If anything, Mingi looked thrilled grinning ear to ear and bouncing in his seat like he’d just won the lottery. It was just a peck on your cheek but still, it caught you off guard. Your head immediately turned towards where Yugyeom is, but he's already gone. "You're so dead meat, Mingi." ----------

Your goal to stay sober? Success.

You’d had a few drinks here and there, but still being clear-headed at 2 AM was a win. Most of the night had been spent mingling, caught up in conversations rather than alcohol.

Still, you couldn’t shake the habit of glancing around, searching for any sign of Yugyeom. You hadn’t seen him since you were with Wonwoo and the others earlier, and for some reason, that nagging thought lingered.

“Good job!” you muttered to yourself, patting your own back while smiling like an idiot in front of the mirror. You headed to the restroom to touch up a bit.

"I’d tap Yugyeom. I wanna ride on his lap."

"Yeah, like, he's tall and everything."

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but these girls were loud enough to make it impossible not to hear.

Ride him, huh?

You pulled out your phone to message the group chat, hoping to get an update on Yugyeom, but the responses were slow—probably because the guys were all already too drunk. But why were you searching for Yugyeom? You weren’t sure, you just knew that you had to talk to him.

“He's pretty out of it. Some girl tried to make out with him earlier, but he accidentally knocked her over.”

For some reason, the thought made your blood boil. "Good luck riding him, then."

The girls turned towards you with a look of surprises on their face. But you only rolled her eyes and walked out of the restroom.

Now you really had to look for Yugyeom. ---------

It didn’t take long to find him mainly because they’d become the damn show in Jooheon’s pool. The chaos had taken over, and now Jooheon’s pool was flooded with drunk and half-naked students.

Yugyeom, Jungkook, Mingyu, and Jaehyun stood there, drenched. The only thing they were still wearing? Their pants. Obviously they're drunk.

“Kyum.” You called, sighing. The nickname felt strange on your tongue after not using it for so long.

Yugyeom turned towards you, his eyes half-lidded and his cheeks flushed, clearly feeling the effects of too much alcohol.

“What?” he asked lazily, draping his shirt over his shoulders as he shifted his weight.

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the fact that his half-naked form and his hair that's sticking everywhere was distracting you more than it should.

“Not having a good time? You don’t seem drunk,” he remarked, voice casual maybe a little too casual.

"I swore to Mark not to get wasted tonight."

He walked towards you, and what he did next completely caught you off guard. Yugyeom leaned forward, his face burying itself against your neck. Water still dripped from his hair, cascading down to your shoulders.

"Mark... blah blah blah. For once, can you stop talking about him?"

You weren’t sure how to react. What happened to him? Why was he suddenly acting like this?

"And don't even mention Mingi. I made sure to drown him earlier," he added, his breath warm against your neck.

"What? Are you even serious right now?"

Yugyeom let out a dry laugh. "Yeah? How dare he kiss you."

What the hell? So he did see that earlier?

"We seriously need to talk. Get a shirt or something, it’s cold," you said firmly, but Yugyeom didn’t budge.

"I’ll try… I’m too drunk, I guess?" He blinked, looking around, squinting as if trying to see past his dizziness.

"Okay, at least let’s get you inside and find you a shirt." You grabbed his arm, ready to guide him in. But the moment he took a step, Yugyeom stumbled.

"Oops. My bad." He giggled unapologetically.

"Y/N! And why are you still dry and sober?"

You barely had time to react before Mingyu clearly just as drunk grinned at you. Bambam and Jungkook trailed behind him, all of them looking suspiciously like they were up to no good.

You narrowed your eyes. "I’ll kidnap your friend for a while. You can have him back after we talk."

The three exchanged knowing looks. Definitely plotting something.

"Not gonna happen," Jungkook said, shaking his head before turning to Mingyu.

Sensing potential danger from these idiots, you instinctively stepped back. "I swear to God, I’m wearing heels, Jeon Jungkook. If you take another step, I will kill you with them."

But they didn’t look the least bit fazed.

"No killjoys tonight, Y/N."

Before you could protest, an arm wrapped around your waist. You barely had time to scream before gravity betrayed you—

SPLASH!

You hit the water. "What the fuck!!!! Just what the fuck!!!"

You screamed the moment you emerged from the water, sputtering as laughter erupted from the sidelines.

Jungkook, Bambam, and Mingyu were doubled over, finding the whole scene way too entertaining.

Before you could process your next move, an arm wrapped around your waist again. Instinctively, you swung, nearly throwing a punch—only to realize it was Yugyeom.

You immediately clung to him, your heart racing. Great. You had landed in the deeper part of the pool, where your feet couldn’t even touch the bottom.

"Just what the hell, Kyum?!" you snapped, exasperated.

He didn’t even look the least bit guilty.

"Oops?" he said, grinning.

"You dragged me in with you! I don’t have spare clothes, and I’m still wearing my heels!"

Yugyeom just chuckled, holding you effortlessly in the water. "Should’ve taken them off sooner, brat."

You were this close to dunking him under.

You didn’t realize how close you were until your breath hitched.

Yugyeom’s arm was still around your waist, holding you steady in the water. His bare skin was warm against your soaked clothes, the alcohol in his system making his grip a little looser, a little more relaxed.

Your mesh top clung to you like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. The way Yugyeom’s gaze flickered downward before snapping back to your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Half-lidded from the alcohol, his dark eyes held something unreadable, something that made your stomach flip.

For once, he wasn’t teasing you. He wasn’t rolling his eyes or throwing snarky remarks.

He was just looking.

Your throat felt dry despite being surrounded by water.

"It's cold, we should get up," you said, quickly averting your gaze.

But Yugyeom’s grip on you tightened.

"I thought we were gonna talk. What is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Your mind went blank.

What was it? Just moments ago, you had been so sure, so determined to get him alone and say something. But now, with the weight of his stare and the warmth of his body against yours, your words were stuck somewhere in your throat.

Yugyeom studied you closely, his voice quieter this time.

"And you haven’t called me Kyum in a long time…" He tilted his head slightly, eyes searching yours. "What is it now?"

You swallowed.

You could tell him. Right now.

Or you could do what you’ve always done, brush it off, pretend nothing’s changed.

Your fingers twitched against his shoulder. "It’s nothing," you mumbled.

Yugyeom let out a small scoff, but he didn’t let go. "Liar."

"Oi! The two of you, lovey-dovey there, huh? Done with your lover's quarrel?"

Jungkook’s voice rang out, followed by loud laughter from Mingyu and Bambam. You felt your face heat up not from the alcohol or the water, but from the way Yugyeom still hadn’t let go.

He didn’t even react to Jungkook’s teasing.

You expected him to roll his eyes, make some sarcastic remark, or at the very least push you away in annoyance like he always did. But he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed still, watching you.

For some reason, it wasn’t cold anymore.

"We should get out," you tried again, but your voice came out weaker this time.

Yugyeom hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Then go."

You frowned. "You're the one holding me."

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Am I?"

Your stomach flipped.

What the hell was up with him tonight?

"You're drunk. It's cold." You tried to reason, shivering slightly as the cool night air hit your wet skin.

Yugyeom only tightened his grip, his gaze unwavering. "Not until you tell me what you wanted to talk about."

You huffed, pressing your palms against his chest, trying to push him away, not too hard, though. "Kyum, not now."

His eyes flickered at the nickname again, his jaw clenching. "Then when?"

You fell silent, biting your lip.

Jungkook’s voice interrupted the tension. "Alright, alright, lovebirds. Enough of the eye-fucking. Get out before you both catch a cold."

Your breath hitched again.

"You tell me now, or I'm gonna fucking kiss you and cause a damn scene," Yugyeom said, his voice low and unwavering.

You turned sharply to look at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. His dark, half-lidded eyes held yours, challenging, no, daring you to say something. The water dripped from his hair, down his sharp jawline, and onto his bare shoulders.

"You're drunk," you repeated, but it came out weaker this time.

"And you're avoiding," he shot back.

This wasn’t the Yugyeom who always rolled his eyes at you, who constantly teased you like you were nothing but an annoying little sister. No, this Yugyeom was looking at you like he actually gave a damn.

You swallowed hard. "Kyum… stop it."

His lips twitched at the nickname, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he took a slow step toward you, water cascading off his body.

"Last chance," he warned, tilting his head slightly. "Tell me, or I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly what’s been going on between us."

Your stomach flipped. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Yugyeom smirked, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t one of amusement—it was something else. Something dangerous.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Yugyeom let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his wet hair. He looked at you, his jaw clenching like he was trying to hold something back.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" he muttered, shaking his head.

Your frustration boiled over. "No, I fucking don’t! One second, you act like I’m the most annoying person on earth, and the next, you're pissed when I talk to someone else! You say you don’t care, but you always have something to say about what I do, who I’m with—"

"Because it drives me fucking insane, Y/N!" Yugyeom snapped, holing you closer. "Watching you throw yourself at my brother like he’s ever gonna see you the way you want him to. Watching you act like a spoiled brat because you know they’ll always give you what you want. Watching you flirt with guys who don’t deserve your attention."

You blinked, your breath caught in your throat. "What...?"

His chest rose and fell heavily, his fists clenched at his sides. Then, as if all the tension left him at once, he exhaled and chuckled bitterly.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. The sounds of the party in the background felt miles away.

"Do you hate me, Yugyeom?" Your voice was quieter now, almost unsure.

His eyes snapped back to yours, something unreadable flickering in them. Then he took one last step forward, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him despite the cold water.

"If I hated you," he murmured, voice dangerously low, "I wouldn't be losing my mind over you every damn day."

"So, the shirts..." You trailed off, everything finally clicking into place and believing Mark. The t-shirt, the room you’d assumed was Mark’s...

"Yes! Fuck me!" Yugyeom cut in, his voice filled with frustration. "It’s my room you were sleeping in when you were drunk, and it’s my fucking shirt you’re wearing. You look so damn hot in it, but it drives me crazy every time you think about it being Ma—"

He didn’t finish his sentence. You cut him off with a kiss, sealing his lips against yours. The sound of cursing from the boys and the cheers of those around you filled the air.

Yugyeom froze for a second before his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you in like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. The cheers and whistles from your friends faded into the background, drowned out by the rapid beating of your heart.

When you finally pulled away, slightly breathless, Yugyeom’s dazed expression made you chuckle. His hands still held you tightly, as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

"You—" he started, his voice hoarse, but you cut him off with a smirk.

"Thought you were gonna kiss me and cause a scene?" You teased, raising a brow.

He blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really are a brat."

"You like it," you shot back playfully.

Yugyeom rolled his eyes, but the way his fingers traced circles on your waist told you everything you needed to know. Maybe he didn't hate you after all. Maybe it was something else entirely.

"Oi! Disgusting! Get out of the water!"

"Yugyeom! What the hell are you two doing in there?!"

"Were they kissing?—Hey, Yugyeom! I swear to God, if you get out of that water..."

"Nice one, Y/N noona! Don’t drown me again, Yugyeom hyung!"

You can hear Mingyu, JayB, Jackson, and even Mingi shouting from the sidelines, but Yugyeom doesn’t care. He simply grabs the back of your neck and kisses you again.

" This Motherfucker" - Mark

Yugyeom didn’t even bother looking back at the chaotic mess of friends yelling from the sidelines. He just smirked against your lips, his grip firm as he pulled you even closer. The warmth of his body against the cold water sent shivers down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was from the temperature or the way he kissed you like he had something to prove.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered when you finally pulled away, your fingers curling into the wet strands of his hair.

"Yeah?" He tilted his head, his thumb grazing your jawline. "And yet, you kissed me first."

You rolled your eyes, pushing against his chest. "Shut up, let's just get out of here before they actually drown us."

"Agreed," Yugyeom chuckled, finally letting you go, but not before throwing a glare toward the group of idiots watching like it was some drama premiere.

As you both waded out of the pool, soaking wet and dripping onto the pavement, the jeering only got worse.

"Yugyeom! I trusted you!" Mingyu feigned betrayal, clutching his chest.

"Yugyeom, you little shit, I knew it!" Jackson cackled.

"Just get a damn room!" JayB groaned, tossing a towel in your direction.

Yugyeom caught it effortlessly and draped it over your shoulders, his lips still curved into a smug grin. He leaned in, whispering against your ear, "I meant what I said. Let’s go somewhere else."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you. Instead, you scoffed, giving him a playful shove.

"Get me food first, and maybe I’ll think about it."

Yugyeom laughed, shaking his head. "Brat."

And just like that, whatever tension had been lingering between you both had snapped into something else entirely.

16 notes · View notes