#get to this point in the story finally...

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (4)

stories like this always end with a damsel in distress. except—this time around—you’re not the one who needs saving. previous chapter + masterlist.

📄 Minutes of strategic information meeting, filed by Kim Mingyu (Mafia Soldier, Logistics & Recon)

Date: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9, Undisclosed City Perimeter Time: 03:17 HRS

ATTENDEES:

Yoon Jeonghan (Underboss)

Lee Chan (Combat Unit Leader)

Chwe Hansol (Surveillance Division)

Kim Mingyu (Logistics & Recon; Recording Officer)

Civilian Target [REDACTED] (Unauthorized Attendee)

AGENDA:

Contingency Plan for Retrieval of Boss (S.Coups)

Chain of Command During Absence

External Threat Assessment

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

JEONGHAN: We go in through the east dock. Two snipers posted by 03:40. Chan leads breach. Hansol, your eyes stay on thermal—no improvisation this time.

HANSOL: I never improvise. My brilliance is structured.

CHAN: Can we not do this right now?

JEONGHAN: [ignoring them] Mingyu, once we get him out, you're on evac. Full blackout route. No trackers, no chatter.

MINGYU: Copy.

HANSOL: Any updates on who turned? Someone had to leak coordinates.

CHAN: There’s a list. We’ll handle it after we bring the boss home. One fire at a time.

[DOOR SLAMS OPEN. SOUND OF HIGH-HEELED FOOTSTEPS. SILENCE.]

CIVILIAN TARGET: You’re planning this without me?

JEONGHAN: [visibly tense] You weren’t invited.

CIVILIAN TARGET: He’s my belo—my boyfriend, Jeonghan. You think I’m just going to sit around while you play war games?

JEONGHAN: This isn’t a movie. You’re a civilian. You don’t belong in this room.

CIVILIAN TARGET: No, I’m the reason he still believes in soft things. I belong more than half the people at this table.

CHAN: She’s got a point.

JEONGHAN: Chan.

CHAN: I’m just saying. She’s not exactly fragile.

HANSOL: She did rewire one of my bugs with a paperclip. That was... not unimpressive.

JEONGHAN: [sighs] This isn’t about guts. It’s about blood.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Then you should know mine’s already on the line. Every second he’s gone, I feel it. And I’m done being sidelined. I’m not here to ask. I’m here to help.

[BEAT OF SILENCE. THEN—]

JEONGHAN: You get one job. And if you screw it up, I’ll personally drag you out.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Deal.

JEONGHAN: Hansol, give her the map. Mingyu, loop her in.

MINGYU: You’re going to need a comm. And a bulletproof vest.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Got both. And a knife in my boot.

CHAN: Okay, badass.

[MEETING CONTINUED UNDER LEVEL-2 SECRECY PROTOCOLS. TRANSCRIPT REDACTED. END OF MINUTES.]

FINAL NOTES:

Civilian Target formally added to Operation Homecoming roster.

Jeonghan authorized conditional field involvement.

Morale status: heightened.

Risk level: astronomically high.

🗂️ Operation Homecoming: Field Notes & Briefing Report, compiled by mafia underboss, Yoon Jeonghan

Clearance Level: Top Confidential Date Logged: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9

SUMMARY: Boss (S.Coups) was captured 48 hours ago following the receipt of a falsified emergency ping traced back to the civilian target’s encoded channel. The ping claimed she’d been injured and was en route to an undisclosed hospital in Sector D. According to surveillance logs, the Boss diverted course alone, abandoning standard security protocol. We believe he was intentionally isolated through signal jamming, then intercepted at the underpass beneath Route 14.

AUTOPSY OF THE TRAP:

Fake GPS tag mimicked civilian target’s bio-signal pattern

Voice distortion software replicated her distress call

EMP deployed upon vehicle arrival to disable tracking

Tactical unit waited with sedation-grade rounds

CURRENT LOCATION OF BOSS: Confirmed. Underground storage facility, formerly Syndicate-aligned. Defected cell now controls the zone. Reinforcements on site. Boss presumed alive—last thermal footage confirms faint movement.

INTERVENTION STRATEGY: OPERATION HOMECOMING

Phase One – Extraction:

Entry through east dock (03:40 HRS)

Chan leads breach unit, Hansol on thermal, Mingyu handling evac

All units silent channel only

Phase Two – Internal Sweep:

Civilian target assigned distraction and misdirection role (see below)

Two-minute window to locate and stabilize Boss

Phase Three – Extraction + Fade:

Mingyu initiates blackout route

Decoys deployed on west perimeter to delay pursuit

Rendezvous at Site Echo

CIVILIAN TARGET: PERFORMANCE LOG

Arrived wearing borrowed Kevlar and jeans tucked into combat boots. Asked if bulletproof vests same in women’s sizes. Did not wait for response.

Showed immediate enthusiasm, zero tactical finesse. Hansol gave her the map. She held it upside down. Twice.

Informed her she’d be working as the visual diversion. Her response: “Like bait?” Followed by: “Cool. I’m good at being annoying.”

Surprisingly effective. Created a loud enough ruckus on the perimeter to draw three guards off their posts. Managed to bluff her way past checkpoint by pretending to be a lost food delivery driver. Claimed she had gluten-free soba for a man named Kevin. There is no Kevin.

Still not sure how she pulled it off.

When Boss was found, he was semi-conscious but breathing. Whispered her name first.

END STATUS:

Boss retrieved.

Minimal casualties (1 injured – not fatal)

Facility compromised but not traced

Civilian target cried in the van. Then threatened to punch me for writing that down. I'm writing it down anyway.

FOOTNOTE — for Seungcheol’s eyes only: You’re reckless, stubborn, and impossible to reason with. But apparently, that’s your thing. You’re also luckier than most of us ever will be.

She didn’t sleep. Not once. Kept looking at every door like you might walk through it.

When you did, she didn’t even say anything. Just threw her arms around you like gravity stopped working.

Try not to make her go through that again.

– YJH

📱 Phone history log, filed by mafia soldier Chwe Hansol

Device: S.Coups' Personal Line (Encrypted Channel #017) Status: Outgoing Messages Only – Blocked by Signal Jammer Timestamp Range: ██:██–██:██ (Time of Abduction)

NOTE: Texts never reached intended recipient. Recovered during post-mission diagnostics. For archival purposes.

[01:12 AM] Where are you? They said you were hurt. I'm on my way.

[01:15 AM] Which hospital? No one's answering. This isn't funny. Call me.

[01:17 AM] Your signal keeps bouncing. Something's wrong. Stay where you are.

[01:21 AM] I swear to god if they laid a hand on you

[01:24 AM] No ambulance ever came.

[01:25 AM] This is a setup.

[01:27 AM] I'm so stupid. They used you. Fuck fuck fuck

[01:28 AM] I should've followed protocol. Should’ve sent Mingyu. Should’ve sent anyone but me.

[01:30 AM] If you get this, lock all the windows. Call Jeonghan. Stay put.

[01:34 AM] They knew I’d come for you.

[01:36 AM] This isn’t your fault.

[01:39 AM] Don’t come after me.

[01:41 AM] Love, beloved, please. Don’t try to save me.

[01:45 AM] You always do this—you throw yourself into fires you don't understand.

[01:49 AM] If they hurt you because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.

[01:52 AM] Tell Jeonghan to burn everything. Get out. Go far.

[01:54 AM] Forget me if you have to. Just live.

[02:01 AM] I love you. Please, please, please, don’t be stupid.

[END OF RECOVERED LOG]

📰 Excerpt from "The Ethics of Mafias: Love in the Line of Fire", a follow-up think piece by Xu Minghao

... If leadership within organized crime is already an ethical minefield, then love within it is something more volatile still: a paradox of vulnerability embedded in violence. New whispers surround the figure known only as S.Coups—the alleged mafia boss whose name, until recently, conjured images of discipline, domination, and an empire forged in precision.

Now, another narrative has emerged. One that reshapes how we understand not just the man, but the very myth he embodies.

According to rumors sourced from both within and outside the organization, S.Coups may have a romantic partner. Not a fellow operative, nor a political alliance. But a civilian. Someone unaffiliated and—crucially—untouched by the bloodied logic of the underworld.

If this is true, the implications are vast.

To love in his position is a risk. It is weakness, some would say. Yet others might argue that such love is the only thing capable of keeping a man like him from becoming monstrous. If the rumors are accurate, she is the reason he looks over his shoulder less. The reason he checks his own wrath. The reason his most trusted lieutenants have stopped fearing him and started worrying about him.

Love, here, is not a diversion. It is discipline.

And perhaps that is the most fascinating ethical twist of all: that this boss, so often theorized as either tyrant or savior, might be both—because of her.

Some say he texts her between assassinations. That he buys her gummy bears because she mentioned liking them once, months ago. That he has started folding her laundry and learning her aunt’s dietary restrictions. These are, of course, unconfirmed. They seem almost laughably mundane. But within the shadowed world of syndicates and secret wars, what could be more radical than tenderness?

Others claim that he was taken. There are now verified reports of a failed abduction and his eventual rescue. She was allegedly involved. They say she showed up unarmed, untrained, and utterly unafraid. They say she demanded to be part of the rescue mission. They say she was reckless, infuriating, and ultimately, instrumental.

And that when he saw her again, he wept.

To be loved, it turns out, is not always soft. Sometimes, it is brutal and inelegant and wildly inconvenient. But in the context of a life built on violence, to be loved is to be saved. Again and again. In the ways that matter.

Whether S.Coups is worthy of that love is not the question. The question is whether it has already changed him. Whether, in the end, the girl outside the syndicate might be the only thing real in a world made of smoke and mirrors.

And whether that, more than power or fear, will be his lasting legacy.

Mafia boss S.Coups is many things. Protector, manipulator. Brother, enemy, friend.

It seems we must add two more things:

Lover, and loved.

FIN. THANK YOU FOR READING CHERRY ON TOP!

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[gf2bellamy]

hii i absolutely LOVE your writing,, its just so perfect🤭

may i please request a story with spencer realizing he has a crush on reader and so he starts getting nervous and stutter-y around reader. so then reader gets a little upset thinking she did something wrong and they end up talking about what’s happening and it leads to a confession + kiss

thank you!!💖💖

crush — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: a tiny bit of angst bc reader thinks she did something wrong a/n: hii !! this request is so cute <3 i hope you like this <333

Spencer had it bad. 

Like, really bad. 

It wasn’t even up for debate anymore—he was completely, undeniably, and overwhelmingly crushing on you.

Right now, he was sitting at his desk, staring at you as you leaned casually against it, deep in conversation with Emily at her desk across from his. You were animated, gesturing with your hands as you made a passionate argument. 

“No, look, the movie sucks,” you insisted, pointing a finger at Emily. “You have to read the book. It’s so much better.” 

Emily rolled her eyes but smirked, clearly enjoying the debate. “I don’t know, I think the movie has its moments—” 

“Absolutely not.” You cut her off, shaking your head. “The book has so much more depth. The movie just—” You let out a dramatic sigh, exasperated. “It butchers it.” 

Spencer wasn’t even listening to Emily. He was too busy watching you, completely entranced. 

Two days ago, he’d come to a life-altering realization. 

He liked you. 

Not in the casual, oh-she’s-nice-to-be-around kind of way. No. This was the heart-racing, brain-melting, can’t-think-straight-when-you-smile-at-him kind of way. 

And it had all started with a cup of coffee. 

You had placed it in front of him, your fingers brushing his for a fleeting moment as he reached for it. A harmless, everyday interaction—except that it wasn’t harmless. Because then, you had smiled at him. Soft and warm. 

“New tie?” you had asked, tilting your head slightly as you pointed at the green tie he was wearing. 

Spencer had looked down at it, momentarily forgetting how words worked. “Oh—uh—yeah. Yeah, I got it yesterday.” 

You had grinned. “Looks good on you. I like it.” 

And then, as if your words hadn’t already short-circuited his brain, you had reached out—just for a second—adjusting the fabric between your fingers before turning away and heading back to your desk. 

That was the moment. The exact second Spencer knew he was doomed. 

And now? Two days later, he was struggling. 

Struggling to focus. Struggling to act normal. Struggling to not stare at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the entire world—which, let’s be honest, you were. 

“Spence.” 

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. You had turned to him now, one hand resting lightly on his arm as you smiled. 

“Tell her the book is better than the movie,” you said, tilting your head toward Emily. “Back me up here.” 

Spencer knew, logically, that he had said those exact words to you a few weeks ago. He agreed with you. He had data, facts, and literary analysis to support the claim. It was an easy argument. 

And yet— 

He was completely, entirely tongue-tied. 

You were looking at him expectantly, your touch burning through the fabric of his sleeve like a brand. 

“I—uhm—I think—” He swallowed, feeling his face heat up. 

You frowned slightly, confused by his sudden inability to form a coherent sentence. 

He needed to get it together. 

“Yes,” he finally forced out, clearing his throat. “Uh, the book is—definitely better. Than the movie.” 

You grinned, triumphant. “See? Told you.” 

Emily just smirked at Spencer, amusement flickering in her eyes. 

You, then , watched as Spencer quickly withdrew his hand from your touch, avoiding your eyes like it physically pained him to look at you. 

And over the next day, it kept happening. 

It was subtle at first—small moments that could’ve easily been brushed off as coincidences. But then they started piling up. 

Like when you were working on the geographical profile together. You had been standing close to him, pointing at a section of the map, asking for his input. But instead of responding immediately, Spencer had frozen. 

Completely. 

You had glanced up, expecting one of his usual rapid-fire responses, filled with statistics and insightful observations. But nothing came. Instead, he stood there, his jaw slightly clenched, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.

You had frowned, waiting. 

A long, awkward silence stretched between you until someone else had walked by, snapping him out of it. He mumbled a quick, barely audible response before abruptly walking away. 

Then there was the night the team went out for drinks. You had slid into a booth at the bar, expecting Spencer to take the seat beside you—like he always did. It was a habit. Something that just was. 

Except this time, he didn’t. 

He sat at the far end of the table, wedging himself between JJ and Rossi, not even acknowledging you. 

That was when the doubts started creeping in. 

Had you done something wrong? Had you said something to upset him? 

You replayed the past week in your mind, searching for anything that might have caused this shift. But there was nothing. At least, nothing you could think of. 

Still, it didn’t stop the sinking feeling in your chest every time Spencer avoided your gaze, every time he hesitated before answering you, every time he refused to sit near you. 

And now, back at Quantico, the case closed, reports needing to be filed, you sat at your desk, watching him. 

The office was quieter than usual—most of the team had taken the morning off to rest, leaving only you and Spencer to handle the paperwork, just as you always did. 

Except this time, Spencer wasn’t talking to you. 

He sat across the room, his eyes fixed on his files, his pen moving rapidly across the paper. And still—not once—did he look up at you. 

Your fingers curled slightly against the report in front of you, a dull ache settling in your chest. 

The silence between you was suffocating. 

Hours passed, the only sounds filling the room were the scratch of pens against paper and the occasional shuffle of files. It was unnatural—terribly unnatural. The two of you were never this quiet around each other. 

Spencer wanted to talk to you. He always wanted to talk to you. But every time he opened his mouth, he managed to embarrass himself. So, he just... stopped trying. 

And then there was the other problem—his newfound hyper-awareness of you. 

Every touch, no matter how small, felt like an electric current running through his skin. Like when the two of you were sitting in the back of the SUV on the way back from a case, and your knee had accidentally brushed against his. It had been nothing to you, a completely normal, casual thing. But to him? To him, it had set his entire body on fire. 

Or when you touched his arm , casually, the way you always did—except now, it wasn’t just casual to him. Now, it was overwhelming. Too much. 

So he did what he thought was best—he avoided it. Avoided you. 

It was time to leave, and coincidentally, both of you started packing your bags at the same time. 

Somehow, despite everything, you still moved in sync. 

It was a habit at this point. You always left work together, falling into step beside one another like second nature. Some nights, you’d end up at the movies, where Spencer would hesitantly—almost shyly—share his food with you. Something he never did with anyone else. Not with his germophobia. Not even with the team. 

But with you it had never been a problem. 

Other nights, you’d wind up at his apartment, curled up on his couch, just hanging out. Just you and him. And in hindsight, Spencer supposed he should’ve seen this coming. 

Should’ve realized that whatever this was—whatever you were to him—wasn’t just friendship. 

Maybe he’d been crushing on you all along. 

The two of you walked to the elevator, the air thick with awkwardness. You exchanged shy smiles, unsure of what to say or do.

Finally, you both spoke at the same time. 

"Are you okay?" 

The words tumbled out of your mouths in perfect unison, and for a moment, you both froze, staring at each other. Then you both chuckled awkwardly, the sound breaking the tension, just for a second. 

“Go ahead,” Spencer nodded at you, pressing the button to call the elevator.  

“You—just... I feel like I haven’t talked to you properly in ages,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping as you fiddled with the strap of your bag. 

Spencer looked away quickly, a guilty blush creeping up his neck. 

Oh god, why couldn’t he just act normal around you? 

“Did I do something wrong?” You blurted out, suddenly worried. "Because I—I’m not entirely sure what it was, but you haven’t been looking at me, or talking to me, and I’m just—” 

Before you could ramble on any longer, Spencer cut you off. His voice was a little too loud, too eager. 

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong!” He shook his head quickly, almost desperately, as if trying to reassure you. His wide eyes met yours, and there was a softness in them. “I promise.” 

The elevator doors slid open, and the two of you stepped inside. 

You pressed the button to the ground floor, still watching him, trying to make sense of everything. 

“So, what is it then?” you asked, your voice more hesitant now, as the elevator began its descent. 

Spencer bit his lip, his fingers nervously tapping against the strap of his bag. What was he supposed to say? That he had a huge crush on you, but he couldn’t even stand to be near you without fumbling through his words and avoiding your gaze? It sounded so stupid when he thought about it. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the doors in front of him as the elevator descended slowly. His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” you pointed at him, a hint of teasing in your voice, but the concern still lingered. “You’re acting like this because something’s going on, and I’m just—I don’t know what it is.” 

Spencer’s heart raced.

The doors finally opened, and you both headed towards the exit , where you stepped out into the chilly night air. You instinctively pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, waiting for him to speak. 

Spencer hesitated again. His mind was spinning.

“No, I swear it’s not you,” Spencer muttered, tugging on the strap of his satchel, trying to buy himself some time. “It’s just I—I…” 

You waited, eyes fixed on him, your breath fogging in the cold air. You were getting impatient, and the more time passed, the more you started to worry that whatever had been going on was something you had no control over. Something that was maybe your fault. 

You were now standing by your car, watching him. Spencer looked torn, his fingers gripping the strap of his satchel tightly, his body tense like he was debating whether to run or stay. His lips parted slightly, and then, as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore, the words tumbled out. 

“I like you.” His voice was quiet.

For a moment, you just stared at him, confusion flickering across your face. 

“I… didn’t realize you disliked me until now?” You frowned slightly, your voice uncertain, trying to make sense of what he was saying. 

Spencer’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait—no!” He rushed to correct himself, shaking his head frantically. “That’s not what I meant—I didn’t mean that.” 

His breath came out in a nervous puff of air, his cheeks burning red as he struggled to find the right words. 

“I mean—I like you. Like, like like you.” His voice dropped to a mumble, the last part barely above a whisper. “Like, I have a crush on you.” 

He swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he finally said it. 

And then, silence. 

His eyes darted to you hesitantly, searching your face for a reaction, his stomach twisting with anticipation. 

You stood frozen. Did he just say what you think he said? 

“I… what?” you blinked, your breath hitching. 

Spencer’s face was already bright red, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the pavement, like he regretted saying anything at all. His voice had been so quiet at the end, barely above a whisper, but you heard him. 

He liked you. Like liked you. 

“I have a crush on you,” he repeated, this time slightly louder, but his voice was still laced with hesitation. His eyes flickered between yours and the ground, as if he was trying to gauge your reaction but couldn’t bear to look for too long. “That’s… that’s why I’ve been acting so weird.” 

A rush of emotions hit you all at once. Relief. Surprise. And something else—something warm, something thrilling. 

You let out a small breathy laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Spencer, you’ve been avoiding me for days because you have a crush on me?” 

He winced slightly. “Yes?” 

A smile tugged at your lips. The pieces started falling into place—the nervous stammering, the awkward silences, the way he’d flinched at even the smallest touches. You had spent the entire week wondering if you’d somehow upset him when, in reality, he was just… flustered. 

Over you. 

It was almost funny. No—it was funny. 

Spencer watched you carefully, his anxiety spiking at your silence. He had just spilled his feelings to you in the most awkward way possible, and now you were just standing there, staring at him with this unreadable look. He braced himself for rejection, for you to awkwardly brush it off, for you to tell him that you didn’t feel the same way— 

Instead, you smiled. 

And then you laughed. 

Spencer blinked. “Are you—are you laughing at me?” He sounded both confused and slightly horrified. 

You quickly shook your head, even though you were still grinning. “No! No, I swear, I’m not laughing at you.” You bit your lip to stifle another giggle, but it wasn’t working. “It’s just—you’ve been torturing yourself over this ?” 

Spencer huffed, looking away. “I wouldn’t call it torture—” 

“You literally stopped making eye contact with me.” 

“That’s—okay, that’s fair.” He sighed. “I just… I didn’t know how to act. Every time I tried to talk to you, I ended up embarrassing myself, and I figured it would be easier if I just… didn’t.” 

You softened at that. 

“Spence,” you said gently, reaching for his hand before he could overthink it. The second your fingers brushed his, you felt him stiffen. But he didn’t pull away. “You know you could’ve just told me, right?” 

He let out a breath, finally meeting your eyes. “I was afraid that if I told you… things would change.” 

You squeezed his hand lightly, feeling a rush of fondness for him. His brain was the most brilliant one you’d ever known, but sometimes he made things so complicated. 

“Well, things are going to change,” you admitted, watching his expression closely. 

His heart stuttered. “Oh.” 

A flicker of panic flashed across his face, and you quickly squeezed his hand again before he spiraled. 

“Not in a bad way,” you reassured him, stepping a little closer. You tilted your head, smiling softly. “I like you too, Spencer.” 

Spencer’s breath caught. “You…?” 

“Mhm.” 

He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to process your words, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might feel the same way. 

And then—oh. 

Oh. 

His entire body relaxed, the tension melting from his shoulders. He let out a breathy laugh, running his free hand through his hair as he shook his head. 

You smiled as you leaned back against your car, watching the relief wash over Spencer.

He stared at you, his eyes flickering between your own and your lips, and you could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind.

Spencer swallowed, his hands fidgeting at his sides. And then, as if the rush of confidence from his confession hadn’t completely worn off yet, he asked, “Can—can I kiss you?” 

Your stomach flipped at his words, your smile widening. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

Spencer exhaled something that sounded like half a laugh, half a breath of relief, before you reached for him, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his cardigan as you tugged him toward you.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands hovering for only a second before settling on your cheeks. His fingers were warm despite the cold air.

His fingertips barely grazing your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, and for a second, he just looked at you—like he wanted to take his time, like he wanted to remember everything about this moment before it even happened.

Then, finally, he leaned in. 

The first touch of his lips was soft, almost tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn’t—when you kissed him back just as eagerly—he let himself relax. His hands cupped your face more firmly, his body leaning just slightly into yours.

You sighed against him, your hands sliding up to rest against his shoulders, your fingers gently threading into the curls at the nape of his neck. That was all it took. You felt him shiver slightly under your touch, a quiet hum of contentment vibrating in his chest.

When you finally pulled away for air, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless but smiling.

Spencer opened his eyes, his pupils slightly blown, a soft, dazed smile tugging at his lips.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he murmured.

You chuckled, your hands still resting against his neck. “You really thought I didn’t like you back?”

He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

You brushed your thumb along his cheek, tilting your head playfully. “Well, you should’ve. Because I really like you, Spencer.”

His smile widened, something utterly adorable in the way his entire face lit up at your words.

“I like you too,” he said again, as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to say it out loud.

You grinned. “Yeah, I think I got that part.”

[getvalentined]

Thinking a lot recently about the constant comparison of Oblivion to Skyrim, particularly claims that Oblivion is superior in every way strictly by virtue of quest length and the greater grandiosity of the organizations in Oblivion, and I think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what's actually going on with Tamriel during the time period of Skyrim. Even though it's like...one of the core concepts of the main storyline.

Putting most of this under a cut for length, but I just...I think people misunderstand what's going on here. This is not a "One Game Good Other Game Bad" post, it's an analysis of a major, key difference in story basis between the two that I think gets lost in the (frankly asinine) argument about which is superior.

See, everything in Skyrim sucks. Every organization you can align yourself with is falling apart. Literally every single one.

That's the point.

To summarize:

The Companions (equivalent to the Fighters' Guild) are about a dozen strong, literally cursed, and their most beloved leader gets murdered very early in the storyline.

The College of Winterhold (equivalent to the Mages' Guild, not to the Arcane University) has seemingly only been saved from collapsing into the sea because a master of Restoration fused himself with the structure itself when the Sea of Ghosts tried to tear it down a little under a century ago and his presence is constantly physically "healing" the foundation.

The Thieves' Guild has lost the favor of every possible patron deity, having been outright cursed by Nocturnal after one of her Nightingales murdered another and stole the gift she offers her champion, while the boon that the organization's founder claimed from her in ages past (the cowl) is missing.

The Dark Brotherhood has been all but completely dismantled, the Night Mother's tomb in Bravil having been raided and struggling to persist without a Listener for over a decade; the bodies of the Night Mother's children have been lost and she's essentially being smuggled from region to region in an attempt to find a safe place to continue operations.

The Empire itself has been kneecapped, forced into a traumatic treaty by a fascist regime determined to strike the beliefs and culture of anyone not Altmer off the face of the planet; the Thalmor have gone so far as to torture and radicalize the figurehead leader of the Nords in order to use their own nationalism and superiority against the Empire, sparking a civil war that will further weaken the Empire and allow the Aldmerri Dominion to destroy it wholecloth.

This extends out into the rest of the world, too! We have confirmed existence of Hist-deaf Argonians. The Dunmer are floundering to recover after the quadruple-whammy that is the fall of the Triumverate, the destruction of Vivec City when Baar Dau finally made impact, the Red Year, and the Argonian uprising. The Bosmer are literally endangered due to habitat loss following a super-isolationist cultural shift due to wars with the Khajiit and Altmer. The Void Nights were devastating to Khajiit culture and population in ways that have yet to be fully explained.

The world is falling apart. Everything is dying.

And then Alduin shows up.

We all kind of talk about Alduin carrying on as World-Eater through the course of the Skyrim storyline like it's him being a piece of shit, since he'd started it ages ago and was just displaced in time to land on the Last Dragonborn's head in the Fourth Era, but I don't think that's the case.

Based on the state of things, I think Alduin arrived right on time. I think it's the end of the world. The only reason he "should" be stopped is because the Last Dragonborn has the capacity to stop the world from ending in a more down-to-earth sense than just defeating Alduin: they can't save everyone, but they can "fix" every single organization that's holding "the world" together.

They can align with the Imperials and keep the civil war from further crippling them, keeping the Empire from being too weak to push back against the Aldmerri Dominion.

They can save the College of Winterhold, the only group in the right place at the right time to stop the Eye of Magnus from opening, and in doing so make sure that the Psijics are able to put it somewhere nobody else can find it.

They can lead the Companions, cure the curse for those members who don't want to run with Hircine after death, which bolsters their spirits enough to keep doing what they can even when everyone else is trying to kill each other. A single neutral martial force in the middle of a civil war.

They can regain Nocturnal's trust for the Thieves' Guild, restore the Nightingales, and in doing so they can return the luck that was stolen from them as punishment for Mercer Frey's transgression. They can even reclaim the Crown of Barenziah and award the guild with a paragon to increase their newly-regained luck.

They can hear the Night Mother, becoming Listener for the Dark Brotherhood to restore the balancing force of Sithis in the world, purify the most broken Sanctuary the Brotherhood has ever had, and finish a story set into motion way back in the Third Era—Emperor Titus Mede II is murdered under the order of a Motierre, a descendant of a mark the Brotherhood specifically kept from dying during the Oblivion Crisis.

The Last Dragonborn can't do anything outside Skyrim—there's nothing they can do for the Argonians or the Bosmer or the Khajiit, and they can only do very little for the Dunmer via work in Solstheim—but they can work with every single guild or guild-adjacent group, strengthening the Empire to stand against the biggest threat to Tamrielic culture since the First Era, and in doing so they can make it so the world isn't ready for Alduin to eat it.

The Hero of Kvatch exists when Tamriel, and presumably Nirn as a whole is in the prime of its life, that's what makes the Oblivion Crisis such a big deal. This is a world that isn't ready to give up, it still has the strength to fight, it just needs someone standing at the head to direct it. The Last Dragonborn comes into the story when everything is falling apart and nothing really feels worthwhile, when it's hard to see why the world is worth saving. They have the chance to prove that there's still some life left here, that the world isn't too far gone to save—Alduin arrived right on time, it's the Last Dragonborn's job to change that.

I can see how coming from Oblivion to Skyrim would feel disappointing and hollow, but I'm pretty sure that's literally the point of the story.

Oblivion tells you the world is worth saving because it's got so much left to live for, even with the odds stacked so high against it. Skyrim asks you whether a world that's dying is still a world worth saving, and it's up to you to prove that it is.

[stupidspacealien]

Yeah, that is a good question - why do some scifi twist endings fail?

As a teenager obsessed with Rod Serling and the Twilight Zone, I bought every single one of Rod Serling’s guides to writing. I wanted to know what he knew.

The reason that Rod Serling’s twist endings work is because they “answer the question” that the story raised in the first place. They are connected to the very clear reason to even tell the story at all. Rod’s story structures were all about starting off with a question, the way he did in his script for Planet of the Apes (yes, Rod Serling wrote the script for Planet of the Apes, which makes sense, since it feels like a Twilight Zone episode): “is mankind inherently violent and self-destructive?” The plot of Planet of the Apes argues the point back and forth, and finally, we get an answer to the question: the Planet of the Apes was earth, after we destroyed ourselves. The reason the ending has “oomph” is because it answers the question that the story asked. 

My friend and fellow Rod Serling fan Brian McDonald wrote an article about this where he explains everything beautifully. Check it out. His articles are all worth reading and he’s one of the most intelligent guys I’ve run into if you want to know how to be a better writer.

According to Rod Serling, every story has three parts: proposal, argument, and conclusion. Proposal is where you express the idea the story will go over, like, “are humans violent and self destructive?” Argument is where the characters go back and forth on this, and conclusion is where you answer the question the story raised in a definitive and clear fashion. 

The reason that a lot of twist endings like those of M. Night Shyamalan’s and a lot of the 1950s horror comics fail is that they’re just a thing that happens instead of being connected to the theme of the story. 

One of the most effective and memorable “final panels” in old scifi comics is EC Comics’ “Judgment Day,” where an astronaut from an enlightened earth visits a backward planet divided between orange and blue robots, where one group has more rights than the other. The point of the story is “is prejudice permanent, and will things ever get better?” And in the final panel, the astronaut from earth takes his helmet off and reveals he is a black man, answering the question the story raised. 

oooh have you ever done a post about the ridiculous mandatory twist endings in old sci-fi and horror comics? Like when the guy at the end would be like "I saved the Earth from Martians because I am in fact a Vensuvian who has sworn to protect our sister planet!" with no build up whatsoever.

Yeah, that is a good question - why do some scifi twist endings fail?

As a teenager obsessed with Rod Serling and the Twilight Zone, I bought every single one of Rod Serling’s guides to writing. I wanted to know what he knew.

The reason that Rod Serling’s twist endings work is because they “answer the question” that the story raised in the first place. They are connected to the very clear reason to even tell the story at all. Rod’s story structures were all about starting off with a question, the way he did in his script for Planet of the Apes (yes, Rod Serling wrote the script for Planet of the Apes, which makes sense, since it feels like a Twilight Zone episode): “is mankind inherently violent and self-destructive?” The plot of Planet of the Apes argues the point back and forth, and finally, we get an answer to the question: the Planet of the Apes was earth, after we destroyed ourselves. The reason the ending has “oomph” is because it answers the question that the story asked. 

My friend and fellow Rod Serling fan Brian McDonald wrote an article about this where he explains everything beautifully. Check it out. His articles are all worth reading and he’s one of the most intelligent guys I’ve run into if you want to know how to be a better writer.

According to Rod Serling, every story has three parts: proposal, argument, and conclusion. Proposal is where you express the idea the story will go over, like, “are humans violent and self destructive?” Argument is where the characters go back and forth on this, and conclusion is where you answer the question the story raised in a definitive and clear fashion. 

The reason that a lot of twist endings like those of M. Night Shyamalan’s and a lot of the 1950s horror comics fail is that they’re just a thing that happens instead of being connected to the theme of the story. 

One of the most effective and memorable “final panels” in old scifi comics is EC Comics’ “Judgment Day,” where an astronaut from an enlightened earth visits a backward planet divided between orange and blue robots, where one group has more rights than the other. The point of the story is “is prejudice permanent, and will things ever get better?” And in the final panel, the astronaut from earth takes his helmet off and reveals he is a black man, answering the question the story raised. 

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 5

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

You awake to Sylus next to you. You aren’t cuddled up in his arms like you were a few days ago. Rather, he cradles one of your hands in his. It’s surrounded in his warmth.

You’re half tempted to keep it that way, to soak in this little moment because you know that odds are you won’t be getting many of these in the near future. You ignore that part of you and carefully remove your hand from his.

He tries to resist, even while in deep slumber (the man’s always slept like the dead since you started regularly sleeping in the same room). It’s adorable, like he can’t bare to let you go so much that it shows up in his sleep. You smile down at him drowsily.

You move your other hand to stroke his hair. Sylus thankfully doesn’t stir awake. You need this moment to yourself. Because while you’re still hurt by his words, you’ve missed his touch. You’ve missed the quiet moments of intimacy the two of you would have with each other daily.

Somedays you’d curl up on one of the couches as you’d read a book to him, either because he was being lazy that day or because it was in a language he didn’t speak (you learned many languages during your time in the auction and wandering about). Others you’d just sit in the living room together, him disassembling and reassembling a gun while you cut a jewel he got you from a client. On rare occasions, you’d dance with him and the twins early in the morning playing some obscure vinyl record.

Small moments were what made up you two’s relationship. Small moments that mean the world to you. You twirl a lock of his hair on your finger, just letting yourself relax.

Sylus’ stirring shatters the quiet scene. You jerk your hand away as fast as possible. Seeing those crimson eyes again just reminds you of what he said.

“Have you awaken, sleeping beauty?” You tease.

Your voice is hoarse. And Sylus quickly moves to grab you some water. You take small sips, surprised by how abused your throat feels.

I wasn’t asleep for that long, was I?

Sylus, sensing your confusion, whispers, “You were screaming before you passed out.”

You flush at his words. Screaming? You don’t remember doing that.

You stare down at the cup in your hands. Despite Sylus’ gentle tone and expression, you couldn’t help but be embarrassed. Having a mental breakdown was bad enough. But screaming your lungs out to the point of hurting your voice? That was just pathetic.

“Maybe I finally cracked under the weight of my foolish boss and his many messes?”

Your words are meant to be light-hearted; they do the exact opposite. Sylus’ face falls, and you watch his thread thrash like a wild animal. It’s alive with a storm of emotion. And you caused it.

The more vengeful part of you is satisfied by this. He’s caused you so much turmoil over the past few days. A little pain could do him good. He’s lied to you, and broken your heart. Not that he knows the latter or how deep the former goes.

Because despite working and being with Sylus for so long, you’ve never told him the truth. Not about your abilities nor about your past. Sure, you’ve told him bits and pieces, little stories about your childhood and what you did for work before Onychinus. But not the hard stuff.

You’ve never told him about the depth of the abandonment, of the betrayal of so many. You’ve never told him how far your loneliness runs. You’ve never told him that you have no soulmate. You’ve never told him what you could see.

You’ve wanted to. Many times, in fact, have the words almost slipped past your lips. But you’ve never let them truly fall out. Because why would you tempt history repeating itself?

“You changed my clothes?” You break the tension with a silly question.

The large, fancy black shirt smells of him. Of his cologne, and the unique scent that is Sylus. It clings to your skin. You love it.

“We both know mine suit you better, Gamayun.”

His voice isn’t as steady as usual. It trembles.

“Are you insulting my preferences?”

You turn to him.

“No. Just saying that mine will always be better.”

He looks at you with a soft expression. His hands drift to yours, fingers encircling your wrists and allowing the rest of your hands to sit on his palms. His eyes never leave yours during this. He’s studying you for any discomfort or any sign of you not wanting his touch. As if you ever could.

When you accept his touch, his eyes light up. The smile he gives you melts your heart.

“Keep telling yourself that foolish man.”

It’s a beat of silence between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, Gamayun,” you almost don’t hear what he says. “I’m so sorry.”

Sylus’ head is bowed to you. He looks so small at the foot of the bed. You want to reach out and hold him, cradle him in your arms and let him be safe there. Just like you did the first time you two got drunk together and just talked about your pasts.

You think that was the moment you started falling for him: when you realized there was someone just as lonely and broken as you. Him, the last fiend, and you, the only person to ever be born without a soulmate. Him, blessed with the power to see people’s desires, and you, cursed to see the love which you can never have.

It’s poetic. And it hurts. It hurts how perfect you are for one another, but the universe decided against you two.

The feeling of Sylus’ eyes on you reminds you that you haven’t responded to his plea. He doesn’t reach out to touch you. It feels strangely empty. But you suppose it’s best you get used to this now rather than later.

“I don’t accept,” you force out.

You turn your head away from Sylus. Seeing whatever expression he has on his face now will weaken your resolve.

“Oh,” the small sound Sylus lets out is beyond painful.

“Yes, “oh,”” you dig your heart’s and your relationship with Sylus’ grave further with each word out of your mouth. “Did you think a simple apology would make me happy?”

Under normal circumstances, yes. If Sylus had said practically anything else to you during your argument, than an apology probably could’ve soothed you. But he said those words, those cursed words. The words that’ve torn through so many of your relationships. The words that rendered promises meaningless and time worthless.

He said those words. And thus, you don’t have it in your heart to forgive him.

“You can’t smooth this over like usual.”

Sylus wilts the more you speak. The large, imposing, figure he stouts shrinks upon your every word. You keep your eyes away from him, as if ignoring him will make the pain of what you’re doing soften.

“You’ve betrayed my trust, Sylus,” you say his name firmly as a reminder to yourself and him to not waiver and keep the boundary you’ve set up. “You’ve betrayed it in such a way I didn’t think you of all people could.”

Saying it aloud makes the hurt fresh all over again. It makes you go back to all the times where you’ve been in this position. All the times where people you thought cared for you hurt you the second they found their soulmate.

And the more it hurts, the more you laugh at yourself. You knew this would happen. You knew the second you fell in love with him this would happen.

But you still act like a victim. You still hurt the man you love because he committed the simple crime of loving his soulmate instead of you.

“I just need you to trust me on this. Please. This will all be over soon.”

Over because he’ll leave you, that dark, annoying, voice in your head whispers. Over because he’ll abandon you like all the rest.

“It is you who doesn’t trust me, Sylus. That’s how this all started. You didn’t trust me, which caused my trust in you to waver. I do not need to do anything for you.”

“How can I fix this?”

“Telling me the truth would be a start.”

He says nothing. You fall apart every second he doesn’t speak.

Why? Why are you so willing to protect her?

You ask the question despite knowing the answer: because soulmates are everything. You’ll never compare to her.

“Than can you even say you’re truly sorry? Or are you just trying to appease me?”

“Of course not. You know I never say anything I don’t mean.”

“So you meant to use those words exactly? You meant to shut me out? You meant to permanently warp our relationship?”

“That’s not what I—“

“Than what did you mean, Sylus?” You spit out his name like it’s poison; he flinches like you stabbed him. “Because that’s what I think you meant. We had a deal when I came to work for you, with you. And you broke it.”

Sylus whipped to face you. He has a wild look in his eyes, and his lips begin to quiver. It’s as if he can guess your next words.

“You gave me your word that you’d never lie to me. You promised me. And yet you’ve done exactly that.”

You take a shaky breath before you land the death blow, “I have every right to walk out of here, right here, right now.”

Sylus’ hand zip out to grab you by the shoulders. He forces you to face him. You could almost cry from how scared he looks. There’s an almost feral glow in his gaze, like the dragon he once was is bleeding into view again but just through his eyes. As if you’re some important piece of his hoard and someone’s trying to take you.

It burns you to do this to him. Because abandonment and loneliness is something the two of you bonded on. But broken trust is also something you bonded on. And he broke yours. And he’ll continue to break it for her.

“You either tell me the truth, or….”

“Or what?” Sylus sounds choked up, as if he’s about to cry.

“I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll leave. Or maybe I’ll just stop being your Gamayun. I haven’t decided yet.”

You try to breath to steady yourself, your entire body vibrating with that one inhale, before finishing, “But none of that will happen if you just tell me the truth.”

“It is the truth. What I have with her and what I have with you cannot be compared.”

You say nothing more. You knew that; by God, you knew that. But it still hurts.

Why?

Why is he so willing to go so far for the woman who killed him? He’d risk you, his partner, for her. Lie to you. Hurt you. Betray you.

Leave you, a voice in your head says.

But not her. Not his killer. He’ll protect her no matter the cost. But you? You’re nothing. You’re nothing compared to the woman that he let take his life. Would he do such a thing for you?

No.

He knows she killed him. Murdered him. Shoved a claymore deep into his chest and ripped his life from him.

But he still loves her.

How could you possibly compete with that?

You quickly sit up further in Sylus’ bed to swing your legs to side of it. You needed to get up. You couldn’t stew in these thoughts any longer.

“Where… where are you going? Why are you running off?”

“And what would telling you accomplish? You have your secrets, I have mine.”

Sylus pulls back as if you’ve burned him. It’s a low blow, sure, but you’re no longer in a state to care. You just need to get out. So even though all you wear is his shirt, undergarments, and loose shorts, you leave the room. A brief glimpse of the closet you share with him reminds you that you’ll have to move your stuff soon.

Wouldn’t do good for Miss Hunter to see that. She’ll misunderstand.

Just like you’ve misunderstood. You’re not his. He’s not yours.

Author's Note: sort of comfort (?) next chapter. Not from Sylus though...

I'm so fucking mean.

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[solecize]

°⛧  ‧  ₊   　 　⠀mnemonic 　⠀⠀⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀⠀ [2]

　 　⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 *ੈ  ✩  ‧  ₊  ˚  .ೃ

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: swimmer!jk x female reader, college au, slow burn friends to lovers to ??, fluff, angst, slice of life, coming of age

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, substance use, college party and hookup culture, mentions of greek life hazing, characters experiencing just about every feeling a lost college student goes through, depictions of and discussions surrounding mental health (depression, anxiety, substance abuse), disgusting amounts of yearning and clueless pining, yes he's her tutor at one point, yes they're in denial, also features other third gen idols, dare i say found family, there is a beach episode and a fireworks festival too lol

in which a little box of memories tells the story of how you and jeon jungkook slowly, but surely, fell in love against the backdrop of the growing pains of your college years. jungkook presents this box to you as a final gift at graduation and each item in the box is a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the forces that brought the two of you from strangers to friends to more. 

⇢ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐱: masterlist. / prologue. / the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop. / ticket to the haunted horrors house (admission for two). / a worn out deck of cards. /handwritten no-bake cheesecake recipe. / cd soundtrack for stand by me (1986). / travel brochure to derry beach. / a clipping from the school newspaper. / pieces of confetti. / one empty tequila shooter. / epilogue & the final item.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: see masterlist for chapter summaries if u want also i edited this while fried so was it really editing

the loyalty points card from the campus coffee shop

 the first time he ever saw you was at the cafe at the student union centre. 

 the bean was situated at the bottom floor of the student centre building and was the most popular stop for pre-class caffeine. it was a pretty spot, as sunlight streamed in through floor to ceiling windows and overlooked the quad. at all hours, it was bustling and filled to the brim - the morning of the first day of classes was the worst of them all. the entire shop teemed with figures, some hunched over laptops and others pondering at the menu. you knew it would be busy, ignored the fact, and that was why you stood in line for a latte with a pained expression on your face.

 “i’m going to be late,” you muttered under your breath, barely able to peek over the shoulder of the person in front of you to see just how far you were from the front counter.

 there was only about ten minutes until the first ever lecture of your college years and there was still three people ahead of you in line. by your estimates, it would take about five minutes to get to the hall, maybe a solid three if you sprinted. sacrifices had to be made and something told you that you shouldn’t have stayed up all night with your roommate, doyeon, the night before. you needed coffee and you needed it now.

 It was just a relief in general that you got along with her. one of your biggest fears going into college was even making friends after leaving your hometown. you dove headfirst into a new life in a new place and the least you could accomplish was befriend the person you were going to live with for the rest of the year. these were the thoughts that swirled your mind first thing in the morning as you got ready for class, which is why you were late in the first place. 

 by the time you placed your order and received your iced vanilla latte, you could have transformed into usain bolt. you were more than determined to get a running start out of the bean - a little too determined. 

 “ah! oh fuck, i’m so sorry.”

 when you turned around, ready to make the sprint, you’d bumped directly into the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your life. you could say that with your chest, too. he was tall, extremely beautiful eyes, and something about the way his smile reached them made your heart skip a beat. it was a sheepish grin, embarrassed by the collision. his dark hair fell just around his eyebrows, one of them adorned with an eyebrow piercing. needless to say, you did, in fact, have a type and this guy fit the bill like a glove. 

 “no, shit, i’m sorry!” you managed to sputter.

 unfortunately for you, as glorious this meet cute would have been perfect at literally any other time, you were running late from class and your latte was now spreading across the floor. thankfully, none of it ended up on either of your clothes. you could physically feel your life drain from your body, knowing that you were going to fall asleep in the lecture within the first couple minutes without your coffee. 

 the empathy in this man’s eyes knew this, too, and they suddenly lit up. he then thrusted his own plastic cup in your direction.

 “here, do you wanna take mine? i’m not in a rush,” the mysterious man insisted and you could have jumped into his arms, giggling like a school girl.

 the very first time jungkook caught your eye, you felt like you had been struck by a lightning bolt. then, the sharp electricity itched your chest and planted sparks of a feeling you’d never felt before. it was a repetition of thunderous growls that sunk beneath your skin, booming quietly over the years and as you fell in love with him. it was sparks in your bones and in your veins, of jungkook who permanently rumbled in your being. 

 in this moment, you remained collected. there was no way you were going to act like a total fool in front of this beautiful stranger. you took an extra second to give him a once over, he wore a hoodie that read ‘springfield university swimming’ and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

 you feigned reluctance. “oh, no, i couldn’t - it’s my fault anyway.”

 “no, seriously, you look like you’re in a rush,” he shook his head rapidly. “i insist. it’s just a regular iced coffee, but you should have it!.

 as much as you wanted to stay at the bean and flirt your way into getting his number, the reality struck that you had about two minutes to make it to your lecture. 

 finally, you nodded and smiled gratefully. “thank you, thank you - you really just saved my life!”

 “no worries, have a nice day!”

 as you ran off, you could only wish that you got his name. little did you know, you would run into him again and again and not only would you get his name, it became the one constant in your life for the next four years. 

 by now, it was two weeks into the semester and you found out that your roommate, doyeon, was a type a brainiac. she also happened to be in the same major and declared that she would help keep you on top of your work. despite the quiz for your intro to sociology class carrying a very low amount of weight for your final grade, she insisted that the two of you hold a study session a few days prior. 

 it was by luck that jungkook would be one of the few souls lingering around the bean in the late evening. the early september sun hugged all corners of the coffee shop with its curtains streaming in from the darkening skyline, as you gazed out into its streaks of ember and rose. you sighed, wishing that you were outside instead of studying for your first quiz. 

 “it’s literally friday night, why are you studying?” a random voice quipped. 

 you eyes shot up, seeing two guys approach your table. the one who spoke looked somewhat familiar, but the first bit of college had been such a blur. you were introducing yourself in all your classes to dozens of faces and were meeting all kinds of people on campus, in the dorms, and just about anywhere else. you didn’t expect your first semester to be so high-paced and you were struggling to remember names. 

 the second one, though, was definitely familiar. something nagged at you and you weren’t sure what. you hoped that you weren’t staring, but you were trying to calculate where exactly you’d seen him before. his eyes trailed over to you and recognition began winding at the back of his head. then, it hit you.

 he was the one who you crashed into on the very first day of the semester, the mysterious man who selflessly sacrificed his coffee for you before class. your heart dropped and you wanted to shrivel up and hide because that meant it was the same boy who watched you throw up outside the dorms last weekend.

 doyeon looked up and rolled her eyes upon their appearance. “because our free time isn’t being taken up by pledging for those kappa gamma losers like you, seokmin.”

 the boy - seokmin, as doyeon called him - laughed. “it’s kappa alpha psi. i won’t be such a loser in a few weeks when you’re begging me to get you into one of our parties,” he said.

 “sure, sure,” she replied, not convinced. “oh, y/n. this is seokmin, my cousin. seokmin, this is my roommate, y/n.” doyeon gestured to him, already looking back at her notes and disinterested in the conversation.

 seokmin and doyeon could not be more than complete opposites. from the first moment that you met doyeon, she gave you sophisticated, old money vibes. she just looked like her parents owned a beach house on the coast and spent her summers at country clubs. it was intimidating at first, considering your family’s financial background was the complete opposite, but she ended up being much more down to earth than you expected.

 meanwhile, seokmin wore expensive yeezys with mud stains on them, his polo shirt had its collars popped up and his tennis bracelet could blind you. that didn’t take away from his character, though, as he held out a friendly handshake. 

 “hi, nice to meet you,” seokmin flashed a smile that reached his eyes. “this is jungkook, we’re on the swim team together.”

 “we’ve met,” you and jungkook both said in unison, which forced you to resist a wince. 

 jungkook, instead, chuckled at you. “i didn’t take you to be the type to study on a friday evening.”

 you sighed, feeling the embarrassment creep up on you in the form of reddening cheeks. to your left, doyeon was confused and looked between the two of you. you figured that you would tell the story instead of giving her questioning look a silent answer. 

 ***

 last weekend, you came to the conclusion that college was going to be really, really fun - or so, you kept slurring, as your other roommate, yeri, helped you into an uber. it was the end of the first week after moving in and she convinced you that it was a good night ot get loose. she was definitely the party girl out of your trio that dormed together and was ecstatic when you accepted her invitation to join you at a bonfire party that night. it was one of the first things she said to you actually, as you met just ten minutes before the party - yeri was already a social butterfly by the first week of school and had been getting up early and leaving late nearly everyday.

 “it’s so fun, i love it here,” you sang, as yeri giggled at you and pushed your legs into the car.

 earlier that week, on the very first day of move in, you had an inkling you would wind up in this sort of situation.

 it was apparently a well-known fact across the student body that stratton hall was one of the least desired residence buildings. it was a poorly designed dormitory with strange floor layouts and an air-conditioning system that worked on a system of luck, maybe some prayers. the walls were also notoriously paper thin. worst (or best, depending on what kind of student you were) part of it all was that it was a party hall. students were loud and loved to have fun. that was definitely why some students hated stratton, or that it was the only dormitory that had three people rooms. 

 the idea didn’t really occur to you to mind. it would have made more sense that you would, as you were an only child and never had to share a space in your life. if anything, you were a bit desperate for friends.

 a strange feeling pooled in your stomach after your mom dropped you off and you were left alone with no one to even share the news with. you walked away from your hometown and didn’t look back on your old life, which meant the people in it were also a memory put behind you. 

 the falling out you had with your childhood best friends after high school ended was not only timely, but deceivingly painless. it came at a time where you had to pack up regardless, so you made sure the change wasn’t something to dwell on. you figured you would make new friends in college, but nobody could have prepared you for how empty you would feel on the very first day. 

 there was no one to tell about how you were now eighteen and on your own, which meant that you could do anything you wanted. buy a lottery ticket and some cigarettes. if you ever failed college, you could go ahead and sign up for the military. you could get one of those butterfly tattoos you keep seeing on your pinterest feed. the possibilities were endless. . .but, no one to share these thoughts with.

 “oh!”

 a pretty girl with dark hair hauling a louis vuitton suitcase burst into the room, as if she didn’t mean to open the door with such force. her eyes were wide like a doe and she caught her balance by clutching onto the timber door. 

 for a second, you forgot that other people would be living in this room. after shooing your overprotective mother away, you dragged all your boxes inside by yourself. the room was just as small as you expected, but the scene outside framed a view of the quad and let sun pour in a way that made the eggshell white walls sparkle. there was a bunk bed and one twin bed. you claimed the latter, not feeling bad about it. you had just plopped down to test the mattress for how cardboard-y it would feel, when she walked in. or, rather, nearly fell in. 

 “hi,” you started. “er, doyeon?”

 it was a lucky guess, a real fifty-fifty chance based on your papers from the housing department, and you got it right. she nodded with a smile that belonged into a toothpaste commercial. you liked the sunglasses perched on top of her head, they were tiny black circle lenses and pulled back her hair in a way that just the perfect amount of strands fell out in the front, framing her face. she had long eyelash extensions and wore jean shorts with a plain t-shirt. 

 doyeon walked up to you, not even blinking at the fact that you took the twin bed. “nice to meet you,” she extended her hand.

 you were grateful for her instant warmth. otherwise, you would have probably second guessed every single interaction, hoping that she didn’t secretly hate you. doyeon made it clear that she was genuinely looking forward to living with you.

 making friends on the first day of college was akin to making friends on the first day of kindergarten. everyone was hopelessly trying to make friendly eye contact and propped their doors wide open, crossing their fingers that the people passing by in the hallway would say hi. most people filled out their “get to know us!” piece of paper and pinned it to their doors by the end of the week. 

 you and doyeon became friends as fast as any kids on the playground. the first day of college was just like the first day of kindergarten, where these things came fast and naturally.

 after a bit, it became obvious to you that doyeon was struggling with meeting new people, but she also wanted to try hard. she seemed shy and you admired that she wanted to move past it. 

she admired your confidence that shone in your easy smile and casual suggestions of what you wanted to do together, automatically considering her a friend. the two of you went to the dining hall together for the first time ten minutes after this meeting. 

 “do you know anyone else here?” you asked, digging into your mess of a salad. the salad bar in the dining hall had an insane amount of options and you piled a little bit of everything onto your plate. 

 honestly, you panicked. you’d never seen so many choices at once and the line moved at lightning speed. you were pretty sure you ended up putting three different dressing onto your meal. 

 doyeon picked at her lasagna. “my cousin, that’s it,” she replied. “i hope we meet our other roommate soon.”

 “do you think she’ll also want to do a spa night with us?”

 “maybe she can braid our hair since we don’t know how to.”

 you thought for a moment. “that would be nice.”

 there were some signs of life from your third roommate - kim yerim - but, never her actual presence. by the time the two of you returned from the dining hall, she had moved her belongings onto the empty top bunk and claimed a desk. she put up her taylor swift records on the wall and laid out pink, satin sheets on her mattress. after that, she seemed to constantly come home later than everyone else and wake up earlier, leaving before either of you could have a conversation with her. you saw her several times in the middle of the night, her figure turning on the top bunk and it felt like she was a sleep paralysis demon that only appeared at ungodly hours. by the time the sun rose and your eyes fully opened, she was always gone.

 at this point, you were starting to wonder if she was a weirdo or she hated the two of you. maybe she didn’t like the fact that the two of you claimed your beds. but, she was leaving cute little post-its on the door that said “have a good day!<3” and she filled out the get-to-know-me form. you discovered that she preferred to be called yeri and that her favourite movie was legally blonde. all green flags. 

 you and doyeon had been speculating that entire week about when you two would finally meet your third roommate. it was nerve wracking to share a space with two other people for the first time in your life and you’d hit it off with doyeon, so you were praying that yeri wouldn’t turn out to be some obnoxious monster that you would have to be stuck with for the rest of the year. it was a little scary, how she snuck in and out like a shadow without being seen for the entire week. doyeon had a habit of staying up late to read and even she had yet to meet yeri when she came home.

 the behaviour was bizarre and you thought she was going to be insane.

 instead, yeri turned out to be a blonde ray of sunshine that bursted into your room at around six pm on the first friday of the semester, clutching a box of muffins that she bought for you and doyeon. she apologized for not being around, since she was determined to attend every single orientation week event, and introduced herself with a smile. 

 with one glance at her seemingly boundless energy, you finally understood. she was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement and you could totally see how she could survive off of three hours of sleep if her body was so naturally full of energy.

 doyeon chuckled awkwardly. “i was thinking you weren’t real.”

 “i’m an early riser! oh, and my parents didn’t leave after helping me move in until today,” yeri explained. “they insisted i crash at the hotel a few times.”

 she had just entered the dorm and both you and doyeon thought you were seeing a ghost, not believing that it was actually yeri in the flesh. apparently, she had made an effort to explore campus and do just about everything offered to freshmen.

 it was easy to talk to her, though. yeri swung her legs happily as she sat at her top bunk, chatting with you and doyeon like she’d known the two of you her whole life. in addition to attending all the orientation week events, yeri also made it her mission to seek out just about every extracurricular activity at the club fair. 

 “i’ve signed up for model un, cheerleading, the pre-med students association, ceramics club, acapella. . . “

 you blinked. extracurriculars hadn’t even crossed your mind since arriving at college. maybe it was something worth considering if you wanted to make new friends. 

 “were you home-schooled or something?” doyeon blurted out, genuinely concerned. 

 meanwhile, yeri giggled at the statement and shook her head.

 your roommates to be completely different from you, yet you would find out that these girls would become your closest friends and would complement you in ways that you’d never found in people before. the three of you spent the next thirty minutes formally getting to know each other. 

 you learned that doyeon was, in fact, loaded. she said her dad owned a “few” businesses and that was all you needed to know. yeri had all brothers, which was why she was so excited about living with the two of you, even if it was in the dreaded three person dorms. you mentioned casually that your parents just got divorced earlier in the year, but didn’t delve too much into it. not yet.

 introductions wouldn’t last long that night, though, as yeri told you and doyeon that she was off to a bonfire party and invited both of you out. of course, doyeon declined, opting to stay in and read a book. on the other hand, yeri’s sparkling eyes were difficult for you to say no to. 

 and, in a matter of time, yeri was cheering you on by the murky local beach water, as you took a shot of vodka straight from the bottle. and again. and again. the person encouraging you and helping you walk?

 jeon jungkook.

 this boy just showed up everywhere, it seemed. 

 “you’re really good at this!” yeri exclaimed, as if your face wasn’t scrunching into one of complete disgust after the first. 

 the sun was already slowly going down by the time you arrived, as the first glimpse of the stars danced in the sky and twinkled upon you. you didn’t think hard enough to dress properly for the occasion, as yeri left your dorm wearing just itty bitty jean shorts and a tank top, but she didn’t seem to be as bothered by the sea breeze as you were. you chose to wear baggy jeans and a tube top, which was exactly what you were donning all day, and ended up being left shivering as soon as you arrived at the beach. you tried to stay close to the bonfire, which was difficult to do when the crowd began increasing as the night went on.

 this went on for hours and if asked today, you couldn’t remember too much of it. you remember college kids lamely singing along to pursuit of happiness on someone’s busted up bluetooth speaker. at some point, a random beer was shoved into your hand and you hated every sip of it, but felt awkward without anything in your hand, so you kept it as a prop. yeri introduced you to all kinds of people that were blank faces in your memory that night. 

 all blank, except one.

 “jungkook! i didn’t know you were here!” yeri waved happily to an oddly familiar man, along with his friend. “y/n! this is jungkook! we went to high school together.”

 when you looked up and saw who jungkook was, it took you a second to recognize him from the bean. he didn’t seem to realize, though, which you attributed to the mystery liquid swirling in the red solo cup clutched in his hand. he was as incredibly attractive as he was the first time you saw him, now wearing a maroon hoodie and jeans. 

 “nice to meet you,” jungkook said, “oh, this is jaehyun, my roommate.”

 jaehyun didn’t seem like the type to enjoy people on a cold beach with drunk people. you thought he was initially pretty shy, hands stuffed in his pocket and the eyes behind his black frames often gazing into the distance during conversation. he had on a polite smile, but didn’t spoke unless spoken to. 

 meanwhile, the other male was more at ease. you noticed he was chatting with a few other partygoers before yeri approached him, easy jokes and chatter flowing out of him. he’d been in a pretty laid back mood, sipping on the disgusting jungle juice that someone brought. he greeted yeri with a familiar side hug and then, he noticed you.

 right then and there, jeon jungkook wasn’t entirely drunk.

 though he was introducing jaehyun, his own eyes remained fixed on you like glue. for a moment, time seemed to stop, even if it were for a split second. it was a foreign feeling warming your chest when his eyes were locked on yours, just as it was when you met at the bean. you tried shaking it off, but it wasn’t necessarily unwelcome. the feeling was inviting and so were jungkook’s eyes.

 nobody seemed to notice this synergy except yeri, whose lips stretched out into a devious smile. “do you guys want a shot?” she offered, pulling a flask out her back pocket. you didn’t even know she had that. her sneakiness elicited a laugh out of you and that was when you realized that you were properly tipsy.

 without hesitation, you nodded enthusiastically and she handed it to you with a sly smile.

 “what is it?” jaehyun asked, just as you brought the opening to your nose and gagged at the sharp attack on your senses. 

 yeri laughed, “don’t do that, silly! that’s the last thing you wanna do. c’mon, y/n, it’s all you!”

 you caught jungkook’s amused expression watching in the corner of your eye and realized that there was no going back now. even yeri’s face read ‘don’t you embarrass yourself in front of this cute guy,’ so you squeezed your eyes shut. 

 the liquid burned your throat and you nearly gagged it back up once you threw your head back with the flask. your newfound friends were the only reason why you didn’t, as they cheered you on. without opening your eyes, you held out the flask for the next person to take.

 “let’s go, jungkook!” jaehyun let out an amused chuckle, clapping.

 you watched jungkook take a healthy shot out of yeri’s flask like a pro, in spite of the shudder he made after completing the job. as yeri and jaehyun took their turns, jungkook turned to you in low conversation.

 “i’m not a big drinker. . .” you admitted, as the warmth of whatever liquor you drank began to spread across your body. 

 your parents were always the strict type and upon choosing a college hours away from home, you made it your mission to try and do things you were never able to do. go to parties late at night. drink until you were drunk. all sorts of things that you wanted to shape your ‘college experience’. taking shots out of anything was a new development for you.

 he flashed one of those dangerous boyish grins at you, the kind that mothers warned their daughters about.

 jungkook said, “nah, you did good. going out of your comfort zone tonight, huh?” 

 truth be told and although you would never admit it aloud, you entered college blazing and desperate to make friends. this was a new start and you were more than eager to forge a friendship with yeri, with whoever sat next to you in lectures - hell, you were trying to even make friends with the janitor in the science building. 

 “something like that.”

 the ‘something’ ended up being several more shots until standing straight became a chore. 

 you were having the time of your life, taking polaroids and playing volleyball until the time swept by like wind. at some point, after one drink too many, you took a look at your phone and when the words kept moving in your line of sight, you mustered enough self awareness to call it a night.

 you liked this. maybe you could get used to college. subtracting the way your stomach churned after all those drinks would also be nice. 

 at this point, the party split up into different groups by nightfall and you were nestled in a small circle with her and a few other people. others were slowly starting to leave due to the bite of the sea breeze picking up by the shoreline. the party was still lively, as animated conversation weft between everyone with music continuing to play in the background.

 “yeri, uhmmm, i think i should go back now,” you poked her arm. “i’m not feeling too, erm, well.”

 thankfully, she agreed in an instant to return to campus with you. yeri took one look at your face and didn’t hesitate. 

 “of course! i’m getting cold anyway,” she said, completely ignoring the jacket loaned to her from the random boy sitting on the left. 

 at the same moment, sitting in the same circle around a small fire, jungkook noticed the two of you getting up to leave and also stood up. he mumbled something to jaehyun, busy wedged in a conversation with several girls fluttering their eyelashes at them,. he nodded and bade his friend goodbye.

 jungkook already caught up to you before you got too far, eyebrows raised.

 “you guys going back to campus? i’ll order the uber,” jungkook offered, stifling a laugh at yeri, who was fumbling with her phone - too drunk to get past the passcode screen.

 looking back, it took a while to realize that it wasn’t just you and yeri in the uber, but jungkook, too. he’d been the one to open the door for the two of you, ensuring that nobody left anything behind, and even managed to get into yeri’s phone for her to text whoever she needed to. even if he was several drinks in himself, his watchful eye put you at ease.

 midway through, you had no choice but to roll down the window of the uber, desperately needing fresh air or else the contents of your stomach would surely end up on the floor of the car.

 “erm, so you guys are high school friends?” you asked casually, hoping it would take your mind off of the impending disaster in your body.

 by now, yeri was actually knocked out in between you and jungkook. her phone was still lit in her lap and she seemed to be mid-text, now with her eyes closed and mouth hanging open. you thought it was actually cute and a weight was lifted off your shoulders - you were grateful to find a friend in your roommate. you had a feeling that you and yeri would stick around each other for a while. meanwhile, jungkook looked over at her and snorted.

 “actually,” he began, “yeri used to date my older brother. we’re not super close, but we know each other enough - she’s the only other person from our high school to come to school here.”

 that was surprising, as you thought they were actually friends, but you’d also stick by any sense of familiarity if you had someone like that. you came to college without knowing a single person and it’d been one of the most stressful experiences of your life, regardless of whatever adventure your parents promised you would embark on.

 “are you from somewhere far?” you asked.

 jungkook hummed in confirmation. “yeah, out of state. what about you?”

 “about four hours away down south,” you answered. “still so crazy to me. . . how so many people here are from all sorts of places.”

 you were definitely a little bit too far in the deep end if you were swinging your feet, making philosophical remarks out of your ass. jungkook either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, instead entertaining your thoughts with meaningful nodding. 

 “i was a bit nervous about coming here, worried i’d be weird or stick out too much since i’m not from around here.” 

 that was one of the first thoughts you had when you arrived at school. you were second guessing every move, every word you said, because you were so concerned with making friends and creating a good impression on everyone you met.

 you sighed. “so, i’m not the only one?”

 “i almost wanted to turn back when my parents left me alone in my dorm room,” he revealed.

 “that’s a bit hard to believe,” you commented, which made him raise an eyebrow at you. “we just met, but you seem like the kind of guy who’d make friends and get through college just fine.”

 jungkook said, “oh yeah? why so?”

 maybe you had it all wrong. you always thought that beautiful people could have everything they could ever want in the palm of their hands. you found it to be one of those natural abilities that pushed you towards success in life - having people drawn to you, being personable, and not wandering around like a fly on the wall. it took quite the amount of liquor for you to even muster up the courage to not be so shy.

 jungkook was just that. he’d been making random people laugh all night and took shots with strangers like they’d been best friends for years. but, then again, so were you and you weren’t that kind of person.

 when you didn’t answer, jungkook smiled. “my brother told me all about how college is the place where you find yourself and blah blah blah. but, honestly, maybe he’s onto something.”

 those words were the same ones stuck to you like a tattoo. it made you smile - you weren’t alone in clawing for some semblance of a new identity.

 “didn’t realize fresh starts would be so nauseating,” you murmured, now clutching your stomach after the driver went over a particularly bad bump in the road.

 jungkook laughed. “you’re real funny, y/n.” even though you were thoroughly inebriated, the compliment still made your cheeks burn and momentarily made you forget about how the car ride almost just made you throw up. 

 thankfully, the bump happened just seconds before the driver pulled up to your dorm building. you breathed out a sigh of relief now that you were free from the sickness of the car ride. after thanking the driver, you nearly burst out of the car.

 at this point, jungkook shook yeri awake and she groggily stepped out of the car. 

 “hey, when did we get he - oh! y/n, are you alright?”

 yeri scurried over to where you dashed to, now down on your knees and hurling the contents of your insides into the nearest container you could find. unfortunately, it was a pot of daisies outside of stratton that fell victim to your drinking. 

 she didn’t hesitate to come over and hold your hair back. you couldn’t hear much, except her words of encouragement and the feeling of her rubbing your back like a mom. 

 “i’m - ergh,” you were cut off by another round of vomit, “never. drinking. ugh - again.”

 little did you know, this would be a moment between you and yeri that you would never forget. she would bring this night up about as often as she could for the next four years.

 meanwhile, jungkook walked over to the nearest vending machine, conveniently housed just outside of stratton hall, and bought a bottle of water. before he generously handed it over to you, he had also taken a few gulps. you didn’t notice, still heaving over the damn potted plant.

 “shh. . .good job. now, drink up!” yeri said, putting the bottle in your hand, before alarm flashed in her eyes. she frantically patted down her pockets. “crap! i lost my keys.” 

 you groaned. “shit, i’m so sorry - i left mine on my desk.”

 yeri scratched her head. “aw man, i hope doyeon doesn’t hate us for this. . .i’ll call her now,” her shoulders dropped, as she walked away to make the call. luckily, you knew doyeon wouldn’t mind. 

 “i’ll stay by until you guys get into your floor,” offered jungkook, who was now sitting on the bench beside you. “i live on the third floor here with jaehyun.”

 you forgot he was there and now you were embarrassed that he witnessed all that. jungkook didn’t seem to mind, though, completely unaffected. he was too focused on examining your face, as you became initially self-conscious that he was just randomly staring at you. you clocked in that he was also not sober yet either. you realized he was in deep thought when he finally tilted his head at you.

 “i know you. we met at the bean,” he concluded, as if solving a riddle.

 “recognized my look of distress?”

 “i seem to keep giving you beverages whenever i run into you.”

 you laughed, making a crackling sound when you squeezed the water bottle. “yeah, that was me,” you said. “thanks for that coffee, by the way. you saved my life.”

 “i was hoping i’d run into you again,” he mused. by now, you realized that he was conversing with you as you were still hunched over the potted plant, so you swiftly rose to your feet as smoothly as you could.

 you cleared your throat, trying to act casual. “why so?” you asked slowly, unsure what the tone implied was. there was no way he was. . .flirting with you? no, it was the liquor playing games on you. 

 “y/n! doyeon is coming down to let us onto our floor!”

 you and jungkook both jumped at yeri’s shrill voice. she might have woken up the entire block with that yell. 

 the last thing you wanted to do was keep doyeon waiting, considering it was three in the morning and even if she was awake, she was likely tucked in bed. but, there was also some nagging part of you that didn’t want this conversation with jungkook to end. you weren’t sure why, but you just seemed to be lost in a trance with him. he also seemed disappointed that you were to leave, as his shoulders fell slightly with yeri’s announcement. 

 he smiled. “have a good night, y/n.”

 “hold on.”

 jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, as you fiddled around for your wallet. you thankfully found the piece of cardstock that you were looking for right away and handed it to jungkook.

 “what’s this?” he asked, examining the front and back.

 “it’s the loyalty card from the bean. i bought four coffees, so the fifth one is free,” you explained. “you can have it - i owe you one, don’t i?”

 when you walked into your dorm room that night, yeri was already fast asleep, despite having only been a few steps ahead of you. doyeon was, like she said she would be earlier, reading and tucked into bed after unlocking the door for you. you offered an apology, but she only waved it off with a giggle, clearly amused by you two. 

 before drifting off into sleep, you noticed how bare the dorm room walls were and decided you would buy some posters the next day. thoughts of string lights and polaroids wrapped your mind, as you wondered if you would see jungkook again.

 ***

 and that was the last you remembered of jeon jungkook from that night.

 now, he was standing in front of you, at the very coffee shop where you first met and you watched as the memories played back for him in front of his very eyes. eventually, his recollection came back to him and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

 this was your third meeting now and you wondered if it was this easy to run into someone on a campus full of thousands of undergraduate students.

 (you realize by junior year, after watching several friends falling victim to unfortunate situationships, that running into people you would rather die than see is, unfortunately, common.)

 doyeon and seokmin looked between the two of you strangely.

 “uhm, jungkook and i met at a bonfire at the beach last friday,” you explained, eying him. “he’s the one that called you, doyeon, to help yeri and i get back into the building when we were locked out.”

 he was too kind for his own good, considering he waited patiently to ensure that his barely an acquaintance of his brother’s ex girlfriend and a random girl would make it home safe. 

 “oh! that was you?” doyeon nodded slowly. “thanks for that, you’re really nice for helping out.”

 jungkook chuckled, “no big deal. it’s nice seeing you again, y/n.”

 his eyes fell on you and you stifled an ugly, nervous laugh. 

 you managed to swallow down the weight of embarrassment. “are you off to another party tonight?”

 “nah, we just wrapped up practice and shit was tiring as hell. we’re just gonna call it a night, maybe game,” jungkook said. “not all of us are party animals like you.”

 that was definitely far from who you were. the morning after the bonfire, you continued to further swear up and down that you would never drink again. even now, thinking about alcohol made you shudder and you were convinced that you needed several more business days before you could even consider going out, whether there was alcohol involved or not. 

 “hilarious,” you laughed dryly at him.

 meanwhile, doyeon was just growing irritated with her cousin. ”you made the swim team?”

 “pft, obviously.”

 “you’re awful. you couldn’t even get a scholarship,” she shot.

 seokmin rolled his eyes. “that’s what walk-ons are for, stupid,” he said. “kook’s the scholarship, though, he’s freakin’ amazing.”

 as the two went back and forth, you and jungkook shared an entertained look. they fought like siblings and their clashing personalities didn’t help. 

 “anyway, no party tonight, but we’ll be going to the tailgate next saturday, though!” seokmin continued with enthusiasm.

 doyeon began to grumble. “seokmin, you know i don’t go to those things,” she began to wave him off.

 “what tailgate?” you asked.

 jungkook shrugged. “it’s the parking lot party before the big football season opener. campus security doesn’t really care about drinking at these things, so it usually ends up being crazy every year.”

 “you’re so boring, doyeonie, just show up once,” seokmin pleaded with his cousin, before turning to you. “y/n, tell her!”

 “can you leave us alone, we’re trying to study,” she snapped before you could answer and it was more of a command than a request.

 both you and jungkook were not prepared to get in between them, instead continuing to observe the argument with amusement. eventually, doyeon cussed at seokmin enough for him to concede - at least he did after she physically swatted him out of her space.

 “hey,” jungkook spoke up, which made you turn to him. “if you change your mind about the tailgate, let me know.”

 it took a second to realize that he was now pulling a random notebook out of his backpack. jungkook then tore off a random page and began scribbling on it. it was his number. 

 now, you were not the kind of girl to throw up in front of someone you just met and have the confidence to hang out with them again. in fact, you could have probably gone without seeing jungkook ever again for the next four years out of sheer shame. however, you were too preoccupied with the fact that a boy was giving you his number. you were also fixated on the fact that he’d written it down, old school - who does that anymore? these days, guys only ever wanted a girl’s snapchat or instagram.

 you gingerly took the paper, still baffled that it just happened. seokmin and doyeon were still bickering next to you, before jungkook took it upon himself to finally interrupt.

 “let’s go, seokmin,” he insisted, exasperated that they were still going back and forth. 

 seokmin rolled his eyes, but gave up. “yeah, yeah, i’m coming,” he said. “bye y/n, nice meeting you!”

 as doyeon muttered profanities under her breath about her cousin, you were trying to not make it obvious that the piece of paper with jungkook’s number literally burned into your palms. you could have squealed like an idiot. instead, you slid it into your anthropology binder and pretended to go back over your notes for the quiz. 

⇢ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @fancypeacepersona @petiteparler @lanie97 @httpjeonlicious @bleumornings @rpwprpwprpwprw @kikiflwr @kissyfacekoo @knivesdoingcartwheels @joyjunk @jksusawife @haru-jiminn @fancypeacepersona (reply to be tagged and if i forgot to tag you!)

[killishin]

— ♡ right person at the right time.

PART 04.

pairing: jason todd x reader

category: lots of fluff, angst, he fell first she fell harder kinda trope, sfw, thinking of making this a slow burn but we'll see.

content warning: afab, mention of death (reader's mother), violence here and there, mention of blood, inaccurate medical talk, not proofread

summary: reader's just a normal citizen of Gotham, scrambling to making ends meet. after a fateful encounter, when he saw the reader kick ass and save a life- he can't get them off his mind. and fate just keeps pulling them together forcing him to do something about it.

a/n: im having a shit week but at least i have time to write. enjoy :)

wc: 3.8k

fic masterlist. previous. next

dividers by @cafekitsune

easing back into normalcy wasn't easy, not after that very weird, very out of the blue— very pretty— gift. you had wrapt it back in its box and kept it safely on your vanity as if your clumsy hands would somehow shatter the rubies. you had decided to give it back to red. you knew well in first glance that it would have hurt his pockets hard enough— and you just can't accept something that expensive as just an apology.

but he didn't turn up. that sly idiot did not come, it has been a whole week now. and you tried to rationalise that he has far more responsibilities on his shoulders than to play buddy buddy with you but you just wanted to return something that you possibly don't deserve.

you kept your grubby hands off of it without any problem initially, then your heart began tugging you along, wanting you to just wear it. its pretty, you love pretty things who doesn't?

your eyes stared at it, lips puckered in a deep frown, struggling with the polite part of you. the rubies stared back, like sirens calling.

that's when there was a knock, no not on the balcony but from the main entrance. you almost released a disappointed sigh as your heart had momentarily awakened in anticipation of that vigilante.

you opened the door and Kira barged in with bags— shopping bags held on both her forearms. you closed the door with an amused smile and folded your arms, "looks like you finally emptied your bank account huh?"

she rolled her eyes but her giddy smile stayed etched, "of course not! i didn't pay for it. at least not mine." your brows furrowed and she continued, "we're going to the gala!"

in contrast to her excited yelling, your brows just further furrowed, lips scrunching up as you walked towards her, poking at the bags in confusion and suspicion. dresses, two in total. "who's we, kira?" you questioned before giving her a pointed look, "tell me you don't mean me."

kira is a reporter, a good one at that, just reaching her prime and she has been to a good number of galas.

her lips turned downturned, brows furrowing and you immediately scoffed, "i can't believe you—"

"but its a gala."

"filled with those snobby, rich, insensitive—"

"it has great wine. and food."

"i can get great food at the diner down the road. and its made by a sweet old lady-"

"its a Wayne gala."

your lips seized for a moment, stopping as you registered the words. in your eyes all those charity galas are nothing but places for the rich to practice their laughs and stew in gossip. but you've heard of the most talked gala, the ones the Wayne's throw. and while you still have your reservations about it, you know its one of the genuinly best parties. it has the best cuisine selected, the wines are somehow always something new and better than last, the arrangement actually shows refined taste.

maybe for a day you can set aside your differences, at least you can have an experience of a gala, the best one at that. even if it'll suck at least you'll have a story to tell.

so you consider, much to your chagrin, you do.

"its still gonna be filled with those pricks." you grumbled, though it sounded more petulant than firm and she bit back a smile, "yeah but who says you gotta talk with anyone of them? I'll quickly scope any scoop i can get then we can dance, and drink and eat- all while looking the most gorgeous in the room."

and she's got you.

"alright when?"

"dress up, pretty. we're leaving in an hour." she winked before happily taking the bags to your room and you followed behind with a sigh.

"its been soo long since we went out together-"

"didn't we just eat dinner together yesterday?"

"that wasn't going out, that was just stewing in each other's depression." she scowled before stopping dead on her tracks, her eyes trained right on the earrings.

"oh. my. god."

"oh shit—" you cursed under your breath before rushing to hastily close the box. she clicked her tongue in annoyance before swatting you away, opening it back up and gasping yet again.

"who gave you these?!"

you reeled back a bit with an offended frown, "why did you assume someone gave it to me? i could have bought it too."

"with that salary? yeah right." she scoffed before back to cooing at the earrings as if its literally her baby.

"out with it. who gifted you these hm??" she teasingly asked and your groaned, pulling the box gently out of her grasp and putting it back down.

"no one. i mean— a friend."

"right a friend." she scoffed, "at least he's a loaded one for sure."

"its nothing kira. im gonna return it."

"why?!" she stares at you like you just committed a heinous crime, making you scoff. "because its too expensive?"

"so??" she scoffed back as she rested a hand on her hips, "come on if this didn't hurt the pockets of the one who gifted you, you should just thank the daylights outta them and wear it."

"but—"

"not wearing it will be a disrespect to the gift. to the person."

"....you know this is called manipulation?"

"not if its for your best interests." she shrugged as a cheshire smile adorned her lips, "also they're just too pretty to return because you're an emotional idiot."

and so she finally convinced you to go, wearing those rubies. you felt a bit bad for wearing them without even thanking him prior to it. the guilt was there, like a persistent ache, but it lightened at the sight of them on you. they really were beautiful, you didn't linger on why he specifically bought rubies, chalking it up to him just really being obsessed with red.

and as you left, lost in the shine of the red on you, you failed to notice the red reflecting off the glass of your balcony.

"kira what the fuck?"

"i know."

it was beautiful, down from the drapes to the architecture, the carefully selected wine that tasted just the right amount of sweet and fizzy, the chandelier— the chandelier. it was straight out of some fantasy, some fairytale and all its missing is the fluffy gowns. of course its ethereal, it would be since its held in the Wayne manor itself— something kira failed to mention.

"you didn't tell me it was hosted right in the manor!" you whispered to her, nervously yet awkwardly looking around. it wasn't that you were a mess at interactions, its just you don't want to be caught fawning over the art and architecture all for a rich snob to sneer at you. you really do not want to out yourself in a sea of sharks.

"it was supposed to be a surprise!" she grinned, this time it really was innocent and you sighed, shaking you head as you smoothened your dress for the umpteenth time.

"you gotta relax, pretty." she reassured, gently steering your shoulders towards herself, "do what you like. flirt with whoever you want or simply geek out about the art. the people here are way too self absorbed to notice us, trust me." times like this you really do feel grateful for a friend like hers.

"and if someone bothers you, i'll take care of them. just holler." she grinned wickedly, winking at you as she pulled back.

"holler? in the middle of the gala?"

"yep." she chuckled as she started walking away, "they won't remember us anyway."

you shook your head as you stifled a laugh, something told you she has brought the wild side of her to a lot of galas.

but then you realise you're alone. while she makes her round for any potential scoops, you need to keep yourself company. so you snatch a wine before looking around, actively avoiding everyone's eye. you pick a relatively empty corner by the huge window stool, leaning against the wall as your eyes admire the particular painting up on the wall.

"not fond of socialising i presume?"

your skin jumped a bit, the wine sloshing around in the glass a bit as you looked beside you. you really didn't hear him— him, oh he's a gorgeous him alright.

"didn't mean to startle. dick grayson." he smiled, a certain playfullness to it before he extended his hand towards you.

your eyes flickered to his hand and then his eyes, skeptical but also a bit confused. not only have you seen him somewhere that name sounds awfully familiar—

"oh!" your brows jumped up as you shook his hand, quite a reflex action since you realised this damn manor was technically his home. "hello— hi. sorry i didn't recognize-"

"its no problem." he chuckled, amusement rolling off of him and you're already starting to see the proof of his charm that the gotham talks about, "i tend to gravitate towards the more interesting people in these boring galas, so i should be the one apologising if i... intruded."

he did not sound apologetic at all, instead his eyes simply flared with delight as he looked down at you. it unsettled you, not exactly in a creepy way, but you do want to be a part of whatever he is concocting in that pretty head of his.

"interesting? how is me standing in a corner interesting?" you mused as your raised a brow at him, willing your nerves down. he stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets before looking around, his brows furrowing in fake annoyance.

"you're not among them, gossping and bragging. or feeling me up." he makes an exaggerated shudder of his body before sighing and you stifle a laugh, "the gotham elite has some drama every other tuesday, so i get them needing to gossip." you shrugged and he caught the way you subtly grouped him with them.

"also i thought you liked the attention. i don't mean to assume, but it certainly looked that way in the tabloids." you said and he immediately grinned teasingly , "really didn't take you to be interested in tabloids."

"im not." you come to your defense, quite quickly so, "but i see them here and there. in passing." you're definitely not going to accept that in front of anyone, much less the source.

out of the corner of your eye you noticed the center being cleared, lights dimming down. as if that was exactly what he was waiting for he extended a hand and did a little bow, and you wondered just how many people has he charmed to be this confident.

"great to know you're interested." he said and before you could deny that he tilted his head towards the center, where few had gathered. "a dance? something to break your assumptions." his smile wasn't inviting, it was challenging. everything about him seemed mischievous, as if he was upto no good.

still you accepted, and he was a good dancer. he swayed you right, the dip was perfect— though his hold did get tight suddenly.

dick on the other hand, he wasn't looking at the pretty lady in his arms, no, he was looking at his brother right across the room shooting daggers at him. he smiled back, wide and smug, before mouthing, "she's really gorgeous."

Jason's fist tightened as his jaw clenched in unmasked ire at his brother's antics. he would have regretted coming here, as he always does, but he really can't stand you in his arms.

so what happened was he had... eavesdropped on your conversation with your friend. he only wanted to check up on you but the mention of gala really caught his attention. more when the name Wayne reached his ears, he should have left at that. he never attends Bruce's galas, hates them with a passion— not to mention any interaction with bruce that puts him in the spotlight really throws him off. but then you wore the earrings— his earrings. and just like that his heart swayed.

it swayed so hard to the point he doned on the suit, full black and formal. and while the stares and whispers made his eyes twitch, he was far too enamored by the sight of you, beautiful and stunning. he can't help the pride that swells in his chest as the earrings glint in the warm light, he does have impeccable taste.

he would have approached first, he really wanted to but he wasn't red hood right now, he wasn't the red you knew, he was just.. jason. the man who promised to text back for the settlement of the coffee but left you on unread. yeah he really forgot about that.

and he was content with simply watching, but apparently his brother wasn't. dick was already flabbergasted when jason called him to let him know he's coming, reluctantly requesting him to handle bruce in case he swarms jason. and ever the curious cat that dick is, he needed to know why the sudden change of heart.

and his eyes followed Jason's line of direction and settled on you, immediately remembering you from the cafe.

now being the good brother he is, it is his... duty, you can say, to push his brother on the right path. and so that is why he is swaying with you, your innocent yet awkward smile in sharp contrast to Jason's glare at a distance.

his dimples simply deepened as he watched jason literally march to where you are, so confidently and smoothly evening out his frown before plastering the same charming smile dick has.

"really sorry to cut in." he wasn't. before you even knew what was happening, who it was and why the hell did dick wink at him—

oh.

Jason's hand engulfed yours, intertwining, while his hand slipped around your waist yet it felt as if it was hovering. he didn't even pull you close, the gap almost felt awkward yet his eyes didn't show that discomfort. he was giving you a choice, asking while respecting your space.

"you." you whispered out, and your brows raised slowly, "the guy who helped. jason was it?" you remembered his name, you weren't one to forget so easily. but it did hurt your ego a tad bit to not get a text back, its not like you were hitting on him, you simply wanted to return back the money.

his lips pulled into a sheepish smile as he looked away for a moment, cursing his past self for his stupid decisions. it made sense at that moment, to keep you at an arms length. "one and only."

you stepped closer to him, letting your hand rest on his chest, a silent permission and in an instant his hovering hand rested on your waist. it was just a simple touch, you shouldn't make a big deal out of it yet his touch burnt you— it seared through the very fabrics and found its way to your heart. neck warmed, heart thudded— your breath stuttered for a good second, but it wasn't noticeable enough, you hope.

it was to him.

he looked different, maybe its the lights or the suit, but he looked different, dashing. beautifully so. you couldn't help the subtle way your eyes lingered on him, not stagnant on a particular point but all of him. eyes, cheeks, scars, neck, lips—

"i really want to apologise. for not texting." he said, making your eyes snap up and you hoped he didn't notice how sweaty your hands got, or felt the heat searing your body.

he did.

of course he noticed, he noticed everything— he sees everything. but you don't, and for that he's thankful. he's entirely thankful that you didn't feel the twitch of his hand on your waist, simply to bury the need to pull you closer. you didn't notice the way his eyes softened when you let him be close, the way his lips parted. he could finally let his eyes be, admire you in your beauty while being jason and not red.

"can i know why?" he twirled you and gently tugged you back in his arms, they didn't feel cagey. for some odd reason something about him felt... familiar. the proximity was less than it was with dick, yet it didn't raise any flags in your head.

"i mean i wasn't hitting on you. just wanted to return your money." you shrugged and that tone was enough to drag him out of his happy reverie, plunge him in ice cold water because you do not sound very pleased right now.

"i forgot about it— im so sorry." he winced out a smile as he swayed you a bit more, more snug and your eyes narrowed amusingly, " i forgot about it and since i don't bother with unknown numbers—"

"i mentioned my name. and i think i even added that im the person from the cafe." you cut through, faking an innocent tone but your eyes conveyed all the skepticism you felt , "the very same day too. so unless you've got amnesia— which you clearly don't— i don't see how you forgot about it." your smirk was challenging, taunting and his heart roared. it fucking roared in his chest. he should feel even a tiniest bit guilty but he doesn't. his mistake did lead to seeing you being mean and scathing— he loved that.

and as if some higher power (dick) was helping him, the tempo changed. it was faster than before, it had more tension.

it got his blood rushing, putting his rational side on the bench and letting his heart dictate every move. it was dangerous, it was stupid.

but did it matter?

one look at you, the slight pull of a smile on your lips and he doesn't even have to answer.

nope.

legs worked faster, his hands gripped yours harder, twirled you faster— till your back collided with his chest. you felt the slight brush of his jaw on your cheek, the smell of aftershave. the man you met in the cafe was gentle, reserved but nice. the man you're in the arms of is far more than that.

"anyway i can make it up to you?" he twirled you back around and pulled you close, his hand flat on your back. he tilted his head, and suddenly the gap lessened even more. you could see his eyes— the deep blue, the green. his pupils were dilated, depths that seemed to snatch you in them.

"by taking back the money i guess— you're good at this." you huffed out in slight surprise, your brows furrowing and he chuckled, deep and low enough to reverberate through you. "glad i could impress you."

"you were impressing me?"

"thought that was obvious?"

"no i thought you wanted to forget about me—"

you let out an inaudible gasp as he dipped you suddenly. you didn't know whether to be shocked or mad at him. but your heart didn't care for either, thudding so hard you wouldn't be surprised if the whole fucking room heard it.

"let me take buy you a coffee as an apology?" he whispered, smiling so smugly you scoffed at his audacity as he pulled you up.

"are you asking me out after ignoring me for weeks— no, months?" you questioned cheekily and he laughed, "im never gonna hear the end of it won't i?"

"you sound like you're already sure i agreed. i didn't yet."

"you didn't say no either."

"but i can."

"you won't though."

you glared at him but the smile on your lips gave away your amusement. your eyes caught kira in a distance, wiggling her brows at you.

you stopped before taking a step back, your body didn't appreciate being robbed of his warmth though. "it was nice meeting you again, jason."

suddenly grabbed your hand as you were about to walk past him, "the earrings look beautiful on you by the way." he smiled before walking away, the tip of his ears suddenly red despite the confidence he presented. your hand instinctively touched your earring and you smiled, yeah they are.

Jason's world was crashing down, hands twitching, curling and uncurling as it lamented the loss of you. he got a taste, and now he wants more. he already thought he had enough as red, meeting you in those little stolen moments were enough. but now he saw how you'd look in his arms.

his heart craves that.

its a storm in him, he should keep his distance. sever all ties all together, both as red hood and as jason. that would be the smart thing to do, the right thing. he shouldn't entangle his personal and vigilante life together, not that they weren't already. but at least to you, red and jason were different. and he thought both were undeserving of the warmth of life, all until you.

so why won't his heart want you? selfish, greedy— whatever his heart was it didn't matter, he didn't care. there was more than just a pull towards you, you had already made a snug little home in his heart and he couldn't find it in himself to evict you out. his mind and heart were yet again in a clash.

his phone vibrated. his brows furrowed as he looked down at it. immediately he scoffed out a laugh, you wired back the money. and texted him a lil something.

i don't like owing people. also i'm only free on weekends.

he shook his head. what storm, what clash? it didn't matter. it never did. you were already carving a you shaped hole through the walls around his heart.

"why the hell you didn't tell me you danced like that?!"

jason rolled his eyes at dick. he forgot how both him and bruce must have seen it all.

"i didn't know i could either." he muttered under his breath but dick didn't care, he wiggled his brows again.

"you guys looked snug and cosy."

"that you did." where the hell did Alfred come from?

"we were just dancing!"

"why didn't you tell me you were coming jason? and who was that lady?" great now bruce spawned out of nowhere.

"is this an interrogation?" he grumbled under his breath but dick only grinned.

"did she say yes?"

"to what?" jason frowned in frustration.

"you asked her out. did she say yes?" now he frowned for a whole different reason.

"i didn't—"

"you're dating?"

"excellent choice, master jason."

"im not—"

"oh he is. oh i wish everyone could see it." dick sighed exaggeratedly.

"you will tell no one—"

"already did."

jason rubbed his face as he looked up at the ceiling.

"i will shove your face in that horrible cake."

"....it wasn't horrible :("

taglist: @itzmeme @bmyva1entine @sept3mberchild @lightthatgoout @satan-s-ass @deadbeatphobos @starshinegrl @ttdamian

reblogs are appreciated :D

[purplesaline]

Are vaccines dangerous?

Absolutely they can be. But they are less dangerous than the illness they help protect you against.

Anything the vaccine can cause the illness has a higher chance of causing.

Are you guaranteed to get the illness though? Well thay depends on the illness, and a bunch of other variables such as how much time you spend around other people and whether you're protecting yourself with equipment like masks, and whether you're washing your hands often etc.

So let's say the vaccine has a 5% of causing X and the illness has a 30% chance of causing X. The vaccine makes more sense right? Unless, maybe, you live alone out in the middle of nowhere and have maybe a 2% chance of getting the illness. I'd take those odds for sure!

But most of us don't live like that and most of us have a far higher chance of getting the illness.

Most of us also live around people who have compromised immune systems or are otherwise at higher risk of complications. You getting through vaccine means they have a lower chance of being infected by the illness.

Vaccines aren't perfect and we aren't trying to pretend they are. They're like seatbelts in a car. Sometimes people are more seriously injured in a car accident because they were wearing a seatbelt (happened to me!), but the vast majority of the time wearing the seatbelt is gonna prevent more serious injury, or even death.

I knew someone who almost died after getting the flu vaccine. She developed Guillain-Barre syndrome, a rare but known complications of the flu vaccine. She was at the point where her lungs had started to become too weak for her to breathe properly and thankfully that was the point she finally started to recover. It was a really scary experience and for awhile after that I stopped getting the flue vaccine until my mom got cancer again and I decided the risk to me was less than the risk to her.

I also didn't know about any of the post-viral conditions that illnesses like the flu can trigger or I'd never have stopped getting vaccinated. I have one of those now. I had been vaccinated that year but vaccines don't cover everything. I was bedridden for nearly 5 years before figuring out what was happening and starting treatment. A few different treatment attempts I found one that helped. A year later and now I can manage a task or two a day and I can stand for 30 minutes at a time most days! This is a vast improvement for me.

And yes, there is a risk with some vaccines of developing a post-viral condition, but again it's a far lower risk than if you get the illness.

Vaccines aren't 100% safe, but then neither is any of the other safety equipment we trust our lives too. What it boils down to is a simple risk assessment. If you lay out all the risks on each side and you genuinely have more on the vaccine side then yes, don't get vaccinated. In fact please don't! If it's weighted the other way though? Please don't blindly pretend the risks aren't as great as they really are just so you can feel like you're on the right side of some argument.

Research the risks associated with the vaccines and actually look at what the chances of those risks happening are. Don't just assume "vaccines cause blood clots" is the entire story there. Research the illness and look to see if the same risks crop up there (they most likely will). Gather all the info and then make an informed decision about which is right for you.

So I reblogged that “vaccines cause adults” post from @copperbadge and predictably my inbox has gone to shit with a handful of people asking me how I can “trust” vaccines and if you’re looking for me validate your fear mongering over vaccines causing autism, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place.

I’m the bitch that has anaphylactic reactions to vaccines due to my mast cell disorder and still turn up for my Covid booster shots with my epi pen in one hand and a fistful of Benadryl in the other.

I had reactions to all my MMR boosters and every other booster I’ve ever needed and I still show up because I look at the choices and I prefer the risk of potential immediate death over potentially getting shit like measles and spreading it to the wider community.

The only one I don’t get is the flu shot because the speed at which I react is terrifying and it’s in my file that I’m not allowed it anymore. Doctors made that decision for me, I didn’t.

My MCAS might make me a crunchy hippy dippy bitch against my will, but I’m a science based crunchy hippy dippy bitch and vaccines do not cause autism.

Measles will fucking kill your kid though.

[biggianteggplant]

"Jurassic Simp"

K. TSUKISHIMA

They were just hanging out. Chill. Normal. Quiet. Tsukishima had gone downstairs to get snacks or argue with Akiteru, and Y/N was left alone in his room. In the silence.

With the dinos.

The neat row of dinosaur figurines on his shelf stared at them. Judgmental. Plastic. Powerful.

Y/N narrowed their eyes.

“…You little prehistoric gatekeepers,” they muttered, standing up dramatically. “I know you know things.”

They picked up a tiny velociraptor and held it like a tiny, scaly therapist. “Tell me the truth. He acts like he doesn’t care, but last week he folded my laundry without being asked. Do you know how intimate that is? That’s practically marriage.”

Next, they picked up the T-Rex. “Don’t look at me like that, short king. Your owner has the emotional range of a rock but then he kissed my forehead after I sneezed. Do you even understand what that does to a person? I blushed for five hours.”

They turned to the triceratops. “I bet you’re his favorite. You seem grumpy. I like that. You’re real. You get me.”

They sighed, flopping onto Tsukki’s bed, cradling the dinosaur like a plushie. “…I love him, okay? Even if he pretends he’s allergic to affection and only softens when he thinks I’m not looking. He could call me an idiot and I’d thank him. That’s the level we’re at.”

Then. The door creaked.

They froze.

Standing in the doorway: Tsukishima Kei, holding a bag of chips and a can of soda. Expression unreadable. Eyes fixed on them. And the dinosaur in their hands.

Silence.

“…Were you just trauma-dumping to my T-Rex?” he asked, monotone but with a glint of dangerous amusement.

Y/N cleared their throat. “…He’s a very good listener.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. Walked over slowly. Placed the chips on the desk. Took the dinosaur gently. Stared at it.

Then—very softly—he smirked.

“…He says you’re not subtle.”

Y/N blinked. “He talks to you too?”

Tsukishima sat beside them, leaned in just slightly, and whispered:

“He says I love you too, dumbass.”

But it didn’t end there.

The next day, Tsukishima came back from the mall with a smug face and a small box.

“You got a new dinosaur?” Y/N asked suspiciously, eyeing the shiny new figurine.

“Limited edition,” Tsukki replied, carefully unboxing a sleek, green spinosaurus with unsettling charisma. “He’s cool.”

Y/N scowled. “He looks like a homewrecker.”

Tsukki choked on his juice. “What?”

Y/N pointed dramatically. “That guy looks like he listens to Arctic Monkeys and flirts with people in the geology section of bookstores. I don’t trust him.”

Tsukishima was full-on laughing now. “You’re jealous of a $9 figurine.”

“He’s giving 'third party in a drama' vibes,” Y/N muttered. “Plot twist energy. He’s here to ruin lives and I’m not letting him steal your affection.”

Tsukki leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching them bicker with a plastic spinosaurus. “…You need help.”

“You need to stop emotionally cheating on me with this edgy lizard.”

Tsukishima walked over, picked up the triceratops (aka Y/N’s ally), and placed it gently beside the new dinosaur.

Then he looked at Y/N and deadpanned: “They’re friends now. It’s called character development.”

Y/N gasped. “You’re turning my son against me.”

“I didn’t know we had kids.”

Y/N blinked. Then grinned. “So you admit we’re married?”

Tsukki paused. Realized what he walked into. “…I hate you.”

But he was smiling. And he didn’t pull away when Y/N wrapped their arms around his waist and whispered

“Don’t worry. I still love you more than the dinosaurs.”

“…Even Jeff?” “The triceratops is different. He’s family.”

Tsukishima kissed the top of their head and whispered, “Jealous of a plastic toy… You’re such a freak.”

(Hey guys! This chaotic story was rotting in my drafts, so I’m finally setting it free)

[darkmatilda]

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one trip to california, one bed, two people, dozens of increasingly absurd topics of conversation, and an uncountable number of internal monologues running through spencer’s head during the night spent under the same blanket with his unexpected, self-appointed roommate.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, one bed trope in stupid circumstances (with this trope the more absurd = the better cant change my mind), mention of spiders, 7k words of talking like trust me nothing happens here (okay they fight a bit over the blanket) (guess who won), spencer is down down bad bad, reader teaches him about skin care and is wearing his clothes, cucumber somehow becomes a topic of conversation, mention that they had sex before (intimate talk, finally confront that fact), they solve crosswords like an old married couple then get married buy a guinea pig name it gideon monroe and move to the countryside (they dont just kidding)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k

𝐚/𝐧: shoutout to my homegirl @nightfullofparadox for conducting complex research on the walls of her room and helping me determine whether hand cream feels sticky, greasy, or moist—such an important matter that without it, this fic wouldn’t exist. marathon masterlist

"...it was during the night of June 11 to 12, after nearly a year of preparing the plan, that they finally put it into action," Reid explained, with an unconscious hand gesture—fluid and natural—showing just how engaged he felt in the story he was telling. "In their beds, they left fake heads made of a mixture of toilet paper, soap, concrete, and hair from the prison barber shop’s trash. That way, the guards thought they were asleep when in fact they were escaping through an opening in the ceiling they had carved using spoons..."

The famous escape from Alcatraz was a topic Morgan and Garcia had some superficial knowledge of, while their partners—Savannah and Sam—had virtually none. And it just so happened to be one of the places they planned to visit during their three-day trip to California (actually, it was also the reason Spencer agreed to go with them at all), so he was thrilled by the fact that he could introduce them to this orally fascinating subject. And, as a bonus, make the airport check-in much more interesting.

At one point, Savannah sighed, taking a sip of the coffee she’d bought at the airport.

"I still can’t believe that the first place I’ll visit during my vacation is a prison," she said.

Reid shrugged. For him, visiting Alcatraz was far more interesting than lounging by a pool, but he decided not to judge and instead offer up some information that might change her mind.

"The island of Alcatraz is beautiful in itself," he noted. "In 1972, it became part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area..."

He broke off, noticing the impatience with which Morgan kept glancing at his watch. His gaze was still scanning the airport, as if someone was missing. Just to be sure—not that he needed to, because he was sure—but just to be sure, Spencer counted the faces of his friends. Four, plus himself. As many as there were supposed to be from the start.

“I swear, if she’s late…” Derek muttered under his breath, gently shaking his head from side to side.

Spencer parted his lips, then closed them again, feeling at least mildly confused.

“Who?” he asked. “We’re all here.”

A laugh rang out...

A treacherous giggle escaping from Penelope’s mouth.

All heads turned toward her, which only made her laugh harder and prompted her to cover her mouth with her hand. Sam looked at her, caught by her smile; he seemed just as surprised as Reid—but in a slightly different way—positively intrigued, while a knot of foreboding twisted in Spencer’s stomach.

“What are you two up to, hmm?” Sam asked Garcia, his gaze moving from her to Derek.

A smirk formed on Morgan’s lips.

“We made sure Reid won’t get bored…”

“Well hey there, everyone,” came a voice from behind Spencer. He shut his eyes, unable to believe what was happening. He didn’t even have to turn around. “If any of you secretly manifested for me to be late, you almost got your wish. You wouldn’t believe the traffic…”

He still didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to—he knew exactly who had joined them. It was obvious just from the looks Penelope and Morgan were exchanging. Oh, he had been so right—he definitely wouldn’t be bored on this trip. He’d just end up going absolutely insane with irritation at least a thousand times. About 333.3(3) for each day of their stay.

“Just wait till Spencer finds out we booked them a shared room…”

His eyes flew open instantly—and so did his mouth, his throat suddenly dry.

Morgan burst out laughing but calmed him with a wave of hand.

“That part was a joke.”

A very unfunny one.

*

After a long shower and an even longer day, Spencer finally slid into the hotel bed. The hotel bed in a room booked just for him. To his great relief, Garcia’s words had indeed turned out to be a little silly joke, not something he actually had to live through.

Strange places usually meant trouble falling asleep, but that night, exhaustion worked in his favor—the first day of their stay in California was always meant to be the most intense one, strictly focused on sightseeing. His body was tired from walking, and his eyes were already beginning to close. A familiar heaviness and haze settled over his head, signaling that he’d drift off the moment it hit the pillow…

…but then came a knock at the door.

With a frustrated sigh, he got to his feet, having no clue who might want something from him at this hour. He didn’t even feel like forming a theory or guessing—he just opened the door, his face making it clear to the visitor that whatever it was they wanted, they’d better want it quickly.

The sleepiness left his body at once, replaced by surprise at the sight of the last person he expected to see from the trip. He almost groaned.

“Don’t even tell me it wasn’t a joke and we really are sharing a room…”

The woman shot him a glare, probably because of his openly displeased reaction. Not that she looked particularly thrilled herself—Spencer gave her a quick once-over, mildly surprised to see she was still wearing the same clothes from their sightseeing earlier, which might mean she hadn’t even made it to her room yet. Her expression, on the other hand—tense.

“Relax, pretty boy,” she said coolly, the nickname paired with a nod toward his not-so-cooperative post-shower hair and the sleepwear that, despite being neatly folded in his suitcase, looked a little crumpled.

Spencer awkwardly smoothed his hair a bit; not noticing, she continued—this time with more seriousness:

“As it happens, I need your help. It won’t take long.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to give in to the irritation. One thing that was constant in their relationship was that whenever they needed each other’s help, it actually took a long time. Let’s skip the fact that it could easily be cut in half just by removing their verbal sparring. And at least five minutes of convincing to do it at all. That step, Spencer decided to skip—he was too tired for that.

So he could either shut the door in her face, or help. He knew he wouldn’t survive the first one.

“Help with what?” he got straight to the point.

She looked at him a bit more kindly, like she was pleased with the readiness to act.

“I could go to literally anyone else, but since they’re all paired up I didn’t want to barge into their room all of a sudden, in the middle of the night,” she began, then sighed. “There’s a spider in my room. I won’t sleep with it in there, and I’m definitely not killing it myself. So,” she gave him a meaningful look.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before giving a verbal response, though he was aware that his expression probably gave a lot away.

 “Did you get a good look at it?”

“Of course not. Then I’d spend the whole night feeling like something’s crawling on me. But it was big and scary. Come on, before it gets away,” she tried to grab his wrist and pull him out of the room, but Reid skillfully avoided it.

For one simple reason.

“You know that in California the most commonly found venomous spider is...”

“Black widow,” she finished for him, suppressing a shudder at the very thought. “Especially fond of corners in apartments, like the edges near the baseboards. And according to the California Poison Control System, around 200–300 black widow bites are reported annually in the entire state.”

He couldn’t help that the little lecture complete with stats made an impression on him. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“Why are you staring like that, Mr. Genius? You’re not the only one who does research on places you’re visiting,” she replied. After a second of silence, she cleared her throat. “Okay, especially about the spiders in them.”

Reid sighed, still with one hand on the open door to his room.

The woman met his gaze. Her eyes, as if on command, softened and grew at least twice their size in an earnest, silent plea that felt like mercilessly kicking a puppy if denied.

“Will you kill it?” she asked.

If he stared at her for another minute longer, a halo would’ve lit up above her head and giant angel wings would’ve sprouted from her back—he had to break the spell, shaking his head. He already knew her manipulative techniques. But a witch’s tricks, no matter how beautiful she was, were still a witch’s tricks.

“Fuck no,” he replied. “What if it bites me?”

As he had expected, her convincing, innocent charm evaporated, giving way to a grimace.

“Better for it to bite me?”

Spencer’s arms shot up defensively.

“Well, from my perspective…”

“Move,” she suddenly commanded, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He straightened, his brow furrowed, not understanding. She made a sweeping motion with her hand, emphasizing what she meant. He felt a little as though some invisible force had actually pushed him aside, and he struggled to resist. The woman, with her usual confidence, looked him straight in the eye.

“Move, because I’m sleeping here,” she declared.

He blinked slowly and parted his lips wide enough to swallow a tennis ball. If anyone had just shot a tennis ball at him. Taking advantage of his moment of whatever it was, the woman gave him an ironic smile and simply bypassed him, not even caring that her hip brushed against him. Spencer somehow felt that fleeting touch all over his body, not just on that small part of him protected by clothes.

He needed to jam his hand into his own head to catch up with the situation.

“You’re not sleeping here!” he squeaked. With that voice, he wouldn’t stop even a kitten from wiping its ass on his pillow (and since he’d become a cat dad, that had happened a few times—he knew what he was talking about). Let alone a grown woman, a woman like her, from literally anything.

So, he took a deep breath, turned to face her, and said in a lower tone:

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Funny, because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now close those damn doors.”

He felt that if he really closed those doors, he’d seal his fate. And it was exactly that thought that had terrified him when Penelope joked about it at the airport. Hesitant, he looked at her, not quite so clearly in the dim room, but still...he couldn’t deny it, she was attractive. In every way. Something she was well aware of and liked to use, making his face turn red and his mind fuzzy.

It was something Spencer could fight—but only for a short while. For the rest of the time, he became pathetically defenseless and exposed to her will, and like any person, he wanted to feel like he had some control over himself, over his own corner, room, bed, sleep.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and stay patient. Her arms crossed over her chest clearly saying she had already made up her mind. Still, he tried.

“Seriously,” he said with emphasis. “You can’t. There’s only one bed.”

He stated a fact, didn’t make it up—yet she scoffed as if he had just shared some controversial, completely unfounded opinion.

“It’s huge. You won’t even notice me,” she swiftly countered the argument.

He sighed, because on that particular point, she was right. The hotel bed was enormous. He looked at it with hesitation eating him from the inside, and finally, he broke and closed the door. As he turned to do it, he caught a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction on her face. He wanted to bang his forehead against the flat wooden surface.

Realizing he couldn’t stand frozen like that for the rest of the night, he finally stepped away from the door, slightly closing the distance between them. There was something expectant in her eyes.

“You’ll have to lend me something to sleep in,” she declared, watching his reaction with amusement. A reaction he tried to keep as unaffected as possible—but didn’t succeed very well. She gestured to her outfit. “Everything’s in my room. I didn’t even get the chance to shower when that monster materialized in it.”

He let out a sarcastic snort.

“What do you think,” he began, “how many clothes did I pack for a three-day trip?”

“Certainly more than necessary, you germophobe.”

Spencer should have felt offended by that remark, but somewhere at the edges of his mind, it flattered him a little. Because in truth, he had brought more clothes than necessary, and it was related to his aversion to germs. What he didn’t know was that she knew that.

“If anything, I’ll lend you something of mine tomorrow in return,” she murmured playfully, letting her gaze trail down the length of his frame, a gesture that instantly tightened the muscles in his stomach.

“I don’t think that would exactly fit my style,” he noted, swallowing as calmly as he could manage.

She shrugged slowly.

“You’ve got a decent waist. It would suit you.”

As she walked past him, heading straight for his suitcase, she poked him in that so-called decent waist with her fingernails, her hand moving like she was picking berries off a bush. Spencer actually jumped, rendered speechless, because first of all—what the fuck—and second, that hurt!

“I’ll pass,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the assaulted spot.

He watched with a sort of sick fascination as she approached his suitcase and pulled out whatever clothes she deemed suitable for sleeping. It wasn’t the process or the act itself that triggered such a reaction in him—this inability to look away or even move—but her, in and of herself. So brazen she was practically unpredictable. And because of that, utterly captivating.

He only remembered that his body needed air to survive once his new roommate disappeared into the bathroom and the sound of the shower reached his ears. And really, it was at that exact moment that full-blown panic took hold of Spencer's back.

As they had already established, the only bed was huge—but still, it was just one. A flat surface not usually shared with random people, let alone people with whom you had such a complicated relationship. In order to even be able to move, Reid had to look at it from the opposite perspective. It was just a flat surface, a piece of wood, a mattress, and some bedding. The world wouldn’t end if he found himself under that bedding with her. Maybe he was even being heroic. Maybe there really had been a black widow in her room, and he, Spencer Reid, had to make this sacrifice for the good of humanity. For the good of one mind-blowing woman with never-flustered eyes who walked through every situation with unwavering confidence—even this one.

He realized he was still standing in the middle of the hotel room, completely frozen, and the sound of water from the bathroom had long gone silent.

To avoid humiliating himself right from the start, he hurried into bed. His thoughts tangled in chaos. It wasn’t like she was his guest or anything—he didn’t have to wait for her or make sure she had everything she needed. He had every right to simply lie down on his side, turn his back to her, and snatch a well-deserved and long-awaited sleep. And that’s exactly what he decided to do, though despite his heavy eyelids, his body and mind remained fully alert.

He heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, heard each of her steps separately, even heard the rustle of the duvet as she grabed a part of it to slip underneath. The mattress shifted. Just once. Which meant that if she had really gotten into bed, there would’ve been a few movements—signs of lying down, adjusting, searching for the right position. Spencer frowned and hesitantly rolled onto his back so he could look at her—and saw that she was frozen in a seated position, staring back at him.

He wanted to ask, a bit snidely, if something was wrong—but the words stalled in his throat at the sight of his clothes on her body, his loose t-shirt slightly revealing a glimpse of her collarbone and a few strands of hair still tucked underneath it.

In the end, she beat him to it, nodding slightly in his direction.

“We need to switch sides,” she said. He looked at her in confusion. “I mean, I prefer sleeping on that one.”

Spencer glanced at the ceiling for a moment, drawing a breath stripped of all patience into his lungs.

“What difference does it make?”

“Comfort. I always sleep on the right.”

“Oh, come on. This is my bed, and you’ve got…insane demands!”

“These aren’t insane demands. These are basic demands. You don’t want to know my insane ones.”

For a moment, their eyes met, and he pursed his lips slightly.

“You know what? I don’t think I can argue with that,” he muttered.

There was a flicker of premature victory in her eyes.

“So…we’re switching sides?”

“No.”

Saying that one simple word somehow made him feel more grounded in the situation. His brain was still in place, not melting and leaking out of his ears yet. Her chest rose with an annoyed sigh, and for a moment, she stayed quiet, locking eyes with him, giving him a chance to reconsider. And when Spencer didn’t…she simply turned her back to him and lay down on her side.

Without begging, or resorting to her usual tricks (let’s be honest—she always managed to find some), Spencer propped himself up on one elbow and stared at her back, his brows furrowed. That had gone surprisingly easily. So easily, in fact, that he didn’t feel the slightest satisfaction in having defended his rightful side of the bed.

He was just about to lie down in silence… when she let out a long, overly dramatic, loud, and thoroughly offended sigh. Yep—one short sound packed with that many adjectives.

He rolled his eyes at the sound.

“You can sigh all you want,” he muttered under his breath.

 He glanced at her cautiously, silently waiting to see if she’d say anything.

She didn’t.

He was just about to rest his head on the pillow again when the sound came back—just as overly dramatic and just as irritating.

“Fine. Take the damn side.”

His eyes shut tight, and a brief thought crossed his mind: he wasn’t going to cave to one of her whims. She’d survive one night on the wrong side of the bed.

Completely against that thought, his open palm smacked the pillow in defeat.

She immediately turned to face him with a smug little grin—and this time, it was Reid who sighed, though out of disbelief at himself. Thinking she’d get up and walk around the bed, he was left speechless, eyes wide, when she simply slid over him like someone crossing two shoelaces before tying them.

A knee accidentally jabbed him in the ribs, the ends of her hair brushed his face, and finally an elbow shoved him toward the left side all within, like, two seconds.

“How sweet of you to give me my favorite side,” she added with ironic cheer, the corners of her mouth lifting. She sat cross-legged on the bed, a gap between her back and the headboard, the blanket covering part of her knees. “You going to sleep now?”

Spencer, lying flat on his back and still recovering from what she'd just done, slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. His hand, acting entirely without the consent of his fogged-up brain, reached for the nightstand where he’d left a book—just in case he couldn’t fall asleep.

Before she showed up, he’d been ready to pass out the moment he hit the mattress. Now, though, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to. He was fully awake.

In response, he just shook his head and opened the book to his saved page. It was about Alcatraz. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her tilt her head to read the title on the cover, then pick something up—something he hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

She squeezed a bit of white cream from a plastic tube onto the back of her hand. Catching his glance, she held it out toward him.

“Hand cream?”

Spencer gave her a completely blank, uncomprehending stare, like she was an alien visitor offering him some sort of high-tech ointment for immortality. And it wasn’t that the question itself was so outlandish. He was just fascinated by the escalation of it all. From inviting herself into his room and stealing clothes out of his suitcase to now sitting shoulder to shoulder in his bed and offering him hand cream.

He gave a slow shrug.

“Why not.”

She squeezed a bit of the lotion onto his hands, and after he rubbed it in, he waited a few minutes before reaching for his book again—because the thought of sticky fingerprints on the pages gave him the ick.

In the meantime, a dissatisfied grimace flickered across her face.

“All my skincare stuff is in my room,” she complained to him. “I had to use those hotel minis from your bathroom.”

She said it with such profound disgust that Spencer glanced at her over the top of his book, just as he was flipping the page, mildly amused.

“Poor thing. How ever did you survive?”

“Trust me, it took real sacrifice,” she assured him with a dead-serious expression. She picked up the hand cream again, examining the label with the air of someone reviewing classified intel. “Let’s see. Oh my god, there it is—Ethanol. Hello, instant dryness. Fragrance. Irritates, triggers allergies, wrecks your lipid barrier.”

She went on, listing off each ingredient in the cream with critical precision, offering lengthy commentary and open disdain for most of them. At some point, her monologue drifted into the category of skin-friendly ingredients—and that’s when Spencer realized he wasn’t actually reading anymore. He was just sitting in silence, eyes quietly fixed on her.

“And on top of all that,” she said suddenly, louder, pulling him out of the daze he'd slipped into. His open book lay face down on the blanket covering him up to the waist. “it just smells absolutely disgusting.”

Following her words, with some surprisingly genuine curiosity, he brought the back of his hand to his nose. And frowned.

“Smells like cucumber.”

“Exactly.”

“Cucumbers are actually a pretty nice scent.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Who in their right mind wants to smell like a cucumber?”

He felt obligated to defend the honor of cucumbers.

“Well, I bet there are plenty of people who like that scent,” he began, logically spreading his arms to the sides. She raised her brows at him, clearly not accepting that. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be so many cosmetic products with that exact smell. Personally, I don’t think it’s bad. It’s definitely refreshing.”

Her eyes swept over him almost evaluatively, up and down.

“I wouldn’t want to hear that kind of compliment.”

Spencer had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from commenting, but ended up doing it anyway.

“Oh, that’s new.”

“Hm?”

“You, not wanting to hear a compliment.”

She turned her face toward him, eyes narrowed.

“Are you suggesting I’m vain?”

Reid only slightly raised his brows and gave a brief shake of his head, leaving it open to her interpretation. After her question, he looked away from her, leaning out of the bed to place the book back on its spot on the nightstand. He figured it was probably time for sleep—another early wake-up awaited them the next day, and they’d already spent too much of this night talking. Surprisingly, Spencer didn’t regret it.

It means, he’d probably need an extra cup of coffee because of it tomorrow, but the whole thing was that after this conversation, he felt a knot in his stomach loosen, stress gradually leaking out of his entire body. Stress that had been there from the beginning, precisely because of what they were doing—sharing a bed.

A rather pleasant silence settled between them—finished, complete. Each of them focused on finding a comfortable position in which they wouldn’t be in each other’s way; no unfinished topic lingered in the air, no unpleasant words hung between them. The bed was spacious enough that, once they turned their backs to each other, they could almost forget about the other’s presence—but before they did, Spencer hesitated, lying on his back with his head on the pillow.

He caught her gaze before she had a chance to show him her back—he stopped her. She propped her temple against her palm, lying on her side, and gave him a questioning tilt of the chin. He swallowed nervously, gearing up to bring up something he had meant to say earlier but had forgotten.

“You’re going to leave early in the morning,” he said. It wasn’t a command or a request—more like…an opinion. Because he honestly thought it was the best solution, and assumed she’d agree. Her expression, however, remained unreadable.

 “I mean, before the others wake up,” he clarified.

Her shoulders gave a dismissive shrug.

“I’ll leave when I wake up and get myself together. I don’t care if the others are still asleep or already done with breakfast,” she replied.

She said it with a kind of simplicity that didn’t quite apply to the way Spencer perceived reality. Honestly, he felt like rolling his eyes.

“You know what they’re going to think about us?” he asked, rhetorically.

It seemed to him that she disagreed just for the sake of disagreeing, of doing things her own way, when in reality he hadn’t asked her for anything impossible or exhausting. Just for a possibly unnoticed exit from his room in the morning.

Still, she chose to answer.

“Two consenting adults having sex. Scandalous.”

For a moment, he stared at her in silence, then sighed. His head turned toward the ceiling.

“Okay, forget it.”

The mattress shifted—her movement. Or rather, her coming closer—not out of some sudden, unjustified need for affection, but to make sure her quietly spoken words were heard more clearly, a trace of irritation in them.

“Don’t act like some blushing princess,” she chided him, with complete seriousness despite everything. “We actually did have sex, Spencer. Did you forget?”

He was glad he had chosen to keep his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Just as the topic returned like a boomerang thrown nearly a decade earlier, one that had hit birds, planes, and several of his own downcast glances on its way back—forms of escape.

Her question wasn’t rhetorical; she waited for an answer, staring into his profile with a drilling gaze. Clever responses got lost somewhere in his tired brain; defeated by the effort of searching, he closed his eyes for a moment and went with simplicity.

“No.”

The reply came a moment later, but in its own way, measured—as if planned as well.

“So stop acting like it would be such a huge shame for you. The fact that you might be accused of sleeping with me,” she said coldly. Her hand, which had until then been supporting her head, dropped loosely onto the mattress. She pulled it toward her body and turned onto her back herself, no longer looking at him.

Spencer turned onto his side to look at her—or rather, at her profile—immediately after she said it. There was no pause, no uncertain hesitation, no nervous swallow paired with searching for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a jerk. In fact, he felt so bad about how she had taken his words that correcting himself came easily, driven by too much shame.

“I’m not saying it would be shameful,” he denied. “I just…maybe I don’t want people thinking things about me, about us, that aren’t true.”

“Then maybe you should care less about what people think,” she shot back.

“And maybe you should care more.”

She tilted her head slightly in his direction to catch his gaze—and hold it. Spencer felt a dryness in his throat, realizing she was waiting, without blinking, for the moment to say what she meant to say.

“Listen,” she began slowly. Her voice didn’t rise or lower; she didn’t break eye contact, but she also didn’t let him read too much from her expression. “We’re both adults. We slept together. It was nice. There’s no need to overanalyze it.”

She didn’t say it harshly, but it sounded like the end of the conversation.Spencer, however, couldn’t just leave it like that—something inside him made him speak up before that proverbial biting of the tongue could happen. It wasn’t easy though, not when his throat felt like a desert, and the question came out surrounded by a noticeable, nervous rasp.

“It was nice? Did…did you actually enjoy that?”

As he looked at her with his lips sealed and his breath held, she looked at him like he was an idiot.

“I’m not the type to fake anything.”

Lying still, he truly wished she would look away—let him free himself from her eyes and from what came not exactly because of them, but because of her. Her presence, her closeness, everything she had said. The memory he always punished himself for replaying, at least whenever she was near. He considered it deeply inappropriate.To feel someone’s touch again, to watch them uncovered while they stood right in front of you, maybe saying something, maybe asking a question.

Maybe lying in the same bed, in which she ended up only because of a small intruder in her own room, face to face, in the quietest possible silence.

Spencer gave in and turned his head away, cursing silently in his mind. But that still felt safer than continuing to meet her eyes. And when he did, suddenly the distance between their bodies seemed to grow, ever so slightly, even though physically they remained the same—on the same side of the bed. Only then did a flicker of sober thought manage to pierce through his mind. You won’t even notice me, he recalled her words and felt the urge to scoff. Even at the moment she’d said them, he’d suspected they wouldn’t hold true.

Sure, he could turn his back to her and draw some imaginary line between them, but that line was just an abstract concept, with no real application in their reality. He could not see her, but he still felt her beside him, and her presence seeped ethereally into his mind.

He somewhat regretted putting the book down, as he really needed a distraction. They still hadn't said anything to each other, but her gaze no longer lingered on him, making whatever had hung in the air between them in that brief moment start to fade away.

Reid moved his fingers aimlessly, trying not to appear paralyzed. And that's exactly how he felt, which made him incapable of falling asleep. Even his eyelids were no longer heavy. He heard a soft clearing of her throat. Okay, right after that, whatever had hung in the air was truly gone. Or rather, they existed on the plane of that aftertaste.

"You know," came his quiet, thoughtful voice. The silence between them had lasted long enough that a certain rasp had crept in, making Spencer have to mask a deep breath he suddenly took. "I don't think I can fall asleep without some mental effort. I miss my sudoku. Left it in my room, along with my skincare stuff."

"Talking to me isn't enough?" Spencer tried to joke, adding a little cocky tone to relax things, but god, it came out as the most awkward, pathetic thing he'd said, especially considering that his brain had shrunk to the size of a peanut over the last twenty minutes.

She spared him by not shooting him a look that said seriously? He shot that look at himself instead. Then he cleared his throat.

"Actually, I think I have some crosswords in my bag."

Her head turned toward him, eyebrows raised, silently asking what are you waiting for?

Spencer nearly jumped out of bed, almost tripping over his own legs, and returned moments later with a thick crossword book and a pen. Half sitting, half lying down, he immediately felt her shift closer to his side, her head resting on his pillow so she could see the filled-in squares.

Her finger tapped one of the boxes before Reid had even read the clue.

“Benzene,” she said.

Out of habit, he parted his lips to speak, then shut them—because, well, yeah. It was benzene. He dropped his gaze to the next clue, the answer flashing in his mind with a slight delay—but she said it aloud before he could. And that’s how it went every time, even though he was used to solving crosswords at near-record speeds. It happened because every time he knew the answer, his eyes drifted toward her, checking if she did too. And that alone was enough to smack his logic and focus square across the face, causing the delay.

He tried to recover, but there was no competitive spirit in him that night. So he just filled in the answers she gave, finding a strange kind of ease in the motion itself.

Force drawing objects toward each other, the next clue read. Of course he knew the answer—but he didn’t rush to say it. After all, she said she needed the mental effort to fall asleep; this was her shot. But no response came. Well, it was late. Maybe her sleepy brain wasn’t firing at full capacity anymore.

Then he felt a certain weight settle against his shoulder.

Spencer didn’t even need to look in her direction to know it was her head. But he looked anyway—because it felt so improbable he had to challenge both his eyes and his brain to a duel, just to make sure they hadn’t conspired to play tricks on him.

But no, it wasn’t a trick at all. She had really fallen asleep, letting her neck go slack, her temple landing right in that spot on his shoulder, the crown of her head brushing lightly against his neck and jawline.

Staring at her, Reid finally forced himself to blink when the air started to sting his eyes. The crossword book still rested in his hands, open, the pen between his fingers, and his lungs—at last—uncertainty drawing in air. Gently, so as not to jostle his body too much or… well, wake her.

He wondered if she’d yell at him if he woke her and told her to move. To go back to her half—the half she’d fought so hard for. But that thought remained just that: a curiosity. Spencer didn’t actually want to do it, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He, who usually shied away from touch. Yet this didn’t feel intrusive, awkward, or unwanted. It felt like a heavy blanket settling over the body on a cold, lonely night—something that wrapped around you with the soft weight of care and comfort in that dim, suspended moment just before sleep.

Though maybe, out of respect for her, he should wake her. After all, it wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose—her head had just drifted there…

Spencer pressed the back of his own head into the pillow with a sigh.

He closed the crossword book, set it aside on the blanket, and simply lay there—not trying to sleep, not trying to stay awake either.

It didn’t take long before the former won.

And it would’ve been very romantic to say that, come morning, they woke up in the same position—rested and refreshed, ready to take on another day of their trip, radiating energy and charm. That absolutely did not happen.

When Spencer woke up, it wasn’t even morning. Bringing his watch up to his face, he learned that exactly one hour and twenty-four minutes had passed since they’d fallen asleep—or rather, since she had. He, meanwhile, now lay pushed all the way to the edge of the bed, the knuckles of one limp hand brushing the floor.

He was literally one tiny movement away from falling off and slamming his head into the nightstand.

There was sand under his eyelids, and he was freezing. Disoriented, he forced his unbelievably heavy head upward to figure out why.

While he had been exiled to the very edge of the bed, she was lying comfortably on her side right in the middle, wrapped in their entire shared blanket like a cocoon—so tightly, in fact, that it took him a solid five minutes of analysis just to figure out which side her face was on. Eventually, he concluded it was turned toward him.

With a sigh, he reached for the edge of the blanket, hoping to claim at least a small portion of it for himself.

He couldn’t wrest the blanket free from her iron grip, no matter how hard he tried. A disbelieving huff escaped his lips—how could a sleeping body possess so much strength? And despite all his efforts, her slumber remained undisturbed.

He sighed. He was far too cold to give up.

After a moment’s hesitation about getting any closer, he finally leaned in to target the one part of her body left unguarded by the fortress—that is, the blanket. Gently, he pressed a finger against her cheek, with the kind of light pressure you’d use to test if dough had risen.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, casting him a look that was first surprised, then thoroughly annoyed.

In a sleepy, groggy voice, she mumbled something that sounded a lot like what do you want?

“What do I want?” repeated Spencer, just as quietly as she had, but with more alertness. Their words were barely murmurs; if someone had stood in the doorway, they probably wouldn’t even have realized they were speaking to each other. “I want the blanket. You took all of it for yourself.”

“Because I’m cold,” she replied selfishly.

He scoffed in outrage.

“Guess what, so am I!”

At the count of fifty-eight, she stirred, then unwrapped her cocoon, lifting a part of the blanket so he could slip underneath. Her face showed nothing short of pure pity—divine mercy, even.

The woman didn’t answer him anymore, her eyes closed throughout the entire exchange. Reid shook his head slightly in disbelief, realizing… she had probably fallen asleep again.

He decided to wait a minute. Sixty seconds before he stopped being so nice and just took the blanket from her.

Spencer looked at her hesitantly, unable to move because, well… it would mean actually getting close. Almost falling asleep face to face, nose to nose.

“No, then don’t,” she muttered impatiently, already starting to pull the blanket back when Reid made the decision—before his brain had time to logically process it.

Once he was close, she let the blanket fall over both of them.

He couldn’t close his eyes, staring at her features blurred by the dark, even though he wanted to.

“Attraction,” she said, half-asleep.

His lips parted in confusion, unsure if he had imagined it.

 “W-what?”

A long moment of silence passed before she responded again.

“Force drawing objects toward each other. In the crossword. The answer is attraction.”

“Oh, right,” he confirmed, sheepishly.

Another stretch of silence followed—so long there was no doubt she had fallen asleep.

In the morning, he woke up first, struggling to make sense of the tangle of limbs they had become. Not cuddled, exactly, but complex, unarranged—labyrinthine. If he weren’t so sleepy, he might have been able to turn it into some sort of metaphor about…

“How late are we?” she pulled him out of his thoughts, sitting up with a yawn.

Her question, tone, and movements were all completely casual.

Still lying down, Spencer blinked up at her silhouette above him, trying to orient himself in reality. They had agreed to meet the rest of their friends at a specific time. He sighed, feeling the stiffness in his muscles, and slowly reached for the watch he had left on the nightstand, immediately sighing again.

“Very,” he said simply.

She adjusted his t-shirt, which had slipped partially off her shoulder.

“So I’m taking the bathroom first.”

He watched as she threw the blanket off her knees and her bare feet traced a path toward the bathroom. He followed her with a gaze that bordered on intrusive, and when he realized it, he flinched slightly. His head fell back onto the pillow at the same moment the door closed behind her.

He had just been hit by the kind of thoughts one can only face in a horizontal position.

For some reason, the room felt much quieter than it had when they had both been lying there in silence.

He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, simply not knowing what was happening to him. Once more, he replayed in his mind the way she adjusted his shirt on her body with a certain fluidity of movement, a nonchalance, a naturalness. A naturalness that, in its own way, hurt him when he thought about it too much.

The weight in his head was definitely not natural, the nervousness wasn’t natural, the way his breath changed when her face, in sleep, ended up too close to his—none of it was natural.

And yet, they had only shared a bed.

Before he could spiral fully into the rest of his anxious thoughts, a knock sounded at the door. A flashback from the previous evening flickered across his mind—when he had first been falling asleep and it had been her standing on the threshold. But now she was in the bathroom, so it had to be someone else—one of their friends.

He went to open the door and, just as he’d predicted, found himself face-to-face with Penelope.

“Do you even realize what time it is?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. Spencer raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed it. After so many hours of quiet, her voice struck him as particularly loud. It helped wake him up—something he definitely needed.

“If you want to spend this day the way we originally planned, you better get dressed and do something about that hair, my dear…”

Penelope’s mouth suddenly fell open, her eyes widening as they locked on a point just behind Spencer. He instinctively turned—only to see his roommate stepping out of the bathroom, unaware of Garcia’s arrival.

She was still wearing his clothes from the night before, her hair damp from a morning shower, and yesterday’s outfit slung over her arm with the clear intention of returning it to her own room and suitcase.

Penelope only noticed her once both pairs of eyes had settled on her—his included—and she froze mid-step. She looked him straight in the eye, and he was sure they were both thinking the same thing—the conversation they’d had the night before.

“Oh my god,” Garcia squeaked, practically bouncing in place. She slapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head as if to gather herself. “I mean hi. You. Two of you. I…see you’re not quite ready so…fifteen minutes? Great!”

Before leaving, she shot Reid a very pointed look—just a second long, but more than enough to make it clear that they definitely had something to talk about.

[dollracha]

𐙚 gentle punishment ⋆ b.c x reader

pairing: soft! daddy dom! chan x sub! fem!reader genre: smut warnings: daddy kink ⋆ light punishment ⋆ mild praise ⋆ soft dom chan ⋆ pussy rubbing ⋆ softie sweetie chan wc: 748 synopsis: wrote the draft a year ago and almost posted the list version before going to put it in a doc and realizing i actually wrote a more fleshed out story ready to post already. oops. and i'm back with an upload! life's been a whirlwind recently but i'll try to post some more.

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

one of the most insane things about daddy!channie is that he can punish you without force and it works. he doesn’t spank you, or let his anger get the best of him and fuck your cunt until it’s sore. no, no. he knows you’ll enjoy being used like that. so punishing you often looks like this: one hand gripping your hip. his hand holding his cock between your pussy and panties, tip barely brushing against your clit with every little movement of his hips. and he ate you out and stopped just before you could cum so your cunt is all nice and messy and wet for him.

you try to push him away because he's been at it for so long, alternating between fingering your cunt, eating you out, and rubbing his cock against the slick lips of your pussy. every time you get close to coming he stops. his teasing is just enough to make your eyes all watery from the stimulation, and he’s just attentive enough to leave you hanging every time  you get close to the edge.

"too much, daddy, 's too much..."

"c'mon. be a good girl for daddy, yeah?"

he pushes your hair outta your face and grips your chin, thumbing across your jaw. "i know you can, baby." and if channie says you can then you can! so you lie there and take it like his good girl. that’s all he wants, is for you to realize that you’re still his good girl even when you’re being punished. good girls don’t act out and break rules.

that realization makes you mutter out an "i'm sorry, daddy."

chris doesn't stop as he responds. he knew you’d get there eventually, all it took was a little bit of coaxing. "sorry for what, babygirl?"

"for acting out earlier..."

"yeah?" he muses along, both hands gently resting on your hips. he finally stops rutting his cock against your pussy. he lets a hand trail down to your clit, slipping in between your soaked panties to rub circles on your clit. "gonna apologize to daddy properly?" 

you nod, and it takes you longer than it should to force the words out of your mouth. he's got you half dumb with all his teasing. "i'm sorry for acting out daddy."

chris smiles. he’s got a soft look on his face as he leans down to kiss your lips. "that's my girl." he praises, and sits back to admire the mess in your panties, the dazed look on your face, and the way your hands untangle themselves from the blankets to ask for his.

there's no hesitation on his end. all he wanted was for you to learn your lesson. it looks like you have. he can never resist you for too long. his hands grab yours, his thumbs trace soothingly against the back of your hand. 

"daddy," you murmur and look into his eyes. his attention shifts from your hands to your face. chris is so attentive with you. he’s also so amused by your apology. it’s what he wanted, but it never fails to make him giddy and proud. 

"what is it, baby?"

"can i cum... please?"

chan laughs. "nobody was stopping you, pretty girl." he definitely was, but you guess he’s right. he never said you couldn’t cum. he just stopped before you ever had the chance.

you think for a moment before asking another question.

"can you make me cum?" that’s an entirely different question. smart girl.

he can’t resist you. but he can't immediately reward you with whatever you want. what’s the point of punishing you if he’s just going to reward you immediately after? 

compromise. that's his specialty.

"you're gonna cum on my fingers or daddy's not gonna help you at all. understand?"

you frown, but nod. "i understand, daddy" you know him better than to ask for more, especially after you pissed him off. and he makes you cum so hard you're unable to do anything but lie there for a good minute afterwards.

maybe he did reward you a little too thoroughly… oops.

and aftercare with him is so so sweet too. he makes sure you're all clean, that you have food if you're hungry, water regardless of if you're thirsty or not, that you're cozy at his side. he can't keep his hands off you, can't stop praising and checking up on you.

he says things like: "you're such a good girl f'me... always such a good job."

"wasn't too much, was i? no... not too rough?"

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

[elvishdemigod]

This would not only be discouraging to authors because they'd see dislikes on their stories, but it just welcomes drama and tries to turn Fanfic Writing into more of a Social Media thing.

There would be spam dislikers, trolls, people who think their ship is superior, people who want to harass certain users and bring them down, etc.

It opens more floodgates to harassment and hate and trolls.

And on Ao3, it would also be destructive as it could lead to systems getting clogged up, especially in the case of spam haters.

There is literally no point to a dislike button other than selfish need to make your personal opinion of a for-free passion project known. It's not Goodreads where you leave a one star review and reason why you wished you hadn't wasted your money. It's a site where people go and have fun after a long days work, or when you finally have the freedom to write a gay fic you wouldn't have been able to write when you were younger (shoutout to elderly fanfic writers), or just a kid who developed an obsession over a character or ship that helps takes your worries of school and social pressure away.

There should be dislike for fanfics the same way you should give a child a negative review for the sidewalk art they did. It's stupid.

"i want a dislike button on ao3" so you want less fanfic. even if you don't think you want less fanfic you want less fanfic. because when people start getting dislikes on their fanfic they will want to write less fanfic. hope this helps <3

[otakudragones]

Bakugo Katsuki

As a boyfriend

• He’s the kind of boyfriend who won’t say “I love you,” but will fight the waiter if your order’s wrong. His love language is: acts of service + passive-aggressive violence.

• If he finds out someone made you cry, he’s already taking his gloves off. “WHO WAS IT? WHERE ARE THEY? DO THEY EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE TO ME?”

• Takes care of you without admitting it. If you’re sick: “I don’t need you dying in my house, so take this medicine and sleep in my bed. And don’t move, dumbass.”

• Gets mad if you don’t ask for help. “What the hell am I here for then, huh? You stubborn idiot.”

• He hates PDA, but looks at you like you’re the sun — and then flat-out denies it.

• Jealous? Oh, definitely. “Who was that, huh? Why’d he smile at you?” You: “The Walmart cashier, Katsuki.”

IMAGINE:

You’re at a party with your friends, and Bakugou hasn’t stopped frowning at you from across the room because you’re dancing without him. When you finally walk over, he says, “What, done trying to get attention or what?” But he takes your hand and doesn’t let go the rest of the night.

As a husband

• The wedding is simple, but he bakes the cake himself (with strawberry filling, because it’s your favorite).

• Says he won’t cry. Cries. Gets embarrassed. Gets mad about crying.

• Makes breakfast for you every morning, even if the toast’s a little burnt.

• He never goes to sleep without making sure you’re okay. Sometimes he gets up just to check if you’re still breathing — just in case.

• Talks to you about money, decisions, the future. He doesn’t run from adulthood. He’s the kind of husband who wants to do things right because you give him your all.

• Gets offended if you don’t lean on him. “What’s the point of having me if you’re gonna carry everything yourself, huh?”

IMAGINE:

You’ve got a headache and are lying on the couch. Bakugou covers you with a blanket, dims the lights, sets water on the table. He doesn’t say much — just strokes your hair and murmurs, “Rest, woman…” like he isn’t completely in love.

As a father

• Overprotective dad to the max. He’s freaking out during labor, but the moment he hears that first cry, something in him shifts. “Oh… This is real now.”

• Teaches his kid to defend themselves from kindergarten. Enrolls them in combat classes before soccer.

• But also: sings lullabies in a whisper, like his voice might break the baby if he gets too loud.

• He’s scared of hurting the baby at first, but soon becomes a pro at changing diapers and carrying without fear.

• Does homework, plays, reads bedtime stories (with full-on villain voices), and gets offended if his kid doesn’t draw him with enough muscles.

• His kid’s first “I love you” leaves him speechless for three minutes. Then he just says, “I love you too,” wiping his eyes.

In general, a relationship with Katsuki is…

• Like dating an emotional grenade who learned how to love gently.

• He doesn’t know how to be tender, but he tries. He tries so hard it hurts from how beautiful it is.

• You argue, but never go to bed angry. He always comes back to say: “I don’t care about being right with the world if I’m not right with you.”

• He has anxiety about not being enough, and you are his safe place. He won’t say it, but you see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Only You”

“Why are you with me?” you ask one night, staring at the ceiling while he strokes your back with one hand.

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. He breathes. Hesitates. Then says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

—“Because you make me want to be a better person… without even asking me to.”

Then, softer, almost afraid:

—“Because you calm me down, damn it. You make me feel like I’m not broken.”

You look at him. And with glossy eyes and a clenched jaw, he just whispers:

—“And if you ever doubt it again, just remember there’s no one else I’d do all of this for… only you.”

Traducción

Como novio

• Es el tipo de novio que no te dice "te amo", pero pelea con el mesero si no trae bien tu orden. Su lenguaje del amor es: servicio + violencia pasiva-agresiva.

• Si se entera de que alguien te hizo llorar, ya está quitándose los guantes. “¿QUIÉN FUE? ¿DÓNDE ESTÁ? ¿TIENE IDEA DE QUIÉN ERES TÚ PARA MÍ?”

• Te cuida sin admitirlo. Si estás enfermo: “no necesito que te mueras en mi casa, así que tómate esta medicina y duerme en mi cama. Y no te muevas, pendeja.”

• Se enoja si no le pides ayuda con algo porque “para eso estoy aquí, ¿no? pinche necia”.

• No le gusta el PDA (afecto en público), pero te mira como si fueras el sol y lo niega rotundamente.

• Es celoso. Tipo: “¿y ese quién era, eh? ¿por qué te sonrió?” Tú: “el de Walmart, Katsuki.”

IMAGINA:

"Estás en una fiesta con tus amigos, y Bakugou no ha dejado de hacerte ceño desde la esquina del cuarto porque estás bailando sin él. Cuando te acercas, te dice: ‘qué, ¿ya te cansaste de llamar la atención o qué?’. Pero se deja tomar de la mano y no te suelta por el resto de la noche."

Como esposo

• Su boda es simple, pero el pastel lo horneó él (con relleno de fresa porque sabe que es tu favorito).

• Te dice que no va a llorar. Llora. Le da pena. Se enoja por haber llorado.

• Cada mañana te prepara desayuno aunque se le queme un poco el pan tostado.

• Nunca se va a dormir sin asegurarse de que tú estés bien. A veces se levanta a revisar si respiras, justo en caso.

• Habla contigo de gastos, decisiones y futuro. No huye de la vida adulta. Es el tipo de esposo que quiere hacer las cosas bien porque lo das todo por él.

• Se ofende si no te apoyas en él. “¿Para qué me tienes si vas a cargar sola todo, ah?”

IMAGINA:

Te duele la cabeza y estás acostada en el sillón. Bakugou te tapa, apaga las luces, te pone agua en la mesa. No dice nada, solo te acaricia el cabello y murmura: "descansa, mujer..."como si no estuviera enamoradísimo.

Como padre

• Es papá gallina nivel Dios. Te ayuda en el parto con un susto épico, pero cuando escucha el primer llanto, su cara cambia por completo. “Ah no....Esto va en serio.”

• Enseña a su hijo a defenderse desde el kínder. Lo inscribe a clases de combate antes que a fútbol.

• Pero también: le canta canciones de cuna a lo bajito, como si su voz pudiera romper al bebé si sube de tono.

• Le da miedo lastimar, pero poco a poco se vuelve experto en cambiar pañales y cargar sin miedo.

• Hace tareas, juega, lee cuentos (con voz de villano incluida), y se ofende si su hijo no lo dibuja con suficiente musculatura.

• El primer "te amo" de su hijo lo deja en silencio 3 minutos. Luego solo dice: “yo también te amo”, mientras se limpia los ojos.

En general, una relación con Katsuki es…

• Como salir con una granada emocional que aprendió a amar con cuidado.

• Él no sabe cómo ser tierno, pero lo intenta. Lo intenta tanto que duele de lo hermoso.

• Discuten, pero nunca se acuestan peleados. Siempre regresa a decirte: “no quiero estar bien con el mundo si no estoy bien contigo.”

• Tiene ansiedad por no ser suficiente, y tú eres su refugio. No lo dice, pero se le nota en cómo te mira cuando cree que no estás viendo.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Solo tú”

—¿Por qué estás conmigo? —preguntas una noche, mientras ves el techo y él acaricia tu espalda con una sola mano.

Katsuki no responde al instante. Respira. Duda. Luego dice, como si fuera obvio:

—Porque me haces querer ser una mejor persona… sin que me lo pidas.

Y después de un segundo añade, más bajo, casi temeroso:

—Porque me calmas, cabrón. Me haces sentir que no estoy roto.

Lo miras. Y él, con los ojos brillosos y la mandíbula apretada, solo te susurra:

—Y si algún día dudas otra vez, solo recuérdate que no hay nadie más con quien haría todo esto… solo tú.

[mattsweethart]

clingy!boyfriend!Chris Sturniolo headcanons because my delusions stay undefeated:

1. can’t fall asleep unless he’s touching you chris deadass can’t sleep unless he’s physically attached to you in some way. doesn’t matter if it’s his arm around your waist or his leg tangled with yours—he needs contact. you roll over just once and he’s immediately like:

“where you goin’? come back. i need you for survival purposes.” bonus points if he mumbles stuff in his sleep like “mine” or “don’t leave” with his face smushed into your shoulder 😭

2. will text you 47 times if you don’t respond for like an hour you go quiet for 63 minutes and chris goes into full meltdown mode.

“hello??” “did you join a cult” “this is my joker origin story.” “just realized i could’ve called but now it’s about the principle” and then when you finally answer, he hits you with the classic: “i wasn’t worried. just checking in. as a responsible bf. no further questions.”

3. randomly shows up at your door with snacks and a playlist chris is a menace in the cutest way. he’ll randomly show up at your house with boba, hot cheetos, a crumpled bag of gummy worms, and a playlist titled something like

“ur the sun and also probably a little unhinged (but i like it)” and he’ll just say “missed ur face. got bored. needed to share this song that made me think of your eyebrows.” 💀💀💀

4. inserts himself into all your facetime calls you’re on facetime with your best friend and chris will appear in the background like:

“hey tell them about the goose i almost fought” or worse—he just sits next to you the whole call, mouthing your words and silently judging your convos like it’s a reality show and when you’re like “babe pls go” he says “i could leave. but what if i stay and be annoying instead?”

5. beefs with your pet bc he’s jealous of the attention chris absolutely has fake beef with your dog/cat bc they get more snuggles than he does

“why is milo allowed to lay on your chest and i’m not?” “he’s literally a dog.” “and i’m literally your boyfriend???” cue him trying to wedge himself in next to the pet like “move over bro, she was mine first.”

Comment to be added to the taglist, follow along for more, and let me know your thoughts <333

Find more of my work here.

[the-immortal-restless]

A Millennium of Changes

(BETA READ BY @pumpkin-pepperz :) thanks pookie)

Summary: Everyone thought that the new baby Monkey would age like a mortal, after all, they were in the mortal realm and the baby was made in that realm… why would it age differently?

No one expected it to take so long

TLDR:The egg takes 35 celestial months to hatch, which roughly equates to 1,050 years in the mortal realm.

Takes place just after this chapter!

Warning:Heavy Angst(There is also heavy comfort to help don’t worry), Many Major Character Deaths, Transmasculine individual (MK) getting pregnant and giving birth(though it’s not a significant plot point).

This work was written by someone who did not grow up in Chinese culture, and while there are little references to the culture I still want to acknowledge that I am not the most educated on the practices and traditions of said culture.

Notes before the fic(skippable. Skip to *’s): This was based on an idea I had while sick where the egg takes 35 celestial months to grow. And one celestial day is one mortal year. Which I will guide you through the math now.

35 months x approximately 30 days per month = 1,050 days. Converting to Mortal Time is 1,050 years or 12,600 months. They have already completed 9 months in the comic at the time of writing this (may fifth) so that’s 12,591 months or 1,049.25 years. Which is a long time. In the comic it is established that MK is immortal and we already know that Redson is a half celestial, half demon, so of the main group them two are the only one likely to be alive after that long.

Tang is Papa and Pigsy is Dad.

**************************************

”You’ll see- Next time I call you, You’ll finally meet your new sibling… I Promise.”

Those were the last words he heard before his dads went into a deep meditation. It was essentially a magical coma.

MK was worried for his dad, he looked so tired, and his Mama had already passed out. He worried they wouldn’t wake up, but his Baba assured him they would.

MK went home with his Dad and his Papa. His Papa took him for a much needed haircut in the morning, he practically had a mane by now and he wasn’t to keen on having long hair.

MK focused on other relationships. His Dad’s shop was still busy, rightfully so, it was the best noodle shop in town. He still liked listening to his Papa’s wisdom and learning from the scholar. He had therapy with Sandy and his clowder of many cats. He trained with Mei and Redson, outside of hanging out and little dates.

Of course he visited his Baba and Mama every weekend, made sure all the things they had prepared for the baby stayed well taken care of. They’d need it when that baby finally hatched.

But MK started to worry as more and more weeks passed without so much as a sign the baby would hatch.

Eventually the first year passed. His Papa told him that maybe the baby was going to take the full 35 months. That thought both soothed and worried him, almost three years? That’s a long time.

He was worried some new villain would come back, and he wouldn’t have his mentor to help.

He talked to Sandy and he was able to slowly come to terms with that. Telling himself that the baby would be okay and he had a huge support system to help incase something did happen.

He’d focused on living instead of worried. Focus on what can be now, instead of what could’ve been.

He invested his time in growing, learning, becoming someone to be a hero and becoming better and better.

He cooked with Pigsy, the noodle shop had been there since before he was born. He loved cooking with his Dad and he always wanted to continue it. His Dad liked to impart wisdom onto him much like his Papa, (he was beginning to see why they were married) whether it be about trusting his senses over a recipe or some cooking metaphor for life. Things like: “Things are the best when you wait for the perfect time.”

He read more with his Papa, talking about myths and stories. The two of them even ventured outside Chinese Mythos and looked into all kinds of myths and legends. He enjoyed learning and taking in wisdom. Though their time together wasn’t restricted by myths. He also learned things from his Papa about human nature and philosophy. He learned that even though sleep was a vital part of mortal life, it’s still important for Celestial and Immortals because outside of the physical body, the mind benefited greatly from sleep. Sleep allows the mind a break to reset for the next day, to sort all the things you learn into their places and make sure you remember everything.

That’s when he started taking his sleep more seriously. If he was going to be immortal he needed to keep his mind healthy.

He took care of animals with Sandy and went hiking and camping with him, learning about nature and meditation. Sandy also likes to impart wisdom onto him (He was beginning to notice a pattern) about nature and how to learn to value to little beauties in everything.

He played video games with Mei, they always had fun. They also trained both with and without Redson. Though they all trained with and without each other. He focused on spending as much time doing their favorite things: watching movies, shows, playing games. They went to concerts and even tried plays.

He went on dates with Redson. They did picnics occasionally, but they also began cooking together. MK watched him work in the workshop. He and Mei introduced him to shows they thought he’d like. Much to everyone’s surprise and unsurprisingly he took a liking to cooking shows like DBK did.

He even connected with Nezha more, they were both princes and despite Nezha being a bit of a rule-follower, he liked MK’s defiance and rowdy attitude.

It was hard but he managed to live without being consumed by his worry. There were days where he was a bit bed bound with worry and sadness, but his family came and helped him. They all loved MK and MK loved them.

The trouble came when the third year passed. Why weren’t they awake? Why was the egg still unhatched? Why were his parents still so tired looking?

After days of frantic research with the help of MK, Nezha and other people, his Papa found something.

Apparently, sometimes celestial gestation progresses at the rate of the Celestial Realm even if they are in the Mortal Realm. A factor they didn’t know to consider. This information hit everyone like 67 consecutive trains.

The egg would take centuries to hatch… MK would face his immortality without his immortal parents. He would grieve almost everyone around him without his parents. He was… alone.

They couldn’t even undo the spell, because awake or not the baby needed Wukong and Macaque’s power to grow. Not to mention that undoing a spell like this could be dangerous, it would undo on its own when the baby was hatched and the two Celestial Monkeys were healthy. Them being asleep was safer and easier. It was hard but they couldn’t undo the spell that sealed them away

MK cried that day, that week, that month. He was scared, he was terrified. How was he going to survive over a thousand years without his parents?

But he knew mourning was only going to eat at the time. He had more therapy with Sandy. It would take an incredibly long time, but he needed it.

He focused even more on his family. He wanted his to see his life and he wanted to squeeze everything he had into time with them. MK grew closer and closer to his family. He knew by the time his Baba and Mama woke up, the time he spent with his Dad, Papa, Sandy and Mei would be a grain of sand in an an hourglass, but he didn’t care. It was his family.

It felt like centuries already when 7 years passed since they found out, and 10 since his Mama and Baba went to sleep. He hoped that was a good sign. His Dads noodle shop only grew bigger and they made more money. MK even offered to move out to make room for having more guests. MK was basically 34 years old and still living with them but they denied the notion. They said he’d have years to lived outside their house, they wanted him there.

MK didn’t argue.

He and Redson took it slow, but in mortal terms, which might’ve been fast for Demons but Redson nor his family said anything about it. After the first five years of their relationship, they spent a spent together, they both were new to it but it was a night they both enjoyed and never regretted.

After 15 years, they got married. MK knew it might’ve been a little fast. After all his Mama and Baba were engaged for… what 2,000 years before they married? But MK wanted his Dad and Papa to see him get married and Redson agreed that was a good idea. He didn’t mention that his mother had been pestering him for over a decade about getting married and having children with MK.

His Dad and Redson had already spent time together, they were close. But they only got closer when they started cooking together. Now they’d have family cooking nights where MK, Redson, and Pigsy, would cook a big meal and they’d all eat as family. More often than they’d expected, Redson’s family would also come, and DBK would join in cooking.

Those nights were MK’s favorite, his entire family was together.

Somehow in all his packed time with family, he still visited his Mama and Baba at the mountain, while he knew they likely wouldn’t wake up for another ten centuries. He still wanted to visit, talk to them even if they probably couldn’t hear him.

As his family got older, he valued the time more and more. He planned to take over the Noodle Shop. Not out of some obligation or anything. His Dad and Papa had made sure he knew that they wouldn’t be upset if he chose to do something else. He wanted to take on the business. It was his entire life, his first meal, his home. He wanted to live there forever.

MK took care of his parents when they got older. He wanted to, they took him in as a kid and they had a pretty substantial amount of saving to help with these delicate years. Pigsy, despite always talking about having a ‘Noodle Empire’, never bothered to expand. He was content with one shop, one building, one family.

MK hired more trained professionals, of course, to help him as the years passed. He wasn’t a nurse and elderly people had a lot of health concerns that he wasn’t trained to be able to accommodate. But he still did most of it, he learned to do it.

Mei got older too, she got a job as a professional racer. She was happy and MK made sure she practiced safe driving. He wasn’t about to let his best friend die in a fiery crash. That would be cringe of her.

Sandy got older too, and as his own years passed he began to coach MK through that, how to handle grief and understand death without fearing it. How it was natural and how it wasn’t the end. It was only a bridge to new beginnings. Sandy taught MK that life wasn’t about avoiding death, it was about enjoying the time we have. About forming connections and understanding each other. Death was inevitable, yes, but life was also inevitable.

Almost every single creature on earth would make at least one meaningful connection. It was simple math. We are born from someone and that very person is often our first relationship, and earth isn’t even close to being underpopulated. To live a life on earth and not make one single connection was a statistical wonder. It would take effort. Humans especially were inherently social creatures, they hunted in groups in the beginning of the species and now they lived in cities and villages with thriving cultures and family. The purpose of life, Sandy told him, was to give life a purpose.

MK buried Tang first, he was fully human and even though he was younger than Pigsy, demons just simply had a longer lifespan. It was peaceful, without pain or sadness. MK brought Pigsy to the grave to visit everyday, he replace the flowers at the first sign of wilt, lit incense and talked with Pigsy to Tang. It was comforting that they had more confirmation than other mortals often did that there was an afterlife.

MK mourned, Pigsy mourned, everyone mourned. Tang was a good man, he had a heart that was bigger than himself and an intellect to match. He always sought to understand the people around him and see the best in others.

Pigsy didn’t live much long after, he was older than Tang and the two of them were just barely older than Sandy. MK made sure they were buried together. Even if they weren’t alive in those bodies, they had stuck together longer than MK had been alive at that point and he wanted them to stay together long after they departed.

Sandy helped him grieve, though it was made significantly easier with the therapy before the deaths. It was more practice than anything.

MK continued to make human connections. He didn’t let his immortality swallow him. He learned that life was precious and even Redson began to grow friendly with a handful of mortals.

True to his word, MK took over the noodle shop with Redson. It was a family business and Redson had been apart of the family longer than they had been married.

Mei stayed close, she was a well known racer and she was a near expert at it, but she wanted to live in Megapolis. Her family was there, biologically and emotionally. She spent a lot of time with MK and Redson, the three of them were inseparable and even if she couldn’t cook she still had much to offer. She had humor and company and family.

Sandy encouraged MK to continue therapy after his passing, the kid was very stable and had a good support system, but therapy was always a good decision. It helps and it’s better to keep it up, rather than to wait for a catalyst and need more extensive help. Waiting until some breaking point would only make issues worse and take longer to deal with. It’s always a better decision to refine something than wait till it breaks to repair it.

MK mourned when he buried Sandy, of course he did. Sandy was an important figure in his life, he helped him through so much. But he also knew how to continue with himself. Sandy had taught him well.

Redson and Mk took a long time to have kids, not because they couldn’t but because MK had a small fear that he would get stuck in a thousand year rest like his family. But with patience and a heap of therapy, they decided to have one. MK was a little sad his parents couldn’t meet their grandchild but MK knew his parents would rather him be happy than to rush his life just to have them see it.

MK decided on his own that he wanted to carry the child. He didn’t want to follow the egg route, he wanted children but he didn’t want to miss out on a millennia just to have baby. Not that his parents were less for choosing to do that. He knew they wouldn’t have done this on purpose.

So they began to try for a baby, much to Mei’s teasing. It didn’t take long for them to conceive and 9 months later they brought the cutest little boy into the world. Redson and MK ended up naming him a classic name for triumph or victory, Kai. When the baby finally opened his eyes, they were like a mirror image of Redson’s, deep red like dark fire, like the fire he created.

There was some worry among them that Kai would end up creating a second Samadhi Fire like Redson. So they made him a necklace with a pendant carving with a bull and a monkey surrounded by fire. One the back was written three things.

小宝宝(xiǎo bǎobǎo), meaning "little baby."

火焰猴 (huǒyàn hòu), meaning “flaming monkey.”

凯旋 (kǎixuán), meaning “triumph.”

When Kai was born they had a baby shower soon after, it was nice. Life was good for them. They felt at peace, life was going.

MK was still taking care of Flower fruit Mountain, after all, their king was incapacitated, which kinda made him acting leader, then again they were monkeys and they managed to be alright before, but he liked to visit and keep the place nice and clean.

Kai got older, and while he had intense fire power, he hadn’t created a second reality burning fire yet. So they were a bit calmer about the matter. Mei loved the little guy. He was irresistibly cute.

Kai aged slower too, his infancy last almost 5 years. He was a toddler for 10 years. It only grew slower but never old. Before long he was a kid, looking about 8 or 9.

Mei got a bit more time than the rest, she aged slow because of her dragon heritage but she was far from fully draconic. So time did what it does, and Mei passed away. MK and Redson mourned her, that part would never be in question, they buried her with honor, just like the rest. Kai missed her, she was his auntie, Mei took him on motorcycle rides and he watched the old Monkey King movies with her.

Kai was raised knowing the history of his grandparents, he visited Flower Fruit Mountain with his parents and for the first few years of visits he would play with the other cubs and monkeys, eating fruit and roughhousing.

After the first few years, Kai began to stay by his parents, ever curious about what they talked about with two men who probably couldn’t hear them.

After a while he came to realize they talked because they cared. Because even if there was a slight chance that they could hear them, then it was worth it. That’s why he started doing it more, he talked to Mei when they visited her grave and even his other grandparents as well as Sandy. He didn’t meet them, but he wanted them to know him.

Before they knew it, 100 years had passed since Wukong and Macaque went under. Kai was a tween and he was making friends. Both immortal and human. MK and Redson taught him at home, that how both of them knew it and they both turned out okay.

MK and Redson had made friends as well that had also died but they had other families to bury them, he still visited, he cared for them no less. That’s how it continued.

Megapolis grew around them, not big, the city was already pretty good, but trees get bigger and buildings change, even just slightly. They all fell into a bit of a routine, a pleasant one that always seemed to find new ways to keep them from boring to death.

Pigsy’s Noodles continued to remain one of the best restaurants in the city and it stayed a staple of Megapolis. It brought in amazing business and good money.

Demons were becoming more and more integrated into daily life, MK and Redson obviously participated heavily in that, earning a reputation for their acceptance, though to them it was basic decency.

Demons were beginning to become more and more accepting as generations progressed and less of them were driven to crime because of it. They were getting help and proper healthcare instead of being shunned to the corners of society’s shadows. MK found himself acting in a hero role less and less, which he found himself proud of. It meant he did a good job.

By the 9th century, demons were everywhere, they were apart of the culture and everyone grew better because of it. More and more of Megapolis became accessible to everyone, literature became richer and fuller, education and intelligence rates of the schools and districts surrounding them began to rise.

Megapolis was quickly becoming a growing community of vibrant individuals and friends. MK found comfort in the fact that Sandy, his Dad and Papa, would be proud of the world that this was becoming.

MK hadn’t even realized how long it had been since his parents fell asleep growing the egg.

Before long, Kai was an elder teenager, nearly a thousand years old.

MK, Redson and Kai were at the mountain, Red had gone to tidy up the house and make sure everything was ready, even if they thought they weren’t even close to when MK’s parents would wake up. It was still routine. MK was training with Kai, something they had started a hundred odd years ago.

That’s when a bright light came from the mountaintop where Macaque, Wukong and the egg were. MK halted in his step and Kai nearly tackled him before he realized.

Wukong woke with a start, the spell had fallen around them moment ago and Macaque woke up at the same time as him. They both look toward to egg, only to see a little monkey cub in its place.

Their Baby

Wukong and Macaque cried with joy and they both gathered the cub into their arms.

That was until they notice how big the tree near them had gotten, and the vines growing in the rocks, evidence of more age than they expected.

How long had they been out?

That’s when they heard it. A voice, not their sons. Not MK’s but one that called for his Dad.

The boy called for his Papa, urging him to wait for his Dad. He sounded worried but Wukong didn’t care for details. If there was an intruder he needed to protect his cub. He pulled his staff out of his ear. And held it ready.

With a clang, the staff dropped when he saw his own son, his adult son standing there instead of the younger man they remembered him being. Both of their heart sank, tears welled up in their eyes as they realized.

How long has it been, they wanted to ask. But their son, a millennium older and wiser, answered before they could.

One thousand fifty years, he said. The two men were horrified at that answer. They’d been asleep that long? That was a terrifying notion.

Their world only grew harder to believe when a teenager in a red shirt, soon followed by Redson, appeared up the mountain. Redson was shocked and came to MK’s side. Wukong covered his mouth for a moment, slowly connecting the dots that the teenager was his grandson.

Macaque looked worried that their son would hate them for this, that fear melted when MK ran to them and hugged them tightly, careful not to hurt the baby.

Macaque and Wukong hugged their son back and Redson guided his son toward the cuddle pile.

MK rambled about the past millennia to his waking parents for a while before explaining that they had gotten married and had a son. MK looked toward Kai, motioning for him to introduce himself.

“Hello… I’m Kai, I’m your grandson.”

THE END(?)

Tags: @kyri45 (the creator of the comic that inspired this!) @ainnur @iglowinggemma28 @autism-autobot

[bullet-prooflove]

Ivy: Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julessworldd @yousigned-upforthis @travelingmypassion @julius-ceasar

Prequel piece to:

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Slut (NSFW) - Frank gets a little bratty after a bad day.

Nightmare Fuel - Frank's been waiting for the fall to come.

Boo Fucking Hoo - Your forced to defend yourself after you're attacked outside the hospital.

Until now Frank has never considered a tattoo.

He’s always been appreciative of your artwork. The nights he spent tangled up in you, his fingers tracing over the intricate Greek mythology scenes etched into your skin.

Medusa carved in stone on your left bicep as a representation of the work you do as a SANE. Persephone and Pandora’s jar nestled on a bed of roses on your right. Theres five others hidden in different places all over your body and he’s kissed every single one of them as he’s learned their stories, each one filled with meaning.

The only thing in Frank’s life that’s ever held any meaning was you, which is why he’s sitting in a tattoo shop, his shirt hanging open as he stares up at the ornate design on the ceiling. The tattoo artist presses the stencil to his chest, his palm soothing down the ivy wreath design that rests right above his heart.

Growth, tenacity, resilience.

All traits that remind him of you, all the traits he’s going to need on his road to recovery because he’s three months sober and he’s only just now coming to terms with the fact he’s lost the love of his life because of his addiction.

“You ready?” The artist asks him, picking up the rotary pen before dipping it into the ink.

“Yea.” Frank says, shifting in the seat, he slinging his arm up over his head. “I’m ready.”

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