#every morning he finds something to lecture me about and i’m just

[revengeghoulette]

Matcha Latte w/Rose

Part 2: The Date

They go on their date!!

A/N: Bit of a time skip. It's not like the best thing I've written, but it'll do :) It gets a little steamy but not enough to be considered Spicy. Mostly edited.

WC: 3k

Sorry in advanced, you'll see. -Rev.

Playlist: The Rosy Crown

tagging: @obsidianghoul (ily, sorry I banned you), @sovaghoul @gottagho-st @clouds-bitch @crystalameoba @cheerycherrycandy-resurrected @foxybouquet @ghostlylivres @hypnoneghoul

It’s been almost 3 weeks since Swiss asked Mountain out on a date, and preparations for the midterm rush at The Rosy Crown are in full swing. Mist, Sunny and Swiss have been organizing the schedule to ensure that last year's snafu doesn’t occur again. They accidentally left The Rosy Crown with no staff for about 3 hours in the middle of the night, and they also ran out of flour and butter. They promised that moving forward reparations would begin several weeks before exam weeks to avoid any issues the week of.  

Mountain has been busy with office hours, lectures, and a garden club he offered to be an advising faculty member for. He tries his hardest to make sure to be at the cafe before Swiss’ shift ends so they can walk home together, but there’s been a handful of nights where he doesn’t make it. He regrets assigning so much homework. He makes a mental note to adjust the workload for next semester, especially since he’ll be teaching two additional courses. 

On the nights Mountain can’t make it to the cafe, he shoots Swiss a message to let him know so he doesn’t worry. If it's truly a rough day, he forgets all together. 

Swiss will do anything to spend time with his favorite person. He happily walks to campus with some snacks and a warm drink, to find him buried in stacks of papers gripping a red pen. He takes a seat on one of the comfy chairs Mountain has in his office, and reads the random magazines he has lying around.  

“Is gardening like your favorite thing to do, or what? You’ve got so many magazines here about greenhouses and what not, and you’ve got a little gardening gang now,” Swiss questions, laughing at the end, referring to the gardening club.

“It's… yeah. You know how we, ghouls, have an element attached to us? I’m an earth ghoul, hence the name Mountain. I have a special connection with the earth, so, yeah, gardening, and all things nature,” Mountain informs him.

“Oh, I guess I never really thought about it. I know we have ties to elements, but my parents weren’t very into that, I guess? They tried to assimilate more to the human culture, so we didn’t lean into it.”

After a moment, Swiss began getting a little antsy, distracting Mountain, “Honey, what is it? You're getting fidgety.”

Swiss blushes at hearing the earth ghoul call him honey. “Would you… help me connect with my elements? According to my parents, I have a mix of them. It's where my name came from, actually.”

Mountain sets down his pen and removes his glasses. “Wait. Swiss… Like, Swissarmy knife? Because you’re a multi ghoul.”

Swiss nods slowly. 

Mountain lets out a hearty chuckle, “That’s very cute, but absolutely, it would be my pleasure. I’m done here though. Why don’t we pick up some food and go home?”

Standing up from his chair, Swiss grabs Mountain’s coat and helps him put it on before walking out the door hand in hand. 

Swiss and Mountain have only been going out for a few short weeks, but their connection is so much more than typical crush. They have routines, they call each other during downtime just to say hello, Mountain continues to stop by The Rosy Crown every morning, and Swiss helps Mountain with grading or understanding typical young adult behavior. It seems like neither of them can spend the night alone anymore. There’s something tugging them together. 

They haven’t had their first official date, but all the hang outs are everything and more. 

‐

With midterms week upon them, Swiss, Mist and Sunny have been living at The Rosy Crown filling in for their student staff. Mountain has been at the shop every single day volunteering to help bus tables, or go around and restock supplies and books. 

Mist has gotten on his case multiple times about it before, claiming that it's not his job, that he’s probably breaking some sort of labor law by helping them. Mountain assures her it falls under volunteer work and she doesn't need to worry. Swiss admires that Mountain puts up with Mist’s fighting spirit and constantly thanks him for helping, but reassures him he doesn’t have to.

“I do it because I want to. No one’s forcing me to be here.” Mountain reassures him back. With a quick kiss on the forehead, they go back to their duties. 

Ever the creep, Sunny watches them interact. She’s never seen Swiss be so enthralled by another being before. He’s putty in Mountain’s hands. The forehead kiss sent her over the edge. 

He walks past her, and she takes this opportunity to corner him, “Dude. What the fuck. Where did you find him? He’s amazing! And he’s been so much help! Please tell me you’re gonna dick him down soon! Omg, does he have a sister?”

Swiss grabs Sunny by the arms and shakes her playfully. “Sunny, breathe. Calm down! He’s pretty amazing, huh?” 

“Who knew the playboy would settle down,” she teased, earning a glare from Swiss. “I'd snatch him from you, but I like the ladies. They're not as stinky.” Sunny makes a disgusted face before cackling and running away from Swiss’ reach He grins, rolling his eyes at her antics. Who knew the calm quiet child would grow up to be anything but calm and quiet. 

-

After a rough week of long nights, The Rosy Crown closes the weekend after midterms. Students are mostly gone on spring break, and the staff is exhausted. Swiss gives everyone a long weekend to recover and start fresh on the following Wednesday. 

Mountain wakes up with Swiss’ arms around him. He takes a moment to admire the features on Swiss’ face, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and the horns protruding from his head. He was perfection incarnate. The gold flakes in his horns match the gold flakes in his eyes, his muscles defined by all the manual work he puts into baking, his tail wrapped around his own leg as if cuddling with him, there is no other ghoul that could match his beauty.  

He gets up quietly, placing the blanket over Swiss body, and goes to the living room. He knows Swiss isn’t waking up anytime soon, especially after the week they just had. Mountain brews a fresh pot of coffee and takes a seat on the couch, wrapping a blanket over himself. The air is getting crisper with the approaching winter, he can feel it in his bones, and see it in his hair. He's luckily able to glamour that. He picks up a random book Swiss has lying about, and begins to read it while he waits for sleeping beauty to wake up.

In the other room, Swiss wakes up alone. He feels around for Mountain, but he doesn’t find him. Groggy, he gets up and sees he's reading the book Mist said was good, but truth is… It’s trash. The writing is terrible, but the smut is hot. 

He wanted to stare at Mountain forever, but he was getting chilly and he looked so warm. Swiss quietly makes his way over before crawling on top of Mount, startling him. 

“Good morning sweetheart,” Mountain sets the book down, rubbing his hands up and down Swiss’ back while his face was smushed against him lower belly. He mumbled something in response, but Mountain couldn’t make it out. 

They adjusted themselves so that Swiss was underneath the blanket, cuddling Mountain on the couch. Sleeping beauty dozed off, and Mountain picked up the book again. After a little while, Swiss started to wake up again. Mount felt movement under him, so he set the book down and started rubbing the back of his finger up and down Swiss cheek gently. 

“You’re warm,” Swiss gets out in a groggy voice, snuggling further into Mountain. 

“Mm I know honey. I’m also hungry, and need more coffee. This book is lulling me back to sleep,” Swiss hums in agreement, “I’m gonna make us some breakfast, sweetheart.”

After they get up, Swiss warms up the coffee and starts to make breakfast for the both of them. Mountain complains because he was supposed to make breakfast, not the other way around, especially since he had a long week at the shop, but Swiss wasn’t having it. They argue back and forth for a little bit.

“I’m taking you on that date today. I’m picking you at 6,” Swiss announces as he places pancakes on a plate for Mountain.  

“Oh, thank you,” Mountain takes the plate. “Are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Nope, it’s a surprise. A little something I’ve been cooking up for a while,” Swiss says before taking a seat and cutting up his pancakes. “Wear something comfortable, and something you wouldn’t mind getting a little… dirty.”

“Are you going to explain?” the earth ghoul questions. 

“Nope,” Swiss says with a wink.

-

Swiss knocks on Mountain's door right at 6pm, not a minute early, not a minute late, exactly at 6. 

Mountain opens the door wearing a dark green Henley and black jeans. “Is this okay?” Mountain asks. 

Swiss is stunned, He just stared at Mountain for a little bit before stuttering out, “Oh, definitely. You look fantastic.” 

Swiss hands Mountain some flowers he picked up earlier that day. Placing them inside, Mountain locks up and walks down the steps, taking Swiss hand.  

“Where are we going?” The tall ghoul inquires. 

“Somewhere. Don’t worry about it sweetheart.”

After walking a few minutes down the road, they reach their destination: The Rosy Crown Cafe & Bookshop. Swiss lets go of Mountain’s hand and opens the door.

 “Swiss, what are we doing here?”

“We are on a date, my good sir. Come on.”

Swiss opens the doors and walks Mountain inside. It takes a moment for Mountain to take everything in. The blinds are all down, and there’s total privacy. Looking around, he sees strings of light are hung up, there’s a table with candles lit in the center and on either side there's a table placement and two dishes served. Soft music is playing in the background, creating a romantic, intimate space for them. 

“Swiss… how?”

“The ladies might have helped.” He smiles almost sheepishly up at the taller ghoul. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Swiss guides Mountain to the table, pulls out the chair for him before taking a seat himself. On the plate there is a serving of roasted potatoes, a kale asian salad, and a plate of creamy mushroom risotto with a fresh baked dinner roll on the side.

They dive into the meal prepared by Mist and Sunny. The earth ghoul talked about his uni work, biodegradable research projects amongst other things. Swiss cracked some jokes and delved more about his parents and his childhood. He grew up surrounded by humans and had very few interactions with ghouls. He met Sunny and Mist in elementary school and have been inseparable since then. They’re family, a pack, if you will. Mountain sips on his wine while watching Swiss enthusiastically tell stories from his childhood. 

As they finish their food, Swiss gathers their plates and sets them to the side, mentally noting to take care of them later. 

“I have something special planned for dessert, follow me,” Swiss stands up, and offers a hand to Mountain. He takes him to the kitchen, and ties an apron around him. 

“I want to ask what we're doing, but you’re not gonna tell me.” 

“You know me so well, but fine, I’ll tell you. We’re making cinnamon rolls.”

Swiss had pre-measured out the flour, cinnamon, butter, and the rest of the ingredients and placed them on the counter. 

“Oh, by 'we're making them' you mean I'm making them?!”

“Yes, but don’t worry, I’ll help.”

Swiss dumps the flour on the counter, forming a well in the center. “First, you’re going to incorporate a few things into the flour. Here,” Swiss hands Mountain a few things and he dumps them into the well. “Now mix them up using the fork, then make the well again.” 

Mountain does as he’s told. Swiss works on mixing the wet ingredients for him. “I’m going to slowly mix this in. First use the fork,” Swiss pours a small amount of the wet ingredients, making sure everything is incorporated before adding more. “Great, now use your fingers. Make your hand into a claw and mix it in. As it gets stickier, start to knead.  It’s going to get pretty sticky, but keep kneading. I still need to add in some more flour.”

Swiss stands back, watching Mountain mix the ingredients so gently, “You’re going to have to be a little rougher baby,” he states after dumping in a few more cups of flour.

Mountain starts to get tired from kneading since he’s been going at it for a few minutes. 

“Swiss, this is hard. I’m getting tired,” he complains. 

 That's not the only thing that's hard, Swiss mumbles under his breath. 

Swiss stands behind him, slightly pushing his hips against Mountain’s back, and helps him knead. Mountain turns his head back, they stare into each other's eyes for a second, and lean in, lips meeting at a feverish pace. 

“Let me take over Mount.” Swiss mumbles into the kiss. He quickly finished kneading the dough while Mountain stands behind him, kissing his neck, hands roaming his body, leaving a trail of flour and dried dough on his clothes, especially his ass.

Swiss sets the bowl with the dough aside, Mountain takes this as an opportunity to grab him and press him against the counter. He leans into Swiss, his ass pressing against the counter, he towers over Swiss for a moment before kissing him with all his might.

Swiss’ arms immediately go to the back of the Mountain’s head, pressing him closer to his mouth, fingers playing with his hair. Swiss pulls on his hair to see what kind of reaction he would get, and he got the best reaction possible. A moan escaped Mountain’s lips as his head was pulled back, foreheads joining after Mountain lets out a whine from Swiss still pulling his hair back. Mountain wanted nothing more to get Swiss naked right then and there.

“Mount…” Swiss whispers, fearing that if he spoke any louder, the moment would be ruined. 

“I'm gonna kiss you again.” Mountain announces in the same quiet tone. 

Mountain goes for Swiss neck, inhaling his scent before lightly kissing him in that little patch near his ear. He wants to bite, he knows and recognizes what this attraction is but Swiss doesn’t. He can't jump the gun and do something that could probably destroy their souls. 

Without realizing, he shakes his head, shaking the thoughts away, Swiss is too high on the love right now to catch Mountain's head shake. Instead, he moans when Mountain begins to kiss down the front of his neck to his collarbones. Tracing the outline of those delicate, sensitive bones. Swiss throws his head back, opening himself more for Mountain. His hands still tangled in his hair, tugging lightly every now and then. He leaves a few hickeys on Swiss collarbones before returning to his lips. Swiss feels Mountain's fangs when he slides his tongue into his mouth, both of them fighting for dominance. Mountain’s hands are gripping Swiss hips so tightly there's bound to be bruising tomorrow.

They hear a distant beeping that’s becoming louder and louder, then they realize it was the timer letting them know the dough was done proofing. Swiss pushes Mountain away softly. 

“Give me a second, and then we can continue, we should get these into the oven,” Swiss pants. 

Mountain, panting equally as hard, nods, but he doesn’t let go of him. He holds Swiss by the waist, continuing to kiss his neck while he rolls out the dough and spreads the cinnamon sugar butter on the dough before rolling and cutting them.

Placing the rolls into the oven, Swiss turns and continues to make out with Mountain. Without clearing out the counter, Mountain hoists Swiss up to the counter. The slightly shorter ghoul now towering over him. His hands start to roam underneath Swiss’ shirt, claws scratching lightly into his skin, enough to leave a faint raised line.

“Mount… more,” is all Swiss is able to get out. Mountain unbuttons part of Swiss shirt to give him access to his torso where he licks his V-line, tempted to go below his belt, but he stops himself. Maybe the coffee shop is not the place to suck his soul out through his dick. 

The timer goes off again letting them know the cinnamon rolls were done baking.

Mountain looks up at Swiss’ face, pleading with his eyes to not get off the counter. Swiss laughs and hops off, heading straight to the oven. 

“Would you mind grabbing the frosting from the fridge?”

Mountain nods and hands it to Swiss, who smears it on the warm cinnamon rolls, melting the frosting. 

Mountain discreetly adjusts himself and fixes his clothes before sitting on the bar. He can’t help but stare at the reminder of what occurred just moments ago. Hair messy, lips swollen, cheeks stained red, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, a few scattered small hickies, little red lines peeking through his opened shirt.  

Mountain swallows hard. He tries to contain himself and let Swiss finish setting up dessert. 

“A cinnamon roll for you, but before you eat it, I have a special drink I’d to make you”

Swiss brings out a jar with green powder, and a bamboo whisk. Pouring a little bit of hot water over the green powder he put in a mug and whisked it until slightly frothy. He goes to the steamer with some oat milk in a cup, steams it then pours it into the mug and pumps some flavoring into it. 

Mountain’s eyes follow him from one station to the next, until the drink is presented in front of him. 

“I present a matcha latte with oat milk and a hint of rose. Try it,” Swiss encourages. 

Mountain takes a sip and it's like tasting a garden. The rose flavor bring out the flavor of the matcha.

“Swiss, this is delicious. It's amazing. It’s comforting. It makes me feel all warm and safe. It tastes like… home, in a way.” 

“I call it the Mountain Special. I was hoping you'd like it.”

“I love it so much,” Mountain smiles so big. He lets out a moan as he bites into the warm roll, “so good.”

Swiss chuckles. Before him there’s a big ghoul with frosting dripping from the corners of his mouth. Using his thumb, Swiss cleans off the frosting before sucking it clean. 

“And I love you, Mountain.” 

-

After cleaning up the kitchen, Swiss walks Mountain back to his apartment, hoping to stay the night and finish what they started in the cafe.

“Thank you for the wonderful date, Swiss. I loved every moment of it. I adore you so much. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Mounty.”

“Um, I know you probably want to stay, but I… uh kinda need time to process tonight, if that’s okay,” he explains, twisting his fingers, obviously nervous of some sort of negative reaction.

Swiss is unsure of what to say. “Yeah, no, yeah, that’s okay! I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some rest.” He leans in to give him a kiss, but Mountain turns, his lips landing on his cheek.

“Thanks. Have a goodnight, Swiss, get home safely.” Mountain enters his apartment leaving Swiss confused outside. 

Staring into the darkness of his apartment, he closes his eyes, leans his back against the door. 

“Fuck.” 

He exhales as tears roll down his face. 

Part 3, soon, sorry

#revenge works #Matcha Latte #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost #ghost the band #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #mist ghoulette #sunny ghoulette #steamy make out session #angst? #barista swiss #professor mountain #coffee shop au #my fic #idk if that was a good dinner to serve but whatever #i dont go on dates

[tallysescape]

every morning is a fuckinf problem whag the fuck

#during aspec awareness week??? fr??? during my week????? #head in hands #vent in taagggsss #just pressing me on every little thing like i can’t have a pimple without him being on my fuckinf vase #case* #i’m perfectly fine w the scabs/scars all of that but like he just won’t shut upppp for two seconds #like it’s not my fault u decided to use that in court and now if it could backfire on u #doesn’t even understand why i do what i do #every morning he finds something to lecture me about and i’m just #dude #8am #why do you love to hear yourself talk this much #just swapped one for another jesus fucing christ #i could argue back i’ve got a ton of practice with that but he yells AND he hits stuff so #scary ig? mom used to just follow me around and talk at me and grab me and take my phone for months #but she never really got loud or that physical i wasn’t afraid of her i just hated her #shrugs #we love staving off panic attacks in homeroom

[theemporium]

may i request a quinn hughes fic, about them being neighbours (reader is a good 4 years younger than him) in the same apartment building (and think the others cute), see eachother in the elevators all the time, but eventually they talk and boom bam you picture the rest

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

After one of the worst days of your life, it shouldn’t have surprised you that the universe would pick today of all days for your cute neighbour to catch you outside your apartment.

If it had been any other day, it would have been a funny situation you could have laughed at and maybe joked about. But it wasn’t any other day, it was today and today fucking sucked. From your alarm not working in the morning to missing the bus, to spilling coffee all over your notes in a lecture to getting yelled at during your shift at a local cafe. 

From the moment you woke up, everything seemed to be going wrong and you just wanted to crawl into bed, maybe indulge in a takeout and cry in bed with the hope that tomorrow would be better. Except, you had climbed the flights of stairs to your apartment (because of course the elevator was broken) only to find out you left your keys inside when you were rushing around that morning. And, according to the message from your landlord, the blacksmith wouldn’t be able to come out for another few hours. 

Which left you sitting against your apartment door, soaked to the bone because Vancouver weather was no joke, sniffling to yourself because an attempt to call your mother and cry to her failed when it rang into voicemail. 

So of course that was exactly how Quinn Hughes had to find you. 

“Are…are you okay?” 

Your head snapped up to find the boy standing a few feet away from you, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie with a gym bag over his shoulder. He looked ridiculously cute in the blue Canucks beanie on his head and the soft expression on his face as he took in your current state. 

“I got locked out,” you answered with a pathetic laugh because if you didn’t laugh, you would have cried. Again. 

“That isn’t what I asked,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I asked if you were okay.”

“Yeah, totally,” you scoffed, waving him off. “I’m so fine.” 

You waited for him to nod, accept your answer and make his way to his apartment a few doors down. Instead, you were surprised to find him dumping his bag on the floor and settling against the wall across from you as he sat on the floor.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” he admitted with a sheepish expression.

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” you snorted.

His cheeks burned a little. “No, I didn’t mean like that—” But he stopped when you snickered a little, something in his chest easing at the sound. “I just meant you aren’t smiling properly.”

You raised your brows. “Smiling properly?”

“Yeah, your smile seems fake. Usually you have these big smiles on your face whenever I see you,” Quinn confessed. 

“Maybe those are reserved just for you,” you said the words before you could stop them, your face burning even hotter. 

“I would hope so,” Quinn retorted. 

You pressed your lips together, trying to resist the urge to let one of those massive smiles take over your face. However, the boy caught your attention again as he lightly nudged your leg with his foot.

“How about you wait at my place until the blacksmith comes?” Quinn asked, and despite the bravado a captain should have, he looked a bit nervous. “I’ll give you some clothes to change into before you catch a cold.”

You started shaking your head. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he answered quickly. “I want to help.”

Your gaze softened. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he said as he moved to stand up again, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder before stretching his hand out to help you up. “And in return, maybe you can tell me what happened to make it look like you went through a war zone.”

“Way to charm a girl, Hughes,” you snorted.

“It seems to be working alright so far,” he countered, a cheesy grin on his face as he pulled you towards his apartment, not quite ready to let go of your hand just yet. But neither were you.

.

#quinn hughes #nhl #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

[viranellee]

i know our mornings (were as good as it ever could be)

synopsis: eddie thinks he's doing a pretty good job at hiding his relationship with the youngest dunne sister. until he isn't.

warnings: smut, dirty talk, usage of alcohol & drugs, billy dunne

a/n: thank you so much for the love on the previous eddie post! this is shit but it's eddie smut and that's all that matters

⁠♡

It all happens so fast you think you’ve imagined it - one minute you’re snorting your (fourth, maybe fifth) line of coke and reaching for another glass of beer, and the next you’re being pulled by your belt loops until you can breathe in the fresh evening air through your slightly powdery nostrils. You’re still looking down at your feet, hands outstretched and trying to regain your balance, which is a surprisingly hard thing to do using a coked-up brain, when the mystery assailant, probably Billy, starts speaking. You sigh and brace yourself for yet another lecture.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Welp, that’s definitely not Billy. You don’t know if you should be happy about it or not.

You look up and meet Eddie’s eyes, his eyebrows so furrowed that the annoyed wrinkle between them is especially pronounced - you want to reach out and smooth it out with your fingers, you want to tell him that as hot as he looks when he’s pissed off, he shouldn’t be getting wrinkles this early on. You don’t do any of that.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You respond instead, putting a hand on your hip with such force that you make yourself stumble a little bit. In the blink of an eye, Eddie is holding you by the waist, concerned, and you pray to every single entity out there to just make the goddamn sequin dress separating your bodies disappear into thin air, simply to feel his large hands against your skin. “I’m having fun.”

Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh and tilts your head upward, cleaning up the cocaine residue around your nose. A part of you finds it weirdly cute.

“Too much fun.” He tells you and you shake your head.

“I’ve seen you do, like, six lines one after another. You can’t just lecture me when you do the exact same thi-”

“That’s because I’m used to it, I can handle it.” Eddie interrupts, grabbing you by the chin gently. He’s looking at you right in the eyes, wanting to drive his point home, but all you can focus on is his lips. “You could barely handle a shot of whiskey before and now you’re drinking and doing lines like you’ve done it all your life.”

You roll your eyes, although you understand what he’s trying to say.

“Eds, just leave me alone. I’m not going to die or somethin’. I’m just having fun.” You defend yourself, but the hiccups in-between your words do absolutely nothing to convince the man in front of you.

In fact, something flashes in his eyes. It’s a look you see rarely, but one you recognize as the look he gets when he sets his mind to something. You don’t get to dwell too much on it, because he’s crouching and picking you up, and before you know it, you’re thrown over his shoulder with such ease it makes something at the bottom of your stomach flutter.

“Eddie, put me down, now! What are you doing!?” You protest and hit his back with your fists as hard as you can, waving your legs in the air. He doesn’t even flinch and instead places a hand on your calf and squeezes, a gesture you can only interpret as “calm the fuck down” - and something in you listens, despite the drugs and liquors in your system screaming at you to keep acting bratty.

You vaguely recognize Warren’s wolf-whistling at the pair of you, but you don’t pay him any attention - by the time he’s asked for your room key at the reception desk in that deep voice that drives you crazy and you’re in the luxurious elevator, you’re already half-asleep but still have enough leftover energy to complain.

"Can you put me down now? You’ve proved your point.”

In response, Eddie’s hand moves higher up your leg, slipping underneath your dress. You can feel yourself blushing as he starts drawing circles on your inner thigh.

“Hm, I really don’t think I have, sweetheart.” He tells you and you want to strangle him for knowing exactly what buttons to push to make you speechless.

The rest of the elevator ride is spent in torturous silence, as he absentmindedly drags his fingers across your skin and you stubbornly hold in your whimpers and gasps, because you’d rather die on the spot than have him know how sensitive his touch makes you.

Only he can make me feel like this, you think to yourself in a striking moment of clarity.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally arrive at your floor. Eddie confidently walks towards your room and opens it - as soon as the door closes, he strides over to the bed and gently drops you onto it. You’re looking at the ceiling, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time, as he removes your heels. When he stands up and kisses your forehead, ready to leave so you could get some sleep, you grab him by the collar.

Sleep is the last thing on your mind right now.

You kiss him hard, and he responds immediately - you feel his heart thumping when your chests press against each other, and you’re pretty sure he can feel yours too. He moans into your mouth when you tug on his hair and you feel like you’re on the brink of getting what you want - except, he pulls away from you. You look at him, confused, and when you reach out to try and bring his face towards you, he grabs your wrists in one hand.

“You’re drunk, sweetheart. We can’t.” He explains and you want to cry. Why did he have to be so thoughtful?

“But I want you.” You try and he just smiles at you, wide and toothy, as he stands up. You catch his hand. “Can you…can you at least sleep next to me? We don’t have to do anything, I just..."

He turns to look at you and you see surprise painted across his features. You open your mouth to take it back, tell him you don’t know what you’re talking about, play it off as the drugs talking, but he’s already dropping his jacket on the ground and getting into bed with you before you get the chance to say anything.

He opens his arms, inviting you to come closer and you gladly take the invitation.

"You're cold." You tell him when you lay your head on his chest and feel him wrapping his arms around you. He smells like cigarettes and citrus. It’s your favorite smell in the world.

“You’re hot.” He responds, grinning as he kisses the top of your head, and you giggle.

It’s the last thing you remember before you fall asleep.

—

You wake up horny. Not unusual by any means, considering you fell asleep horny and next to Eddie. Still, you know you can't ignore it for long.

As your eyes adjust to the sunlight pouring in through the windows, you feel Eddie, still asleep, wrapping a long arm around your waist and pulling you towards his chest. His gentle hums do nothing except fuel the growing need in you to have him. You decide to do just that.

Careful not to wake him, you slowly move down his body and when you reach the part you're craving the most, you greedily undo his belt like you're opening a Christmas present. You pull his jeans and boxers down at the same time, impatient, and immediately get to work.

You run your tongue from the tip to the base, savoring the shiver you receive in response. You do that a couple of times but as soon as you take him in your mouth, Eddie gasps and you know you've woken him up, because you feel a hand in your hair.

"Shit, baby, good mornin' to you too." He laughs and the rasp in his voice makes you throb.

You take him in deeper, tracing the vein in his shaft with your tongue and Eddie practically howls. Biting his lip, he buries his other hand in your hair too as the sounds of your gagging and his moaning overlap.

"I love this fucking mouth on my cock." He breathes out. "God, I can't get enough of you. Come 'ere."

You shake your head as you press open-mouthed kisses down the shaft.

"No, I want you to cum in my mouth." You declare stubbornly and he swears out loud at your words.

"I'll cum in that pretty little mouth as much as you want me to, but I need to be inside of you right now, baby, please." He almost begs and you look at him beneath your eyelashes.

He's panting heavily, his bottom lip slightly bloody because he bit it too hard, brown eyes glazed over and hair splayed out on the pillow beneath his head like a halo. He looks like a mess and it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen.

Well, how can you say no to that?

You crawl towards him and he grabs the dress you've slept in from yesterday and pushes it up your body, hastily trying to remove it. You help him and soon, the dress is a mere clothing item on the floor. Left in only your underwear, he licks his lips as his eyes look you over. If it was anyone else, you would have felt like a piece of meat being ogled at, but his look only turns you on even more.

You tug on his shirt, wanting it off, and he complies immediately.

As you climb into his lap and undo your bra, Eddie watches, mesmerized, when you start grinding on his cock like a woman starved, your tits bouncing along with every movement. In an attempt to tease him, you reach out to play with your nipples, but he smacks your hands away, shoves his face in your chest and starts worshiping your tits with such vigor you think you can cum from this alone.

"Eddie! Oh!" You mewl and he groans in response, tugging your underwear down your thighs. He rubs a finger against your folds and your head gently knocks against his when his finger glides right inside of you.

"So fuckin' warm and tight and all for me. Only for me." Eddie whispers, kissing your neck. You nod, burying your fingers in his tangled hair.

"Only for you. Always for you." You whisper in his ear and he exhales sharply, relieved, like he's being told something he never once thought would be true.

You don't even notice when one finger has become two, and two has become three in your haze of pleasure until Eddie pushes you down onto the bed, looking at you like you've hung the moon and stars. You smile at him and pull his face down to kiss him, and you can feel him chuckling against your lips. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you melt in his embrace. In response, Eddie grabs your hips, something you've noticed he really likes doing, and carefully enters you. You open your mouth in a silent scream, and he groans loudly, squeezing you so hard you're sure he'll give you yet another pair of bruises. You don't mind though, not at all.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Very much am, Roundtree."

---

"What did you just say?"

Warren laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

"Look man, I don't fuckin' know, all I'm saying is that I saw them leaving together."

It's quiet in the breakfast hall as Billy ponders on what to do.

"I get that she's our little sister, but she's grown up now. Even if she is, y'know, sleeping with him, why should that matter? I mean, it's Eddie, do you really think he'd do anything to hurt her?" Graham argues, gesturing with the utensils in his hands as he speaks.

Daisy and Karen nod in agreement.

"He's got a point, you know. I really don't think it's that big of a deal. They've got the hots for each other for a while now, too, it's only natural." Karen adds and Billy's mouth turns into a tight line as he death glares the uneaten toast on his plate.

"Good morning everyone!" Eddie greets his band members when you and him enter, suspiciously cheerful. Billy's glare only becomes more hateful.

"Morning." He greets with gritted teeth, carefully observing the way Eddie gallantly pulls out your chair first, before sitting on his own. Everyone else around him also seems to notice, if Daisy and Karen's quiet giggles and Warren and Graham clearing their throats were any indication.

"Aren't you going to get breakfast?" Graham questions and you smile innocently back at him.

"Nope, I've already eaten." You respond and Eddie adds a "I'm very full, actually."

Awkward silence descends on the table for a moment before Roy arrives as well.

"Hey, Roundtree." He starts, an accusatory finger pointed at the bassist's neck. "What kind of vampire were you fooling around with? Jesus Christ, son, look at the size of that thing."

A beat passes as Graham chokes on his water.

"Roundtree, you fucking son of a bitch, I'll kill you."

---

BILLY DUNNE: The prick was fucking my sister behind my back. Of course I decked him.

KAREN SIRKO: And people call women the emotional ones.

WARREN ROJAS: Dude, I thought I was hallucinating, for real.

DAISY JONES: So overdramatic.

GRAHAM DUNNE: [sighs]

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Worth it. [smiles]

#daisy jones & the six #daisy jones and the six #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree smut #eddie loving #billy dunne #graham dunne #warren rojas #karen sirko #daisy jones #djats fic #djats

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Nine

Here’s the thing. Like, on one hand, Paul loves teaching. But on the other hand, I honestly think he’d be a terrible teacher. He’s genuinely trying to explain songwriting to this kid, and all I’m getting is that I should be able to just look at a piano and it’ll give me whatever I want. “So it’s really just . . .” *plays Martha My Dear* “. . . and from there, you know, like, um, there’s no – unless you stop yourself – there’s no stopping yourself.” Yes, thank you, Professor McCartney. Very informative. Good thing you’re a gorgeous genius because not a word of that lecture made any sense. 

Seriously I am BEGging someone to write Paul and Ringo in the 20s as a cabaret duo! With Paul’s talents being songwriting, slutting it up, piano, and vocals and Ringo’s talents being tap-dancing, ventriloquist dummy impersonation, with the occasional piano, vocals, and sly winks. Maybe they meet George and John through organized crime, idk.

“They don’t just sort of come in your head, kind of thing?” “Yeah, sure. Fact, I had one this morning.” You know. As one does.

See, even Ringo’s on board with my plan. “Let’s make a silent movie.” And Paul. “In a club. That’s it. We’re in a band. We’re in a band, but we sell drugs.” And now they're stringing Paul up just for kicks. Maybe they could join the circus!

Literally the minute John starts being silly, Paul gets this fond look on his face and you can see the wheels turning like “quick, think of a way to get close to him.” And John’s into it. But they keep doing this seesaw thing and I can’t help but think how reminiscent it is of their dynamic as a whole. 

“I see you’ve given up smoking, Richie.” “Yes, I have.” Reminds me of that classic, “I don’t even smoke,” thing. Seems like five-hundred years ago.

PLEASE tell me Peter Sellers and Ringo had a torrid love affair during the filming of The Magic Christian. The way Peter touches Ringo’s hair and his face! Ringo being a gentleman and getting Peter a chair! And I mean there’s plenty of queer coding between them in the film.  

But also laughing my ass off at Peter’s reaction to their song-titles/lyrics/gibberish/other references code.

Yoko, you’re stone-cold and hilarious. “Or what we haven’t.” I honestly have mad respect for her complete disregard/disdain for the Beatles and their art only because that’s how they treat hers for the most part. But girl. You’re married to one of them. He genuinely does love them and what he does with them and you’ve got to respect that or go find someone else, you know?

Also, Paul does Not appreciate the attitude. “Or we’ll just sort of sit here and allow ourselves to be embarrassed. ‘Number nine . . .”

Aaand, just like that, Peter Sellers “must be off.” He lasted all of 1 minute 26 seconds. Weak. George and Ringo lasted fifteen years. 

MLH is literally that annoying person that asks you a serious question about yourself just so he can use you as a segue to talk about his problems.

John: just recovering from the day, you know. Yoko: from the night. John: embarrassed (you have no right, dude, you literally played your sex tape for everyone like two weeks ago) Paul: Did not want that image, thanks very much. 

It actually KILLS me though that we’ll never understand their code. Paul and Ringo will take it to their graves and no one else knows it and any footage like this we’ve got, and any code songs, will just be mostly uninterpretable for all time. 

Okay these few minutes here are soooo special to me. It’s John at his peak lovely, sweet, gentle, kind self. He makes a joke at which Paul can only nod darkly which makes John realize just how bad of a place Paul’s in. 

Paul wants them to get to work “achieve something every day.” But John knows he’s not in a good headspace to work and it’ll be shit and then Paul will spiral even more. So, he turns up the humor until Paul is sufficiently cheered. 

And then, he says. “Guitars? I thought that’s what they do.” And Paul’s stammering. “Oh, that is what they do, but–” John stands up, does a little head-tilt toward the instruments. “Come on, I’ll even show you about half a song I was writing. Come on.” That last in the tenderest, most coaxing voice. It’s just soooo. Like. We talk a lot about Paul ‘handling’ John, and he did. But John sure knows how to handle Paul.

I SO wish they’d have done something with “Madman”. It’s so fun!! Every single song in this era I will go to bat for, no question. 

Ringo’s little hug for Paul!!!! I can’t.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #get back

[goldfish-afterhours]

Genshin Characters During Finals Season (College AU)

Characters: Zhongli, Thoma, Venti, Xiao, Albedo, Bennett, Childe, Kaeya

Type/Genre: Bulleted headcanons, comedy

Warnings: Foul language, slightly suggestive humour/for comedic purposes

Zhongli

Calm and collected at first

As the days go by, Zhongli would start looking more and more like a tired dad

Walks around slightly frowning, bags under his eyes from all nighters, and clutching a mug of coffee so hard that people are afraid it’s gonna break, but even more afraid to tell him to be careful

Has heat compresses on the back of his neck and forehead to ease the headaches from the lack of sleep

Probably told Childe to shut the fuck up and mind your own business when he warned him about his cup

“Childe, if I do not kill this final I will kill you in its stead. Leave me be.”

Thoma

Probably part of one of those student care organizations that makes care packages for other students

His smile when he hands out the packages is so bright and healing it could bring back the dead

Always motivating his peers and tries to keep everyone’s spirits up

Offers to get everyone in the study group coffee

He’s not the best at school but he has a lot of friends that are willing to tutor him and do his assignments help him with his work

Likes to snack while he’s studying

“No giving up yet! Let’s take a snack break, you’ll think better with something in your belly.”

Venti

Chills at a coffee shop with a big friend group to “study”

They do jack shit

Probably spends more time staring at the drink menu than his exam notes

Grade A procrastinator, does all his homework the night before it’s due and studies for exams the morning of

Due tomorrow do tomorrow amiright

Always seems to do okay tho?? People wanna scold him for his bad study habits but he actually does okay in school so they can’t really say anything

Doesn’t study hard but parties 100x harder

“Come on, live a little! If your exam is at 2pm, you can just start studying at 9 tomorrow morning and you’ll be fine.”

Xiao

Pulls all nighter after all nighter after all nighter after all nighter after-

No one can ever find him during the day on campus or in his dorm—it’s like he despawned and just does not exist

Only time he is spotted by others is always at 3am in the morning like a cryptid and he looks like a zombie

He’s actually working a part time job along with going to classes and helping others with their work. An angry looking good boy.

Studies in the lecture halls by himself, blasting music as loud as he can on his headphones to keep himself awake

Mf going to go deaf is2g lower ur volume boi

“…hey. I’m getting a coffee, do you want one?”

Albedo

Plans his time meticulously. Has an extremely organized planner where he writes out exactly what he’s going to do at every hour of the day so he can maximize his week

Includes mealtimes, breaks, and poop times relaxation periods

Usually studies in his room, but for some reason people keep barging in on him to ask for study help so he has to find different hiding places to work in peace

So far, the best place has been the graduate students lounge. No he does not belong there, but no one questions him because it looks like he does

“If you really need my help, I have twenty seven and a half minutes between lunch and my bathroom break this Thursday. Come find me then.”

(Rejected quote: “What’s my masters in? No no, the only thing I’m a master of is your mom.”)

Bennett

The type of person to have the “please don’t talk to me I have work to do and if you talk to me I won’t stop” sign on his back while working in the library

Fell asleep while completing an assignment

Missed the midnight deadline for said assignment

Slept through the exam the next morning

At this point just let him sleep at least he won’t have to deal with it then

“That was a good nap…now I got the energy for my assignment and the exam!”

Childe

Would be a good student if he wasn’t bothering other people so often

Probably bakes when he’s stressed. His roommates are always awoken at 4 in the morning to the sound of the oven beeping and the heavenly smell of freshly baked cookies

Has a friendly rivalry with Zhongli. He always asks when Zhongli will be turning in an assignment, and what mark he’s aiming for for the final exam

Turns in the final paper at least a week before it’s due and aims for ten percent higher than Zhongli on the exam

If he needs bonus marks to reach that then so be it

Otherwise slacks off a bit

He’d be a really good student if he wasn’t so competitive with Zhongli all the time

“You good, Zhongles? You trying to squeeze a better grade out of that mug?”

Kaeya

This man probably used red bull as the liquid for his instant coffee

An absolute menace and loves messing with people

Tells them that the exam is on a whole other different thing than what they were studying for, or that the due date of a big assignment was changed

Nobody goes to him for help

If you do genuinely need help with a concept, though, he’s more than willing to help

Just make sure to provide adequate compensation for him ;)

By compensation I mean more red bull this man has drank 3 cans in ten minutes please stop him

“What? If they do shit, that only helps with our bellcurve, right? Their fault for trusting me anyways~”

#I was just being silly w albedos lol #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #Zhongli #Thoma #Childe #Kaeya #Bennett #albedo #venti #Xiao #fluff #funny #my writing

[rockingrobin69]

Routine

“Harry, wait, you’ve—your bloody jacket,” stopped him at the doorway with a roll of his eyes, this long-suffering look that failed to hide a smile. “Getting a little forgetful in our old age?”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, deliriously fond. “I wouldn’t have to rush out if someone didn’t take so long in the bathroom.”

“Did you believe all this happens naturally?” shaking his long, lovely hair in emphasis. Harry, who’d seen this trick a thousand times before, drank the sight hungrily: Harry, who’d seen Draco when he just woke up this morning, knew the statement for the rubbish it was.

“Cute. You’re stalling, and I’m going to be late.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Not exactly holding you here by the tie, am I.”

Disappointedly: “Hmm. I suppose not.” Rectifying immediately with a step closer, arms wrapping around Draco; inhaling deep the sharp smell of his aftershave, of his fancy face cream Harry still occasionally had to lick.

“Now who’s stalling,” but his voice was soft, punctuated with tiny kisses to his jaw. “Harry. You’ll be late. And you’ve got that lecture today, the one you kept droning on and on about.”

While he had one arm around Harry’s shoulders, a hand threading through his hair. “It’s only, I’m a little entangled here. See, I’ve got this partner who keeps insisting he’s not clingy.”

“Surely he’s not. Did you consider the fact you’re extremely touchable? And besides that he’s maybe a bit gone for you, and cannot be blamed. Not so early in the morning. What? Stop looking at me like that, you started it, and I wouldn’t take so long to wake up if you hadn’t insisted on staying up late last night, with your,” stopped to laugh, croaky and loud in Harry’s ear, to shake his head with his eyes all grey.

A burst of it in his chest, star-bright. “You love me,” Harry said, stupidly, helplessly happy.

“Shock and awe.”

“You love me,” grinning like a fool, crushing Draco closer by the hips, peppering his face with kisses: “you really do.”

“Every bloody morning,” but he was laughing too. “You’re a ridiculous man, Harry Potter.”

“And you still love me.”

Draco, in his arms, dramatic and fidgety. “And yet I somehow still do.”

“Darling,” giddy with it, rubbing his nose against Draco’s cold one. “You’re freezing. You should get back inside, get some sleep.”

“I would, only there’s this brute who won’t let me go.”

The thought of him back in bed, wrapped under a warm duvet was slightly devastating. Trying for a brave smile, “Well, did you consider you’re very touchable.”

“Am I? That’s news to me.”

A huff, and affection tearing through him, impossibly tight: “Right, okay,” forcing his hands away, his legs a step back. “I really have to go.”

“Wait,” Draco said, forehead crinkling, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

“You already brought me my jacket.”

“Fuck your jacket. Something actually important.”

“Oh!” sweeping him in his arms once again, delighting in the way his head tilted up, expectantly, for a kiss. In delivering one at a time, deliberate. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Draco allowed this for a moment longer, then pushed Harry away, flushed and awfully dear. “All right, off you go. Did you know you’re an utter sap.”

“Only for you.”

The long-suffering look. “Oh, the things one is willing to put up with.” But he stayed there, bracing a bare shoulder against the doorway, and it was morning-cold outside, and he couldn’t really hide the smile.

“Yes, poor you,” Harry said, and kissed him again just because.  

(Flufftober day 3. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

#drarry fic #just a collection of soft moments #this time: a morning #flufftober2023 #prompt: “Wait you love me?” - “I always have” #but make it routine. this gush of excitement when your partner of many years says the silliest things #when they love you. #isn't it always a bit of a surprise and a bit of a marvel #rockingrobin69 #600 words

[matthyeu]

you love mozart ― ktr.

pairing ⇢ kim taerae x gn!reader 

genre ⇢ angst, forbidden love, royal!au

warnings ⇢ slight violence, i find it kinda cliche but it’s cute

word count ⇢ 2.8k

synopsis ⇢ no one ever understood why a prince was so caught up in playing an instrument when there were people hired to play music, people like you. (part 2)

notes ⇢ this time on prince!zb1 who want to do everything but be a prince (ummm i just like royal aus ig??) + it is pertinent to my plans

a quick tune was all taerae needed before he started his mid-morning guitar session. it was really the only time he was allowed to practice his skills. early morning or late night would wake people, even when he tried not to. his father would always come into his room to lecture about the needs of other people before his outrageous need to play music. then during the day, he would be too busy doing other princely matters he didn’t even consider necessary. 

it was rare for him to let something distract him from his limited time to play; however, at the sound of another instrument’s melody, he couldn’t help but wonder who produced it. as far as he knew, the piano in the middle of the palace was for mere decoration, not use. there wasn’t even anyone who could play it!

but there you were, sitting at the piano bench and focusing on the sheet music in front of you. well, for the most of it. at some points you even closed your eyes, the movement of your fingers coming naturally to you as they produced music. 

“enjoy the music, son?”

he turned on his heel to meet his father’s gaze, the father who disapproved so greatly of his musical ambitions. 

“you’ve never cared for music, father. you always tell me i’m causing a ruckus when playing, so why hire someone to do the same. isn’t one of me already enough for you?” he pondered. 

“well, now that there is someone who can play–extremely well may i add–there should be no need for you to fiddle with your own instrument. leave it up to the professionals, the ones who actually spend their whole lives practicing to be able to play well. instead, do carry on with your own duties. more time means more things to be done.” 

as his father left, taerae could only look back at you, a slight jealousy growing in his eyes. how could someone be granted with a life where they were able to play music whenever they wanted? why was he granted a life of luxury and duties when he could have been like you? 

as much as he wanted to hate you for being able to live his dream, he couldn’t. how could he when you immediately stood up from the bench to bow upon opening your eyes and seeing him. he could tell you were kind, not someone he could hate for baseless reasons. 

“do you have a specific song you want to hear, your highness?” 

still, he could not face you so easily, for you still held a power he didn’t have, the only one he didn’t have. you held the power of freedom, the freedom to play music whenever you wanted to cheer people up, which was the only thing taerae ever wanted in his life. 

“no thank you. do carry on.” 

he walked away from you without another word. after all, if his father was using you as a means of diminishing his passion for music, it was in his best interest to not be discouraged by your musical ability. one day he would be like that too. 

it didn’t take very long for taerae to stop ignoring you. you sat at the piano day after day, playing music whenever anyone asked, whether it be the cleaners who wanted background music to work to or a visitor who wanted a warm welcome. it was hard to not become interested in the pianist who put everything into every note. 

that was why one week after your arrival, taerae couldn’t help but stand and watch you play as he was heading back to his room after a long day of meetings. he watched with a content smile on his face, taking in the music you played. you played more beautifully than any of the pianists he had seen in recitals. 

“your highness!” 

your exclamation forced his eyes open to see you standing in a stiff bow. a panic ensued in him, waving his hands around as if a sign to tell you it was alright. of course, you couldn’t see anything in your bowed state. 

“it’s far alright,” he attempted again with his voice, “it wasn’t my intent of scaring you. i was just enjoying the music. you can stand. no need to bow any longer.” 

upon command you shot back up, hands folded in front of you. you looked frightened, as if you were scared he would do something to you. taerae wouldn’t even think of doing anything. he admired having someone so similar to him in his home. 

“would you…like me to play something for you?” you hesitated, unable to look him in the eye. 

he tried giving you a reassuring smile that he was safe, but he didn’t know if that would reach your petrified state. “sure, that would be lovely.” 

immediately you went back to sitting on the piano bench, finger hovering over the keys to play. however, you didn’t begin playing right away. you seemed to be in deep thought about something, probably what you wanted to play for him. in the end, you couldn’t decide, and instead, asked a question to help. 

“do you prefer beethoven or mozart?” 

he chuckled at your nervous question, but answered quickly to ease those nerves. “i prefer beethoven.” 

you quickly flipped through your book of sheet music, trying to find the perfect piece to play to him. though, your frantic hands did make you drop several sheets, which made you even more panicked. 

taerae understood how you felt though. most people were nervous in the presence of royalty. he tried to make conversation, so you could feel a little more comfortable around him. after all, he wanted to know more about how your pursuit of your career came about. 

“how about you, whose pieces do you prefer?” he asked as you finally pulled the appropriate sheet music on the music rack. 

“me?” 

he nodded, “yes, who do you prefer out of beethoven and mozart?” 

you thought about it for a moment as you placed your hands on the appropriate keys to start the piece. “well, i prefer mozart. i think his pieces tend to be more fun than beethoven’s.” 

taerae’s smile widened seeing as you began to feel less tense around him, so he let you play. as you played, he recognized the melody more. you were playing one of his favorite pieces. 

“tempest,” he finally said once you paused your hands. 

you nodded. “i just thought you’d appreciate that one. a lot of people have asked me to play moonlight sonata, so i wanted to change it up a bit.” 

“sonata no. 17 is one of my favorites actually, especially the movement you played.” 

“really?” you asked, now turning to him, “do you enjoy classical music?” 

“very much,” he confirmed, “my father tries to get me out to recitals, hoping that listening to music would rid me of my need to play myself. it has only strengthened it.” 

“play? are you a pianist?” 

he shook his head. “no i could never play the piano. i like playing guitar when i find the time to.” 

“i’m sure you’re amazing for what time you have. i imagine it’s quite difficult to have time for yourself when you’re preparing to take over a whole kingdom. it sounds a bit tedious with all the meetings and whatever else princes usually do in their lives.” 

he rolled his eyes while leaning on the piano. “believe me, it’s a whole lot of gibberish and things i probably won’t even remember a week from now. it’s so boring to sit around while people discuss things i have no say in yet as i’m in no position of power. i wish i had more allotted time to practice, but i’m always doing these things. even now, it’s quite hard when i have to play to myself.” 

“then, would you perhaps want to play for me?” you offered, “no one would question any noise if it came from here. besides, i could be the audience you wanted.” 

it was an offer taerae thought he would never receive, so he went straight to his room to retrieve his instrument. perhaps, having you around wasn’t the worst after all. 

the next few weeks were filled with a lot of things, mainly you playing beethoven for taerae and taerae playing some of his own pieces to you. 

you two had bonded over many things. you both had told many stories, stories that would be far too long to tell only over the short amount of time he had between his work. instead, he often invited you over to his room past dark, when everyone was sleep and could not catch the pianist sneaking into the prince’s room. 

mid-talk, taerae winced at the way you played with his fingers, the calluses on his fingers stung in contact with your hands. you hesitantly pulled your hands away, but he nodded as an indication that it was alright for you to continue. 

“i just want to be able to play more. the calluses have been in development, but because my schedule is so irregular, it always seems to pain me more than needed.” 

“you just have to give it time,” you explained, “eventually the calluses will help you play more frequently.” 

“that’s just it! i don’t have the time even if they have developed. my father has so many other plans for me that i feel these calluses will just be a pain in my hands when i have to do something else. i can’t play the guitar when i have so many other things to do,” he complained. 

by then, you had already dropped taerae’s hands to pay more attention to him. you had to think long and hard about his predicament, but you eventually came up with an answer: “you should just tell your father you want to be a guitarist.” 

he looked at you and then leaned back, trying to find some sign of joking in your expression. why would you encourage him to defy his own father? why were you encouraging him to go against the king? he found no sign of that, just your stoic expression staring back at him. 

“you’re insane, how could i–” 

“taerae.” 

he looked at you, the seriousness not burning in your eyes. those eyes knew he was hesitating. 

“you want to be a guitarist. you don’t want to fill your day with whatever princely duties there are,” you laid out, “you shouldn’t have to give up on your dream because of a life planned before you even had a say in it.”

he sighed, taking your hand into his and barely feeling the tenderness of your fingers. there were so many things you didn’t know about his life, and he didn’t want you encouraging things that were impossible. 

“it’s impossible. i can’t–” 

oh you loved to cut him off. “nothing is impossible. dreams are for you to follow, not for them to stay as dreams. if you love to do something, you should do it, even if there is something holding you back. this is your life and, you get to live it for yourself. this isn’t a life someone else dictates for you. you are your own person. you can make your own decisions. you can follow your dream if you believe you can. i believe you can.” 

he wanted to believe you, but there were so many things that could go wrong. he leaned in further to keep the conversation close and quiet. such a risky topic made him fear more that someone may be eavesdropping on you two. 

“i’m terrified,” he admitted, “i’m terrified about what would happen if i go against my father. i’m terrified i’ll be left alone in this world if i try to follow my dreams of being a guitarist. i’m just terrified.” 

you held his shoulders, leaning in yourself to try to calm him down. 

“you will not be alone,” you guaranteed, “you will always have me. i am a musician, and i am happy with what i’m doing. i’m not living a luxurious life, but i’m happy. i don’t want you to be living a life where you’re not happy.” 

it was hard to understand the words you were saying. the close proximity made taerae’s main focus your face, especially your lips. 

when you found him not paying attention to you, you made eye contact with him, soon mimicking his actions when you realized what had him preoccupied. 

without much thought, you two closed the gap between you two, lips against each other for a brief moment. for a moment, taerae felt like his worries had all washed away, like he was finally free from his life. 

however, it did have to end eventually when you abruptly pulled away, clearly shocked at your own actions. you couldn’t believe what you had done. 

“i should go,” you stammered, getting up from his bed, “i hope you’ll listen to my suggestion. i just want you to be happy.”

SLAP! 

holding his hand to his cheek, taerae stared at the king. it was a cruel reminder that before this man was a father, one who should accept the decisions of his child, he was the king, one who only cared about raising the perfect future ruler. 

“you are a prince, not a guitarist. your main job is to learn about the ways this kingdom is handled because it will be yours someday. you have no time to play a role you don’t fit.” 

when he remembered your words, he was able to fight back. “the role i don’t fit is not the guitarist. it’s the prince.” 

the king scoffed. “you can’t deny what’s in your blood. it’s who you are, who you were born as. you were foolish to think you could. why even try?” 

he was silent, not knowing what else to say. he did, however, find some courage to speak up more when he realized his father understood more about his thoughts. 

“the pianist…”

“what?” 

“that pianist is the one who ruined you!” 

no, he couldn’t pull you into this mess. you only pushed him. this was the dream he had always had. you had nothing to do with it. 

“father, stop! this is my own doing. don’t pull other people into it!” 

that didn’t stop the king. taerae desperately followed behind the fuming man, pleading for him to not accuse you of something you didn’t do. he knew what the king was capable of, and he didn’t want you to face the consequences of his actions. 

still, he was useless, thrown away by his own father before watching you be tormented by someone much more powerful than you. 

you who were so adamant about him following his dreams. you who were so passionate about defending a love for music. you who were so brave in his eyes. they all crumbled down at the sight of the angry king. him being thrown by his own father only enforced the nauseating feeling in your chest. 

he wanted to speak, to yell so badly, but there was a knot in his throat. the only communication he had was in his eyes. i’m sorry.

even through the fear in your eyes, you managed to send one back. it’s okay. 

“you were supposed to put out the flame that was his desire to play music on that dreaded instrument. you only fed it more kindling.” 

“i don’t what you’re talking about your–” 

“don’t even try to lie to me. i have gotten reports of your exchanges after his works, how you talk for times when he passes about music. i’ve heard the way you’ve played for him and only gave him more reason to love music. and now, there’s no need for you anymore because you’ve proven to me that there will only be trouble so long as you are here.” 

the king looked back at his son, an evil look in his eyes forming. taerae knew what was going to happen. 

“away with you.” 

upon orders, several soldiers and guards came to your side. when you struggled, they only put more force on you, using your own body weight to destroy what you loved the most. every part of you would soon be gone from the palace, both yourself and the piano you gave life to. it was all his fault. 

when he tried to reach you, there were more people holding them back. he was powerless. finally, he found the courage to talk again, the knot in his throat untying itself. 

“i’ll find you somehow!” he called out, “i will! even if it does take a hundred years, maybe even more. just remember! you love mozart. i love beethoven.” 

taerae meant it figuratively when he said he would continue searching for you even past a hundred years. he didn’t know it would really be around two hundred until he could hear you play the piano again. 

#🐨 ― matthyeu #zerobaseone #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 one-shots #kim taerae #zb1 taerae #kim taerae x reader #zb1 taerae x reader #kim taerae imagines #kim taerae one-shot #angst

[andiwriteordie]

Mike and Will get locked in the school library and have to wait until morning for the doors to open up, perhaps?

ok so not gonna lie, i am getting sleepy (lol me projecting by writing mike's sleepy self in the library), but listen, this one was SO fun. a little modern byler au here, set during their senior year of high school. featuring every byler's favorite poem by richard siken (starts at 19:54 on the link).

—

with a beautiful boy

“What if nobody finds us in here, Will?”

Will blinks, and he rolls over to look at his best friend in amusement. “There’s school tomorrow, Mike,” he reminds dryly. “First thing in the morning, Ms. Jean’s gonna come in and realize we’re in here, and we’ll get lectured or get detention or something for being stuck in here. But they’re gonna find us.”

Mike hums, and he lazily reaches for one of the books—one with a black and white picture of a man’s mouth and hand, titled CRUSH. He opens it up, absently thumbing through the pages; then, without saying another word, he sets the book on top of his face.

“Do you think if I just… let these books sit on my head I’ll absorb all their information through osmosis or something?” Mike asks, his voice muffled by the book on top of his face, and Will just snorts.

“I think you need to sleep,” Will corrects, nudging his best friend’s shoulder. “It’s 2 AM, Mike. If you’re tired, you should sleep. I told you I didn’t mind staying up alone.”

“And I told you,” Mike says stubbornly, “that if you’re staying up, then I’m staying up too. Besides, it’s kind of fun. You know I get stupid when I haven’t slept in a while.”

Once again, Will snorts, and he reaches over, lifting the book off Mike’s face. “You said it,” Will deadpans. “Not me.”

A soft laugh escapes Mike’s lips, and he closes his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice a little sleepy. “I know I did.”

“Mike,” Will laughs softly, nudging his best friend again. “If you’re tired, go to sleep.”

Mike lifts his middle finger up. “Don’t tell me what t’do, Byers,” he grumbles. “I’m fine.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

Mike just hums softly, and he taps his fingers absently against the carpeted floor of the library. “Hey, Will?”

“Hm?”

“Will you read to me?” Mike says, his voice soft, and Will blinks, looking at his best friend curiously.

“You want me to read to you?” Will repeats, just trying to make sure he heard Mike correctly. 

“Mhm.” Mike nods. 

“What, like a bedtime story or something?” Will asks dryly. “Is that what this is?”

“No,” Mike huffs, opening one eye and sticking his tongue out at Will. “I just… like your voice a lot. It’s pretty. So… you should read to me.”

Warmth rises to Will’s cheeks, and he looks away quickly, lest Mike see the stupid blush on his face. Yeah, Mike is definitely loopy right now, since he’s saying stuff like this. There’s no way in hell Mike would say any of this if he was in the right mind. He has no idea what he’s talking about.

Maybe a bedtime story would be good for him.

“Fine,” Will sighs reluctantly. “What do you want me to read?”

Once again, Mike hums. “Just read the book I grabbed,” he mumbles. “The one you’re holding right now.”

“Okay, okay,” Will sighs, and he sits up, absently flipping through the book and trying to find a poem that stands out to him. 

Finally, one of the poems jumps out to him, and Will swallows the lump in his throat. He… he can’t help but think back to the summer road trip he and the other Party members had gone on, just a couple months ago. The memory of sneaking away in the morning before the others had woken up and riding in the passenger seat of Mike’s car along the coastline feels burned into Will’s memory, and this poem feels like that memory—as if the poet tore open Will’s heart and mind and used his thoughts as inspiration.

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy,” Will begins to read softly, “and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired.”

Mike hums softly, and Will glances at his best friend, a tiny smile on his face. “You’re in a car with a beautiful boy,” Will continues, “and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist…”

Will’s heart pounds inside his chest, and he takes a shaky breath, staring down at the words. “And you feel your heart taking root in your body,” he murmurs, “like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.”

Once Will finishes reading the poem, the library goes silent. Neither one of them says a word, and all Will can do is stare at the words, reading them over and over again.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.

…

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him.

...

And you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

“Hey, Will?” Mike murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

Will swallows the lump in his throat, and he lowers the book, so he can look at his best friend. “Yeah?” he whispers back.

Mike’s eyes are still close, and he absently traces his finger across the carpet. “Have you ever felt like that before?” he asks softly, and Will’s brow furrows.

“Like… what?” Will asks hesitantly.

“Like how the poet did when he wrote that,” Mike answers without hesitation. His voice is still soft, and it grows even softer when he adds, “‘Cause… ‘cause I have.”

Will’s breath catches. He glances back down at the book. The words jump off the page at him.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.

“Yeah,” Will whispers back, hesitantly looking back up. “I… I have too.”

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him.

A tiny smile forms on Mike’s face, and he opens his eyes, looking sleepily at Will. “You should tell me about it sometime,” he whispers. “And I’ll tell you too… when I’m less sleepy. ‘Cause I… I don’t wanna wake up and realize this was a dream.”

There’s something so tender in Mike’s eyes, and Will can’t help but smile. “Okay,” he says softly, nodding at his best friend. “We can tell each other about… about what we’re thinking about, when you’re less sleepy. Deal?”

“Deal,” Mike promises, yawning softly. “I… I’m gonna sleep now. ‘m sorry.”

Will can’t help but laugh. “It’s okay,” he reassures. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you up before school starts.”

The smile on Mike’s face grows. “G’night, Will,” he mumbles, and he closes his eyes once more.

“Goodnight, Mike,” Will whispers back.

Within moments, Mike is fast asleep, and Will exhales, looking back down at the poetry book in his hands. His eyes land on the last lines of the poem, and Will can’t help but smile.

And you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

#andi's asks #byler #byler ficlet #andi writes not dies #okay so my personal headcanon for this ficlet is that #mike intentionally grabbed this book #having already read this poem will reads #and he does it in hopes of will reading that poem too #bc mike has that same feeling that will does about their little summertime car ride #ANYWHO.

[soleilceirinen]

Renaissance | teacher!Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader - Part 6

Summary: you are an Art History student in your last year at university. Cillian is your teacher. A/N: in this story Cillian is about 20 years older than the reader. Everything happens in an alternative universe where he is not an actor or famous, he doesn't have a wife or kids like in real life. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistake! Part 5 - Cillian Murphy Masterlist - Part 7

Unlike most people, you liked Mondays. To you, it meant the beginning of a new week, a reset. But this Monday was different and so far, you hated every second of it. 

After your kiss with Cillian last Friday, you decided not to go further that night so he drove you to your flat. Once there, you said goodbye with a bunch of tiny kisses and the promise to talk later but it never happened.

You had spent the weekend staring at your phone, waiting for a reply to the text you had sent him. It just said “Good morning!” and a flushed emoji but he never answered. So, considering his lack of response, you sent him an email with your project progress, to which he didn’t reply either. 

And now, you had been sitting in the classroom for forty minutes while listening to him talk about Margaret of Austria’s portrait collection. Forty minutes in which he didn’t look at your direction at all, as if you were invisible. 

You continued taking notes until the end of the lecture, breaking the paper sheet a couple times due to the pressure with which you were writing. When the other students had left the classroom, you walked to his desk to confront him. 

“Good morning, Cillian.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the papers and books scattered around his desk when he answered you.

“Mr. Murphy is the proper way to address me, miss Y/L/N. Can I help you with something?” 

You looked at him in disbelief. 

“Well, I texted you and you never said anything back, I was worried,” you admitted. He just shrugged dismissively.  

“There’s nothing to worry about. Do you need anything else?”

“Yes, Mr. Murphy,” you said bitterly, “I also sent you a few new pages of the project so you could review them and give me some feedback.”

Cillian sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“I looked over it, it’s okay but be careful with the paragraphs and the structure. If you need something else, my tutoring sessions are Tuesdays at 11 a.m. and Thursdays at 18 p.m., you can find me at my office.” He looked at you briefly, before saying “Have a nice day, miss Y/L/N.” 

You didn't know how to react to his sudden coldness so you frowned and left the classroom with the ghost of tears stinging your eyes.

The rest of the week went by the same way, with Cillian ignoring you and only addressing you to make a comment about your project. As far as you were concerned, you had no idea what could have caused that change in his attitude but it made you feel quite miserable, just to think of what could have been and wasn’t. 

After a long morning of lectures you were finally free to go and have lunch. You and Olivia had met to eat at a Japanese restaurant near the university. Once seated at your table, you noticed that she was quieter than usual. 

“So, how is everything going for you?” you asked. “Are you still seeing that guy, the artist?”

She frowned and shook her head. “No way. At least not after he painted my pussy on a 120 x 160 canvas and displayed it for everyone to see.”

“Well, I can tell you something, it was sold” you comforted her. “By the way, I thought you knew which part of you he was painting.”

Olivia groaned and hid her face in her arms. 

“He never told me, said it was a surprise. His favourite part of me, you know” she added, rolling her big eyes. “But let’s talk about something else, what about you? You look sad.”

You shrugged. “It’s nothing, I’m a bit overwhelmed with my final project but…” You stopped talking when you saw a group of people sit a couple of tables away. 

They were teachers, you realised since some of them had taught you in recent years, plus Cillian was among them. He also noticed your presence, you caught him looking at you but he immediately looked away. Olivia looked at you with half closed eyes and then she turned around to look at the teacher’s table. You grabbed her arm to make her stop.

“Don’t do that!”

“Why not?” she asked suspiciously while you tried to hide the fact that you were starting to blush. 

“That’s my final project tutor” you whispered. “Don’t look!”

Olivia made a face of annoyance at you. “If I can’t look, how am I supposed to know which one is your tutor? I’ll just take a little look, they won’t notice, I promise Y/N”, she assured. 

You nodded slightly, accepting the fact that they would notice anyway. “Okay. It’s the guy with blue eyes.”

After a failed, as expected, attempt to be subtle, Olivia focused again on you leaning on the table so that nobody else but you could hear her. “He’s handsome but he looks like he’s sucking on a lemon.”

You couldn't help but burst out laughing, narrowly avoiding choking on your soda. 

“Olivia!”

She giggled with you, satisfied with herself. 

“At least I made you smile.” 

The rest of the meal was uneventful, just you and Olivia catching up. It had been a long time since you had such a good time with your friend like this but sadly, it had to end. Otherwise, you wouldn’t get on time to work. Olivia led the way to the door, taking the opportunity to look closely at Cillian as she passed their table. You followed her, nodding in his direction as you walked past him. 

“Y/N”

You turned around slowly. Cillian was about to get up from the table, some of the teachers looked at you with curiosity and others with recognition. You smiled at them politely. 

“What is it, Mr. Murphy?”

“I need to talk to you”, he said. You wanted to slap him in the face, right on his stupidly perfect cheekbones. You felt your blood boiling with his audacity after ignoring you for a whole week 

“I’m sure it can wait until Monday, or you can send me an email. It’s very simple but I guess it’s up to you. Goodbye Mr. Murphy, have a nice weekend everyone.”

Later, you were sitting at the art gallery office with your final project opened on your laptop. On calm days like that, you used to take the opportunity and study. Maureen and Laura didn’t care about it. 

A knock on the door made you take your eyes away from the laptop screen. There was Maureen, with her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun while holding a plastic bag. 

“Good afternoon, Y/N. How are you?” 

“I’m fine, everything is quiet here. I was trying to write some more of my research but I think I’ll give up for today. What about you?”

She took a seat next to you and started searching for something in the bag while talking. 

“Don't get saturated, sometimes it is better to let a few days pass and return to the project with more energy and inspiration.”

You nodded in agreement. Then, Maureen took out a small photo album and started flipping through all the pages. 

“We want to make a video for the wedding with photos of us from when we were children and teenagers, you know, until we met. So yesterday I spent all day going through photo albums and came across this, I thought you might like to see it.”

She held a polaroid in front of you. Carefully, you took it and examined it in detail. In a handwriting that you recognised as Maureen’s, it said Summer ‘99. It wasn’t difficult to tell who they were since they looked the same, but younger.

“It’s you and Cillian” you stated. 

“We took that picture the summer after we graduated from university, we were about your age there.”

“So, you and him know each other really well or just as former classmates?” you wondered, still looking at the polaroid. She sighed. 

“We are very close, even though he likes to disappear from time to time.” She took out another picture and gave it to you, putting the other one back in the album. “You can keep that one, since you see Cill more than I do, you should have a chance to give it to him. It could bring back good memories, right?” 

You stared at the polaroid and nodded absentminded. From the corner of your eyes you saw Maureen get up after hearing Laura call her from the gallery, she gave you a little squeeze in the shoulder before disappearing. 

In the photograph was a young Cillian smiling from ear to ear, with messy hair and a sunburnt face, which surely would explain the amount of freckles he had now. Also, the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners was still the same, although more accentuated with the years. 

Despite all that had happened, you couldn’t help but feel a certain nostalgia. 

A sound coming from your laptop made you look, there was a new message from Cillian. He wanted to meet you in his office on Monday afternoon. Your answer was concise, just to let him know that you would be there.

Only then you were aware of the knot that had formed in your stomach. You were hoping for things to develop smoothly and go back to normal, as they were before that week. But just like it happened with your roommate Brad, deep inside you had the suspicion that what Cillian had to say wasn't good news.

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #teacher x student #reader insert #fanfic #cillian murphy imagine #alternate universe

[kess-in-the-perthchimzone]

Mini Fic: America

Kang finds out from Pimfah, who’s back in Bangkok for the week to see her family. She meets him at a cafe near the university for tea and slices of cake packed with jam and fresh strawberries. They find seats outside, where the sun is warm on his face. He’d been up late the night before, studying after his faculty football team practice. At first, he struggles to force himself to fully pay attention to her stories about exploring London — all the new restaurants she’s tried, the shops, the museums. Mostly, he tracks how much she’s smiling, and tries to hum at the appropriate times to show he’s listening.

Then, she says “Sailom” and it’s like everything snaps into immediate, sharp clarity. Suddenly her voice is the only thing he can focus on — even the sound of the traffic on the neighboring streets subsides. He sits up straighter, pushing his cup to the side.

“What was that?”

Pimfah raises an eyebrow at him. She doesn’t need to speak for him to know she wants to ask, ‘Weren’t you listening?’. Instead, she repeats herself, slowing down her words in a way that’s almost embarrassingly familiar.

“Why hasn’t Sailom accepted the fellowship yet?”

Okay, yes, that had been the word that confused Kang.

“What fellowship?” he asks.

**

The long wait for Sailom to get out of class is torture. Kang thinks he covers more distance pacing back and forth across the apartment than he usually does running laps at practice. By the time he finally grows tired, he can’t make himself read. He just sits on the edge of their bed, kicking his legs while he watches the door.

At the first sound of a key being inserted into the lock, he jumps to his feet. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. Has it always taken this long for Sailom to undo the deadbolt? His heart thumps in his chest as he watches for Sailom to push the door open.

When finally he steps inside, Sailom looks the same he usually does on weekdays — a little tired after a long day of classes, but handsome in his white button down and blue workshop shirt. For a few seconds, he doesn’t seem to realize Kang is home — which is fair, because technically Kang is supposed to be in a lecture right now. He drops his backpack on the ground just inside the door, stretches, arching his back, then continues further inside to set his keys on the kitchen island. Only then does he glance up and do a double-take.

“Did your class get cancelled?” Sailom asks. Before Kang can answer, Sailom steps forward to get a closer look at his face. His brow furrows before he adds, “What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you got offered a scholarship to study in America?” Kang asks. He barely recognizes his own voice.

They’ve been so good for years now. He hadn’t realized Sailom could still make him feel like this — like an outsider in their shared relationship; like he isn’t wanted or needed in Sailom’s life. For hours now, he’s been alternating between wanting to cry and fighting the urge to push all the books off his desk in one rough motion. Every thirty minutes or so, he’s had to remind himself that Sailom wouldn’t ever do something like move to America and never speak to him again. This morning, at least, he would have believed that absolutely.

As good as Sailom is at hiding his feelings, Kang knows him well enough to see the way he stills; the muscle that tics in his cheek. For anyone else, it would be the equivalent of a full flinch. It only further proves that Sailom hadn’t expected him to learn about this.

“Did Nubdao tell you?” Sailom guesses. He sounds even more tired than the puffy skin underneath his eyes suggests.

“That doesn’t matter!” Kang says, voice rising. “Why didn’t I find out from you?”

Sailom’s gaze falls to the floor. His shoulders hunch as he folds on himself the way he always does when he’s bracing to be hurt. Which is especially confusing because he’s the one hurting Kang.

“Because I’m going to turn it down,” Sailom says. “And I didn’t want you to convince me not to.”

Of everything he could have said, that would’ve been the last thing Kang expected. The restless vibration of his limbs abruptly ceases and the back of his foot hits the bed frame with a thump.

“What?” he asks.

“I can’t go to America for a year,” Sailom says.

Now Kang feels angry in a completely different way. “Is the scholarship not enough? If it’s about money, I can —“

“Kanghan,” Sailom warns, although his voice stays soft.

Kang abandons that track.

“Do you not want to go?” he asks instead.

He watches Sailom take a deep breath. Then, Sailom looks up again. The unmistakable sadness in his eyes makes a knot clench tightly in Kang’s gut.

After a long pause, Sailom says, “I do.”

Sometimes, Kang truly wishes he could shake an answer out of his boyfriend. He wants to wrestle Sailom down to the bed and force him to admit what he’s thinking.

“Then why are you saying no?” he asks.

For some reason, that question causes something like hurt to flash across Sailom’s face. But for how quickly he’s able to mask it, Kang hadn’t missed that glimpse of what rests underneath his neutral expression.

Sailom takes a deep breath. Then he admits, “Because I don’t want to be away from you for a year.”

After that he abruptly stops trying to control his face and stares defiantly at Kang, as if daring him to . . .

Daring him to what? Kang can’t begin to figure out what Sailom thinks he’s going to say here. They’re clearly running on completely different tracks.

“I’d go with you,” he says.

To him, that had been obvious — the only possible scenario where Sailom could go to America and Kang wouldn’t completely lose his mind — but at the words, Sailom shoots him a quick vulnerable look, eyes soft and dark under his lashes.

“But you’re doing so well in your program,” Sailom protests. “And you love your team.”

Kang shrugs. “They’ll be here in a year.”

“Kang,” Sailom says. “I can’t ask you to —“

“You’re not asking,” Kang says. If anything, this has only proved that Sailom would rather die than ask for something that would make him happy. “I’m offering.”

“But your family —“ Sailom begins.

“Will be excited you’re introducing me to a new culture,” Kang tells.

In truth, he thinks Grandma would box his ears if he let Sailom go off by himself for an entire year. He can hear her now warning him about leaving “her grandson” alone without anyone to make sure he’s eating enough.

That strikes Sailom unusually speechless. He gives Kang another glancing, shy look.

Before he can think of another protest, Kang switches languages. “We can practice our English.”

It’s been a year or two since he last spoke it aloud. He sounds noticeably rusty. But it makes a smile twitch at the corner of Sailom’s mouth even as he winces at some mispronunciation.

“You really want to?” Sailom asks.

“Yes!” Kang says.

Only then does the full extent of the tension Sailom had been carrying become apparent, because it evaporates instantly, leaving him looking so very young and happy as he grins at Kang.

“We’re going to America?” he checks, one final time.

“Together,” Kang says.

#kanghansailom #dangerous romance #kess sometimes writes fic not meta

[moronic-validity]

*tucks hair behind ear* hey totally unprompted but what would happen if Simon tried to leave Winter

*cracks knuckles* I’m so very glad you asked. In fact, some would argue you just asked the perfect question. So perfect in fact, that it gets its own mini-series; Stockholm Syndrome.

Consider this an au of the au I already created for the DWU lmao

this one is going to be 18+ and it will earn it. Not only that, but this one is going to have a lot of dark themes and really play into Winter's possessiveness and need for control by any means necessary. I will add warnings to the beginning of each chapter so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read them before diving in.

With that, please enjoy the first 600ish words of what will inevitably be a very long ride

The relationship wasn’t working. 

He didn’t even know how he could think it would. They were too similar, and he didn’t even like himself.

Every single annoying trait he had, Winter seemed to turn into a defining personality trait. 

The final straw was when he got home from a night out with Doctor Princess.

“Where have you been?” Winter called from atop his throne. 

Simon rolled his eyes, not having to deal with a lecture on breaking curfew since he was in high school, an entire lifetime ago.

“Winter, I was out with Doctor Princess, you knew we were going out drinking tonight,” he removed his jacket and draped it over his arm, preparing to go to bed with the man who had somehow become less his lover and more his roommate. 

“I think you owe me an apology, you are rather late,” Winter mindlessly twirled a hair around his finger, not noticing or caring that the other man was getting annoyed. 

“I’m a grown man, Winter, I don’t owe you an apology for being later than I had anticipated,” Simon placed a hand on the door that separated the throne room from the hallway, at this point deciding to spend the night in his own room. 

Winter flicked his wrist and the door sealed shut, becoming one with the wall.

Simon groaned.

“Are you really doing this right now?” He turned to face Winter, who was still sitting idly on his throne. 

“Simon, I don’t think you’re taking my concerns seriously and I don’t appreciate it,” he lowered his throne to the ground, walked to his Simon, and took one of his hands in his own.

Simon pulled his hand away.

“Winter, I don’t appreciate that every time I leave the castle, we go through this whole song and dance. If I’m early, then I lied about where I went, if I’m late, then I lied about what we were doing. I’m just…done.” Simon let every ounce of frustration over the new normal come out at once. 

Winter studied Simon’s expression, noting how things had changed. The face that was usually so full of love was now full of indifference, bordering on disgust. 

“I…I think it’s best if I stay at D’s house tonight, we can talk about this in the morning,” Simon sighed and turned around, beginning to walk to the exit. 

With another small flick of his wrist, the ice of the floor grew to encase Simon’s legs, holding him in place. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” His usually jovial voice had fallen flat, “If I can’t have you as my husband, I will have you as my prisoner.” 

Simon was at a loss for words, he didn’t think Winter would do something like this to him. 

He reopened the doors to the hall and began moving forward, and to Simon’s surprise, the ice that had grown to waist height pulled him along the same path. 

They stopped in the dungeon, Winter carefully walked to a cell along the furthest wall.

It took him a moment to open the cell; then the ice block slid in and rejoined the floor, delivering Simon to his new home. 

“You will stay here until you can either learn to love me or I can trust you, whichever happens first, I suppose,” he said it so calmly, almost as if he was bored of the one-sided conversation already, “You’ll find I’m not a complete monster, you still have a bed and your precious books.” 

“I could never love you after this,” Simon spat at the other version of himself.

“Oh my sweet Simon, you have such little faith!” He laughed as he turned on his heel and left the dungeon. 

#teddy talks #theo's thoughts #winterkov #simon petrikov #simoncest #simon x winter king #the winter king #simonpetrikov #winter king x simon #winterking #nsft

[ash-is-dying]

Mr. Perfectly Fine: Chap 1

A/N: Literally wrote this the same night as the preview but wanted to at least spread out the release a little. Also i’m sorry it’s kinda short I just wanted to get stuck into something.

Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Chapter 1: Mr. Pretty Face

---

Ever since you had moved into your apartment across the street your morning ritual has become visiting the coffee shop ‘Grateful Bread’. A pun which you’ve always had a soft spot for. It was an empty little place, rustic and old but it felt like home. Not many people came and went so it was relatively easy to pick out the regular customers. They were also the one place you had ever been to that didn’t make fun of your peculiar daily order of a caramel hot chocolate with a shot of espresso and almond milk. Most days you felt like the order made you seem like a bit of a snob but the workers would put on a smile and make it just as you liked it.

From the size of the place it was clear there was a small staff. There was Becky, a younger woman in her early twenties, Darron, an older man with silver streaks in his neatly groomed hair and beard, Lizzie, a middle aged woman who knew the menu and people’s orders off by heart and then the owner Wayne, he was by far the oldest and he could get grumpy at times but he was never mean to anyone. The day crew knew exactly who you were and you knew them just as well.

Which is why it was so surprising when a new face turned up behind the familiar counter. Especially one that stood out so much from the others. He was pretty. Really pretty. If anyone had asked you to guess what his name was your first one would be Mr. Pretty Face. He was young but had obviously been working hard most of his life, forehead creases and smile lines etched into his face from overuse. Other than that his skin was smooth and pale, tattoos beginning to extend down his arms, bats and band references and more detailed works hard to interpret from afar. His frizzed up hair sat in a messy bun behind his head, hardly keeping his face clear as every few seconds he had to blow his fringe and loose strands out of his way.

Your eyes had not moved in around 5 minutes due to the shock of it all. He was gorgeous and you had an overwhelming urge to find a way to slip him your number. With an unusual burst of confidence you snatched a napkin from a nearby booth and used a pen from today’s lecture to scribble it down. With the napkin wedged into your pocket you started to move towards the register to order.

Your confidence drops as you stand waiting at the register as he pays you no notice. He cleans and sorts machinery while you wait for him to even glance your way.

“Excuse me?” You managed to get out, not wanting to seem rude. His head shot up a confused look on his face. Oh God those eyes. They were a rich shade of brown, you could spend hours staring into them and watching them swirl like melting chocolate. Shaken, you don’t see his face change to one of slight annoyance.

“You got somethin’ to say or are you just gonna stand there?” He says his stance stiffening more as he stretches to his full height.

“Oh sorry.” You introduce yourself and muster up a smile. “I’m here most mornings so I just wanted to say hi.” You glance down at his nametag on which is what you think says Eddie. “Eddie is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Please don’t use my name don’t pretend to know me.” He goes back to cleaning before realizing you hadn’t left yet. “Anything else or wanna talk about yourself some more.” He says with evident malice.

“I just- wanted to order something.”

He sighs as he places down his cleaning supplies and he leans over the register his eyes holding yours in a relatively bored expression. He stands expectantly waiting for you to say absolutely anything. “Well?”

“Well um. Can I get a caramel hot chocolate with-”

“Sorry a what?” His face looks dumbfounded.

“A caramel hot chocolate? It’s just a hot chocolate with a few pumps of caramel.” You say sheepishly as your face starts to heat up.

“You know I’m gonna have to charge extra for the caramel right? Can’t do any freebies.” He says as if you’re asking for a free drink.

“Yeah- yeah I know.” You reply softly.

“Great.” He leaves the register to start making the drink leaving you alone midway through your order. You watch as he starts to pull out the caramel and ingredients needed for the hot chocolate. You watch him as he turns on the steamer and starts piling chocolate and caramel sauce into a cup.

“Sorry just-” He glares as you interrupt. “I also wanted a shot of espresso and almond milk in that too please…” The words died off the longer the sentence dragged on. He bites his lip hard as he closes his eyes and groans.

“Does it make a difference?”

“What?”

“Milk is milk, does it change anything if its from a cow or a nut? Can’t you just drink what I make you instead of complaining about me trying to do my job.” You’re left speechless as he talks your hand fidgeting with the number in your pocket.

“Can I just… have almond milk please?” He takes the steamed whole milk and dumps it in a nearby bin. He then passive aggressively drops the used pot into the sink next to the coffee machine.

“Did you wanna maybe mention these things while you were ordering? Just because you’re a regular doesn’t make me a mind reader.” He says with a sharp edge in his voice. “Almond milk?”

You nod slowly.

He lets out a deep sigh as his hand runs over his face, and he storms out the back. Some muffled yelling ensues and he returns with a bottle of unlabeled milk with the letters A.M. scrawled lazily in sharpie on the side.

Almond Milk. The world’s biggest inconvenience apparently.

He furrows his brows and the ends of his bun fall into his eyes as he steams the milk prepared for the ‘ridiculous’ caramel hot chocolate. His grumbling can be heard from the counter which you’re almost positive is intentional. No one has upset you like this in a long time.

Once the drink is made he scribbled something on the cup before placing it harshly on the bench. His deep brown eyes that just a few minutes ago were mesmerizing are now darkly staring into yours. You pick up the cup as he turns back to the register to take a new order, on the side he’s written 

‘Almond Milk Bitch’

You can’t stop yourself from tearing up in anger and disappointment. The phone number you’d written on the napkin now torn up and discarded on the service bench. 

You made a decision then and there. You’d avoid that asshole for the rest of your life if you had to. ‘Mr. Perfect Face’ was dead and buried.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #slow burn #enemies to lovers #barista!eddie #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader

[autisticlancemcclain]

“C’mon, Keith, let me in.”

“Go away, Lance, I’m fine,” Keith calls for what feels like the four billionth time in three minutes. He grabs a pillow and shoves it over his face, letting out a scream.

After several minutes of screaming, he takes the pillow away from his face and takes a deep breath, trying to find some peace in the silence.

Wait. Silence? Did Lance finally leave?

As soon as he has the thoughts, there’s a heavy sigh from behind the door. Despite himself, Keith’s lips quirk up. As much as he’s pretty sure he wants to be alone right now, Lance’s persistence is sweet.

“I guess I’ll just sleep in the hall tonight, I guess,” Lance says morosely.

Keith raises an eyebrow, even though no one but him can see it. “You have your own bed, you know.”

“Oh, there’s some sort of hugely poisonous Altean mold in my room, so Coran says I can’t go in until he deals with it. Not that I would, anyway, because that’s fucking disgusting and I will be throwing out or thoroughly cleaning everything in that damn room, ew.”

Keith sits straight up, looking worriedly at the door.

“Is there seriously deadly mold in your room?”

Another desolate sigh. “Yeah. Sucks, I can’t even use my blankets from in there. I’ll have to steal some of Pidge’s.”

Keith gets to his feet, looking around for something to cover his head. He can’t very well leave Lance to sleep in the goddamn hallway, but he doesn’t want Lance to see it either.

Finally, his eyes zero in on Lance’s jacket, which he must have left behind before they ran out to that distress call this morning. Perfect.

He shrugs on the jacket, a little small on him around the shoulders and a little short overall, but the hood is nice and big. He tugs it over his head and cinches it closed, so you can barely even see his face. He looks ridiculous, but it’s better than the alternative.

He opens the door, not too widely. Before he can even blink, Lance ducks under his arm and rushes into the room, planting himself stubbornly beside the bed.

Oh, that fucker.

Keith glares at him. “There’s no mold in your room, is there.”

“Nope.”

“That’s manipulative, you know.”

“Mhm. Super effective, too.”

Keith glares harder at Lance. The asshole doesn’t even look remotely apologetic. He looks satisfied with himself, actually.

“And I know you’re not fine because it worked,” he continues. “You’re smarter than that. If you were fine then you’d know I’d just go sleep with Hunk in that situation.”

Lance steps forward, and keeps stepping forward, until he’s right in front of Keith. Keith doesn’t move, rooted in place.

“Tell me why you’re hiding, baby,” Lance murmurs, wrapping his arms around Keith’s neck. “Talk to me.”

“Is this why you were so insistent on coming inside?” Keith asks weakly. “Using your physical charms and wiles to get your way?”

Lance laughs softly, briefly resting his head on Keith’s chest.

Oh, this fucker! He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“So you think I’m charming.”

“You know damn well that you’re charming, you wretch. Don’t give me that.”

Lance chuckles again, getting up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Keith’s nose, one of the only parts of his face visible through his cinched hoodie. “Talk to me,” he breathes out. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

Keith deflates, letting himself collapse into Lance arms. Lance doesn’t hesitate to hug him tightly. Why is he being so resistant? This is Lance. Lance, who was the first to reassure Keith when he first found out about his heritage, and the first to smack some sense into the rest of the team about it, too. (Hunk told him that Lance had gone into full lecture mode, angry hands on his hips and everything. Keith is kind of sad to have missed it.) Lance, who has been there to comfort Keith after every nightmare. Lance who loves him.

“…You know how there was that stupid anti-Galra disguise force field on that planet from this morning’s mission?”

“Mhm.”

“And you know how I’m half-Galra?”

Lance snorts. “I do know that, yes.”

“Well. There was —“ Keith hesitates. Maybe it’ll be best to just show him. “You promise not to freak out?”

Lance pulls back a little to look Keith in the — well, in the hoodie. “You’re freaking me out a bit now, I’ll be honest. Just show me, cielo.”

Keith hesitates. Fuck. Fuck! He steels himself, and then shoves off the hood in one go.

Well, he tries to, but he forgot he fucking tightened the strings and tied them together, so the hoodie gets stuck.

Lance bursts out laughing.

“S — sorry,” he wheezes, “I know this is a serious moment, but holy shit, that was funny.”

Keith huffs out a laugh as well, because it really was kinda funny.

Eventually, though, the laughter fades, and Keith gets his hoodie down with no further incidents. As the fabric falls off his head, Lance gasps.

On top of Keith’s head, among the shaggy mass of black hair, are two giant and purple Galran ears.

Lance reaches up immediately, running gentle fingertips on the edges of the ears. He grins widely, eyes scrunching up.

“Now you really are my Keithy-kat,” he teases, and something settles in Keith’s chest.

He huffs, but the corners of his mouth twitch up. Of course Lance is happy with him, still. Why did he ever doubt?

“I’m not a cat, you dork.”

“Your fluffy ears say otherwise!” Lance exclaims gleefully. He has yet to stop petting them. “Oh, the rest of the team is gonna love this —“

Keith freezes, smile dropping. Lance notices immediately.

“Oh, Keith.” He drops his hands from Keith’s ears down to his cheeks, cupping his face gently. “Baby. They’re going to be fine, promise. Hunk might poke at you a bit, because he’s inherently the nosiest person in any situation, but everything will be fine. Promise.”

“But what about —“

Lance squishes his cheeks, glaring at him sternly. “Promise,” he reiterates firmly.

“Wha’about ‘Lura?” Keith protests, voice muffled around Lance’s hands.

Lance softens immediately. “She’ll be fine. She’s had lots of time to come to terms with everything. She loves you, Keith, as much as everyone, except maybe me. Besides —“ Lance grins widely again — “I think she might find these ears heaps nicer than ‘the most hideous ears she has ever seen’.”

Keith laughs, and Lance finally releases his face, arms dropping to slide around Keith’s waist. He leans up again and presses a kiss to Keith’s cheek, making a loud ‘mwah’ noise as he does it, making Keith smile more.

“There’s that laugh. The most beautiful sound in the world, music to my ears.”

Keith rolls his eyes, face flushing. His ears twitch, too, making Lance gasp in delight.

“Keithy-kat!! You are so cute! Oh, you’re —“

Keith rolls his eyes again, leaning down to press his lips to Lance’s, shutting him up. He pulls back after a moment, pressing a kiss to Lance’s hair before resting his chin on Lance’s head, pulling him in close. Lance sighs happily, snuggling in closer.

“I love you,” Keith whispers.

“I love you too, precioso. I love you too.”

#this is so schmoopy i have no shame #vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #lance #lance mcclain #klance #established klance #galra keith #supportive lance #smart lance #tall keith #brown eyed lance #kisses #klance cuddles #keith angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #fic #longpost

[mae-gi-writes]

A TURN OF PRIORITIES . PART THREE | BANG CHAN 

Synopsis: What happens when you and Bang Chan decide to fake a relationship for the sake of making your ex-boyfriend jealous? A turn of priorities, that's what.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

——

It’s kind of scary how one thing leads to another.

You’ve never taken yourself as a believer of karma. What goes around comes around, is what they all say. You wished to destroy your boyfriend’s new love life, and you’re now facing a destruction of your own.

You have a crush on your best friend. On the guy whom you’ve seen cry in the movie theatre because of some stupid romcom, on the guy who literally burns himself every time he pulls something out of the oven, the guy who blushes with embarrassment at everything and who has an obsession over Marine animals.

You have a crush on Bang Chan. And you’re not sure how to make it go away.

To top it off, you can’t even talk about it to Minji, considering that she thinks you’re already going out with him.

After the disastrous call that occurred between you and Chan that particular afternoon, you’d kept your phone on silent and hadn’t dared check your messages for fear of what you’d find there. It’s been two days since and you’re busy frying eggs for breakfast when the sound of your ringtone — sounding eerily ghostly in the silence of the flat — breaks through like an alarm, causing you to flinch.

You check the caller ID, before quickly pressing onto the green button and placing the device at your ear, “hey Minji.”

“Good morning sunshine, so I’ve heard you and Chan have been having a little fight?”

“What?” Your voice comes out a little louder than expected and you try to tone it down when you ask, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh don’t act innocent Y/N, I saw Chan in Chem today and he looked like his dog died or something. It was obvious something was wrong,” she says and you picture her rolling her eyes, “what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you say firmly, hoping that it will be enough to persuade her in leaving Chan alone, “he’s just having a hard time because of exams. You know how stressed out he can get.”

Minji hums, “shouldn’t you help him out? He looks like shit.”

“I have,” you lie smoothly. The lies come out so easily now, it’s been such a long time since you’ve been truthful to her. A pang of guilt hits you straight in the chest.

“How about bringing him along to Eunchae’s christmas party? She’s a classmate of mine and she’s throwing one at her flat complex because her roomies won’t be here this weekend. That might cheer him up.”

Eunchae? Not that Eunchae, surely?

“I don’t think I know her.”

“Chan might, we’re in the same Industrial Design class.”

Oh. Well. That explains everything. Of course you don’t want to show your face there. Nor do you think Chan will.

“I’ll talk to him,” you hurriedly say and quickly end the call so as not to sprout any more lies. Then, opening your messaging app after what seems to be an eternity, you scroll down your list of contacts until you click on Chan’s name.

Y/N: sup bro.

Sounds innocent enough right? You can almost imagine that nothing had happened these past two days.

Taking your eggs out of the frying pan, you lay them neatly atop your two slices of toast before heading over to the tiny dining table in the corner. As you sit down, a notification pops up. Chan’s reply.

Chan: ???

Chan: I’m confused…

Y/N: About what?

Chan: are you secretly stalking me?

Y/N: …now I’m confused.

Chan: open the door.

Y/N: ???????

On cue, the doorbell rings and the sound makes you jump, yelping slightly as you do so. Talk about coincidence.

“Hi,” Chan grins at you when you open the door, not seeming at all upset by what had transpired two days ago. Not that you’re going to remind him. It’s none of his business, after all.

“Not to be rude or anything but isn’t it a bit early for you to be here?” You ask when you glance at the clock that reads nine in the morning. Knowing Chan’s bad habit of playing till the sunrise on days he doesn’t have any lectures, it’s quite a surprise to see that he’s up and functional so early in the morning.

But you regret it the moment the words slip past your lips, for Chan’s face suddenly takes on a color so red you might think he’s gotten sunburnt in the span of a few seconds.

You don’t have to put two and two together.

“I was…uhm…I was talking to Eunchae.” He hurriedly adds, as if to make up for his pathetic excuse, “about our chem assignment from last week—“

“Oh cut the crap Chan,” you interrupt him quite rudely, plopping yourself down at the table before resuming your breakfast as you motion for him to serve himself, “were you on a date?”

“I—uh—well, no. We were—studying together. Yeah.”

You scowl and he quickly goes to grab a mug to evade your stare.

“So,” you ask while he pours himself some coffee, “so why are you here then? Isn’t it a bit rude to ditch your real girlfriend for your fake one?”

“I actually wanted to see how my best friend was doing,” he shoots you a pointed look over the rim of his mug, “and like I said, it wasn’t a—a date.”

“You’ve seen me. Happy now?”

“Wow, what is up your butt today?”

“Nothing,” you look away, clear your throat, “nothing at all. Just—“

You break off without saying anything more and the silence is enough to cover whatever excuse you were going to come up with. The argument from a few days ago rings in the back of your mind and you wonder whether he’s as tormented about the topic of discussion as you are.

Oh, who are you kidding? He’s been on a date this morning. Clearly he knows exactly what he’s doing. Ad not feeling bad about it in the slightest.

And why should he? It’s not like you’re really dating!

“Hey,” it’s not his voice, but the touch of his fingers along your face. You blink, only to see him tucking a few stray strands behind the curve of your ear. An action he’s come to become familiar with from that last date. Still, it’s surprising, considering that Chan has never been so fond of touching other people.

“You wanna talk about what happened that night?”

Your eyes slip from his face to your empty plate. Something knots in the middle of your stomach. No.

“Nothing happened that night,” comes your mumble.

You feel him shift, and then, a soft lingering touch along the side of your arm. His shoulder, pressing into yours.

He’s warm. Warmer than you’ve expected.

A surge of comfort rises in the grooves of your chest.

“It really wasn’t a date, if you must know,” Chan’s mumble feels like a hundred knives pricking into your skin, “we were just working. Really—“

”I don’t care Chan,” you chortle.

He blinks at you, “Okay,” he drags out the word, then continues, “can I ask you something then?”

“What?”

“Why were you so upset that night? When I told you she liked me?”

“I wasn’t upset.”

He looks at you as if saying really? And unconsciously, your hands start moving around the cutlery along the plate; crossing them, uncrossing them. Crossing them.

“Okay fine, maybe I was.”

“What for?”

And that is when you give him a wan smile, “nothing that you should worry about, Chan. It’s girl things.”

“Don’t patronize me. That won’t scare me away like when I was younger.”

“Aw man, that used to work all the time,” memories of you taunting Chan about your period and the amount of blood drenching the toilet suddenly flickers through your mind, causing a small smile to dangle upon your lips, “but really, there’s no need to worry. I’m fine now.”

As much as you want to kick up a fuss about slowly losing your best friend to someone else, it wouldn’t be fair to the other girl for you to suddenly sprout your feelings out loud when he’s just gotten confessed to, especially when this is probably the first time since forever since he’s gotten a shot at normal dating life.

Who are you to interfere with his happiness?

“By the way, speaking of Eunchae,” you tell him right when he’s about to leave. Currently shoving his feet into his sneakers, he looks up at you, lips parted and in that particular moment, you feel you might kiss him.

“Uhm,” thoughts scramble as you try to stammer your way out of this sudden knot of flustered embarrassment, “will you be going to her party?”

“You’re invited?” He frowns.

“Y-Yeah. Minji invited me.”

Chan straightens then, body looming over yours and causing you to tilt your head up and— has he always been taller than you were? Your eyes flicker down to the arm slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Veins.

Oh, beautiful. You quickly snap your gaze away, “so, are you coming or not?”

“Are you?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’m coming,” a lopsided smile breaks cross his face, “can’t let my girlfriend go alone now, can I?”

Your heart stutters for a beat.

Your mouth opens, closes, then opens again. Speechless.

Chan merely chuckles before reaching over to ruffle your hair, “alright, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” you say blankly, not realizing that he’s gone until he’s halfway down the hall. It is only then that you manage to shake yourself out of this sudden reverie.

You quickly slam both hands cross your cheeks in growing irritation. Get a grip, Y/N! What is wrong with you?!

Girlfriend. He’d called you his girlfriend.

Not for long. But long enough.

——

You immediately feel like running away the moment you step through Eunchae’s apartment door.

The doorway is lit up with Christmas garlands — red and green and gold — partnered with fairy lights glimmering in welcome as you step through only to bump into someone’s back. The place is packed, god knows Eunchae is one of the popular kids at school, being one of the top pianists to be majoring in both music and science. The space is compact but open, with the kitchen on your far right separated by an island decorated in black and white marble. To your left is a spacious living room filled decked with vast couches of white-colored leather, on which sit a crowd of people engrossed currently engrossed in the Super Mario competition going on, shouts and jeers filling the air at intervals.

Regret pools inside your stomach and makes your mouth go dry. Maybe you should turn back, after all. You barely know this girl—

“Y/N!”

Shit. Too late. You swivel, coming face to face with none other than Minji. She beams at you, sparkly silver dress and heels to match, her face dolled up like a beauty pageant. She looks stunning.

“Hi,” you lean into the big hug she gives you, “there’s so many people here.”

“Yeah, Eunchae is a bit of a social butterfly. Let’s go say hello!” And before you can protest that maybe you should get a drink first, Minji is already tugging you along through the throng of bodies as the beats echo through the walls, seeming to come from the outside terrace.

“Eunchae!” Minji quickly directs herself towards a pretty girl with dyed blonde hair and a pretty smile who had been deep in conversation with one of the jocks that you recognized as Minho’s friend Seungmin, “hi! Thanks for inviting me!”

“Oh hey Minji, you made it!” Eunchae greets her back with a one-armed hug, then glancing over to you and grinning, “thanks for coming. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Y/N, you probably know her. She’s Chan’s best friend.”

“Oh!” Something lights up in Eunchae’s eyes, “so you’re the Y/N he keeps talking about. Lovely to finally meet you!”

You shake her hand, glad her fake nails aren’t piercing through your skin at this rate, “likewise,” you force a smile, knowing full well why Chan might be in love with her. You would be too, if you were a guy. She’s everything anyone has ever asked for.

Pretty, gorgeous, friendly…and most of all, a perfect fit for Chan.

“You haven’t gotten any drinks yet,” she remarks, grinning coyly before pointing at the marble counter on the far right, “please, go help yourselves. There’s everything but water.”

You find yourself cracking a smile, even chuckling a little as you raise a hand at her, “thanks, will try to find something drinkable.”

The party is now in full swing. Jeering, shouting, music blasting from the speakers and reverberating through your skull. With a glass of whisky and coke in hand, Minji doesn’t hesitate to drag you to the dance floor and together, you start swaying. The air smells of alcohol and sweat but you find you don’t quite mind, not when you’re busy enjoying the way the beats swim through your bloodstream as the alcohol takes over logic and reason.

At some point you feel a pair of hands fluttering over your hips. Turning with a scowl at the ready — and a fist curled just in case — you’re surprised to find that it’s Chan. But not Chan.

He’s gazing down at you in amusement, corner of his lips tilted and an eyebrow raised as if to as you what in the world you were doing. But he’s ditched the glasses and his hair is gelled up. His black t-shirt is fitted and the jean jacket he’s thrown over it subtly emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders.

You can’t help but suck in a breath. He looks gorgeous.

Instead you blurt out, “you’re late!”

“My bad,” Chan yells over the music and though it’s definitely not Chan behaviour to be touching you so casually, you actually don’t mind savoring his touch a little more and you lean in closer, slightly closer as he adds, “if it helps, Minho was the one who was late. I had to wait for him for thirty minutes.”

You chortle, rolling your eyes and take another sip of your drink, “d’you want one?” You wiggle it towards your best friend.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, nose wrinkling and you swear something clenches in your heart when he does that, “I’ll pass.”

“Weakling.”

He jabs you playfully in the ribs and you giggle, slinging an arm around his shoulder before dragging him to the dance floor. Minji appears a few seconds later with Minho in tow, hips swinging and with a smile so big it might tear her face apart as she hangs onto her boyfriend like he’s the only source of physical support. The act makes you turn away, gulp down the rest of your drink in hopes that it would take away the itch in your heart.

At some point in the evening you find yourself on the couch competing against complete strangers turned into friends, shouting as you urge your car to go fastest, dodging bananas and throwing your head back in laughter as the boy beside you received a red tortoise shell.

“Shit!” He buries his face into the pillow on his lap, “ugh! That’s it, I’m dead!”

You whoop in glee when the finish line appears on your screen, “And I won!”

“You’re just lucky,” he grumbles. Then, after a few beats of hesitation, reaches his hand out to you, “I’m Felix.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand with a grin, “so I take it Mario Kart isn’t your forte?”

“You’re the one who probably rigged the game.”

“Oh I did not!” You gasp mockingly, “you’re accusing me right now?”

“Don’t lie to me, I saw the way your eyebrows were wriggling when we were playing.”

“Oh so I’m a witch now?”

He can’t help but laugh, “have we met before?”

“Not that I know of. I’m from the landscape architect major,” you lean back against the couch as someone else asks for the remote. You toss it to them before turning back to Felix, noticing the flecks of golden brown scattered across his face, “and you?”

“Bio-Chem.”

You throw your hands in the air, “why is everyone in Bio-Chem?!”

“Maybe because it’s the most popular major that our university offers?”

You shoot him a look, rising up from your seat to stretch, “I’m going to get a drink. You want something?”

“I’ll come with you.”

You make your way to the kitchen after having pushed through the crowd of people — it seems they keep increasing every hour — and it isn’t until you reach the kitchen counter that you spot Chan and Eunchae flirting, heads close together and giggling like sickly school children. It makes you want to hurl something.

Felix, unaware of your conflicted feelings, calls out, “hey Chan, man! Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Chan starts to grin, only for it to fall flat the moment his eyes find yours. Instantly, a frown clouds his brows, “you okay, Y/N?”

“Never been better,” you all but snarl, pushing past his figure to get to the fridge. You grab a new bottle of coke, pour yourself some. Grab the vodka to fill it up to the brim, the drink sizzling like a potion.

“You drunk?” Chan’s question throws you off guard. Spinning around to see him, a scowl imprints itself on your face, “not that it’s your business. But no, I’m not drunk. Thanks for asking.”

You don’t wait for your best friend to say anything else. Grabbing Felix’s elbow and pulling the said man out of the kitchen, you keep on walking until you’re finally out onto the terrace and the cool wind gently caresses your face, causes your hair to tickle your cheeks, cool them down. It’s a stark contrast to the heat along the back of your neck.

You hadn’t noticed it but Felix’s eyes are straying over your features, searching them as though you’re a puzzle he’s trying to decipher.

“You okay?” He finally yells out over the music, “you look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I’m fine,” you force a smile. Then, you make a grab for his hand and tug him towards the dance floor, “come on!” You try to add some cheerfulness into your voice, “I want to dance!”

The hours easily slip by when you lose yourself into the music once more. You can almost ignore the small hole that’s slowly spreading across your chest every time Chan’s face flashes through your mind. Chugging drink after drink, you allow yourself to be woozy, to get drunk in an attempt to forget. You don’t want to think any more. You don’t want to hurt anymore.

So you keep on dancing. Dancing even if your feet hurt. Even if your heart is breaking.

Dancing even when Felix says goodbye because he has to go home.

It is only when a hand encloses itself around your arm that you whip around.

“What?!” You snap a little too harshly into Chan’s face, causing him to wince.

“You’re drunk<“ he says simply while dragging you out of the dance floor, “come on—“

“Let me go!” You’re turning and twisting against him, but he pays you no mind and that infuriates you even more. Hot tears start burning at the corner of your eyes as you keep on tugging at his grip, hating the way he thinks he can force you to see him when he’s the last thing you wish for at this very moment.

But Chan is too strong for you to compete, dragging you all the way to the bathroom before closing the door with a satisfied click.

Your body slumps against the closed toilet lid as a tired ache spreads through your calves, your legs. You’re tired. You’ve been dancing for god knows how long.

“What do you want?” You try not to slur your words. They come out slurred anyway, it’s easier said than done.

Chan lets out a soft sigh. He crouches before you so that his face becomes level with yours, and in his eyes you notice the concern swimming through those maroon pupils, hating the way it causes warmth to spread through your chest.

You look away, “stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t know what to do with me.”

“I really don’t know what to do with you,” he shakes his head, “why are you angry at me?”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“So what are you? Why are you looking at me like that?”

The words scratch your throat like sandpaper. But you blurt them out anyway, “because I can’t stand seeing you flirt with that Eunchae girl. It pisses me off—“

“So you’re jealous? Is that what it’s about?”

“I’m not jealous—“

“Then what is it? I don’t get it Y/N—”

“I don’t get it either!” You yell out with such emotion it makes him take a breath. A sob escapes your mouth, the words broken along your tongue, “I have no fucking clue and it’s fucking with my head! And I’m so tired! I’m so tired of—“

Your words drown in mid-yelp when Chan’s hands cradle your face, pull you in, to crash his lips to yours.

You gasp, wriggling in his hold; this is all going to end badly—

But his lips follow yours like a magnet, kissing your next set of words away as they dissolve upon your lips.

He’s warm. His kiss is warmer, lighting a fire inside your stomach and making you all but melt into him with a soft sigh.

Chan tilts his head, mouth slanting even more intimately against yours as your nose brushes his. It’s intoxicating, the way his lips move against yours like water currents finding a rhythm, the way his hands slide to your hips to grip them in place, rooting you to his chest.

A shudder runs through you, hands sliding up to the back of his head. A small moan echoes from the back of his throat, he kisses you deeper, tongue gently sliding out to run along your lips.

You part for him like warm butter and a wanton breath falls from your mouth the moment his wet muscle meets yours in a dance, an unfamiliar one, but not unwelcome. You can’t help but grip him tighter to you, tilting your head to match his rhythm, him pulling you so close you’re almost tumbling onto his lap.

You swear your entire brain is filled with fireworks, sparks exploding left, right and center as he keeps kissing you like his life is about to end, like you’re never going to see each other again. He kisses, you note, like a man starved of oxygen and he’s suddenly found an addictive source. Like a man on drugs.

You’re so entangled with each other that you’re not sure where your bodies end and begin, limbs entwined like barks on a tree. And it isn’t until Chan’s thumb gently slides over your rib cage that you let out a pained whimper.

He stills, drawing back ever so slightly to look into your eyes. His pupils are dark, dazed and drunken on the scent and the taste of you. Nobody says a thing for a whole minute as you keep on gazing at each other through heavy lids.

His mouth is perfect, puckered and pink from your assault. He’s beautiful.

You’re fucked.

——-

Yup. Definitely fucked.

You barely escaped Chan that night, having muttered an abstract excuse and quickly slipping past him while he was still in shock of your whole encounter. You were secretly glad and disappointed at the same time that he hadn’t come for you, hadn’t followed you out, and as you trailed back home in your now-broken heels, you couldn’t help but feel like something had ripped at the hope that had built inside your chest.

But as the true avoider of problems that you were, you decided that playing it safe but just ignoring the elephant in the room is the wisest choice at the moment. God knows Eunchae does not need to know what had transpired between you two, especially not when there is hope for a budding relationship. They’re not even going out, and yet you still feel sick. Who are you to be interfering? Why are you always interfering and getting in the middle of things?

So you play it cool, taking the December break as an excuse to not see Chan despite his messages pleading for you two to meet. He still wants some clarification as to what happened that night, but your head is still just as muddled and you have no idea what to say to him.

Chan: Y/N, I really need to talk to you.

Y/N: hey dude sorry, I’ll be a bit busy the whole month actually. You know with Christmas and everything. Let’s talk in Jan when we have some free time :)

Chan: Y/N this isn’t funny anymore

Y/N: nobody said it was supposed to be funny. I’m just busy.

Chan: please

Y/N: …I’m sorry.

He hadn’t responded after that so you hope that somewhere he’s ignoring you to spend some time with the girl of his dreams. Eunchae had been the first to outwardly say that she liked him, and it wouldn’t be fair for you to now confess your feelings.

Then, there was also the issue of Minji bugging you to double date again because of that stupid Christmas market that she simply could not go alone. Turns out that she’s quite persistent about it when she turns up in front of your flat on a Friday afternoon, flanked by both Minho and Chan.

You would’ve laughed at how hilarious the situation is — your ex-boyfriend with the guy you’re crushing on, if not for the fact that nothing had been resolved in the first place.

“I told you I’m not feeling good,” you say weakly as Minji quickly ruffles through your wardrobe, chucking what seems fit for this occasion while the two boys are waiting in the living room, “you guys should go without me.”

“Absolutely not. Chan looks miserable because you haven’t hung out with him at all these days. What’s up with that?” She looks over her shoulder at you, lips pursed, “did you have a fight or something?”

“No! Nothing like that.”

“Then make it right please. He’s been boring us with all his sulking.”

You wish you could tell her. You’re really aching for a second opinion. But everything is now just a mess that you have no idea how to clean and telling her would mean that you’d have to admit to all the ill feelings that had built up inside you all along.

You can’t do that to Minji, not even when she had been the one to steal Minho.

“Y/N, promise you’ll make it okay by dinner time? I can’t stand Chan like this any longer.” Minji pleads, bringing you back to reality.

You blink at her, try for a weak smile, “sure. I’ll try.”

It’s safe to say that the whole outing is awkward, what with you and Chan trying to avoid each other’s gaze while Minji and Minho are the perfect couple in love. Something inside your chest burns with jealousy, like a wildfire that can’t be put out no matter how much you look away. How come they get to be happy? How come you can’t share this happiness?

"Waaah look at all those lights!" Minji bounces from one foot to the other as you enter the market bustling with commotion. It's almost christmas time and people are busy buying gifts, apple cinammon wafting through the air on one side, crepes and chocolate on the other. Merchants are displaying pretty christmas pottery while some are exposing christmas sweaters, calling out people from the street as christmas jingles fill the air with excitement.

Your eyes take in the mulled wine brewing in the corner. Dang. That looks appetizing. And you probably need it.

A tug at your coat causes you to turn, blinking up at your best friend.

"We lost Minji."

He lets go to resume his walk and something lodges in the back of your throat at his posture. It'a tense, hands in pockets, like he doesn't want to be here.

"Hey Chan," you're quick to put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to glance down at you.

"What?" His eyes are searching, looking around to not focus on you. Your heart tugs with pain and you say, "can we...talk?"

"What, now?"

"Y--Yeah."

There's a beat of awkward silence as you wait for his answer. Then, Chan's hand grabs yours before he tugs and as you stumble against him you can't help flashing back to the way he'd gripped you to him that night, with almost desperate passion to kiss you senseless. Breathless.

It makes you warm all over.

There's a small area away from the big crowd, cozy and intimate with warming stations. Chan orders two mulled wines and brings them over to you, perched on a small wooden bench just big enough to fit two intimate individuals.

Your shoulder presses against his as he takes a seat and hands you your drink, which you mutter out a thank you before taking a sip. To be honest, you're not quite sure what to say, what to do, despite this being your idea.

You just know you have to make things right.

"I'm...sorry," you mutter into your cup in hopes that he'll hear, the shame burning the tips of your ears pink, "about avoiding you on purpose."

He takes a sip, shudders, "I just need to know why."

You press your lips together, "I...I didn't want things to get all complicated, especially with ...with you likig Eunchae and everything--"

"Who said so?"

You blink at him, "huh?"

"Who said I liked Eunchae?"

He looks away while taking another sip, not quite meeting your eye. You must be dreaming to see the slight blush scattering his cheeks and your brain tries to wrap itself around the new facts being thrown your way.

"Y--You did?" Your remark comes off more like a question. You swear something combusts in your chest as Chan turns to face you, thigh brushing yours while he leans a little closer so that you can feel the warmth of his breath.

"I said Eunchae liked me, but I never said I liked her back."

"You said you wanted to try it out with her."

"Yeah I did," Chan's eyes flit down to your lips, back up to your eyes and something in those dark pupils make you shiver, "until..."

You watch him, unsure. Your words are a mere breath, "until?"

He seems to struggle for words and something like hope sparks through your chest at the thought that maybe, just maybe--

No. Impossible.

"Y'know what, we don't have to have this conversation. You and Eunchae's relationship has nothing to do with me and I shouldn't be interfering," you stand up as you speak, already set on walking away in hopes that he doesn't see the way your heart is breaking, hurting, "let's go find Minji--"

Chan's fingers close around your wrist. He tugs you with enough force that it sends you toppling, yelping as you try to balance your cup--

Only to land in his lap.

One arm laces around your waist, the other slipping up to grip your chin and tilting your head down to face him. At this point, you're almost combusting in place, skin breaking out into sweat and heat rushing up to your face.

Chan's eyes meet yours. They lock, searching, gazing so intently you wish to squirm. Your brain's turned to mush.

"I--I--I--" you're a blubbering mess, scrambling away in protest. But Chan's grip is strong and you're secretly glad you're in a corner against a row of bushes hiding you away from most of the crowd, for this position is more than scandalous, "Wh--What do you--What are you doing Chan?!"

"Y/N," his voice, unlike yours, is calm. Controlled. He's looking at you with a confidence that makes you bite your lip and want to run away.

"W--What? Stop--stop looking at me like that."

An amused smile dances across his lips. He leans even closer, and holds you still when you try to lean back, yelping slightly, "like what?"

His breaths are warm, smell like mint against your skin.

His cup is long done and crumbled on the ground, and he plucks your cup gently from your hold to place it beside his.

"I--I don't know, just--stop, you--you're making me nervous!"

"Am I? He chuckles, "that's new." Pausing for a beat to take in your features, you avert your eyes and decide to find a sudden interest in a loose thread hanging off his shirt, “tell me the truth Y/N, why were you really angry that night?”

“What night?” You mumble in an act of defense.

Chan Chuckles lowly, “the night at Eunchae’s party. Why were you mad?”

“I wasn’t mad.”

“Y/N,” the way your name rolls off his tongue is enough to make you shiver and shut up. There’s a moment of silence where he searches your gaze, prodding, eyebrows furrowed and intent on your face. And you, teeth biting down onto your lower lip as a nervous knot builds in the back of your throat.

You can’t help but break underneath his gaze, “I…” you trail off, not sure how to say it aloud without sounding pathetic or stupid, “I was jealous. I was angry because I was jealous of you and Eunchae.”

“Why?”

Your eyes snap up to his, “because,” you murmur out brokenly, “I—I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else, because it makes me mad to think about the time you’re spending with her, because…because I like you.”

There. You’d said it. Out in the open. And Chan, his face unchanged, shifts you in his lap to get a better grip on your hips, his eyes darkening with emotion as he stares you down. It’s almost as if he’s still waiting for you to continue.

Your hands start wringing themselves together in knots, hoping that the ground would magically swallow you up and steal you away from this very moment. God knows you’re dying of shame and embarrassment with the way Chan is drilling holes into your skull.

“Chan?” You call out tentatively, “can you…say something?”

He takes a breath. Stills. His whole body quivers and he looks away for a second, as if needing to catch his breath.

And when he turns back to you, you’re glad you’re already sitting, for the warmth surging through his orbs makes your stomach giggly and legs feeling like jelly.

“Glad to know I’m not the only idiot who's in love,” he finally whispers out.

It takes you a minute. You blink. The words replay in your head. Wait—did he mean that? Is that what he’s actually saying? Does he—

No. This is a mistake. It surely is. It can’t be.

He chuckles, chest vibrating and breaking you out of your sudden reverie, “what’s with this face? You look like I just told you I was going to go to the North Pole.”

“N—No, I mean—What—Chan, I thought you—but what about—“ you’re a babbling mess at this stage and laughing even harder, Chan pulls you a little closer before his hand slides up to the back of your neck.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in. You don’t fight him.

The kiss you share is soft. Tender, and unhurried. Definitely unlike your first kiss in Eunchae’s bathroom. Chan is warm and tastes sweet and bitter at the same time, the tinge of mulled wine on his mouth as he draws away.

There’s a dust of blush on his cheeks and you can’t help but feel the satisfaction from that. At least you know you have that much of an effect. If anything.

“What about—what about Eunchae?” You can’t help but blurt out.

Chan presses his lips together. Then, he shakes his head, “I really enjoyed the attention at first. I never thought anyone would ever be interested in me. To be honest, I was curious,” one of his hands reach up to rub the back of his neck. Probably in nervousness, “but I don’t know. It didn’t click. I found myself…wanting to see you.”

“Hmm,” you hum, fingers playing with the material of his shirt, “interesting. Tell me more.”

“Ah wait a minute,” he frowns, “what about you? What happened to you and Minho? I never thought I was on your radar, until—“

“Until what?”

“Until you—“ the blush is back full force, springing through his cheeks like a bushfire, “until you decided to snog me in the bathroom—“

You gasp, “you snogged me first! You’re the one who kissed me!”

“I—I thought that’s what you wanted!”

“Well—yeah but I mean—it was your move!”

“Okay okay, I just couldn’t help myself,” Chan mutters while burying his face into the crook of your neck, breaths warm and tingling the skin there as his nose skims over your skin, “you looked so pretty with that outfit and—I don’t know, you were jealous and I found it so cute I—I’m sorry. I should’ve asked—“

You scoff to hide the way your cheeks are flushing at his compliments, “good thing I did want to snog your face off.”

He grumbles, nuzzles even more into you if that’s possible. You can’t help but smile, arms tentatively wrapping around his neck to draw him closer into a hug. You want to feel bad for Eunchae. You really do. But right now, sitting in Chan��s arms had never felt so right. The butterflies are roaring against your rib cage, fluttering with such vigor you feel like squirming. You don’t have to check to know that you’re currently grinning from ear to ear. It’s a different feeling, like you’re flying.

You never want to get back on the ground.

“So—what do we do?” You ask after a moment of silence, “are we dating? Or like…”

He pulls his face from your neck with amusement dancing in his eyes, “well, I think maybe I should take you out on a date first.”

“Oh,” just the thought renders you into a colored mess, “right…”

“Are you blushing?” Chan tilts his head to gaze up at you in endearment, warmth flowing from his eyes and making you squirm in his lap, “n—no, it’s just— I’m not used to this,” you mutter back.

“Yeah well, me neither,” Chan murmurs. Then, before you can protest he’s already tugged you back into a full-fledged embrace, nose nuzzling your collarbone and arms gripping you tight against his chest.

“Hey lovebirds!”

You scramble out of Chan’s lap so quickly that you almost fall face first on the gravel. Quickly finding your footing and shooting up into a standing position, you find Chan doing the same as you spot Minji’s head popping through the bushes, a Cheshire smile curling upon her lips.

“Well well well,” she cheers, “seems you two made up, didn’t you?”

You scowl, stomping past her as you say, “come on, I haven’t seen all of the market yet.”

“Well wait for me!” She chirps with another giggle, bouncing up behind you before linking arms and chattering on away about how the Christmas decorations are the cutest this year.

Chan watches you as he follows close behind, affection filling his chest and a grin breaking across his face.

I love her.

——-

"What if he doesn't like it?"

"He'll love it Y/N," Minji says while brushing back a few stray strands from your face. She ties up your hair in an elegant half ponytail, topping it off with a simple black ribbon, "there. You look pretty. There's no way Chan can't find you attractive."

"I know, but how am I supposed to act with him now? It's so...weird..." you blush just at the thought of having dinner face to face with him, the thought of his eyes locking on your own so intimately...

Oh just don't think about it! You feel like slapping yourself in the face. Why does it matter whether you’re alone or not? This is what you’ve been waiting for all this time, wasn’t it?

“What if it’s actually really awkward and we don’t know what to say to each other?” Your mutter s louder than you expect and Minji looks down at you, hands grasping your shoulders as she takes in your words.

“Trust me,” she says with a firmness you can’t quite compete with, “you’ll be fine.”

The doorbell rings just as you’re about to answer her that no, you won’t be fine and nothing about this is fine. Minji hurries over to get the door, barely giving you time to get your senses into check before the it swings open.

Chan gazes at you, blinks at Minji, then back at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

And when he speaks, he is breathless.

“Hey,” he says, almost shyly. Like he can’t quite meet your eye, “you ready?”

“H-Hi,” you stutter out, cheeks flaming in pink as you scramble to get your bag together before scurrying towards the door, all while ignoring Minji, “so—sorry, were you waiting for long?”

“No no,” he smiles at you and you swear a million butterflies explode throughout your chest at this simple action, “I just came, and—“ he pauses for a second, eyes glancing over your outfit before locking with your own. His smile widens like a little boy who one found with his hand in a cookie jar. Not his cookie jar, “you look nice.”

“Thanks,” you sound breathless as you answer, and quickly try to come back down to earth, “you too.”

It is definitely weirder to be hanging out with Chan knowing that there’s the possibility of romance in the air. It’s not everyday that you get to be so close to the one you’re crushing on. It’s only just recently that you got to see Chan as more than just a friend, like a man, and the thought is unsettling, yet thrilling. One you can’t quite explain in simple words.

He brings you to the movies to watch a christmas-themed blockbuster. You don’t complain, continuing on the stream of chatter as you line up for some popcorn. It’s almost as if everything is normal between you two. Nothing feels as out of place as it should’ve, and slowly you find yourself relaxing the more the evening wears on.

“So is this another one of your stupid romcoms?” You can’t help but tease him as you make your way inside. There are numerous vacant seats and you follow Chan up the stairs until he finds a suitable row.

“it’s not just a stupid romcom okay?” Chan hisses back, and his response causes you to grin in the dark, “stories have happy endings too, you know.”

“Yeah yeah, so you keep saying,” you tease.

“D’you wanna bet that you’ll love this one?” He raises a brow at you.

“Pfft. You’re gonna bet on my reaction?”

His stare is serious, it almost makes you want to squirm in place. Heat rushing to the back of your neck, you hurriedly add on, “alright alright, what will you do for me if I don’t like the movie?”

“You grant me a dare.”

“A what?“ You feel your heart drop. Surely he hasn’t just suggested—

“A dare. You get to do any dare that I order you too,” satisfied, Chan crosses his arms over his chest with a grin, “fair deal?”

“Wha— how is that fair?!”

“It’s totally fair…if you’re honest with me,” he sends you a pointed look.

In the end you had to agree, grumbling a little under your breath as you did so and Chan, grinning from ear to ear, had gently prodded your shoulder with his. You couldn’t help but smile at his action.

He’s not one for skinship. And yet, he makes sure you’re always feeling loved no matter the circumstances.

“So?” He asks as soon as the ending credits roll in, “did you like it?”

In the end, you’d had to agree and abide by his rules. The movie had been — in all honesty — better than expected, though you’re quite unsure whether it had been because of Chan’s company or because it was genuinely good.

“Fine, what’s your dare?” You ask sullenly as you make your way to the exit. You feel like a child about to sulk in a corner.

But Chan laughs lightly, bopping you on the forehead as he says, “ hold my hand, all the way until the end of this date.”

You blink at him, “what if I have to go pee?”

“Then we'll go pee together."

"Didn't you say you didn't like holding hands?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chan stiffen, colour spreading through his face, "yeah well..." he mutters, "it was different then."

His reaction is adorable, and as you stumble out into the street -- night has fallen and there are more people bumbling about -- you reach your hand out without looking at him, eyes averted to the ground before you feel his warmth wrap arouns yours.

His hand is large, had always been in comparison to yours. Somehow, the way his fingers close around yours makes you see stars.

You find a cozy little restaurant on the corner of the street where the christmas market is taking place. It’s called “Le Coin Ideale”, a small French-owned cafe with old retro vinyls stuck to the wall and faded-out couches scattered all over the place like an expired, outdated living room.

“This is cute,” you can’t help but mutter out as you take your seat. Chan flashes you a grin while handing you one of the menus stacked atop the table, “I found it by accident when I was running late for my chem exam, once.”

“You? Running late?” Your nose wrinkles, “somehow, that doesn’t seem to make so much sense.”

“You know why?” He leans forward, the grin blossoming on his face with such mischief you almost regret what you said, “the night before, you had called me because you couldn’t sleep. And even though I knew I was going to shoot myself in the foot the next day for not sticking to my sleep schedule, I just didn’t want to let you go.”

“What?” You blink at him, astounded by what he just said, “wait, how come I don’t remember—“

“I never told you my exam was the day after. You would’ve killed me.”

In response, you slap his arm. He winces, yelping out a protest, “what was that for?!”

“For being an idiot,” you grumble and avert your gaze, heat spreading through your cheeks. How adorable. He’d actually sacrificed his sleep for you. “Don’t do that again.”

Ordering two cups of hot chocolate and sandwiches — at this point you were just too engrossed in what Chan had to say that you don’t care what you’re eating as long as it’s food — the two of you keep up the stream of chatter as memories flood in. He reminds you of how, back in high school, you would hide in the art room just to get away from the crowd. Despite being popular due to your position on the cheerleading squad, you’d never been a fan of too much attention. Chan used to hang out with you there, painting portraits of your face, your side profile, your eyes, as you spoke about everything and anything.

“I always thought it was weird that you were on the cheerleading team,” Chan admits while munching through his sandwich.

“Hm?” You frown, “why? I think I was doing pretty good.”

“Yeah you were. You were one of the best they had. But, I don’t know,” he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, “you never seemed to fit in with the rest of the girls. Most of them were unbearable.”

You can’t help but giggle, “they’re not that bad. You’re the one who just hated talking to new people.”

“Yeah maybe,” he grabs a napkin as he speaks, reaching up to wipe your lips without a second’s hesitation and causing your heart to flutter, “I don’t think I’ve changed that much since high school.”

You’re trying really hard to keep holding onto his gaze despite the amount of heat frolicking inside your chest. You feel like you suddenly can’t breathe.

“I—well, I think no one has,” your eyes avert themselves to your drink and you quickly take a sip, “but I think we’ve become better.”

“What do you mean?”

“We haven’t changed. We’ve just…blossomed. Into who we are supposed to be. We don’t have to change for that.”

“Poet Y/N strikes again,” Chan’s lips curl up into a smile. He lets his head drop into his palm, tilting his face to gaze at you, “aren’t you cute.”

“Shut up,” you attempt to kick his shin.

He yelps, pulling his feet back as far as they can go, “wow, this is how you thank me for complimenting you? I’m hurt, Y/N.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Just for you,” his face breaks out into a grin then. You can’t help but grin back, heart soaring at the affection swimming in his gaze.

If you’d had any doubts about Chan loving you then, the way he’s looking at you throws every doubt out of the window.

He’s just so beautiful.

The afternoon sets in with golden sunlight streaming through the trees adorning the park and, considering the nice weather — albeit for the frozen ice to be wary of — it’s the best occasion for a walk.

“Do you know swans mate for life?” You say as you skirt around a patch of frozen ice.

“Like, actually?”

“Yeah. They’re one of the few animals that do. It’s kinda cute.”

The sun is warm as it hits your skin, a great contrast to the cold wind trickling through your hair. You push your beanie down in an attempt to savor more warmth, “they’re a lot like humans in that sense.”

“Not all humans mate for life, though.”

“No, they don’t,” you pull a grimace, “though I believe that people would be happier if they just committed—woah!”

There’s no way to steady yourself when your foot goes swinging forward, body lurching back as a cry escapes your lips and if it weren’t for Chan’s arms grabbing a hold of you and pulling you to his chest, you would’ve probably gotten a big bruise all along your back.

“Thanks,” you stutter it out between chattering teeth. It’s suddenly a lot colder now, “jeez, that’s dangerous.”

“You okay?” Chan asks, arms still wrapped around your middle, not letting go.

You nod firmly and, as he slowly sets you right upon your feet once again, you notice his hand sliding down your arm to interlace his fingers with yours.

“Ha,” you can’t help but chuckle, glancing up at him, “smooth.”

He’s blushing. And yet, grinning like there’s no tomorrow, “I know.”

The rest of the evening is spent browsing through the various stalls. You try on funny Christmas hats, take photos of each other as you laugh, and get to buy some mulled wine along the way. Christmas songs are blasting through the air like a national anthem but you find you don’t mind, it when your heart feels like it’s about to burst with emotion at any given moment.

Afterwards, as Chan walks you back home — much to your protest since you live opposite ways — you ask him how long he’s been feeling this way.

His answer is a shrug, “can’t tell. I just know it happened very suddenly. One day you were just a friend, and the next—I felt like you could be something more,” he ducks his head in embarrassment, eyes finding the ground crunching underneath your feet, “the thing is, once I realized—it just made sense. You know?”

“Yeah,” a smile breaks across your face, “yeah I know what that feels like.”

Reaching your apartment too soon for your liking, you make a quick work of unlocking the door and quickly tossing your shoes aside by the wall, "woah, I'm actually very tired."

There's no response, causing you to look back at Chan, standing by the doorway and shuffling on his feet like an awkward duck.

"Uhm," his hand is back at his neck, eyes darting between you and the apartment, "I--I'm not sure I should come in."

"Wha--why not?"

"Because it doesn't seem appropriate," he blushes.

"Dude it's fine, it's not like you haven't been in here--" the thought halts you in your tracks. You bite your lip. Oh. Right. You are in an established relayionship now. It's different.

"I--I mean," you stammer out, turning back around to set the shopping bags on the table as a source of distraction, "Yeah it's fine. Just--yeah come in and stop being so awkward."

You pour him some hot chocolate and bring it over to the couch where Chan has taken his place, as still as a solid rock, and he paints such a cute picture of innocence that a grin breaks across your face upon tracing his features.

"You know, it's still just me," you try to lighten the mood in hopes that Chan would actually stop being so tense, "you don't have to sit so straight either."

"I know," taking a shaky breath, he relaxes back into the couch and it seems like a weight has suddenly lifted from his shoulders, "yeah sorry. I'm just still not used to--you know..."

"Yeah I do," your grin widens and without warning, you swoop in to peck his cheek.

He lets out a sound between a yelp and a gasp as you chuckle, "you're cute, Chan."

"Don't call me that," he narrows his eyes at you.

"But you are," you're trying your best to mask your laugh but it's impossible with him looking so offendes by your words, "I'm sorry, it's just--I can't it, you're adorable--"

"Don't test me, Y/N."

"Ooh, what's big boy Chan gonna do huh?" You lean over, eyes sparkling, "that sounds scary--hey!"

He tackles you without warning, knocking your legs out from underneath before grabbing hold of your wrists. You shriek, playfully kicking at him as he lets his weight press down on you, chest against chest, skin against skin. Pinning you down onto the couch with a breathless grin, he chuckles at the annoyance on your face.

"Not so chatty now, are we?"

His murmur washes over you. Warm, tantalizingly so. You feel youraelf melting under his touch like butter.

Is this how love is supposed to feel? He's barely doibg anything and you feel like your heart has wings.

"For someone so shy, you're quite bold," is the only thing that you manage to say, though your words trail off as his lips inch closer and closer, "Chan..."

His eyes are glazed over, dark with untold emotion as they zero in on your lips. The butterflies explode tenfold across your tummy, legs squirming together only for Chan's thigh to slide in-between to part them.

You gasp, the air catching in the back of your throat as you feel his fingers interlock with yours.

Goosebumps tickle along your skin and you swallow thickly.

He's rendering you insane just by being so close to you and you can't help but wonder; where did your best friend go?

"Y/N."

His voice is soft, raw with restraint as you still, breathing the same air for a moment. You wish you can look away because he's making you feel all sorts of things. But you find you can't, pulled in by the ghostly power of chemistry triggered between your two bodies. It's as if time stops, the entire world freezing and suspending you two in a small pocket of bliss.

You're brought back to earth by Chan's soft growl. His fingers tighten ever so slightly on yours, and you bite down onto your lower lip upon feeling a knot tighten at the base of your stomach.

Is he going to...

"I--" he licks his lips, "I want to kiss you," he pauses for a beat, then adds, "Please."

You gaze at him. Your heart skips.

Then, you dip your head into a nod.

And before you know it, he's already tilted his head to press his lips against yours.

It's not like the first time, desperate and eager and drunk.

It's neither like the second, tentative and soft and filled with all the things you wished you had told him.

It's tender, yet firm. Caring. As if Chan already knows what you want, what you need. You feel him, firm and warm pressed up against you like he'd die if he didn't. You kiss back slightly, lips nibbling on his and causing a small breath to escape his throat. reassurance, probably. But it makes you melt even further into the couch as he continues kissing your next breath away.

You can taste him. Smell him. He smells of musk and boy deodorant, the kind that makes your head all dizzy as his mouth slants against yours even more intimately, pushing and moving and tongue licking the seam of your lips. You whimper, mouth opening to allow his tongue to dance with yours as he pushes you further back into the couch.

It's only when you need air that you find yourself parting, breathless and chest heaving as you feel his nose brushing yours with eyes half-lidded like he's judt come out of a dream.

Ironic, considering that what he says next is, "I'm not...dreaming, right?"

Dishevelled locks and a pouty mouth greets you as your eyes flutter open, and something in your lower stomach churns at the intensity in his eyes. Dark and molten with desire.

"No," your murmur is barely a breath of air that caresses his face. He sighs before nuzzling his nose into your cheek, "thank god."

Impulsively, your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer to you and he happily obliges, face finding thr crook of your neck as you pillow your cheek on the side of his head, pressing a small kiss there.

It's so magical, so surreal. Yet it feels so right to have Chan in your arms.

It's incresible what life throws your way. This entire ordeal had started as a fake relationship, an excuse, a means to an end.

And now, you couldn't inagine yourself living without it. Without him.

"I love you."

You blurt out the words before you can stop yourself and Chan stills in your arms. His head lifts slightly, eyes finding yours as one of his hands reach up to caress your cheek.

"I love you too," he murmurs, and another flood of fireworks cause your heart to melt and explode at the same time.

You can't help but kiss him again. He kisses back with just as much ardour. And you think this is it.

This is home.

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[sashi-ya]

月が綺麗ですね > 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚒𝚝?

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞 ᴅᴀʏ sɪx > sᴀʙᴏ x ғ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

♡ request: @cupidcream asked: hi! if requests are open for the new event, could i have sabo with “your sweet perfume” ? and maybe childhood friends to lovers? thank you! (and sorry if requests aren’t open and i read the post wrong!!) ♡ tw: sfw. adaptation to a modern au about Sabo's memory lose and Dragon being his adoptive father. This was a perfect request for him, since I've always had the hc he smells like burnt caramel for some reason! SPOILER alert: "emperor of flames/ entei" is a canon name he receives, I won't state in which situation, since it hasn't been animated but yep, it's canon :P. ٠ wc: 1.4k ٠ ♡ masterlist ٠taglist: @zella07 @jin-supremacy01 @alexkanroji @jenwooly |

The scent of burnt caramel, that perfume he always had… the scent every morning now, invades your senses and makes you smile…

“Sabo, my knee!” you cried. His golden curls, a missing tooth, his big hat coming closer. “What happened, (Name)!?” he asked, crunching on your side, inspecting your scraped knee. As sweet as a little boy can be, he took the time to clean and cure each and every single scratch you ever did to your body. And you did too.

Living in Baltigo, a big orphanage wasn’t easy, especially for two little kids. However, both stick to each other to survive. Became the best of friends, almost like brother and sister.

But… when you finally found an adoptive family, you and him had to separate… but, there was something you always remembered of him; the scent of his skin. It was so sweet and special. It was like how little animals recognize their family and the burnt caramel perfume of his skin never left your memory… because you could never reach out to him, ever again.

Even if you begged your parents to go visit him, the people from the orphanage told you he had escaped… and you never, ever, saw him again.

Years passed. You have become a uni student, and life couldn’t be better. Your new year starting, meeting new people always excited you. “Politics here I go. I still remember when Sabo and I debated every night about the disparity of this world, we were just kids!… I hope you are proud of me, wherever you are” you murmur, holding to your backpack and walking proudly to the first lecture of the day.

As you shake some snow off your boots, you see someone pass you haven’t seen before. Golden wavy locks, a long dark blue coat, gloved hands, and a face hiding under a black beret. For a second you smell something sweet, something familiar.

You blink twice, staying there in the middle of the lecture hall entrance. Some people ask for you to move, others plainly push you. But you can’t move. Could he be…?

“(Name)! Hey! Earth calling (Name)!” Koala, your friend, and classmate pulls you out of your own world of doubts.

“Hey, Koko! Ye- yes. Sorry, what were you saying?” you ask, shaking your head. It cannot be… after so many years…

“Come on, class is gonna start and you are there standing! It looks like you’ve seen a ghost girl! What happened?” she asks, looking at your still surprised face.

“N-nothing, love. Let’s go, let’s get a spot before the class starts”

You try to find that young man that walked pass you a couple of minutes ago, but you can’t see him sitting anywhere. You start to think he was just the product of your imagination, but… that scent… that burnt caramel perfume…

You sit, and while you take out your laptop some sweet voice makes you look at the blackboard in front of you. That young man, the golden locks boy… he is sitting right in the professor’s desk.

He has a burn scar over his left eye…

“Hello class, I’m gonna be the new professor for Politics this year! Nice to meet you, you can call me Sabo!”

A single tear runs through your cheek, you can’t even blink… Sabo? Your sweet “flame emperor” as he liked to be called when you were playing in the dried brownish piles of leaves during chilly autumns at the orphanage.

 “(Name)… what- what is it? Are you ok?” Koala asks, shaking your arm as she sees you cry and smile at the same time.

“That’s- I finally- I finally found him, Koko! that’s Sabo!” you murmur, breathing for the first time all the oxygen your lungs could get, because your heart has begun to beat completely, because you were complete now…

He crosses sight with you, giving you that sweet smile you used to remember. He hasn’t change a thing. But he has become a man, a handsome man.

You are delighted with the class he imparts. But can’t wait until it’s over. You only want to hug him, to tell him who you are. And, forty minutes (that felt like a total torture to your anxiety) after, the lecture is finally over and every classmate is out of the room, except for you…

You stand up, running down the stairs that get you to the desk and scream his name. “Sabo!!” you shout, jumping on and hugging him. He still smells like burnt caramel; he does. He really does. The warmth of his skin feels so familiar, that’s your Sabo.

He walks back, receiving you in his arms but he is absolutely scared of you. “WH- Who- who are you?” he asks, leaving you frozen. There is no way he isn’t recognizing you.

“Sabo! It’s me! (Name)! What happened to your eye? Are you ok?” you -almost- yell trying to feel the bumpiness of his eye scar.

“Excuse me. But- I have- Apparently, I had a big accident and I can’t remember anything before my adoptive father picked me from the streets. I’m really sorry if you belonged to my past but I can’t remember you” he whispered, with sad eyes.

Your happy face turns into a bleak one. How comes he doesn’t remember you? But the scent of his skin, and… your memories? You choke back tears, everything can be fixed, you are sure. “Then you and I should go have some coffee, and I will tell you who am I!” you chime, yet with teary eyes.

But, Sabo is now your professor…

“Dear, I can’t do that… I’m your professor now… I- I can’t go on a date with a student you-“ he tries to excuse himself, with blushed cheeks, looking right to the side. He certainly finds you interesting, gorgeous… but he couldn’t…

You stiffen up your back. He thinks this is gonna be a date?

“No, Sabo… listen, I wasn’t trying to act disrespectfully towards you. I know you are my professor, but you don’t understand… we- we were like siblings back then! I wanted to tell you about our past…” you try to explain, but he stops you by grabbing your hand.

Sabo takes some air. He is surely scared of facing the past, but he doesn’t really know why. And his eyes burn like flames when looking at you. The warmth of the leather glove on your hand feels like a distant memory you have never lived before. “I- I guess we could have some coffee after I’m finished with my classes then. If you don’t mind, could you remind me of your name, please?”

“I’m (Name). And sure, I’ll be here by the time you are finished, “my sweet emperor of flames”” you mumble the last part, turning around and walking towards the door. Your hair flows with your motions, and the scent of your sweet perfume meets his pointy nose.

And right before leaving, you hear a loud thump against the floor. “Sabo?!” you gasp, seeing him kneeling on the ground with tears on his steel eyes. Running to his help, you kneel right in front of him.

“Your- your sweet perfume… (Name)… I- I- it’s you… you have always smelled like marshmallows to me… I just remember how in love I was with you…”

“Sabo? You were in love with me?” you ask, gawking but wiping the tears off his eyes with your thumb. You had always had a crush with him, but you always thought it was only you… and little by little you accepted you were only like her little sister. A little sister he wanted to protect.

“I- You-“ he blushes intensely. But, he hugs you so tight. And the sweet fragrances of your skins meet once again… a sweet perfume only you could perceive, the scents of your souls… “I don’t give a fuck about the rules, please… let’s go on a date!”

As many as you want, my emperor of flames… 💖

#sabo op #chief of staff sabo #op sabo #one piece sabo #sabo #asl brothers #sabo the revolutionary #sabo x you #sabo x reader #sabo headers #sabo one piece #sabo imagine #revolutionary sabo #one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #one piece x oc #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece #sashi ya