#the hearts and sparkles... the hot pink text...

[coupsoficecream]

Edit's

All you ever did lately was replay edits of your girlfriend. The same clip—over and over again. Because yeah, you’re needy… and just a little desperate for her attention. It’s been too long since you last spent time together. But hey, you knew from the start what dating an idol meant: late replies, missed calls, long-distance reality. Still, as long as Karina was yours—your hot girlfriend—you could survive anything. Until one day, she noticed something. You’d been hiding your phone more than usual. And that’s when the truth came out.

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It had been months since you last saw Karina in person.

And while most people had the strength of will to survive that kind of long-distance relationship...

You didn’t.

You were the kind of girlfriend who needed attention like air.

Texts weren’t enough.

Phone calls weren’t enough.

Even video calls left you wanting to throw your phone into the wall after ten minutes of “I miss you too.���

You wanted her here. You wanted her voice in your ear, her weight on your lap, her stupid cold fingers sliding under your shirt just to feel your warmth and say,

“You’re soft. I like touching you.”

You wanted all of it and because you couldn’t have it...

You settled for watching fan edits. Over. And over. And over again.

It started innocent.

Just a little clip of her performing UP in London.

But then it spiraled.

The angles. The hair. The way her eyes sparkled when she smirked mid-dance. The way her hands ran through her hair, confident and slow. The way her tongue touched her top lip before she sang her part.

Your screen time skyrocketed.

You started curating a private Karina folder.

You named it “for research purposes” but it was just your emotional support collection.

It got worse.

You saved fancams. You made a playlist. You knew the timestamps of every smirk, wink, and hair flip.

At this point, you were basically your own Karina fansite.

And the worst part?

You never told her.

You pretended you were the chill girlfriend. The nonchalant one. You barely complimented her to her face, afraid it’d sound too obsessive. You’d dodge her flirtatious teasing like it was the plague.

“Oh, that outfit? Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Your dance today? Mm. Could’ve gone harder.”

But behind her back? You were crying into your blanket like a fangirl in heat.

That’s exactly what you were doing now.

Lying on your couch in a big hoodie, legs tangled in a throw blanket, Karina’s edit on full brightness.

It was the one with the slow zoom-in of her licking her lips before a wink. The audio was synced to a stupid TikTok remix that made her ten times hotter.

You were screaming internally.

Curling your toes.

Chewing your finger.

Burying your face in the pillow.

Yelling “GET OUT OF MY PHONE” even though you hit replay five times.

And then—

you heard a sound.

The front door clicked.

Your heart dropped.

You ripped your headphones out, scrambled upright, and fumbled to throw your phone under the pillow like it was illegal contraband. You weren’t expecting her. You didn’t even check your messages. But there she was.

Karina.

Hair tied up, wearing a hoodie that was half zipped, cheeks a little pink from the cold. Carrying a duffel bag and takeout in one hand.

You froze.

She blinked. “Surprise.”

You smiled weakly. “H-Hey…”

She looked at you. Really looked.

Your flushed face. Your panicked hands. The way you’d immediately pressed your body against the couch like you were hiding something.

Her eyes narrowed playfully.

“...What were you watching?”

“Nothing.”

“Is that why you look like a tomato?”

“No, I—I just—I'm warm—”

Karina stepped closer. Her grin widened. She tossed her bag to the floor, dropped the takeout on the table, and leaned on the back of the couch behind you.

“Was it a video?”

"Or a p-"

"HELL NAW-" A low chuckle muffle against her lips, makes you wanna pull her onto the couch then make out till the sun rise.

“...An edit?”

“...Of me?”

You didn’t answer.

She reached behind you. Swiped the pillow away like a boss fight item.

Grabbed your phone.

You gasped. “YAH—!”

It was too late. The screen lit up.

And there it was. Her face, paused mid-smirk, mid-hair flip, in glorious HD. Karina blinked. “Is this—”

She hit play.

The sound boomed. Music, fan screams, and her face doing all kinds of sinful things to your sanity. You covered your face with both hands.

“I’m going to melt. I’m going to dissolve into the floor.”

Karina laughed. Like, really laughed.

Then she climbed over the couch—literally climbed—knees pressing against the cushion, until she was hovering above you.

“You watch edits of me when I’m not around?”

“Oh my God. You’re such a simp.”

“My cool girlfriend is secretly my biggest fan?”

You groaned, hiding under the blanket. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” she sang, pulling the blanket down. You looked up at her, pouty and flustered.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot and also this smug. Pick one.”

She leaned in, face dangerously close to yours, lips parted just slightly.

“I choose both.”

Your brain short-circuited. She stared at you for a moment, gaze softening.

“You should’ve told me you missed me this much,” she whispered.

You swallowed. “I didn’t wanna be too much.”

Karina brushed her fingers against your cheek, her thumb stroking softly near your temple.

“You’re never too much.”

You almost cried right there. Instead, you choked out, “Well. Your edits are.”

“Want the real thing?”

Before you could answer, she tilted her head—

And kissed you.

Not just a peck.

But the kind of kiss that made your legs numb. That made your hands fumble to hold onto her hoodie.

That made your heart explode into glitter and sparkles and girlhood. When she pulled away, you were red all over.

“Speechless?” she teased. You nodded dumbly.

Karina leaned in again, whispering in your ear:

“Next time, instead of watching me through a screen… just ask.”

“I’ll give you a private show.”

You short-circuited on the spot.

[unusualshrimp]

A cheesy valentine for your inbox:

okay obsessed with this one. thank you 😁😁😁😁😁🥰🥰🥰

[milkingtonthethird]

BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to paint their nails

WARNINGS: fluff, gn!reader, but you wear nail polish

NOTE: DUKE IS HERE. EVERYONE SAY HI DUKE

Bruce Wayne:

- You’re doing your own nails when he walks in.

- Clearly you’re bored, or something, because he can easily pay to get them done professionally.

- He approaches you, gently lifting your hand to inspect.

- “Pretty,” he murmurs, followed by a kiss to your knuckle.

- You grin. “Can I do yours?”

- He considers, even though there’s already a denial on the tip of his tongue. But, it doesn’t come out, because you look really excited at the thought.

- He agrees. And it’s lame.

- A clear top coat. That’s all he’ll let you do.

- Bruce Wayne can’t be seen with sparkles on his hands, even if he doesn’t care what the media thinks.

- He believes it’s too feminine for him.

- They’d probably be chipped immediately given how handsy his nighttime life is, anyway.

- Still, it’s something—you’ll take what you can get.

- He actually comes to you every few days so he’s able to keep it on.

- He does try on black at some point. It looks odd on his large, calloused hands. That’s just him, though.

- The top coat is too unnoticeable for anyone to comment, but his kids are smart, observant.

- “Why are your nails shiny?”

- “Because it makes them happy.”

Dick Grayson:

- He really likes watching you do your nails and is very satisfied when you do a color he recommends.

- Said color most of the time is blue.

- You’re waiting for the polish to dry when you ask, “You want me to do yours?”

- Grayson is open-minded, but he’s also utterly in love with you, so obviously he agrees.

- You’d both have black on your thumbs and pinkies, with that iconic vivid blue on the rest.

- Unfortunately, colliding his fist into jaws and his training does get in the way of keeping them nice.

- Which means he gets spoiled with your attention even more as you fix them. Yay!

- He’s lowkey cocky when he takes down criminals with it on.

- “LOL I just kicked your ass with nail polish my partner put on” ahh mf.

- He’s incredibly defensive if anyone teases him.

- They’re basically insulting you, too.

- They eventually stop because he’s dead serious.

Jason Todd:

- “You look better with it,” he would say upon the offer.

- But he’s equally bored. He’ll agree.

- Black. Pure black. Black hole black.

- He’d make an edgy comment about how it’s his “soul” or whatever.

- He actually kind of likes it. It fits his aesthetic.

- Beats people a little harder if they happen to chip it.

- He’ll let you add a small, red matching heart on a finger.

- Preferably middle. It’s his favorite one.

- He would make snide comments when he’s fighting.

- “They did my nails so pretty, don’t you think?” (Morseo his “fingerless gloves” era.)

- Not that they’d notice. His knuckles are being too personal with their face.

- He’d be like Dick. Why is simple nail polish just so fuckin’ funny?

Tim Drake:

- He won’t necessarily be interested in polish, but rather small designs.

- Like a little flower, or a heart.

- Super simplistic stuff that has him smile when he looks at it.

- You did, as cheesy as it is, a Red Robin one time.

- May or may not have taken forever.

- He’s genuinely sad if they get ruined. You worked hard on them.

- He’d probably apologize because clearly it’s his fault—heavy sarcasm, by the way.

- You remind him that it gives you an opportunity to do more.

- He probably would ignore whomever made comments that weren’t compliments until they apologize.

- He hasn’t talked to Jason in a while.

Damian Wayne:

- “Don’t you have your own nails?”

- You’ll offer to bathe Titus for the rest of the year, and suddenly he’s sitting on your floor while you put a tacky hot pink on him.

- He lets you do whatever, because he doesn’t keep it long. He’s just not into it.

- But if he isn’t doing anything, he won’t take it off until he has to.

- Him texting Jon about how stupid he is with cunty ass nails.

- No one finds out. It’s his little secret.

- And then Bruce forgets to knock one time during a session.

- “Father,” he greets flatly, not looking up.

- You’ve never seen the Batman so…confused.

Duke Thomas:

- He’d be in the same boat as Tim—simple designs.

- Ones that make something with both of your nails together. Like a heart.

- He let you do acrylics one time for shits and giggles.

- “How do people…do things?”

- He’s been trying to open a can of soda for the past ten minutes.

- He keeps the designs absolutely pristine, somehow.

- He’d avoid doing certain things, but he also has crazy luck.

- He’ll bring you new ideas.

- He wears it with pride in public.

- If anyone brings it up in a mocking manner, he’d say, “I think you’re mad because you’re single and I’m not.”

- The time Jason did it, he’d sulk, because Duke’s right. He is mad.

doing their makeup

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [4].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. general menace behavior, swearing, too much mentions of kissing and making out, it's beomgyu's turn to have a mental breakdown. WORD COUNT. 3.6k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @captivq @tocupid @seosalad @ddazed-lhs @gyuszie @mifuyuyo @error-cant-function @twocupsofsuga @flowerbe0m @dangerousconnoisseurbanana @laviesm @keikeu @elavin @chaemmie @rikisly

NOTE. the chapter title is clickbait, actually. anyway, it's the beomgyu chapter! this one is for both the e2l enjoyers and haters!! hope you enjoy whatever the fuck this is!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 4 — kisses? kisses.

IT’S NOT OFTEN THAT YOU GET TO STAY AT HOME FOR AN ENTIRE DAY. Supposedly, you and your friends had plans for the beach, but due to some circumstances that included one of their cars breaking down, it had to be canceled. You send an “Oh no, that’s too bad. Sad face. Sad face,” through text before punching your fist into the air in celebration and jumping back into the warm, welcoming embrace of your bedsheets, practically melting into the mattress.

Your plan is to stay in bed the whole day. Until you get hungry, so you force yourself out of your blankets and zombie-walk all the way down to the kitchen where you uncharacteristically find Soobin tinkering with the oven. He’s usually holed up in his room doing god knows what, so you’re curious to see what he’s up to.

You clear your throat to indicate your arrival. “Hey.” Your voice causes him to drop the tray a little too early onto the counter. “What’s that?”

“Oh, um. I was baking a little.” You’ve come to discover that Soobin can only talk to you when he’s not looking at you, so you say nothing when he focuses his gaze on the rather delicious looking arrangement of chocolate chip cookies on the tray instead of maintaining eye contact with you. “Y—you can have some— ah, careful! It’s still hot.”

It is still hot but it also tastes really fucking good. The cookie crumbles in your mouth and your eyes sparkle as you shoot him a thumbs up of approval. “Whoa. You can sell these.”

Soobin keeps his head down, but his pink ears are on full display. It’s cute. He lets you snack on as many cookies as you want and unties his equally pink apron. “Ah. I forgot.” You stop munching on the third cookie and raise a curious brow. His voice is hesitant when he says, “I have to leave for an appointment, but the cookies haven’t cooled yet so I can’t store them in the pantry yet.”

“You can leave it to me. Go do your thing.”

“Then...excuse me.”

He takes out the rest of the trays from the oven before shuffling off. Not long after, Heeseung’s nose pokes through the kitchen, beckoned by the scent of the freshly baked goods. “Soobin made them,” you show off on his behalf. He stuffs a bite into his cheeks before leaving. Apparently he also has somewhere to be.

It’s like Soobin’s cookies are luring them all down. Jake rushes down and wordlessly grabs a bunch before running out the door, saying that he’s late for his flight or something. Sunghoon shows up next, asking if you slept well last night as he picks out once from the batch, and your heart swells with tender pride at his attempt to strike a conversation. They grow up so fast. “Take care,” you bid him goodbye. He nods and heads out for his shift at The Lounge.

Jay also comes down for the cookies. “Got any plans today, champ?” he asks.

“Absolutely nothing at all.”

“Cool beans.”

“Very cool.” You push the tray towards him. He steals another bite. “Where are you headed?”

“Some lecture about fabrics. I heard they’ll be giving out some very nice gingham for participants at the end.” You can barely catch what he’s saying with the cookie wedged between his teeth as he pulls on his coat, but you tell him to have fun and, like the rest, watch as he leaves the house.

By the time it grows quiet, there are only five cookies left on the tray and you’re relieved Soobin had made more than one batch. It’d be a shame if he couldn’t even taste his own cooking. You carefully throw them all into a container, but pause upon realizing that Beomgyu is the only one who hasn’t come down, so he also hasn’t tried them yet.

He isn’t exactly your favorite resident. And although you aren’t particularly fond of Beomgyu, you also don’t want to spend the rest of your stay here with any bad blood with any of the boys. So you fish out a few pieces from the container and carefully arrange them on a nice looking plate. You even pour a glass of orange juice for him. Acting like a dumb little housewife for a guy you don’t even like a lot sure hurts your fucking pride, but you want to shove your sincerity up Choi Beomgyu’s ass until it forces him to be nice to you.

You’re extra careful when you climb up the stairs, hands full with the snack you prepared. It poses a struggle when you have to knock on the door, so you call out his name instead and hope for a response.

“It’s open— fucking piece of shit. You useless son of a fuck!”

Well, that doesn’t sound very inviting. 

But you invite yourself in anyway because after clearing things up with Sunghoon, you feel like you can conquer everyone else with ease. You’re overconfident. That was your first mistake.

The moment you crack open the door, your ears are attacked by aggressive keyboard noises and Beomgyu is hunched over in front of his monitor— three monitors, actually. You’re scared he’s about to destroy the computer with how rough he’s smashing every key, but he leans back not long after with an annoyed grunt and starts clicking things on the screen. “What do you want?” he asks without looking at you. It’s starting to rise, your blood pressure. You hope you last until the end of this exchange.

“Soobin baked cookies. I’m here to bring you some.”

He pulls down his headphones to his neck and the chair swivels to face you. An awfully aggravating move which is only exacerbated when Beomgyu’s eyes land on your offering and he stifles out a scoff. “Why? You trying to act like my wife, or some shit?”

You know what, fuck this, you’re not dealing with his ass.

“I’d rather kill myself than be your stupid fucking wife.” The desire to pour the sweet, sweet glass of orange all over his gaming setup nearly overtakes you, but you’re sensible enough. You settle with pouring it on his head instead. “Enjoy your drink, asshole.”

Maybe that was overkill, but you’re mad and sometimes you do impulsive shit (case in point, chasing down Sunghoon to his workplace). You would’ve smashed the plate on his face too, but Soobin’s cookies are too precious for that so you keep them intact when you stomp out his room, slamming the door shut in the process. It’s a good thing the rest of the guys are out of the house because the visual of you angrily marching into the kitchen and stuffing the rest of the cookies into the tupperware with a tightly knitted frown would definitely rouse some questions, and you can’t guarantee answering those questions nicely and possibly making a few of them cry (again).

The pantry door swings open and shut with a harsh noise when you enter to store Soobin’s baked goods. You place them next to the loaves of packaged bread on the middle shelf before letting out a heavy sigh. Beomgyu has ruined your day of relaxation and the only way to fix it is a good nap.

Unfortunately for you, that won’t be possible anymore. Unless you don’t mind napping in the dark recluse of your home pantry because when you attempt to pull open the door— it won’t budge.

Oh no. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The door is stuck. You’re stuck. You have no one to blame but Choi Beomgyu.

Having an orange juice shower wasn’t part of Beomgyu’s calculations.

In fact, he wasn’t exactly calculating anything. He just spat out the first sentence that popped in his head and it ended up in a citrus-scented disaster. Maybe he should start using his head more the next time he has a conversation with you. That is if you still want to have anything to do with him. Beomgyu may have a dumb mouth, but he isn’t blind or stupid. He knows you don’t like him, and that might be his fault entirely.

Shit, this better not ruin my hair, he thinks as he runs his head under the bathroom sink, rinsing out the sugar from his roots but his shirt still smells of orange juice even after he’s finished drying up, yet he can’t be bothered to get a change of clothes so he just returns to his already ruined game of Counter Strike with a groan.

It’s not that Beomgyu hates you. In fact, he thinks you’re really cool and funny, but he’s emotionally constipated so he masks his chronic rizzlessness by being a massive douche. It doesn’t help that you sound really hot when you tell him to fuck off or swear at his general direction. The problem is, he can’t really tell you that, so he continues being a prick and picking fights with you whenever he can. Aren’t girls supposed to be into that crap? Beomgyu doesn’t watch a lot of romance films, but he’s seen how people thirst over Mr. Darcy. His Twitch chat also goes crazy when he swears on stream, and last time he checked a good chunk of his viewership are women. 

He’s sure he was on the right track. Until today— because that look on your face before you stomped out of the room was less hot-scary and more scary-scary. It haunts his mind as he plays another round with Yeonjun and the others, a ghost behind his eyelids. They’re yelling at him to get his shit together through the voice chat and that’s when he knows he needs to step out his room to get a breather.

Somehow, his feet lead him down to the kitchen instead of the covered deck. And his eyes are searching for your pissed off expression instead of the Red Bull his tongue is craving.

Must be in her room, he thinks. Cold air hits his face when he hooks out the energy drink from the fridge. Now that he thinks about it, it’s oddly quiet in the house. Usually, there’d at least be screaming or noise from Jake’s shitty relaxation playlist, but it’s dead silent right now.

Beomgyu prods around the island, looking for the Soobin cookies you mentioned. The only sign he has of their existence are the crumbs on the three trays splayed out in the sink.

Crash!

Okay, what the hell was that?

Thud.

It’s coming from the pantry. The fuck, is this house haunted?

Now, Beomgyu doesn’t get scared of shit. He makes his entire living from not batting an eye at video game jumpscares, so this is nothing. 

Thunk.

But if it’s his own house that’s haunted, he’s not gonna let the chance of kicking ghost ass slip through his fingers. The only reasonable thing to do is to kick the pantry door open.

So he kicks the pantry door open and bulldozes in.

“Wait, don’t leave the door—”

Slam!

It shuts behind him, depleting all the light in the room. He’s shocked to see you instead of a transparent old man from the 1800s. “Great,” you huff. “Now we’re both stuck here.” You’re the ghost. You’ve been the ghost this whole time.

Beomgyu turns around and rattles the door knob, but the door doesn’t budge. “It’s useless,” he hears you say from behind. His arm deflates to the side and he slumps, defeated. “Do you have your phone with you?”

“No. It’s in my room.”

“Well damn,” you flatly say. “Guess we gotta wait until one of the boys arrives.”

He turns back to face you, eyes narrowed in both suspicion and curiosity because what the fuck could you have been doing in here alone that made so much noise. “Hey, I know you hate me, but you don’t need to look so disgusted.” He isn’t disgusted. He’s about to lose his fucking mind because what’s the point of having a giant ass mansion when the pantry is so, so goddamned tiny that he can practically feel your body heat seeping into his own skin? 

One more step closer and he’d be practically pressed up all over you. It’s a good thing you decide to sink down and tuck yourself as close to the back shelf as possible, pressing your knees to your chest as you look up at him with unmistakable annoyance. “Sit down. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“I don’t hate you,” he obliges your suggestion, mimicking your position against the jammed door. 

“I’m not stupid. You’ve been a bitch to me the moment I stepped into this house.”

“Well, I fucking don’t. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Sure.” You wrinkle your nose. “And I’m absolutely elated by the fact that I have to be stuck with you here for the next two, three hours.”

Now, you don’t need to rub it in his face that you can’t stand him. Looks like that bet prize is as good as out of reach, but at this point he doesn’t really care anymore— undoing his fuckups is the more pressing issue at hand. His throat is dry and burning when he attempts to swallow, but nearly chokes on his spit when the particularly malicious death stare you’re giving him falls into his attention. Maybe he should say something. “Do you really think I hate you?”

“Well,” you cross your arms. “I’m at the very least sure you don’t like me.”

How does he fix this? There’s no tutorial or cheat code for this kind of situation. He’s stumped, he’s totally stumped. “Isn’t like— isn’t enemies to lovers supposed to be a popular trope?”

Something tells him he made the wrong move with how your glare suddenly softens and becomes drenched in pity. He doesn’t like that. He prefers it when you look at him like you want to stab a knife into his gut and twist it counterclockwise. “I don’t know which bastard lied to you, but acting like a stuck-up asshole doesn’t fly in real life, buddy.”

Beomgyu lets your words sink in before slowly uttering, “It…it does not?”

“No. No, it does not,” you confirm. A beat of silence. “Beomgyu, do you have a crush on me?”

The thing about small, locked places is that he can’t run away. Beomgyu wants to run away. He can’t do that. So he swears at you instead. “Fuck off.” You have deemed his enemies to love strategy futile, but you’ve backed him in a corner (literally), so he has no idea what to do. Distraction— a distraction would be nice to ward off the rising heat in his cheeks and the scent of fresh orange wafting into his senses that awfully reminds him of your disdain. There’s a stash of kisses chocolates he’s been raiding on the shelves somewhere. Chocolates are always good for stress, and he’s very fucking stressed right now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, following up your curious glances by standing up and digging your nose a little too close into his business as he fishes out a piece of chocolate hidden behind the stack of spices. A gasp rips out from your throat. “You bitch! You’re the one who’s been stealing my kisses!”

Beomgyu winces and nearly chokes on the sweet. “If you put it like that, people are going to get the wrong fucking idea.”

“What people? There’s no one else here,” you sass, arms crossed with a particularly grated expression. “But alright. I’ll let it slide. Give me a kiss, I think my blood pressure is rising.”

“Quit saying it like that,” he grunts, dropping three pieces onto your open palm. 

You tear one open, carefully placing the chocolate in your mouth. “Speaking of making out.” No one said anything about making out, you’re driving him absolutely nuts. “This sorta feels like we’re back in high school playing seven minutes in heaven.” You pause, chewing on another piece. “Except I’m pretty sure it’s been way longer than seven minutes. Fuck. When are the others coming back?”

It’s like a flip switched after admitting to not hating you. You’ve stopped glaring at him and instead reserved yourself to looking at him like he’s some sort of sick puppy you’ve decided to take in. Like now— lips slightly pursed, brows slightly knitted, and it makes him want to bang his head against the door because bleeding from a self-inflicted concussion would hurt his pride less than being on the receiving end of your pity. “You’ve never played seven minutes in heaven before?” Your tone is so soft, it kills him. 

“Why would I want to play that stupid game?”

“Hey, don’t slander my high school memories! That’s how I got my first kiss.” Again with the goddamned kisses, fuck at this point you’re doing it on purpose. Beomgyu refuses to look at you, grumbling unintelligible complaints under his breath. The chocolate tastes too sweet on his tongue and it’s making him nauseous. “Don’t tell me...you’ve never had your first—”

“What the fuck is up with you and kisses, seriously what the fuck are you trying to—”

He finally snaps, but quickly quells his outburst. It’s all your fault. You’re riling him up on purpose. When he thinks you’d snap at him back like usual, you don’t. Instead you continue looking at him with that unusual softened expression. “It’s alright, Beomgyu. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He wants to kill himself. “Wanna kiss?”

His shoulders slacken. He gives up. There’s no way he can win against the impenetrable force that is you. “No, you can have your stupid chocolate all to yourself,” he huffs, scrunching himself up further on the ground.

“I’m not talking about the chocolate. I’m asking if you wanna make out.”

What the fuck.

What the fuck are you saying right now?

“It’s gonna take a while for us to get out of here and it’s not like we have anything better to do.” You throw another kiss into your mouth and you’re talking so nonchalantly like you just asked him to pass the salt, to open the fridge door— not to engage in something totally non-friendly, non-platonic, toeing the line of propriety. Does Jake know your level of insanity when he suggested you live with them? Is Jake aware that you just casually ask people to exchange spit with you and die? “Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m just giving you the opportunity to experience the two things you have yet to experience. Totally up to you, buddy.”

How could you ask to kiss and call him buddy in the same breath? Beomgyu is convinced you’re not normal, but that should’ve been evident with how much your very presence tortures them every single god damned day.

He says something. He’s sure he says something, but it leaves his mouth before he could register them and the consequences of his impulsivity arrive when you’re suddenly a lot closer than he remembers and his brain jumps ship and he’s panicking. He panics when your fist crumples his orange-stained collar. He panics because he’s never kissed anyone before so what the fuck is he supposed to do now?

Shit, he really didn’t think this through. Holy fuck, you’re actually serious, you’re actually about to kiss him. 

“Did you say the cookies are in the pantry? I’m gonna get— oh shit, this thing is stuck.”

The door rattles. Alarm bells ring. Beomgyu pushes you off in a panic and a loaf of bread falls to the floor when you bump against the rack. Warm light spills into the tiny storage. He can clearly see the ruffled expression you’re wearing.

“Well. These aren’t cookies.”

He snaps his head up to see Heeseung standing at the foot of the entrance, clearly confused and alarmed by the unusual scene in the pantry. Soobin’s head pops in as well. You’re rubbing the back of your head when you spring up to your feet. “Holy shit, thank god. I thought we’d be stuck there for much longer.” 

Huh.

“What happened?” Heeseung trails behind you as you leave.

“Stored the cookies and got trapped in the process. Beomgyu tried helping and failed. Jake needs to fix that fucking door.”

It was so easy for you to leave him behind after the mess you’ve made. Soobin offers to help him up, but Beomgyu’s mood has already soured beyond salvation so he ignores the outstretched arm and shovels himself up with a grunt and quickly catches up to you— you, who’s already sitting on the island and enjoyed your freedom with a box of macarons Heeseung brought. You, who’s nonchalantly offering him the powder pink dessert that probably looks like his very own reflection.

“Want some?” you ask, mouth full. He stares at the crumbs near your lips. It pisses him off. “They’re really good.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

You furrow your brows. “Are you upset because we didn’t get to—”

“I said don’t talk to me.”

He’s not upset. He’s not. He is. He’s not. Maybe he is but that’s not the fucking point here. The point is you’re evil and the absolute worst and how can you dangle a gold chain in front of him only to snatch it back away? Actually, it’s not entirely your fault. Beomgyu’s eyes narrow at Heeseung who’s a second away from booking it because he doesn’t want to get dragged in your crossfire. Too late. He’s already involved. He fucked up the moment he opened that god forsaken door. This has simultaneously been the best and worst day of his life because even though you've told him acting like a dick doesn't work— at least he knows you don't mind kissing him

If only Heeseung hadn't opened the fucking door. Beomgyu’s gonna fuck him up further in League tonight.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[welcome-to-the-drive-in]

Chapter 1: Pink Luggage, Southern Heat

The sun was just starting to kiss the Atlantic horizon as I stepped off the Greyhound bus, my little pink suitcase wheels clicking on the cracked pavement of the Outer Banks. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird on a sugar rush, equal parts excitement and nerves buzzing through my veins. Five foot tall, curves in all the right places—my stomach soft and real, my boobs big and unapologetic, and my little chubby butt tucked neatly into my high-waisted pink shorts—I looked like a Malibu Barbie dropped straight into this wild, salty world.

Honestly, the ocean breeze smelled like freedom, but also like challenge. I wasn’t just any girl moving in with her grandma—no, I was Madea’s granddaughter. And Madea was a whole mood. A hurricane wrapped in a Southern drawl, who didn’t do fuss, nonsense, or untied shoelaces. Living here meant I had to blend the Malibu pink with the Outer Banks grit, and that wasn’t gonna be easy.

My phone buzzed with a new text: “You here yet, Princess? Madea’s porch swing is waiting. Don’t keep an old lady waiting.”

I smiled and replied, “Pulling up now. Hope she’s ready for Barbie with a little bit of soul.”

The neighborhood sparkled like it was plucked from a coastal magazine—painted beach houses with white railings, palm trees bending in the salty wind, and lawn flamingos that somehow fit perfectly in this southern-meets-california vibe. But the charm was raw, not polished.

I reached the house, a two-story pastel blue beauty with pink shutters and a porch wide enough for three swing sets. Madea was sitting on the front porch, rocking in her chair with a stern look that softened the moment she saw me. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun, her eyes sharp but welcoming.

“Well, if it ain’t my Malibu Barbie,” she said, standing to meet me with arms wide open. “You better not come in here looking like no city slicker trying to play dress up.”

I laughed, shaking out my curly ponytail. “Madea, you know I’m realer than real. And I brought my whole vibe.”

She shook her head, grinning. “You got enough pink for the whole beach, baby girl. But let’s see if you got the grit.”

The door creaked open, and the scent of warm cornbread and cinnamon filled the air. The house was a blend of Southern charm and a splash of Malibu pink accents—rose gold picture frames, fluffy cushions with sequined flamingos, and a massive basket of handmade quilts on the couch.

After setting down my suitcase, I peeked into what would be my room. It was like a Malibu Barbie dream come to life—soft bubblegum pink walls, a plush white shag rug, a vanity decked out with every shade of pink lipstick and nail polish, and fairy lights twinkling above the bed.

My closet was a whole vibe: rows of pastel dresses, high-waisted skirts, cropped tops in every shade of pink and lavender, racks of delicate jewelry sparkling under the light, and a corner dedicated to bikinis and silky robes. I ran my hand over the satin sheets and smiled.

“This is going to be alright,” I whispered to myself.

But just as I started unpacking, my phone pinged again. It was a message from a local Kook girl named Tia, who I’d met through Madea’s friends at church: “Welcome to the OBX. You ready for your first beach party? Rafe Cameron will be there. Heard you’re Madea’s granddaughter. Watch out—he’s trouble, but he’s cute.”

My heart skipped. Rafe Cameron was infamous—a wild Cameron with a reputation as hot and dangerous as the ocean during a storm. I knew I shouldn’t care, but I did.

Madea walked in, her eyes narrowing when she saw the message. “You listening, baby? Those Kooks can look pretty on the outside, but inside, it’s all claws and teeth. Don’t get caught up in their games.”

I nodded but felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe this wild new world had a place for a Malibu Barbie with roots deeper than the pink gloss on her lips.

That night, I lay on my bed, scrolling through my Malibu-inspired playlist—Nicki, SZA, Chloe x Halle—letting the beats drown out the distant sound of ocean waves. Outside, the stars shimmered like the glitter on my nails, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Madea’s voice drifted through the house, calling out, “Barbie, you better get some rest. Tomorrow, the OBX is gonna test you.”

And I was ready.

[spacebaby1]

Hi! I saw that you love Ace (real. I screamed over ace today too) and thought id write you a cute scenario Imagine Ace and Reader, their gloved hands intertwined with each other as they walk down the snowy road. The lamp's light is so gentle on their features as they approach a small cafe, Ace ordering a hot coffee and the Reader ordering a hot karak then they resume their stroll outside. They're chatting about whatever comes to mind and ace thinks its cute how pink the readers cheeks have become, and the reader comments that ace is also pink! They laugh together and its just a wholesome cold freezing dark morning between two warm lovebirds.

Jaw dropping, feet kicking, and heartwarming request! Ah! Omg I love this so much! Love, when I get these cute requests 🩷😭🫵🏻YOU made my day!

Winters' been extra kind that it didn't stop snowing for days, and just today, it calmed a bit. And as you lay on your bed, a text pops up to your phone screen:

Ace: LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW 🎅🏼

With a smile on your face, you rushed to do so at your boyfriends request only to find him standing there dressed in his fave coat and waving at you. "Come down! Hurry!" He called for you. You wasted no time getting your thickest coat and running out of the door, almost tripping over thin air.

"Ace!" You ran in your boyfriends arms as soon as you were out. He caught you effortlessly in his warm embrace. "UGH, i missed your warm hugs. What are you doing here at this time?" You let go from his embrace but stayed close to his side. He bent to your eye level, "How about we go for a hot drink walk? Isn't that lovely?" You nodded happily before intertwining your arms with his.

“Look at how beautiful it all is,” you remarked, tilting your head toward the sky, where flakes danced softly like tiny stars.

Ace smiled, his heart swelling as he watched your breath puff out in little clouds. Cheeks flushed a delicate pink from the cold wind. “You’re right, but I think you’re even more beautiful.” He chuckled, playfully grabbing your face in the palm of his hands, squeezing your cheeks, and kissed your lips to which you slapped his arm playfully before laughing.

The short walk to the cafe was enduring as you both entered. The door creaked open, releasing a wave of warmth that wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rich aroma of spices and festive season.

“What will it be?” Ace asked, stepping up to the counter.

“Let’s go with a hot karak! I heard it's great here!” you said excitement, filling your voice and eyes sparkling with excitement.

Ace laughed, nodding. “A wise choice! I’ll have the usual, a hot coffee, please.” He glanced back at you after ordering, you was now admiring the colourful pastries on display. And telling about something that he didn't catch before he was lost in admiring your smile.

Finally, the barista slid the drinks across the counter, and as Ace took the steaming cup of coffee, and you the warm karak with delight. Both of you stepped outside once again, taking in the cold wind again.

“Cheers to us braving the cold,” Ace declared, raising his cup high, causing you to giggle. You clinked the cups together, the sound echoing softly in the frosty air as you both started to walk down the snow filled road.

Ace couldn’t help but notice how cute you looked with rosy cheeks almost matching your gloves, and he felt a surge of affection welling within him; like he always did when you were around him.

“You know,” Ace said teasingly as he took a sip of his warm drink, “I think those rosy cheeks are a sign of love. Or maybe just the cold.”

You stopped and gave him a little side eye before chuckling, returning the playful manner. “Oh? And what does that say about your cheeks?” You spoke, raising an eyebrow, a smirk curling at the corners of your lips.

“Touché,” Ace conceded, rubbing his cheeks with mock embarrassment. “I guess we’re both guilty of being cute in this weather.” You laughed before he pulled your closer by the shoulder as the two of you kept walking until you reached the town park and by then your drinks were done so you decided to build a snowman for the fun of it.

“Oh, look! We’ve made a gorgeous snowman!” you exclaimed, pointing to a small figure the both of you had unwittingly created. Ace beamed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to his warm body. “It seems our snowman is quite the charmer too, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” you replied, grinning. “But he can’t compete with my favourite charm...” You glanced up at Ace, your eyes twinkling, “...you.”

"Stop!" Ace giggled and felt a rush of warmth spread through him that was not from the coffee or the karak. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss against your chilly forehead. “And you’re my favourite adventure,” he whispered softly, the sincerity in his voice anchoring the both of you in that moment. You wrapped your arms around him, and he wrapped his coat around you. "Ace, can you stay with me forever?" He chuckled. "Always my darling, I'm all yours."

[amijulesenough]

untie my tongue (ch.1) | luke hemmings

chapter one of untie my tongue is here :) i've had it written for a hot second actually, i've just been trying to write more of it before i posted. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this story. it's shaping up to be one of the more beautiful things i've written, so i'm excited :)

- warnings: none genre: romance word count: 2.2k tags: rekindled friendship, friends to lovers -

‘what r u doing tonight?’ my phone asks, reading aloud a text from my friend Natalie. 

“Call Natalie,” I tell my phone, my eyes zeroed in on the road ahead.

“Calling Natalie,” the automated voice confirms.

The line rings once before I hear her husky alto voice greet me with, “Hey!”

“Hey, girl. I’m driving home from work right now.”

“Ah, got it. I just wanted to know if you were free to come to a little get together Max and I are having. Some friends from high school are visiting and I figured you could use the break, right? You off this weekend?”

“At long last, I sure am,” I grin, “Want me to bring anything?”

“Just your favorite snacks and your beautiful self,”

“Sure. What time?”

“Anytime after five feel free to show up,”

“Alrighty then. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Anytime, hon. See ya!”

“Bye, bye.”

I pull into the dirt driveway next to my bungalow, narrowly avoiding a stray cat that’s been camping out near my shed. He’s a little ginger tabby whom I leave munchies out for every morning and night in an attempt to charm him into being my friend. My resident cats have been ever-so-curious about the outsider and I’ve always had a soft spot for strays, so I had decided one of my late summer projects would be to adopt him into my little furry family.

“Hey, handsome guy,” I crouch down, reaching out for him hesitantly, “What’re you doing out so early?”

Ginger boy mewls at me, a squeaky, crackling noise that makes me grin. The tip of his speckled pink nose tickles my fingertips before he presses his cheek to my palm in a plea for affection. I stroke his mane of fire as he nuzzles me, coaxing out guttural purrs and baby chirps. His petite frame makes me assume he is young, but his fur is long and a little matted, which means he’s been outside for some time.

“Do you wanna come inside and sleep in a nice cozy bed?” I ask, brushing my knuckles down his side.

Another cracked meow answers me. I hope that translates to “yes, please,” considering I scoop his fuzzy rump into my eager arms. He doesn’t fight nor does he fret- indeed, he relaxes his frail body into my chest, seeking out the warmth of my body.

“Oh, sweetie,” I scratch behind his ears, “Come on in.”

I get him settled in my spare room, not wanting my resident kitties to overwhelm him on his first day. In the meantime while he decompresses, I trade my work clothes for a pair of swishy pants and a floral tank top before pulling up my brown ringlets into a half-hearted ponytail.

Glancing at the clock, which reads 4:53, I decide to top off my cats’ food dish and then snag some leftover baklava that my mom had given me when she visited the day before. She always makes way too much for me to eat on my own, so I figure this will be a welcome gift when I get to Nat’s house.

It’s about 5:15 when I pull up to her house, and I see a few other cars gathered around her street, so I assume it’s safe to head in. I am immediately greeted by swanky music and laughter when I get to her front porch, made audible by the open door. Nat spots me from her place inside and waves me in with a wide grin.

“Ada! Come in!” She calls, and someone pushes the door open for me.

“Hey, thanks,” I say, “Brought some of my mom’s baklava to share.”

“Oh, don’t tell Max. He’ll eat it all.”

“I’ll eat all of what?” Nat’s husband pops his head out from the kitchen, his sea green eyes sparkling with mischief, “Hey, Ads!”

“Max,” I greet, turning to the person beside me, “Oh wow, hey Michael!”

“Hey Adelaide!” the guy who opened the door for me wraps me in a hug, “It’s been too long since last I saw you.”

“I know Nat said there would be friends from high school, but I wasn’t expecting you!” I admit, leaning into his embrace, “I thought you ran off and started an emo band.”

“I did, actually,” he laughs, running a hand through his bleached hair, “I did. And I brought my mates with me.”

My eyes bounce over to where he gestures on the couch, picking out three other guests- two familiar, one not.

“Luke, Calum,” I wave at them, “And you are?”

“Ashton,” the third guy says, revealing deep dimples with his broad smile.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Adelaide.”

Calum and Luke are the ones I know best, since they graduated the same year Natalie and I did. Michael was the year above us, like Max.

“Chardonnay?” Max offers as he comes in from the kitchen.

“Ooh, yes please!” I say, trading the glass he hands me for my container of baklava.

“Jackpot,” he grins, taking it back to the kitchen to put on a plate.

“So, how has life been treating you guys?”

“Great,” Michael says, “I mean, I’d say we’re not half-bad at music, and we’re fairly successful, if I’m honest. I mean, it’s mostly side gigs and small venues, but it helps pay bills, right guys?”

“Sure.” Calum nods, “And it’s a great escape from reality.”

Luke nods silently, a shy smile ghosting his lips. I glance over his relaxed figure, leaning against the back of the couch with one arm slung over the arm, his legs parted only slightly. His hair is much curlier than I remember it being in high school, falling across his forehead at a slight angle, dusting his eyelashes. Calum is seated next to him, also looking curlier than years previous, his angular face covered in a grin as he laughs at something Natalie is saying.

My eyes flick back over to Luke, and my heart jumps when I meet his gaze. I look away abashedly, aiming my attention back at Michael.

“Have you guys put out any albums?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, a few,” Michael says, scratching the back of his head, “Mostly singles here and there.”

“I’ll have to give them a listen,” I smile.

“Well, we actually just signed some contracts recently,” he says proudly, “We’re moving to California in a few weeks to finalize everything.”

“Wow, congratulations!”

“Okay, everyone, everything is ready, come fill your plates!” Max calls from the kitchen.

We all make our way toward his voice, and a bountiful feast of delightful-looking finger foods welcomes us in. Small talk continues to bounce around as I meet Calum’s girlfriend, Maya, and Michael’s girlfriend Sasha. Both of them seem sweet, not from our home state, which is fair- I wouldn’t want to be drawn back there either.

Wine glasses are topped off and conversations keep flowing as we sit in the backyard and eat the delicious food Max had prepared for us. I find myself chatting with Luke and Ashton, who had gone to a school not far from ours.

“I just don’t understand what possessed you to say yes to Michael,” I snort, setting my empty plate at my feet, “He was kind of a loser in high school.”

“Cause you were so damn popular,” Luke teases with a little smirk playing on his lips.

“No, I wasn’t,” I admit, “But Michael… ah, forget it. I’m being prejudiced; I thought he was weird then, but now I have nothing against him.”

“Thanks for that,” Michael says facetiously from a few seats away, “I don’t have anything against you either.”

“I sound like such a jerk,” I cover my face in embarrassment, “God, I’m sorry, forget I said anything. I do like you, Mike. I like all of you fine, I swear.”

“Don’t worry, Ada, we like you, too,” Luke assures me, nudging my knee with his, “How’ve you been, then?”

“Alright. Getting by.”

“What do you do for work?”

I adjust myself so I’m facing him more directly. “I’m a realtor at Foxe and Houston. I actually sold Nat and Max this house.”

“Big stuff,” he says, his effervescent sapphire eyes not quite meeting mine, “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I say, folding my hands on my lap, “It’s fulfilling. I like most of the clients that come my way, honestly.”

“What else do you do? Outside of work?”

I muse over his sweet curiosity for a moment. “I like to paint and garden.”

“That sounds lovely,” Luke says.

“How about you? Besides music, what tickles your fancy?”

“Hmm,” he perches his chin on a closed fist, “I enjoy writing, both music and literature. I like fashion, too, though I must admit to being a bit of an amateur.”

“Well, we all have to start somewhere.” I say, “So, you write songs, then?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Plenty, actually. I could show you some, if you’d like?”

“I would!”

Before Luke can pull his phone out for me, a clanging noise captures the attention of our little party.

“Excuse me, everyone!” Michael taps his glass in a plea for our attention, “Max and Nat have something they want to say!”

We all glance up at the hosts as they stand together, big smiles on their faces.

“I’m sure some of you may have guessed this, but…” Natalie looks adoringly at her husband, “Max and I are expecting our first baby together!”

Cheers ripple through the cozily-lit backyard, with some raising their glasses in an informal toast. Smaller conversations begin to disperse as we all give our congratulations to the couple. I make sure I slide up to my best friend to give her a big hug.

“Nat, hello?” I grin, “I’m finally gonna get to be the crazy wine aunt!”

“Oh, Ada,” she squeezes me, her ochre eyes squinting into crescents, “I wanted to tell you RIGHT away, but Max made me promise to save it for our little party.”

“I totally get it. I wouldn’t have been able to do that though, I tell you absolutely everything as soon as it happens.”

“That’s why I know your love life is dry as the desert,” she teases, bopping my nose.

“Okay, rude,” I embrace her again, “I’ll stop hogging you to myself now.”

“Love you, Ada,” she says.

I move away from the gathering group, opting to pick up plates and other trash from the half-circle of lawn chairs. As I attempt to open the door with my arms full, a hero comes to my aid as a grinning Luke pulls it outward for me.

“M’lady,” he says, mock-bowing.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” I attempt a curtsy and nearly drop a fork on his foot.

He takes some of the dishes from me. “Let me help.”

“Thank you,” I repeat, “I’ll take the dishes if you take the garbage.”

“Sounds like a deal,”

I throw most of the ware in the dishwasher and whatever can’t fit in there I scrub up in the sink. Luke leans against the counter next to me, watching me with amused confusion painted on his sculpted features.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

He shakes his head, his curls shifting ever-so-slightly. “Mm-mm. I just love that your first instinct is to wash up while everyone is distracted.”

A sheepish grin climbs across my lips. “It’s just habit. I’m here a lot and I’ve just gotten used to helping out.”

“You and Nat were always inseparable in school,” he nods, his eyes finding a fascination with the wall.

“Hm, just like you and Cal. Must make it easier to have to move across the country, yeah?”

His head bobs again. “Oh yeah, that. It’s exciting but still a little nerve wracking, you know?”

“It’s a far drive,” I laugh, toweling off the last of the dishes.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “But it’s such a huge opportunity, and if we don’t take it now, who knows when we’ll get another?”

“I absolutely understand,” I say, tossing my rag over the faucet, “I don’t know if I could personally make that trek. I know my cats would probably start a revolution if we moved to the California heat.”

“Cats?” Luke’s eyes light up, “How many do you have?”

“Three now,” I smile, my heart warming at the thought of my fluffy companions, “One I rescued as a kitten from a coworker’s car, his name is Hugo. But he was lonely, so I got him a sister from the shelter, her name is Jellyfish. And then, just today, I brought in this scrappy little stray whom I’d been feeding over the last few weeks. I haven’t named him yet.”

“I love the names,” he says, “I don’t have any pets at the moment. Probably for the best. But still, I miss animal company.”

“You could come over and hang out with my cats, if you’d like,” I offer without thinking.

“Yeah?” Luke’s smile is a little cocky, “Just your cats?”

I feel my cheeks burning like a bonfire. “Well, if you want to come see me, too, I won’t say no.”

He leans a little closer to me, just enough that I can catch a whiff of his amber cologne. “I may just take you up on that offer. Refresh my memory; what’s your number again?”

[of-tatooine]

DULCE PERICULUM. | CHAPTER IX - CALM

love, which quickly arrests the gentle heart.

(John Wick x Reader, Santino d'Antonio x Reader)

full work

It had all been a blur.

The marble under your hands as the hot water dripped down your skin, cleansing you from your troubles momentarily, turned into a browsing through wool and cashmere for the outfit of choice. Hunger slowly led itself into a shot of espresso and a light pastry warming your insides. Large tires gliding seamlessly against asphalt became heels gently sinking into the private jet’s carpet, the inviting leather seat your new bed for the upcoming travel.

Fingers managed to type a text to John before takeoff, letting him know that there was trouble back home and you had to reschedule the debrief.

He had said he was sorry to hear that.

Blunt corners, concrete mazes of blinking neon light and gray skies of New York City dissipated into endless eternal blue above, tall pine trees lined around unpaved roads, inescapable sunlight through the tinted windows. Sleek, modern edges a mere couple of years old formed themselves into the countryside mansion withstanding centuries, subdued peach pink and beige exteriors lined up with grand windows, a welcoming grand pathway into the courtyard, freckles of snow laid bare on the expansive lawn in the early colds of November.

It was not just this building, no, the estate had been a great compound composed of multiple buildings, each serving different purpose with their stone exteriors, wooden window panes and balconies adorned with ornate ironwork, chairs and outdoor loungers scattered around the gardens, potted plants that would otherwise be blooming in the summertime.

Yet there had been no fences in sight.

There was no need. An intruder would not dare come close.

The whole town knew who lived there.

“Dov'è lui?”

Finding him was the first priority as the SUVs door shut close, stepping down onto the pavement, hugging closer into your black wool coat to keep you warm. The wind up on the hills hit your cheeks in strong blows, waving the hair off of your face as men in suits escorted you towards the main mansion, even more men in suits scattered around the grounds, coming in an out of line of sight as they did their duty.

“In his chambers, signora.”

“E Gianna?”

“On the way, signora.”

“Bene. I will take it from here.”

The double wooden doors opened with their usual grandeur, leading you into the grand foyer of double-colored marble diamond tiles, a circular staircase traversing the towering beige walls adorned with the finest art, collected over decades. An elegant arrangement of teardrop crystals forming the beautiful chandelier hanging in the middle, emanating brightness at any hour of the day. Arches formed pathways leading into the various other rooms of the main building, opening up to the living room to your right - a short look to confirm his presence, or in this case, the lack thereof.

He had quite liked enjoying an afternoon coffee on the velvet couches in there, with you - natural light flowing in to enlighten the ornate carved ceilings with frescoes above, figures wrapped up in gold foil smiling down at you.

“All this art - and yet you shine brighter, amore,” he would utter lovingly at you, through his sips, green eyes getting the best of you.

You had wondered when would be the next time you could continue the tradition in the family estate.

The vivid memories flashing through your eyes, a quick blink would do the trick as you approached the marble spiraling staircase with intricate iron banisters, pieces of early Renaissance art adorning the accompanying wall, each step upwards taking you closer to him - your feet making the effects of constant travel known as sore as they were.

A mere two stories up, the doctors had been pardoned from their constant monitoring for a short amount of time as per Santino’s request to spend alone time with his father in his chambers. Leftover rays of the approaching sunset cast a sparkle into the vast suite through the slightly parted velvet curtains, one of the tall windows left ajar to let the brisk early winter air in. Tasteful furniture scattered around the room along with a lounge area, and a king bed fit for an emperor where his father laid.

Many times he had stepped into this room, sometimes as a troublemaker running around to cause all sorts of havoc, and sometimes as a grown man and a boss asking for sound advice from the man who had seen and done it all.

That day, he was neither. He was only a son, a concerned one, sitting at the edge of the bed close to where his knees rested under the silk blankets.

“Padre,” Santino’s voice trembled against his will, “- che è questo?”

He would ask the inevitable, the obvious, even though he had known exactly what it was. Even though he had glimpsed into his very near future for a split second, the moment his father began slipping the object out of his pocket with his frail hands.

The bronze hues of the marker could have never been bearer of good news.

“For her protection under Camorra.”

The glint of the ever so familiar bronze almost winked at him, his father holding it in his open palm in an undeniable invitation. Santino reached with his hand in an almost ceremonious fashion, hesitant yet accepting of what was to come.

“The High Table would void the marker when, when…”

The father let out a soft chuckle, waving his son off before he finished his sentence, which turned into a mild cough that passed thereafter. Increasing the worry in Santino’s watchful gaze for a moment.

Santino had taken his father’s eyes, he would always tell himself, the sage green mixed in with gray the same shade as his clouded ones. Even in this state of sickness, his father managed to pull off his usual charisma. The man who had been a sound voice of the High Table, ruthless when needed, and gentle when he had to be - dressed in a cashmere sweater, his face clean shaven, hints of pine aftershave in the air. Impressions mattered, no matter where you had been in life - something he had taught Santino repeatedly, and something he took to heart.

He had always thought they would have more time - more time to learn, more time to watch, more time to understand.

The much older d’Antonio had a stern yet worried gaze in his eyes, as if he had been merely stating the obvious. He could not blame his son for not knowing what he had done all these years ago, no. That had been his decision, to help a father in need, pleading to protect his daughter from harm’s way the best way a father had seen fit at the time.

He could not blame him either. Had the roles been reversed, father d’Antonio knew he would go through hell on earth to protect his own, the blood of his blood. He would do it over, and over again, until there was no breath left in his body.

“That is correct.”

It was something completely unheard of. In the world where an eye for an eye was the unspoken mantra across all minds, a marker voided before the beneficiary could pay the favor back would be a miracle come true, something that usually did not happen often. Every favor had a payback, and as far as Santino was concerned, nothing came for free. Even from the ones closest to the heart and soul.

“Perché?”

For a man like his father, who had been at the height of his power with the High Table and millions of Camorra men under his fingertips - unclaimed favors had not been something to wallow over, as there would always be yet another path for a man of his resources.

Then, why did this one seem to matter so much that Santino himself had to ensure redemption?

“Non è sangue della Camorra.”

Blood. The old tradition and the old ways that, for some reason, every single aspect of their lives had boiled down into. The unspoken rules, whispered amongst made men, unscripted guidance that every bound soul had to follow, one way or another. There was no denying the superiority of descent to obtain a rightful place in Camorra.

Camorra ran by blood. Whether it was taking blood or giving, the ruling lineage was sacred - it was the very lifeline that held the family together. A predestination that kept them ruling for decades, and many more to follow.

If not for the bloodline, what would Camorra be?

The old law aside, Santino knew one thing - what started in blood, always ended in blood.

Slowly yet surely, his fingers would find the clasp that held the medallion together, the lights of the crystal chandelier above reflecting on the bronze as it opened to reveal the dried, ages old blood stain on only one side. Santino’s gaze did not leave the sight for seconds, as if trying to make himself believe of the responsibility he then would hold, gauging if it had really been happening.

With every thought, he had to remind himself that there was no hurdle he could not jump over, no task he could not overcome as long as he had you by his side, as he twirled the marker in his hand. That was the way it had always been - yet, it was only a matter of time until he could not hide the truth from you any longer.

He was moving slowly through a tunnel of darkness to reach an everlasting fire far, far away - knowing he would get scorched at the end of it.

Yet, he had to keep walking.

The familiar rhythm of heels against marble could be heard even through the thick mahogany double doors sealing them into the suite, power echoing through the vaulted ceilings of the hallways as your presence could be felt. A kind, yet rushed Italian spoken to one of the guards passing through the hallways, voice resonating through the walls in a gentle echo, then proceeding on with your way onwards.

His father must have heard the same thing as well, knowing exactly who had been approaching them. In his haste, very quick for an old man who had been bedridden for some time, his hands grabbed onto Santino’s forearm to instruct him wordlessly to hide the marker in his pocket, his son nimbly slipping the object of interest out of sight, not out of mind just yet.

“Non deve sapere,” he would add in a hushed whisper, knowing their time was limited.

She must not know. She cannot know.

Not yet.

With a newfound understanding, Santino’s eyes found his father’s - almost an identical copy, staring deep into his soul, emanating knowledge, experience, and on the slightest tint of his gaze, adoration. His shoulders under the black tweed ever so slightly slumping given the pressure of the daunting future where he had to redeem the marker - yet he knew he would do it for you.

He would walk through the ends of the earth with you.

“Take it to him, figlio mio. When the time comes.”

All Santino could do at that very moment, was to give a gentle, reassuring squeeze to his father’s hands and nod in his promise, sealing in your fate moments before you stepped into the room.

[sillyboxs]

hai my name is princess. i makeing cute user boxes because eye don't like the standard ones mostly 4 myself :3 rewquests r open tho

[ID]: a pixel art donut and pancake next to two pompurin hearts (also pixel art). there are little hot pink swirls and pink sparkles! on the right is Tsumugi Kotobuki enjoying yummy cake/tea party, next to her is a neko girl (presumed OC) enjoying yummy jam on toast!

text reads "THIS USER LOVES BAKING ^_^ and eating sweets..." [END ID]

tags: #sysboxs #cw eyestrain #possible eyestrain

DNI: don't have 1 if i don't like u i will block u

boxes that apply 2 me:

[fjotla-vithir]

VierApril Day 1 prompt: OBEDIENCE

Rated Mature, M|M Viera

Read below the cut!

Come home to me.

The message had been left unanswered for most of the day. A blue bubble on the screen that remained on its lonesome, waiting for a response to come in from its recipient. Lake-blue eyes stared up at the four words that shone down on ivory Skatayan features, tomestone held tightly in hand. Five sharpened claws peered from around the device, the thumbnail tapping on the side as time continued to pass the Viera by. Frowning, Fjölla swiped his finger down from the top, scanning the various texts that had been sent throughout the day. He paused at one in particular, a photo rather than text that he ogled at for several minutes. There was no face, but plastered across the screen when he tapped to enlarge the image were a muscular chest and abdomen with no clothes for coverage, and below the belly button he could just barely see the base of a flaccid but girthy cock. It made a snowy white ear twitch with excitement as he imagined that member hard and in his mouth.

The two shining orbs moved from the photo to the top of the screen where a name would usually go, indicating who the messages were being delivered to or coming from, but here there was only an image of a diamond - his jewel, his beloved, his husband. Försjár was everything to Fjölla and whatever the white-haired Viera did was in the name of his love for that man. The drugs, the extortion, the life of crime he was living - it was all for his sweet husbunny, anything to give him the life he deserved and everything he asked for. All Fjölla ever wanted in return was Försjár’s unconditional love and support, which he had in excess. And though his husbunny was ever so busy this time of year, the Skatayan couldn’t stop the pining that weighed heavily on his heart. He missed his husband dearly and after scrolling back down to his most recent message, the Viera huffed in frustration when he saw it still had yet to be read.

“Why won’t he answer?”

Just then, the door to their shared little cottage buried deep in the heart of Shirogane could be heard opening on the floor above, prompting Fjölla to close his tomestone and scurry up the stairs at incredible speed. Met with the soaking wet form of his husband, the small fluff growing from Fjölla’s tailbone began to wriggle in furious excitement but he wore an expression of immense worry. It had been clearly storming outside, judging by the other’s clothes and the sound of rain assaulting the roof. Quickly removing the heavy articles of clothing from his shivering body, Fjölla dropped them in a sopping pile on the floor before escorting his now naked partner into the nearby tub. It had previously been filled with steaming hot water - Fjölla had intended on soaking for a bit - and was a welcome sensation to Försjár’s tender, aching limbs. As he sank into the scalding liquid, sighing with pleasure, Försjár allowed his pale-skinned lover to clean him thoroughly, earning himself an occasional tug of the ear when he couldn’t sit still. Once he felt his beloved was sufficiently clean, Fjölla dragged him from the tub and back downstairs, where he led the other to their hidden bedroom behind one of their bookshelves.

It could only be opened by triggering the correct book, and once pulled the shelves would swing open to reveal a completely different world beyond. Bright pastel flowers of pinks and yellows carpeted the floor to hide the bland wood beneath, and the walls surrounding the natural-Sakura tree bed were covered in thick green vines and foliage. An extravagant crystalline chandelier hung from the bedroom ceiling and small statuettes of various woodland creatures were hidden amongst the flora. Bright lily lamps flanked the head posts of the bed, spewing glimmering sparkles from their petals as they illuminated the beauty surrounding them. Cherry blossom petals fell gently from the bed’s canopy to add to the ambience, the occasional shard of velvet landing delicately on the men’s heads. Brushing some from Försjár, Fjölla took his husband’s broad shoulders beneath either hand and pushed him towards the bed, grunting when he heard the other whimper from beneath after he pressed up against his back.

“Did you get my text?” Fjölla interrogated from behind, nibbling the base of his husband’s ear.

“N-no,” Försjár admitted, rolling his head back to expose his neck.

“Were you not looking at your tomestone at all?”

“I … I was too … busy, Bun Bun. I-I’m … sorry …” His voice was high pitched and it pleaded for mercy, but his hips were grinding backwards as he begged for his lover’s forgiveness. Shimmering emerald irises locked with the sapphire orbs above him, and Fjölla could see in those eyes the desperation for a command. He wanted to be told what to do and be punished for his slip-up. Fjölla even wondered if Försjár had ignored the text on purpose to ensure this would be the outcome, which wouldn’t be the first time. Försjár loved when his husbunny barked demands at him; it always got him sufficiently riled up.

The smaller Viera opened his mouth to grovel more, but instead it was filled with two long fingers that pressed down on the back of his tongue, preventing speech and nearly gagging him. The claws barely grazed the back of his throat, threatening to slice him open at any moment but he trusted his partner not to let that happen. As he stood forced up against the bed with his husband tightly crushing him from behind, Försjár moaned around the fingers and shuddered when he heard the low growling of his husbunny directly in his ear.

“You can always make it up to me, my sweet Cottontail. Just be a good, obedient boy and I might be able to overlook your little mistake.”

[alecsalamander]

He’s not doing anything when the text comes in. That’s probably why he reacts the way he does.

OMW to the cafeteria, Lacey texts him with a series of increasingly depressed emojis, and a single nauseated one for good measure. I miss real food. Flavor. SPICES. And then, at the end, the single sparkling pink heart emoji she’s signed every text conversation to him since the very first time she used a smartphone.

And the thing is—

Well. He misses her.

It’s not like it used to be, Lacey being at school – used to be she would join him in the kitchen before the sun was properly up, taking the bowls he got out of the cupboards and laying them out the way he liked. Measured the ingredients as he handed them to her and then, when she got older, in anticipation of what he would need. Was his second set of hands and, above all else, the mostly quiet presence at his side. They never talked much, in the mornings, not until they sat at the table to share breakfast. Then neither of them shut up until she was dropped off at school.

It was the opposite in the afternoons, the evenings. Theirs was a noisy kitchen until the sun went down, when she would sit quiet and still at the table as the last of the dishes were put away and just be with him. He’d called her his shadow, when she was young, for the way she followed him from room to room.

And now?

Now he wakes to a kitchen that will remain quiet until Wendy stumbles to the coffeemaker. Reaches for an item that no one has laid at his fingertips. Chats with Wendy over the dinner prep but it’s different. It’s different.

In the fifteen years it took for him to realize that she was his daughter, he never once forgot that she was his friend.

And so the text comes in, as melancholy as he feels, because it’s nearly time for an early dinner and they’re in different states (Her school is less than two hours from the house, and just about an hour from his dad’s. When she’d decided to leave, she hadn’t decided to go very far. But even that was too much, especially for a family that had woven themselves together like a net, caught in each other), and honestly? He’s not doing anything else.

don’t bother, he texts back, and finds his keys in the dish beside the kitchen door. your dorm has a kitchen, right? dinner at 8 and then the matching heart-eyed cat emoji he’s always sent her in return.

———

Her dorm does have a kitchen, but not a very large one. There’s a single pot and a single bowl and the spices are just a few half empty salt and pepper shakers. He’d figured, remembered his own brief time in college dorms, and had hit up a store before coming.

She laughs when she sees him, wrapping her arms around his neck to all but hang from his frame like she did as a child; she leaves a single sticky hot pink kiss mark on his cheek, and then a second one on the other side when her roommate points it out. Her roommate also, when Cat barges through the door with a bag of groceries and a noisy kiss to her forehead, gestures with less than subtle questioning as to his presence.

“Jen, this is my dad,” she gestures, and ignores the way he looks nothing like her. “I honestly don’t know what he’s doing here.”

He hefts a bag into her arms, and turns right back around to leave. “I said dinner at eight, nu mai freca menta, let’s go.” Without looking to see if she follows, because he knows she does – she always has, since she was five years old – he heads towards the kitchenette at the end of the hall. “Bring Jen, she’s helping.”

She does. The three of them knock elbows in the tiny cooking space, tripping over each other, and there’s not a single moment of silence. They put together a simple stew, something easy and warm and flavorful that yields easily reheated leftovers for their room’s mini-fridge and microwave setup. Jen gets over her initial shyness, or awkwardness, or whatever kept her shooting furtive glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, and tells him all about her classes. Lacey hands him every utensil he needs before he needs to ask for it.

And then, at 8:03, they sit down at desks and on beds in the girls’ too small box of a dorm, balancing the mismatched plastic bowls from Target mostly on their laps.

There’s a hesitant knock on the open door, and then Wendy slides inside; he doesn’t immediately sit, instead detouring to drop a kiss on the top of Lacey’s head before pulling out the empty chair that’s been left. “Hi Dad!” she chirps without looking up – she hates having people sneak up on her but she always knows when it’s him, some sort of security that settles whenever he’s at her back.

“Hi baby,” Cat feels his lips tug into a familiar, lopsided grin, an uncontrollable response to the other man’s presence.

He doesn’t smile back. “Don’t you ‘hi baby’ me,” and his eyes are cold but his voice is warm. Familiar. “When I want to come visit Lacey it’s ‘no, come on man, we gotta let her be her own person’ but I leave you alone for the afternoon and the next thing I know you’re across state lines?” He shakes his head. “What the fuck, Cat.”

His grin widens at the familiar, fondly frustrated expression; it’s a far cry from his kitchen but it feels like home. “See, this is why I didn’t invite you,” and he turns to the closest ally in the room – Jen. “This is why I didn’t invite him,” he tells her again, and she laughs.

Lacey smiles her same sunshine smile at them, and leans over to rest her head against Wendy’s arm. “Thanks for coming,” is all she says. “I missed you guys.”

[luciferten]

[Photo ID: Many poorly stretched or squashed pictures of Old Man McGucket (AKA Fiddleford) in front of a solid, hot pink background.

The border is adorned by white sparkles and hearts, with some twinkles crossing to the center and sparkling on top of the McGucket pictures.

In the forefront of the picture, all caps, big and bold, is:

IT'S FIDDLEFORD FRIDAY

FORGET EVERYTHING

(The creators at, @/4thefreaks, is beneath the top line of text. It is hard to see with how small it is.)

–End ID.]

made this gem on Sunday. had to wait all week to post it

[liminalweirdo]

IMAGE ID: square canva generated graphic with a yellow background. A large, retro, 60’s esque cursive dark pink lowercase title says “something to think about” across the top third. In the middle of the graphic is a rounded white rectangle with a dark pink shadow and a dark and hot pink flower on the top right, which reads in a cute lowercase maroon font, “if hearing about covid makes you uncomfortable, maybe you should rethink abandoning your community and leaving people to die” followed by a text heart made up of a less-than symbol and a 3. In hot pink bubble letters below that text it says “xoxo.” Surrounding the edges of the graphic are some large white daisies and a large pink daisy, as well as some smaller daisies and hand drawn sparkle stars. END ID.

[cha0s-boyy]

some blinkies and stamps i made! :D f2u just please credit me!

(first one is dog park dissidents lyrics)

[ID: 1. a black and hot pink blinkie that says, "i'm a bad bad bad bad dog," in block letters. the colors invert every frame and the "dog" frame has rotating bones on either end and the letters are only an outline. 2. a scrolling rainbow gradient blinkie. 3. a magenta blinkie that says "hey, lover." in capitalized serif typeface. it has a black border and flashing hearts on either end. 4. a blinkie that says, "hot pink," in block letters with hearts on both ends. it flashes in different shades of pink. 5. a blinkie that says "I heart Boys" (using a drawn heart) with the mars/male symbol on either end. it alternates between hot pink on white and white on blue. 6. a blinkie made to look like a text bubble in which the words, "oh my god neil cicierega" appear, followed by a heart eyes emoji. 7. a blinkie in the TF2 achievement colors with the TF2 logo on either end upon which, "team fortress 2," appears word by word, letter by letter, then, "TF2," flashes 3 times. 8. a blinkie that says, "awooooooooooooo," in all caps white text on a black background. the letters bob up and down in alternating order. 9. a 99x56 stamp featuring a brown wolf in front of a night sky, with the text, "Awoo..." 9. a 99x56 stamp with a dark rainbow gradient background that says, "sparkle," in white all caps with a pink and black sparkledog with a rainbow mohawk beside it. 10. a 99x56 stamp that says, "werewolf," in bloodstained white letters above a set of white fangs on a dark red splatter background. /end ID]

[karinhart]

summerween circa 2017

[ID: A flat-color digital drawing of Mabel and Dipper from Gravity Falls. They’re older than in the show, around their late teens, and they’re wearing costumes: Mabel is dressed as Stan, with a sign hanging from her neck that reads “NO REFUNDS,” and Dipper is dressed as Ford. Mabel is holding up a phone and taking a picture of the two of them as they smile widely and pose for the camera. Mabel’s phone case is hot pink with the Sev’ral Timez logo on it, and her nails are painted yellow with one black capital letter on each finger, spelling out WHAT. Above her and Dipper is a text message log.

Mabel: check out our costumesssss (sparkle emoji) Stan: Kids these days (angry face emoji) No respect 4 their elders!!! Ford: Excellent craftsmanship! (thumbs-up emoji with six fingers) Stan: Yeah yeah you look great or whatever Mabel: (multiple sparkly heart emojis)

/end ID]

[hypmicdaydreams]

this is my first time ever requesting something and im a bit nervous, but i had to since your writing felt so comforting..

love epiphany 4, "getting flustered around them" with doppo and jiro? (separately) with someone theyve been friends with for a decently long time!! thank you

Aww thank you so much anon!! You're too sweet.. I'm glad you love my writings so much, and I'm glad they bring you some comfort 💖 These were so cute and endearing, and I hope you enjoy these of Jiro and Doppo 💕 Thank you for the request anon! and I hope you love your first one~

love epiphany prompts: getting flustered around them

-pairings: jiro yamada x gn!reader, doppo kannonzaka x gn!reader

-genre: fluff

-word count (overall): ~1.55k

Jiro (659 words)

“did you finish the japanese homework?” jiro’s heart skips a small beat as he asks, standing above you and your desk. there’s the slightest tint of rosy pink hue his cheeks, and jiro sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, averting his gaze with yours. he’s all cute in his slightly wrinkled school uniform.

he’s not entirely sure why he feels so strange; his breath hitches in his throat as he asks, and he feels a bit embarrassed now, heart skipping a beat. i mean, he was simply asking his friend for homework answers after all. it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before, time and time again. after all, you were his close friend; this is what friends were for, right? (no, he’s not merely using you for homework answers, unlike what saburo would imply).

but yet, jiro feels as if he was going to lose it. he was all too warm and flustered.

he doesn’t get it; you were his best friend! jiro doesn’t get why he’d feel like this over you. this has never happened in the years of friendship before, all entirely new sensations. the way his heart twists into knots (but good knots) and jiro suddenly gets all warm at the mere thought of you: it all made no sense! jiro groans. it freaks him out to some degree.

despite all that, they weren’t necessarily bad feelings. they were..strange, sure, but jiro actually quite liked the warmth they brought. the fluttery sensations in his stomach and the way he got a tad lightheaded

“yeah, i did.” you already know damn well what jiro was getting at. in typical jiro fashion, he didn’t do the homework, much too busy binging a new anime; he had texted you about it late last night anyway. “you need it?” well, the answer to that question was clear.

he nods, sheepishly so. it’s weird — you’ve never made him feel this way before, so hot and bothered. he’s antsy and on edge, as if his own heart was going to rupture out of his chest any moment now. it worsens when you laugh; it’s the first he’s realized how..nice? your laugh sounds. it was cute.

“well,” you laugh, noticing his weird mannerisms. it makes jiro jump a little in his skin, and the warm flush he had turns a bit brighter. “here you go.”

his hands brush over yours lightly, as jiro takes your paper from you; he swears his heart jumps all the way to his throat at the accidental touch, and his stomach gets all fluttery with the butterflies. the pink on his cheeks deepen, and jiro can feel his fingertips go all numb. he grips your paper a bit harder, but the only sensation he can feel at the moment is that of his pounding heart. he’s even more flustered now.

this..this was exactly like a shoujo manga! jiro flushes at the realization. he can see the sparkles and hearts all over this scene, when the love interests share a moment. was this like a shoujo scene? i mean, it certainly felt like it, not that jiro entirely minded.

“man, you’re the best!” he throws an arm around your shoulders, though the mere proximity and touch of you was enough to send him into a frenzy once more.

did..did he like you? but you guys were friends, so it couldn’t be. i mean, jiro knew you for a long time! if he’s only developed feelings for you just now, then that would’ve been weird, right? but again, this could very well be a friends to lovers romance.

he grins, a bit boyish and warm. jiro actually liked the thought of that; it sounded all too good.

even though jiro is still a bit confused on his feelings for you — friend or crush — all he knows is that he wanted to be by your side forever and ever. it felt too good not to be.

Doppo (886 words)

“i’m..i’m so sorry!!” doppo is quick to apologize and bow, looking in absolute horror as he accidentally dumped your drink all over your shirt. it’d been a while since the two of you were able to hang out, alone, and yet doppo managed to mess it up already. oh he’s clumsy, more so than usual.

“it’s ok doppo,” you try to reassure, though it fell on deaf ears. well, knowing doppo (which you absolutely did), you knew it’d be futile. he liked to try and correct his mistakes.

“no..no it’s fine! here- i can..”

he struggles in getting you some napkins, and doppo drops them all over you, again. he’s just even more embarrassed now, though before he can go back to apologizing profusely, you assure him that it was totally fine.

stupid stupid stupid — doppo can’t help but scold himself. he’s been more clumsy as of late, totally lost in his thoughts and self. it only worsened when doppo was around you or even simply thinking about you. his heart skipped multiple beats, similar to those from his anxiety itself, and he found himself trembling a bit, though he’s not sure if that’s from anxiety as well or not.

he’s been feeling strange lately, well, more so than he usually does. his heart skips way too many beats — doppo thinks he may have arrhythmias — and he’s been feeling feverish, all warm. he thinks he’s probably sick. i mean, all these were surely symptoms of some form of medical condition: shivering arms, a fast heart beat, breath getting stuck in his throat, a fever of sorts. blegh, it sounds like the seasonal flu, he mulls.

all those hours of being overworked are finally catching up to him, doppo thinks; his body has finally given up once and for all..

it actually scares doppo to some extent, all these hot and bothersome feelings. he doesn’t know why he feels this way — all warm and jittery. and he didn’t know why it only ever occurred around you. it wasn’t the flustered type he got whenever his boss would scold him on something so menial; no, these flustered feelings actually felt good, and it scares doppo that he can’t seem to understand why.

“are you ok, doppo?”

you give your longtime friend a look of concern, and that’s when doppo finally snaps out of his thoughts. unfortunately, his heart skips another beat at the sound of your voice (it was then he realized that it sounded so nice), and that alone makes him flush a bit of a pink.

oh, he’s fidgeting a bit again, doppo realizes. it was a bit of a bad habit of his. his hold on his cup of coffee isn’t entirely great, and you’re clearly worried that he’s going to spill the hot drink all over himself.

worried.. doppo flushes even brighter, and he feels the blood rush; it was such a dizzying feeling. he didn’t know why, but the thought of you worrying over him made doppo so happy. it didn’t even make sense! the two of you were great friends; of course you’d worry over him.

“sorry..” he apologizes, again. god, he had no idea why the words hitched in his throat around you. it wasn’t normal; doppo usually wasn’t at a loss of words around your “ok- i’m ok! it’s just..”

he sounds so stupid, doppo scolds himself as he continues to drink his coffee. he was supposed to be hanging out and catching up with you (which was great considering it was a rare instance he didn’t have work that day), but instead, doppo was making a damn fool out of himself. first, it was accidentally bumping into you and spilling your drink all over yourself — which, thankfully, wasn’t scalding hot. second, he dropped the napkins all over you, and now, doppo couldn’t speak! he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

it must be his heart condition. well, he’s assuming he has one given how irregularly it beat right now. doppo couldn’t even think straight, too preoccupied with how strange his chest felt, what all this could mean. and it only ever happened around you.

did..did he like you?

doppo chokes on his coffee at the thought.

“doppo?! are you alright??”

he waves you off, or so, tries to in between his fits of coughs. man, all you’ve been doing this entire time was checking up on him; ah, it makes him feel so bad.

but the thought of him liking you…doppo turns warmer at the thought. that would certainly explain the change in his demeanor, how even as stupid as doppo felt right now, he was still happy hanging out with you. it explains the rapid ‘badumps’ of his heart and how, even as strange and odd his chest feels, doppo still finds himself enjoying it. even as much as he makes a fool out of himself, tripping over his two left feet and feeling all the more embarrassed, doppo still enjoys himself with you. when you smile, it gives him the butterflies, and he gives a gentle one in return.

doppo thinks he might like you.

(though the fact that you’re his longtime friend definitely has him questioning the morals of it all and whether or not he’d even make a good boyfriend for you)