#i may sound like a cupcake right now

[evermoredeluxe]

.

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

summary : When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.

listen up : no warnings!! lando’s hands>>

word count : 631

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The sound won’t fucking stop.

I hadn't been worried before, just sitting back with my ice cream and gossip girl, until I smelt the smoke.

I groan, yeah sure there may be a fire but nothing is more important than the thanksgiving episode! I pull in a baggy off the shoulder shirt to cover my bra and walk out into the hall.

I slam my knuckle against the door. Who the fuck bakes at this time of night? I knock again and within seconds I hear feet pattering against the floor before the door clicks open.

I don’t mean to look surprised.

But when a hot man opens the door when I was expecting an old rich guy with a mistress, I raise a brow, “I’m so sorry!” He says quickly. There are oven mitts on his hands and I almost laugh because he looks like a cartoon character in distress.

“Are you okay?”

He is not, indeed, okay. As his body turns, I realize his kitchen is filling with smoke and something is still beeping. “I am so sorry!” He repeats again as I walk in.

I open the windows first, idiot. Then while coughing, I fiddle with the oven to make it shut up. I hear him audibly sigh behind me.

“You’re saving me here.” his smooth accent cuts through the burning smell.

I stand, “From a fire, yeah. Don’t really want my apartment building to burn down.” I shrug and take the mits right off his hands, placing them on my own and opening the smoke filled compartment.

I swat the air and hurriedly take out the pan. When I place it down on the counter, I laugh.

“I’m not a good baker, I know!” He crosses his arms.

“Cupcakes?” I smile, the smoke slowly leaving through the windows, “You don’t seem like the type. Especially at half past one.”

He shrugs and I finally take him in, with dark curls and stunning eyes, he’s got a familiar face. He's in pajamas of sorts, with bright orange slippers.

“Couldn’t pick a dinner option honestly…” He glances at the burnt baked goods, “I really appreciate it… I’d offer you something but- I don’t want to poison you.”

I smile and he looks proud that he made me do anything that’s not coughing, “Not a problem.”

A second passes before he speaks up, “I haven’t seen you around.” He says as I take the mits from my hands.

“Probably because you’re never around…?” It’s true. I love living on this floor because my neighbor is barely ever in. It is a bit strange now that I think about it.

He laughs, “Right. My work, and all…” okay mafia boss energy. Though his kind face and wall decor tells me differently.

I nod awkwardly, “Well… if you don’t need any more saving, I'm gonna go.”

“Of course! Thanks again. And if you ever need anything I'm here- I mean… I do owe you now.” I hand him the mits and as he grabs it my eyes stray to his hands.

Christ he’s fit. How have I never seen him before?

I look away from the veins and smile politely, “See you around…” I don’t know his name.

“Lando.” He smiles and the way his eyes meet mine makes my knees go soft.

“Y/n.” He shakes my hand, quite sternly might I add.

“Well Y/n… pleasure having you in my apartment and saving us from an evacuation.” He opens the door for me.

“Stay safe, Lando.” he winks.

NOTE : don’t forget that my requests are open!!

[hoeforhao]

🏷 Kidult ▪︎ Choi Seungcheol Fic ▪︎

↷ pairing: dad!seungcheol × fem!reader (feat!jeonghan)

↷ genre: heavy angst, fluff towards the end, mentions of childhood trauma, sort of arranged marriage? cheol and reader have a daughter together, lots of dad seungcheol content!!!

↷ summary: can trying to relive the childhood you never got to experience, through your daughter be the reason of your husband's irk?

↷ part: 1/4 pt.2, pt.3, pt.4

↷ w.c: 2.5k

↷ author's note: part 1 is here finally!! will try to post part 2 by the end of this week, and part 3 will be a bonus smut which will be published on cheol's birthday♡

If you want to be added to this fic's taglist, drop a comment under this post ; my ask box is open too♡

Motherhood was truly a blissful chapter of every woman's life. Seeing your child growing up in your arms, her little legs stomping through the grass to join her playmates, often tumbling down on her way, her father going completely nuts over the itty bitty scratches on his princess,made you feel a joy not even billion dollars could buy.

But that's definitely not something you believed in before getting married to seungcheol or even when you announced to all of your family, that you were about to birth a small little version of your husband and their son.

While his child swelled in your belly, his ignorance and indifference towards you, swelled in your heart. Although it would be downright selfish to say that seungcheol didn't take care of you during your pregnancy, but you surely weren't that naive to not understand it was all for the wellbeing of his daughter.

Well some people unlike others are just destined to go through life like a soldier, bound to only their duty without the luxury of enjoying worldly pleasures - that's what you've been telling yourself since your childhood, all throughout your marriage but now...now it's different.

As selfish as it may sound, your daughter Hana's childhood now gave you a newfound hope of reliving those years of your life that you never got to cherish....being as carefree and jolly like a two year old, sleeping every night with a teddy tucked under your arms without any thoughts about how to deal with this cruel world.

You were so consumed in your thoughts that you failed to notice the cinnamon pie set in the oven being slightly overcooked along its edges.

"Shit shit shit you cannot mess this up y/n!!! Cheol and Hana are crazy over your cinnamon pie and the last thing you wanna do is disappoint your daughter and his father" you mentally cuss at yourself while taking out the pie pot from the oven as quick as possible....mildly burning your fingers in the attempt.

A thud of the main door shitts your concentration from your burned fingers to your hall, which is now being adorned by Hana's giggles upon seeing her father.

"Dada is home princess! What has my girl been doing all day without her daddy huh" seungcheol literally throws his coat on the couch before hopping towards his beloved daughter, taking her up in his arms in one quick lift and peppering the little ball's mochi cheeks with kisses.

"I played a lot with momma today daddy, and you know you know we even threw a birthday party for Bella hehe" Hana started blabbering out her entire day's routine to her father, sitting on his lap, her head resting on his chest,as seungcheol kept on playing with his daughter's silken locks.

"That's why my cupcake is all dolled up right now huh, I see" seungcheol's arms wrap around Hana's waist tightly while patting her hair. "Do I look like a princess dwaddy?"

"When does my Hana doesn't look like a princess, baby! You're royalty, my little highness" you were watching such a dreamy cinematic sequence of a perfect loving family being played out infront of you, from behind the kitchen counter....the catch being you were just a part of this trio only for a show to others.

"Daddy daddy can we go to the park tomorrow pwease" your daughter surely knew that her puppy eyes was cheol's biggest weakness and that's what she used everytime to make her father tend to all the tantrums.

"Anything for my babygirl. But first you've to stop looking at me with those eyes or dadda's heart will burst from cuteness babie" hana's adorable beads were now paired with her dad's dimples making your heart swell at the view. Two of your cutest dumplings.

"Come on now enough talking you two! Who wants to have the first bite of the pie?" you break off your glare from the duo and bring out the piping hot plate of freshly baked crust from the kitchen and set it on the table before them.

"Me me me" "No me" "No daddy me. Won't you let your princess have the first bite" one pout from Hana and seungcheol melts into a puddle, stuffing her small cheeks with the first bite of the pie by himself. "Next time dadda will win for sure!!!" a small hmph leaves your 27 year old husband's lips.

"So when are we going out tomorrow?" you press your lips into a smile like an excited puppy, putting a halt to the father daughter's playtime...your eyes glistening up at the thought of the beautiful day ahead.

"We'll leave after breakfast" seungcheol's stern voice echoes around the hall, awaring you of the void of emotions he has dug out only for you, his wife and the mother of his child.

"Oh okay! Come on Hana it's bedtime bub." you swing her up into your arms, marking your steps towards her bedroom. "No mowmmy I wanna play more with daddy please"

"No baby. We gotta wake up early tomorrow for the park right? There you can play with dad all throughout the day. Okay love?" you plant a goodnight kiss to your daughter's temples before tucking her into her soft Cinderella sheets.

"My cute round munchkin" one last loving glance at Hana and you put off the lights of her room to let her drift into the happiest dream ever, without any tension of the cruelties of the outside world.

Changing into a soft satin robe and tying your hair up into a bun, you finally settle yourself under the duvet of your shared bedroom with seungcheol, your back facing him, wishing ever passing moment, that at least once he wraps you around his arms. But you know better, that he never will.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ・・・・☆・・・・

"YAH CHOI HANA WALK SLOW!" screaming at

that poodle of sunshine waddling away in utter haste, you try to match her pace, literally all breathless and panting.

After a fruitless attempt to follow your spawn of Satan going absolutely haywire about being in a park with her daddy, you curve up your back, sweating like a pig looking for some air ; a pair of cold petite hands lands on the crook of your neck.

"Who the fuc - oh my god Mr notepad ass what are you doing here!!" your face instantly harbors the biggest smile upon seeing your childhood bestfriend after literally months.

"Come on girl, you meet the heartthrob of the town, and this is how you greet him? Girls swoon over m - ah ouch y/n lord my future gen " hearing jeonghan blabber 'bout being a hot cake was downright torture for you, when the man literally had no cake to offer!!!

"Yeah yeah sure that's why you used to ask me to find you a girl, pheww!!" a big smug visible clear in your eyes.

"sigh Is this how you welcome your bestfriend after almost an year??!!" han knew that him giving you those angel eyes will make your composure melt in a matter of seconds and that's exactly what happened.

"Oh come on! I was joking! You know I love you, you little bunny" you instantly wrap your arms around han's waist tightly, while pouting like a puppy yourself, as he returns the gesture in a blink.

"Except the cake part tho, hehe!" a slight pinch lands on his butt as you free yourself from him to walk to the ride's counter, hand in hand. Your heart was fluttering like a flock of doves, because you could let your true self take control only when with jeonghan, from laughing like a five year old, being a naughty tease to smiling wide like the sun. Why so? Because apparently seeing you letting your inner child out in the open, irked your 'husband'.

"Oh the main question! Why are you here? That too at a theme park!!!" shooting an interrogative glare towards jeonghan you march away through the crowd like a happy squirrel.

"I'm here with Nabi, and my little bunbun Byul. She literally manipulated me into taking her to this park. ME! THE YOON JEONGHAN BEING MANIPULATED. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT! I guess she learnt it from her dad only" jeonghan blurted out almost an entire verse within seconds, and you felt nothing but sheer joy being reunited with the only who who cherished your presence, after so long.

"There they are" you look over the thick mass to see Seungcheol and Hana standing by the ride, her little pinky entwined with her father's dainty yet strong digits, while pulling onto jeonghan's arms to run towards your family.

Cheol's face turns slightly dark watching you beaming with joy being arm tied with another man, that was not him. He knew jeonghan was your bestfriend from the time your wedding bells rang but....there was this feeling in his heart against Han, that he could never justify.

"Hey Seungcheol. How you've been? Grown quite buff huh!" Jeonghan playfully slaps Cheol's muscles, earning a sort of irritated groan and a tight smile from him.

"Looks like someone's jealous!" you lean your body over jeonghan's shoulder, whispering into his ears which lands you into being tickled by him like crazy, in public.

"Okay okay I'm sorry, s-stop!" Han's devilish hands finally leaves your body, as yout chest heaves up and down, breathless from laughing an entire year's worth.

"Umm hmm" cheol clears his throat as he tries to break off the *not so desirable scene rolling out infront of him* "we should get Hana going on the ride now, she's growing quite impatient"

"Omg yes so sorry baby mom got distracted" you take Hana from her father's grip. "Cheol cheol let us get on the ride too na? Pls!!! Pls!!" pulling onto your husband's biceps, being in a trance of happiness and forgetting that he's Choi Seungcheol and not your buddy, Jeonghan -

"Stop behaving like a kid y/n! You're twenty seven and a mother to a two year old! Fuckin act like one" each and every word that left cheol's lips carved out a new wound in your heart. Though he's right anyways....you don't deserve to fool around like a happy child....you never did....

"I'll call Nabi and Byul too. Both of them can enjoy their visit that way then" jeonghan steps in to somewhat chase away the cloud that was near to pouring down over the four of you "and Byul is herself quite fond of her bestfriend Hana anyways. They would love this set up" Han's lips curl up into a forced smile as he walks off to fetch his own family.

"I i'm sorry" you let go off Hana's tiny fingers, as soon as jeonghan leaves,leading her to the ride's entrance. "Hold on tightly to the bars, okay? Mom will be right here" your soft sweaty hands cup her cheeks before she turns around to go get seated on her most awaited part of the day.

Seungcheol's face is painted with guilt and regret, as he watches over his small family - while her daughter is glaring brighter than the sun with soulful joy, his wife is standing all gloomy beside the long sheep haired guy he have always envied.

"Mommy the ride was amazing. You know Byul was scared hehe. She was holding onto my arms" your daughter waddles down the metal stairs, her bestfriend following soon after, both of their faces all sweaty and glinting from the little adventure.

"N-no i was not, i i just tried to k-keep Hana safe" the two year old blurts out, trying to protect her pride, while her dad scoops her up into his arms, drying off her face with his shirt.

"Yes you're my strong and brave bun, I know that baby" jeonghan places open mouth kisses on his daughter's face, shifting her to her mother's arms gently, placing a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead in the process.

Such a beautiful family. A word that would never fit your own -

"I - I'm taking the girls to have some ice cream" seungcheol breaks the silence that has now creeped up onto your face. "Wanna j-join us, y/n?" no matter how much he tries to act cool or indifferent, the words he threw at your merry face just few minutes back, refuses to leave his mind, engulfing his form in severe shame and agony.

"No I would like to stay back. You three go ahead" the change in your tone was clear enough for even a stranger to notice....and jeonghan has known you for twenty whole years.

"Nabi you accompany the girls and seungcheol. We two will be waiting for y'all by the carousel" surprising right? How jeonghan was the one having your back and not your husband!!!

"Seungcheol was being an absolute dick back there you know. A very annoying, lumpy and dumbass dick " han's hands curl up against your shoulder as he pulls your head to rest on his nape, while both of you were seated on a bench shining under the dreamiest luminaire.

"Hmm" you hum into his skin, warm salty drops slowly making their way down his silk shirt "or maybe he was actually right"

Pulling yourself up from Han's embrace, you focus your eyes onto your lap, while fidgeting with your fingers, when you feel a warm pair of hands cupping your cheek, fingers pushing off any drop of water that dared to pass by your supple skin.

"Just because someone doesn't appreciate your presence in their life and treat you as nothing but a person their daughter calls 'mom', doesn't mean that you are allowed to downgrade yourself" his hands traveling down your face to now engulf your palms into his, "You have every right to be yourself y/n. I know how you've been fighting all your life, how you never had anything what people call carefree childhood these days....don't let anyone murder the soulful kid within you. Understood, Ms Thumper Paws" jeonghan settles his speech with a finishing pinch on your dumpling cheeks.

"Aye aye sir! Noted!!" you finally flash him with the smile he has been trying to bring out since 'someone' decided to slash it.

To both of your oblivion, seungcheol was watching his wife, his partner being all giggly like a beaming ray of sunshine, her bunny teeth making its way out for the world to see, but-

not in his arms, not on his jokes, instead because of her bestfriend....the person he has always been jealous of, for making you smile so wide and bringing out the adorable kid in you!!!something only he wishes to do you for you.....

all this while the caramel ice cream he brought for you melting away in his hands, as he takes in the sight before him with gritted teeth and hurt eyes

[i-cant-sing]

I can see Dabi standing in front of his mirror, forcefully smiling himself before stopping. Then he tries to smile again, stops, pauses and smiles again.

He's been doing this for the past half hour. Ever since you told him earlier today that he has "such a beautiful smile", he hasn't stopped thinking about it. And now that he stands in front of his mirror, trying to recreate the smile that you liked, he can't figure it out.

This looks too stretched. No, too many teeth here. Am I happy, or am I creepy? What kind of smile is this? No, where did my upper lip go?

"Fuck." He muttered, turning around and dropping on his bed. Why is it so hard to smile? The smile that you liked, that you praised him for.

He closed his eyes as your face came into his mind. Perhaps he can only smile like that when he's with you. He really does genuinely feel happy with you, his heart swells when he looks at your bright eyes.

No drug, not even ecstasy can compare to the feeling he gets when he opens the door for you and you look at him like like he's hung the stars for you.

His phone buzzes and he picks it up (totally ignoring the wallpaper of you sleeping contently on his chest). He's got a text from you.

Opening the app, he sees the picture you'd sent him. It's a picture of him, smiling, at dinner earlier, wearing that stupid birthday hat that you insisted on and giving him a birthday cupcake.

The picture feels so warm, so happy, so... yellow. How you cared about him enough to force him to celebrate his birthday that he claims he hates, and yet he had the happiest birthday in a long time.

Dabi snorts at the memory of you drunkenly singing him happy birthday at the bar, you sounded absolutely terrible. But when one of the patrons stood up and told you to stop, Dabi immediately smacked the man on the back of his head before pulling him back and threatening to burn him alive right then and there. You may be an embarrassing pain in the ass, but you're his embarrassing pain in the ass.

His phone buzzes again. You sent another text.

"You are so babygirl Dabi🥰 I love youuu x"

Clearly, you were still drunk. But Dabi didn't mind. He couldn't, not when you were the one present he'd been wishing for his whole life.

[katz-rambles]

hello! I see your taking requests so can i request arcane charaters reacting to the reader with a good singing voice? please and Thank you!

Of course! I'm a former choir kid, so now so is the reader, specifically a soprano.

(fluff, gn!reader, established relationships with the characters (separate), I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

Jinx

• She's immediately in love with your voice, that's a given.

• Constantly asks you to sing for her, and if you do it's like she's in her own little world where it's just the two of you.

• When she puts on her music while she's tweaking with her inventions, if you start to sing along, she'll fold right then and there. She's in a trance.

• She purposefully keeps the music quieter than normal so she can hear you better.

• If she recently had an episode, you're one of the people she may go to afterward to help her calm down. Your voice is therapeutic to her.

"Whoa, toots. You never told me you could sing. Oh! We could sing together! Just you and me!!"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Vi

• A lot like her sister, she loves your voice. She would actually pay you to sing for her.

• Please do karaoke with her. It's one of her favorite things, and it also gives her an excuse to listen to you sing.

• If you two are laying in bed together, she may start to hum a tune, as a silent ask to have her sing with you, and you know this. Plus, who are you to deny her your beautiful voice?

• One of her favorite things to do with you is sing. You two could be working on your own little projects, and she'll turn on a good song, and you two will just sing together.

• Taken together, she loves your voice. She's not afraid to tell you that either.

"Oh, come on, cupcake. Your voice is.. angelic. Please, can you choose the song this time?"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Ekko

• Loves to hear you sing. Honestly, he also has an angelic voice (but don't tell anyone.)

• He will 100% sing with you. You two can harmonize amazingly. His voice is the perfect opposite to yours.

• He lays his head in your lap and just listening to you sign, or hum. Either way, he loves listening to you.

• If you sign to the kids, especially to help them calm down, he's head over heels. Immediately.

• After a long mission, you help him calm down by you both singing. It's so therapeutic for both of you.

"Thank you, bug. I mean it, you don't know how much I needed that. Your voice is amazing, thank you."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Vander

• Kareoke nights at the bar. The people love you, and so does he.

• If you sing ragtime, or anything similar, he asks you to have a certain day of the week or month dedicated to you performing live music.

• He enjoys listening to you. So do Powder and Violet. They all love to listen to you, especially after a particularly long day.

• If you two have a few drinks, he'll pit a record on, and you two will dance and sign for hours.

• He loves it when you sing while cooking. If you like to cook, it's so domestic. It's something that helps him calm down.

"Powder loves it when you sing for her, you know. She said so herself. She loves it, almost, as much as I do, darl'."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Grayson

• She's head over heels for you when she figures it out. Your voice is such an opposite compared to her raspy voice.

• She finds you entrancing, every nite you can, or can't, hit just fuels her love for you.

• After almost every mission she loves to hear you sing, it's such a comfort for her.

• Sometimes she'll place a finger or two on to your neck while you sing to feel the vibrations of your voice and to mess with you by pressing down to give you a voice crack.

• If you try and teach her how to sing, she'll actually fold. You're so sweet, and you always sound amazing. Please sign and let her dance with you.

"You sound so pretty, you know. I could never tire of hearing you, love."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Marcus

• Another one who falls head over heels when he finds out you can sing. It's such a simple thing, but it brings him so much joy to see and hear you enjoy it so much.

• Please sing to his daughter. If you do, he's getting on one knee and marrying you right then and there.

• He can't sing, but he tries. He's not off key or anything. He's just not the best at it.

• When, and if you feel comfortable singing to him, he's only focused on you. He loves it, and so does his daughter.

• If, after a long day, he finds you singing a lullaby to his daughter, I think he'd cry. He loves knowing that you care so much for her and for him.

"I heard you singing to Ren. She loves your voice. It helps her feel more at home. So.. thank you. We.. I don't deserve you."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Caitlyn

• Oh, where to start..? She's so excited when she figures out you can sing. Because not only can you sing, but you're amazing at it too!

• You two have kareoke nights, all the time. Her parents get annoyed when it's like two in the morning, and you two are tipsy and singing whatever songs you guys can find. But it's all in good fun.

• She's kinda off-key when she sings, but you don't mind at all. You're just glad she's having fun.

• Because she's a little off-key, it probably took some convincing to get her to sing with you. When you do convince her, she's still a little self-conscious about her voice, but when she hears yours, it's like all her worries just seem to melt away.

• You two seem to have the most fun when you're a little tipsy, though. That's when all your worries just seem to melt away, and neither of you can find a care to worry about anything other than each other's voices. If you offer to give her lessons, she'll actually cry, you're just so so sweet. She's so in love with you.

"Are you sure, my love? I know, you don't mind.. but isn't that just extra work. And besides, you're so good at singing, we're opposites! That just makes us better."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Viktor

• Oh my lord, he's fallen even harder than he already has. You just keep on getting better and better. He's convinced you're actually perfect.

• Please hum a little tune while you're both sitting in the lab, whether it's to calm you both down or just because you're bored, he stops what he's doing and gives you his full attention. Jayce wants to know your secrets.

• If you ever find him overworking himself, just promise that if he comes home with you, you two will put on a song of his choice and sing together. Nine times out of ten, this will work almost immediately.

• A lot like Vander, he loves to watch you sing while you cook or bake. It's such a wonderful sight to see when he comes home from a particularly rough day at the lab.

• Sit outside with him, and sing and dance the night away, with some star gazing thrown in here and there.

"You never told me you could sing. No, no.. please don't stop. You're wonderful, darling."

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Jayce

• Heart eyes.

• Pretty, pretty, please come down to where he makes the hammers and find a beat within the hammer making with whatever tune comes to your head.

• He can sing, I'll die on this hill. He's amazing at it. He's just never told anyone. So there's a lot of you two singing to whatever song he can find to play.

• He enjoys writing little songs with you to sing together. It's your guys' version of a nice date, and you both love it.

• When you two are creating said songs, sometimes you two spice it up by adding some, impossible, theories inside the song, posing them as notes, and then giving them to Viktor to watch him freak out over the absolute terror he feels. You two also love to harmonize, you two are amazing and are constantly singing.

"Ooh! What if we do something about space not being real or a flat earth. He'll go crazy. Yeah, I know it's a little mean, but that's the whole point. Then after we can play some records together?"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

Mel

• She's in love. She doesn't sing or hear people sing too often, only for the plays and occasional operas that are held.

• If you're an opera singer, she'll try her hardest to convince you to join the cast of one. She'll be your biggest supporter.

• She won't admit it to anyone, but she has, on multiple occasions, fallen asleep to listening to you sing.

• If you take her up on her idea of joining an opera cast, she'll be a little bit jealous that other people can hear your angelic voice.

• She sings. She's good at it, but she rarely ever feels the need to. That was until she met you. Now, if you offer to help her out with refreshing her skills with singing, you bet she'll almost immediately agree. She says it's so she can get better, but you both know it's just an excuse so she can hear your voice.

"You were amazing out there, love. You had the whole crowd entranced, really. I've never seen someone with such skill before."

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

[just-a-ghost00]

How can you improve ?

This PAC is meant to provide you with general advice to help you improve and move forward on your path. This is going to be a very simple reading, with only two cards for each group.

Group 1 - 8 of wands & Justice

You need to combine your creative power drive with careful execution. Your ideas and desires are worth exploring but you should proceed strategically. Act before any little hint of doubt can slither in your mind and stop you from moving forward. Don’t give yourself the time to hesitate but don’t be careless about it either. This is a difficult thing to do but if you manage to get into action at the precise point where you’ve thought about it enough without overthinking it, then you’ll be good to go. The second thing I am picking up on is communication. It is important that you clearly communicate your boundaries. Without exception. No matter who is standing in front of you. No matter how good they were to you. If someone crosses a boundary, it is mandatory that you call them out. No one gets a free pass, you deserve to be respected no matter what. You are no doormat, no punching ball nor a stress ball. You are a loveable human being and you should be treated as such.

Group 2 - 2 of cups, The Devil

Having the devil as an advice card feels a bit counter intuitive 😂 Combined with the 2 of cups, on top of that. To me, in this case, this represents sensuality and pleasure. Your key to improving is to allow yourself to indulge in whatever guilty pleasure you have. Want to eat that cupcake ? Go for it. Thinking about going on a vacation ? Fly as soon as you get the chance. You’ve been running in circles wondering if you should send that love confession? Don’t think twice. Allow yourself to be happy. Allow yourself to exist. You deserve to live. You deserve to take up space. You are allowed to laugh. You are allowed to have fun. You are allowed to love and be loved. It is not a sin to do what you like because you want it. It is not forbidden to let your guard down and just allow yourself to be. You are enough. Be in that receptive energy. Go with the flow and take things as they go, one step at a time. Slow down. Enjoy your life. Find your rhythm. Find your joy. Explore. Connect with people. Form partnerships. Do not deprive yourself of something out of guilt. You can never regret doing what you love.

Group 3 - 7 of wands, Hierophant

As the 7 of wands represents competition among other things and the Hierophant maturity, I feel like the first piece of advice is to be the bigger person. If anyone is coming at you with a bad vibe, do not even bother answering back. Don’t give them a taste of their own medicine, no matter how tempting that may sound. Believe me you won’t be feeling any better afterwards. The true victory lies in being able to tame your demons. The second piece of advice is to not give up on learning. If you’re a student, keep going and don’t give up on your education right now. If you wanted to learn a new skill but you feel like that would be too hard for you, don’t let that stop you. Keep pushing. Keep fighting for your goals and dreams. Seek for knowledge in everything and everyone. Take any opportunity presented to you as a lesson that will only make you wiser and richer. Don’t take things personally. See the bigger picture. Notice the patterns. Read between the lines. Don’t let yourself be fooled by appearances and look for the finer details. I’ll give you an example by using my own personal experience. My father was acting a bit oddly lately. He kept criticizing me every time I was doing something that I found enjoyable. At first, my reaction was to feel offended and it made me angry so I would be acting aloof as well. But then one morning I just sat for a minute or two after one more episode like this happened and I realized that the implicit message was that he was feeling sad and lonely, and the reason why he was acting that way was because he envied what I had and wanted to be a part of it. He envied the fact that despite not feeling very good myself, I was still able to do fun things and enjoy myself while he thought he couldn’t. Now if you look at that from an external point of view, you would say that had he allowed himself to do the same, he would have felt better. Which I would agree with. But being caught up in his mental fog, he didn’t realize that and instead thought that nagging at me would get me to pay him more attention when it generated the complete opposite.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello Clan, I was wondering if you could do the glams (including Bonnie and Foxy) and the daycare attendents learning that a worker reader has hearing aids that are usually hidden by their hair or a hat and that the hearing aid has a sticker themed around them, for example: a lightning bolt for Freddy, a checkered flag for Roxy, a cupcake for Chica, a music note or maybe golf clubs for Monty, a bowling pin for Bonnie, a skull for Foxy, a star for Moon, and a cloud for Sun.

I understand if you can't do all of them

No worries! But I couldn't figure out anything for Foxy, sorry-

I did my best research on writing for characters w/ hearing aids, so if there's anything I missed/got wrong I apologize!

......

Glamrock Freddy

He's seen you around the pizzaplex over the past month, although at times he gets confused when you don't respond to his greetings unless he's standing right in front of you.

But he assumes you're just busy and doesn't mind it much.

When you're assigned as his handler to help him keep up with all the events lined up this week (photo-ops, meet and greets, performances, birthdays, etc.), he finally gets to know you on a more personal level.

One evening, you're removing confetti strips and candy wrappers from his stomach hatch (in summary, the pinata's string got caught in the mechanisms during transport and ripped apart when the hatch opened), briefly removing your hat to wipe the sweat from your forehead.

Freddy takes notice of the little devices in/around your ears, and suddenly it all clicks.

"[Y/n], if I may ask...are those your hearing aids?" The curious bear points to his own ears.

"Yep, glad you finally noticed." You chuckled, but he didn't catch your sarcasm.

"My apologies for sounding intrusive. I've just never seen them before."

"Oh you're okay, Freddy. I don't like to make a big deal out of them...unless some guest calls me "deaf" as an insult." You muttered, about to put your hat back on when you notice him still staring at you. "What's up?"

"Are those...blue lightning bolt stickers?" He gasps. "They look just like mine."

"...that's because they are." You smile, turning your head to show him the designs.

His heart is thoroughly touched.

"Aww..you themed them after me? Your favorite bear?" He coos, to which you huff and hide them with your hat.

"Yeah, yeah..I'll admit you're my favorite. Now don't go bragging about it to everyone else."

Roxanne Wolf

Working at the raceway was sometimes sensory hell for you, with your hearing aids constantly absorbing the sounds of noisy karts or screaming kids.

The worst was the construction work.

So you switch them off sometimes when you're busy with a task, as hearing gets tiring--especially in these parts of the pizzaplex.

One day, however, Roxy walked over to ask if you could supervise Cassie's birthday party...only to see you blatantly ignoring her.

She would've been annoyed, had her eyes not seen the aids hidden by your hat/hair.

Oddly enough she never noticed them before...

She just taps your shoulder politely, getting your attention as you turn them back on. "Oh hey, Roxy. What's up?"

She repeats her question, but you still struggle to hear her, so you both go somewhere outside the raceway to talk.

Once you understand what she's asking, you head to the atrium to assist with any final preparations, but along the way she inquires about the aids.

"Oh! There's something I've been meaning to show you." You reveal the checkered flag stickers, surprising the wolf. And you smile at her growing grin. "Yeah, I knew you'd love 'em."

"They're really cool. So I guess you can just..tune out all the ruckus of the raceway whenever you want?"

"It does get overwhelming at times, so yeah..I had them off. Sorry if it seemed like I was ignoring you-"

"Nah, I understand now. But listen, if anyone gives you trouble over them, you let me know. Alright?"

"..I will. Thank you, Roxy."

"Of course. It's the least I can do for my favorite human worker." She chuckles.

Glamrock Chica

The incident where Chica's upgraded voicebox horribly malfunctioned would have surely overloaded your already sensitive hearing.

You were supervising her performance, but at the first sign something was wrong you took your aids out and dodged the chaos that followed, leaving to file an incident report.

As a lead tech, however, you're summoned to run diagnostics on her voicebox in parts and services (as apparently nobody else wanted to do it).

You kept your aids off in case things go awry again, but when Chica wakes up, she's 100% convinced that she broke them and you're angry at her.

She was informed that you use them, though she's never actually seen them.

Plus you were closest to her when it happened. If her voice could damage that many STAFF bots...then surely your aids weren't spared, either.

"Well, Chica..the good news is that we don't have to replace any of your speaking components." You explain, not realizing her sadness at first. "But I recommend you don't sing for a while and stick to the guitar. Just to play it safe."

"Oh, okay....I-I'm sorry....I really am..." She sulks in the chair.

"It's not your fault. I kept telling them not to rush the upgrade, but no one ever listens to-"

"BWAK?!!" Then she jumps, surprised. "You can hear me! I-I didn't break them..?"

"Huh? Oh..no, no, no. They're fine, Chica." You reassure her softly. "They're totally fine. See?"

Taking one aid out, you show her the cupcake sticker you put on it in hopes of cheering her up, watching the relieved smile return to her beak.

Montgomery Gator

If any place in the pizzaplex is loud (besides Roxy's Raceway), it's Gator Golf.

Should the ambience or the bass of Monty's instrument be too noisy for your hearing aids to handle, you can easily take them out or switch them off.

You can always hear his voice given how he talks in general, but if he's speaking directly to you, you'll have to put them back on.

The first time this happens, however, he sees them for a split second before they're hidden by your hat/hair and immediately assumes they're earbuds for music.

In his eyes, you suddenly decided to ignore him and he's not happy.

"So that's how it is, huh?" He snarls, already being in a bad mood as is. "I ain't fun to talk to anymore? You'd rather listen to your stupid human music than mine!?"

"Monty, what on earth are you talking about?" You blink in bewilderment. His hostility usually didn't come out of nowhere like this. "I don't have any music in-"

"Then what didja just stick in your ears?!" He points, glaring at you over his glasses.

"..my hearing aids?"

There's a long, awkward pause.

"...y'know, the things that let me hear you?"

"Ohhh..that's what they are? How long have ya had those for?"

"Most of my life." You smile apologetically, seeing him fumble and backtrack whatever he said before. "It's okay, Monty. I should've told you about them before....you wanna see something cool?"

Showing him your aids, he sees the golf club stickers on them and grins, no longer as grumpy as before. "Awh yeah!! Wait....did ya put those there 'cuz you like golf..or me?"

"I chose this design because of you, big guy." You chuckle.

Glamrock Bonnie

You were Bonnie's main handler, so you two have spent nearly every moment of your shift together.

He's been aware of your hearing aids since day one, complimenting the cute little bowling pin stickers you plastered on them and chastising any person who gave you a hard time about wearing them.

Sadly you never got closure on what exactly happened after he went "missing"...only to discover his shattered body stowed behind Bonnie Bowl months later.

He had claw marks inconsistent with what Monty's hands could have possibly done (not that you believed the gator was ever guilty of attacking him despite the rumors).

You fought tooth and nail to get approval from management to repair him, working tirelessly in parts and services--even doing overtime just to bring him back.

When Bonnie finally reactivated after weeks of trial and error, he nearly looked good as new.

Except...he doesn't remember you, and there's corruption in his memory files from the night he left his green room and went into Gator Golf.

He insists he was following somebody's orders, but can't specify anything beyond that.

"I'm sorry..I'm not much help, am I?"

"No, but...I suppose you should know that Monty's taken your place in the band in your absence." You regrettably inform him, seeing how sad he looks. "But if it's any help...you're still my favorite."

Taking off your hat, you show him the now faded bowling pin stickers that remained on your aids, and he stares for a while.

Then you see his eyes flicker with recognition as a smile grows on his face.

"[Y/n]...thank goodness you're still here! I-Is Freddy okay?"

Sun

He's definitely had deaf kids (both with and without hearing aids) come into the daycare, and he tries his best to give them a fun and accommodating experience during their stay.

So right off the bat, he knows you wear aids and often tries communicating with you in sign language.

Whether you're well-versed in that or still learning, you appreciate his efforts.

But you sometimes have to remind him that you can still talk to him as you normally would.

You show him the stickers on your aids--a cloud covering a sun, to be more precise--and he's totally ecstatic.

And I mean "jumping up and down cheering" ecstatic bc now he knows you picked those stickers because of him!! Because he's your favorite!!

Physically he's there but mentally he's the "yippee" autism creature

Sometimes you gotta lower the volume on your aids with how loud he accidentally can be, and he notices this fast.

"Oh! I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!! So sorry!!" He fumbles. "Can I add something to the stickers maybe??? Googly eyes??? Glitter glue to make them shimmer and shine???"

"Thank you, Sun..but they're fine this way." You insist. "I don't want any glue dripping into my ears."

"Right! O-Of course!! We wouldn't want that now, would we? No glitter glue going into your brain!!"

Moon

The lunar animatronic, on the other hand, takes a bit longer to notice your hearing aids (considering how dark the daycare gets during the night cycle, he doesn't notice much).

When he does, he'll ask you some questions.

Like how long you've had them, how well they tune out background noise, etc.

It's all out of genuine curiosity, and you tell him whatever you knew, taking one of the aids out to show it to him.

And only then he examines the star-shaped stickers on them, staring for a while.

At first he automatically assumes they're themed after one of the Glamrocks...until you mentioned how similar they are to the stars on his hat and pants.

Finally, the gears in his mind click together.

"So you're saying....my outfit inspired you when you picked out these stickers?"

"Yep."

"How sweet of you, [y/n]...they look very nice. Glad I could be your muse." He snickers.

You never see it, but he's gonna be gushing over this every time you're working in the daycare now.

None of your coworkers paid any mind to Moon. They usually called him creepy or avoid conversing with him should they absolutely have to cross paths.

But you go out of your way to see him whenever possible; and the stickers are just a subtle yet sweet way of reminding him that he's always gonna be your favorite.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Secret’s Out

[A/N: Some fluff in honor of our favorite man’s birthday 🖤]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

—————

You love celebrating your partner’s birthday. An excuse to pamper your favorite person more so than usual, and they can’t refuse because it’s their special day? Amazing.

Your partner, on the other hand, is less than enthusiastic about the day. “It’s just another day,” he always tries to play it off. “Another year around the sun gifting me with more grays and wrinkles to prove it.”

You’ve adjusted to his understated manner, toned down your celebratory whims to make his day special in smaller, less overt ways.

“I’m not making a big deal about it,” you’d promised your first birthday together with a smile, catching the raised eyebrow you were greeted with when he spotted the lavish breakfast spread out over the kitchen table.

“Still not making a big deal. You needed a new one,” was your excuse some birthdays later when he opened a carefully wrapped box to find a new watch with words from your wedding vows engraved on the back.

“This one is so not-a-big-deal,” you’d affirmed just last year, presenting him with two tickets to a five day island getaway. “It’s November in DC and I miss the sun, that’s all.”

And so the years have gone, keeping Aaron Hotchner’s birthday under wraps much to the chagrin of his team. Garcia, to her credit, has made a Herculean effort to keep the date quiet as requested, or perhaps she’s sworn everyone to secrecy by now. Inexplicably, Aaron finds a single cupcake waiting on his desk annually.

Aaron’s birthday was a quiet affair, that is, until this year.

The case your husband had been on had spanned many more days than expected, and you’d been forced to postpone the family trip you had planned to celebrate his birthday. So here you are, waiting in his office for the team’s return. Chatter suddenly breaks the silence of the bullpen, the unmistakable sound of Aaron’s baritone mixed with the many voices of your found family.

The kids are tearing out of the office before you even rise from the couch.

Your toddler reaches the BAU team first, and Aaron’s quick to drop his go-bag in favor of catching the pig-tailed bundle of energy midair as she squeals out an excited, “Happy birthday, Daddy!”

Aaron’s eyes widen in shock, and your stomach swoops at the FBI’s best kept secret being so blatantly revealed by the littlest Hotchner.

But then Aaron’s propping your daughter on his hip and pressing kisses to her cherubic cheeks while she giggles at the onslaught, and Jack is wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist, mumbling a “Welcome home, Dad, happy birthday,” into his dress shirt, and Aaron is squeezing both of your kids like their very presence imbues life into him, and all is right in the world. You take note of money quietly exchanging hands behind Aaron greeting your kids. Evidently, Garcia had kept the date a secret.

The team splits up to drop luggage and paperwork on their desks, and Aaron looks up to the stairs leading to his office then, his smile somehow growing wider when he spots you standing there, a blush dotting your cheeks. “You know there’s no stopping these two when their hero comes home,” you offer sheepishly, and he angles his head to beckon you closer. You’re by his side in an instant and pressing a kiss to his lips even as your children- spurred on by Uncle Derek and Uncle Spencer- protest with a chorus of ews and elaborate gagging noises.

“You were just giddy about me kissing you,” Aaron points out to your daughter whose face is screwed up in feigned disgust from her front row seat on Daddy’s hip.

“It’s not the same as you kissing Mom,” Jack huffs with the gusto of an all-knowing pre-teen, so his dad rolls his eyes and pecks your lips again for good measure.

“May I propose,” Rossi interjects, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your husband’s, “dinner at my place to celebrate?” Aaron opens his mouth to protest, but Dave lifts a hand and clarifies, “Ah- celebrate closing the case, Aaron. It’s not all about you.” He shoots you a wink and you bite your lip to hide a smile.

“Up to you, birthday boy,” you murmur, lightly running your hand across his chest, but your kids and his team are looking so hopeful that Aaron knows it’s really not up to him, after all.

“Okay,” he relents with a laugh, nodding his head. “Thank you, Dave, that’s really kind of you to offer.”

The night turns out to be an absolute blast full of good food, great drinks, and wonderful company. Your little one is currently sound asleep in her Uncle Spencer’s lap while he stumps her older brother and JJ and Will’s sons with his latest magic trick. Penelope and Derek are out on a secret mission (they’re getting a cake) that Aaron is completely in the dark about (he totally knows). The rest of you are scattered about the living room, chatting and sipping your drinks while you await the secret agents’ return, and Sinatra croons on in the background about having a love to keep him warm. Sidling up to Aaron, you rest your head on his sturdy shoulder and murmur a simple, “Hey.”

He turns to press his lips to your forehead and utters a, “Hey, you,” in return.

“Sorry the cat’s out of the bag after all these years,” you say, absentmindedly toying with the collar of his tie where he’s loosened it a bit.

“Oh, honey, don’t apologize,” Aaron admonishes lightly, shifting his position so he can snake an arm around you and you can settle more snugly into his side. “Honestly, I’m amazed we kept it under wraps for so long.”

You let your hand drift further upwards, now tracing a little heart into Aaron’s cheek with your index finger. Emily clearly used a heavy hand in her role as bartender. “Really?”

Your husband curls his hand around your wrist to guide it closer to his mouth and presses a kiss to the pad of your finger. “Really,” he affirms. “Y’know, these guys had a bet going about my birth date but…” He leans closer like he’s about to let you in on a secret, and you sit up straighter, all business. “Dave and I had a bet going about who would spill first. That little chatterbox,” he murmurs, inclining his head toward your sleeping toddler, “or her chatterbox mom.”

“I resent that.”

“I know.”

With a huff, you kiss his cheek, then his nose, and then his lips. “But I’ll let it slide since it’s your birthday.”

The lights in the living room grow dim then, and Penelope enters with a small cake in hand, her face lit up by a ring of candles. “Derek said we shouldn’t mortify you by singing, but I couldn’t resist at least getting candles, sir.” She sets the cake down on the coffee table before taking a step back as the rest of your family gathers around. Your little girl barely stirs in Spencer’s arms when he approaches, while Jack slips into the spot next to his dad and instructs, “Make a wish!”

“Oh, buddy,” Aaron laughs warmly, looking around at your big family with a smile before kissing the top of his head and affectionately squeezing your knee, “what more could I wish for?”

__________

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @criminalskies @callm3c0nfus3d

[harrywavycurly]

Sarah I’m obsessed with SC!!!! I’m dying to see some girl talk between us and Kathy about Harry👀❤️❤️

Hiiii lovey!!! Ohhh this is such a fun request!! I love girl talk between besties that’s when allllllllll the juicy bits get discussed!! So i hope you like this and I’m so happy you’re liking the series!!💖

-find all things Southern Comfort here✨

CW: This conversation talks about wanting slightly rougher sex.

A/N: You and Kathy are having a wine and baking night and Kathy is asking all the important questions, enjoy✨

“So how’s it feel to finally have Harry be your actual boyfriend? It’s been what?….two weeks now?” “Oh lord Kathy it feels so nice it’s been a good two weeks…but it took him so damn long…I don’t think he’s ever actually asked anyone to be his girlfriend before…bless his heart.” “I mean…he does just kinda look like that so….” “He may look like that but that doesn’t mean he gets to just get away with being dumb.” “That’s true…so…you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to be I’m dying to know…how is he?” “You know he’s oddly very…I don’t wanna say too gentle but honestly…he touches me like he thinks I’m made of glass and it’s shocking.” “Like…he’s gentle as in he just takes his time or-” “oh he takes his time…my honey ain’t ever in a rush no matter what he’s doing but I mean…he just hasn’t even smacked my ass or even given my hair a little tiny tug.” “Okay what about the hand thing with the choking?” “Girl if he hasn’t even given my ass a hit you think this man has put his hand around my throat? Come on now…I’m tellin you…it’s like he thinks he’s gonna break me of something I don’t know.” “Maybe…he just wants the first few times to be special? Like…sexy and sensual and stuff?” “Maybe?…don’t get me wrong now….it is great…like really great.” “Makes you all dumb and numb afterwards?” “Kathryn!” “What? I’ve had sex before! I have proof of it he’s just as his dad’s.” “I mean…yeah pretty much..I gotta lay there and remember where I’m at and stuff.” “Damn…he have any friends?” “Oh I’m meeting his friend Niall on Saturday want me to see if he’s up to your standards? He’s Irish.” “Irish? Sounds fun…but you do know you can tell Harry you’re okay with things being a little…rougher right? You don’t need him to be the one to bring it up.” “How do I even go about that? I just don’t wanna scare him off.” “He has songs about how freaky he is…you won’t scare him..honestly I think he treats you the way he does in the bedroom because he’s still scared of losing you…so he doesn’t want to do anything that’ll upset you and maybe that includes pulling your hair and smacking your ass…so just…tell him you like it..communication is important when it comes to sex.” “That’s true..bless him he is so scared he’s gonna lose me…he is so precious oh I could just eat him up!” “Maybe you should?” “I have…he liked it.” “Good…but really just talk to him.” “Okay I’ll see how to bring it up to him without just downright saying toss me around a bit…” “oh to be a fly on the wall for that conversation…oh how long do theses cupcakes bake? Are they burning?” “No..I’ll smell them when they’re done…what? It’s a thing I swear.” “So…tell me more about Niall…”

[yan-heta]

YANDERE 2P ENGLAND ALPHABET (OLD)

★ NOTE ;;

— I may or may not rewrite this. This is old writing from my main blog, so expect a change of writing styles if someone were to ever request for me to rewrite this.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Oliver is a sucker for affection. By far, one of the clingiest of the 2p's. Love always gave him mixed feelings. He does not understand how people are able to love, but he would support them! Yet, how could one love? It's sometimes disgusting, absolutely nauseating; people getting too romantic, too sappy, too... revolting. As he met you, though, he starts to feel emotions stirring, bubbling like a brew. Oh, how treacherous! Now he felt as if all his thoughts were blinded by his delusion of love. Why must he feel his skin melting? His tooth aching by how sweet you feel? A fool for sweets, he wants more, to choke and rot by how tempting your lips are, how tempting to feel your hair by his hands. He just wants to feel every part of you, treat you like his God, and him, your worshipper.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He was already messy before meeting you, now he wants to give gifts from the blood he had shed. Giving your lover something you value is something of courting, right? Then you must love his special cupcakes made of love! By love, he means physically and emotionally; he means a human heart is a product of his solution. He won't tell you how he made it, but he loves when your eyes sparked interest in his creations. It made a sick grin plaster his face, masked by good. Perish the thought of how what you ate was your best friend, he'll be there for you instead, ready to comfort you when you come crying into his pastry shop, blubbering about how you miss them, how they all of a sudden disappeared. But cupid's arrow has him swerving in joy; you depend on him! Of course sacrificing your friend was worth it!

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

No mocking! He's ecstatic, filled to the brim with overwhelming madness mixed with elation. "Oh, poppet! I waited so long for this to happen! I love you! Love-love-love you!" He would chirp, sounding like an overjoyed child. His distorted sense of affection made him rush over you, who was chained to a bedpost, and embrace you into his warmth. How he misses you after waiting one day just to find the perfect time to abduct you. He'll be none the crueler to you. Of course, his God would have the best treatment, the best of everything, so he would try to be perfect for you.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

His lack of personal space made him quite needy for every bit of your time. Unlike 2p France, your space would be invaded by him. In his eyes, it's solely meant to be like it, where two lovers are always together, acting romantic, and sappy, albeit before meeting you, he was repulsed by the idea. Love truly does change someone. Before abducting you, he would always be in his bed, biting his fingers while fantasizing about you, how nice it would be to feel your skin. He'd manifest that now he was with you, and you need not have to even do any self-care when he was controlling your life, while constantly praising you.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Each bit of his heart is yours! Coming home after meetings, he would rant to you about his life, reveal himself, might I add, even expose his criminal records, and even the fact that he is a country, immortal, too. The shock on you after the confrontation would have him giggling for the rest of his day while happily cuddling you. He'll even show you his freckles, which he'd been hiding for long, if you'd like. Every night, he would tell of stories in his past, of how he had past lovers, and how they never seemed to please him, how they make him disgusted at their behavior, yet as he met you, he said; it was the first time he felt butterflies, the first time his knees felt weak, the first time his heart beating so fast, it felt like it would jump off.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

"Awww, darling!" He does not mind it, in fact, he sometimes convinces you to do so! It proves he needs to be better for you, and he'd take that criticism, no worries! All he sees it as exposure from the true you, it's like telling him he needs to change and he would do so cheekily for you to like him back. Once you show less of a fight, would he feel content with himself acting "perfect" and unflawed just for you. Just make sure you would not have that colorful language! Swearing hits a nerve and he'd cry, globs of tears falling off his freckled face as he holds his, begging to not say those words. Once you do, though, it would crack more cries, he would physically hurt himself once you start swearing up and down.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

The only game in his eyes are the games he plays with his victims once they try as much to make you fall for them. For you, though, it is not a game. Maybe the process of making you fall for him is like a dating simulator, but you escaping? He'll be in denial, a constant state of self questioning once you escape. Why do you not love him? After he has you in his grasp again, he would not even let you go, crying on your chest, continuously asking "why". He's weak when it comes to you, so he would seek you reciprocating his hugs, seek your warmth and snuggle while also shedding tears.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When he accidentally showed you his slaughterous way of preparing his pastries. His eyes held such cruel euphoria, one you have never seen before, as he butchered the poor souls into bite-able bits. He told you you weren't going to end up as food. No! But these pesky mortals would. Yet, as much of a nuisance they may be, he'd only pick the best flesh to feed you, to impress you. After all, if it makes your tummy full, it fills his heart with pleasure, aware that what he served you, pleased you. Ensuing peace after tears stained your cheeks, Oliver would kiss it away and read you bedtime stories as a way to distract you from those memories. It's your first time seeing such grotesque actions, of course he would reassure you that it would never happen again. That was a mistake on his part.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Just for a smile on your face, to enjoy his crafts, and maybe even help him with his pastry shop! He does not mind either way, as long as you submit to him, and let him praise you willingly! He vowed to love you with every single bit of his immortal love, once you say "I love you" back, he would be overridden with every feeling of glee, jumping up and down in every step as if he has been gifted with great news, which basically is for him. But he knows he has to accomplish it! Like his bakery, it gained popularity through hard earned work, his pastries taking sweat and blood (literally and figuratively) to perfection. Same with you! He needs to please you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Indeed he does, and it happens every day, even after you were kidnapped. You show the slightest bit of interest that is not him, and he would be by your side, hands encasing your body, as he begs you to focus on him with an evident pout on his face. He'll even whine and cry dramatically if it means he would be your center of attention. Show interest in another man, and he may seem as if he is unbothered, but the pink swirls in his eyes means he's planning someone's death today. After they leave you two alone, he would be pleading. It's not your fault, but why? If he changes, would you love him? Oh, he guarantees he would.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Not afraid to have PDA. Every time, he is attached by your hip, a hand on a part of your body. He loves to cuddle, too, especially if he is the little spoon once you are willing. Adores sleeping with his neck buried in your face, as he could smell your scent, the shampoo he showered you with, prominent. He could get overboard and smooch your face many times, along with squeezing your body too much. At times, he loves to hold your body and trace every part with his fingers as he whispers what he loves about it. No part of you would be left insulted, instead it is praised.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

His offer of a pastry dish for free is his way. Anyone who is unaware of what he bakes always goes for more than seconds. They'd die to be in your place. Of course, when you offer to pay, he would shake his head and refuse. He says it's a treat for you as he appreciates you being a customer of his dainty place. Maybe even use your offer to pay to divert it into something like him saying he just wants to talk to you or so.  And why would you turn down the owner of the bakery who's so cheery and positive, who seems to hold no malice?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Albeit seeming to act welcoming to everyone, he often tends to be less cruel, his colors more true and less forced. His smile holds genuine intent from seeing you. You're offered better privilege from him in his bakery, offered a better place to sit in, and his touches seem to last more on you. He also seems to be more lively, yet down-to-earth, as he has you. Almost as if he's living somewhat normal, somewhat alright- like a teenage boy who's in the process of falling in love, not some lunatic who chops people for fun.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Slaps on the wrist, interrogation, and him scolding you like a mother would do their daughter. He'll be pouty, but he tells you not to do "it" again because it may seriously harm you, and no one wants that. If you go too far, and he breaks down, then he'll maybe isolate you for some time with him. That is, you two are already isolated, but more likely you're stuck in the bedroom often.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Privacy. He'll sleep with you, take baths with you, have you attached to him most of the time. He knows you may be wary of him, but again, he means nothing bad! Just taking care of you, after all. He wants to know your every secret, so before he even abducts you, he has personal information on you. Now that he has you, he wants to hear you personally say your experience to him. That's what lovers do, they spend time together reliving memories, telling stories, yes?

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Depends. He'll be patient, but he'll also beg for you to love him already. For you to love him, it's a dream, his one main goal. So while it seems he would be patient, if you are on a streak of disinterest, then he'll slowly show you signs of impatience, either it'd be by whining more and getting more cuddly with you. Sometimes, he slips small signs of how he's waiting for you to submit.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. He can't move on, he'll never move on. He'll even die, too! He's too emotionally dependent on you! How could he let go, he can't replace you, his life-source! He'll be drained of happiness, like he sees no value in life. He'll even let himself rot, he doesn't care. Nights of sorrowful yearning would turn into him planning to get you back, by magic. He's tempered with it all of the time. Oh, he'll get you back!

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

He'll feel guilty if you're a bit homesick, but he feels like this is the best for you. He'll try to make your shared house feel more of yours, if it gives you a certain nostalgia. But once you settle in with him, then he'll let you go outside and be more independent, as long as you ask for permission, then it'd be no bother.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc.)?

Curiosity. He's never felt the feeling before, so of course, he would be curious on why you, of all people, make him feel giddy. But he accepts it. He'll observe you for a bit behind his counter while making pastries, let Flying Chocolate Bunny spy on you, and Ms. Fairy to stalk you home. They'd always tease him about his obvious fascination, but could he help it?

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He'll do the same, too. It genuinely hurts him seeing you hurt. After all, who would want to see their lover cry? Mentally break? He loves you, would hold you once you cry, and let you cry as he does so, too. It's as if it's only the two of you, and it is. No isolating yourself, darling, he'll help you, you don't have to struggle yourself from even standing up. It really hurts him, but you have him, even if he might be the sole reason you are hurting yourself.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He's both delusional and self-aware. It fluctuates between days and his moods. He loves you, and he knows that kidnapping you is wrong, but it's right for you! It makes him wary of what you do, and so he could keep track of you without you leaving his bakery every so often, but at the same time, he knows why you feel insecure under his gaze. But he promises he means no bad! Sometimes, he manipulates you into thinking he is perfect, sometimes he breaks down for no reason. He has this idealization of what love truly is, similar to 1p France, where he must not force it, but at the same time, he fails to do so.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His people-pleasing type of behavior towards you. He's always ready to be at your command at times, so once you know how to manipulate him, then you could use him. But, even as he is easy to use at your disposal does not mean he is unaware of manipulation, as he is one himself. Yet, he'll still let you do anything to him, at the end, he will be sobbing once he realizes you still do not love him. Why are you torturing him like he's just some toy? He's trying! Just for you! "Oh, poppet, darling! Please! Please don't leave me! I'll do anything for you, just don't leave! Please!" You can't even comprehend what he says as he hiccups, choking in guilt and shame.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Oh, never! He'd rather die, than see you break, lose yourself. The best he could do is spike your drink with a love potion, but that's the last thing he'd do once he's between a fine line of breaking. It'd be easier to break him, than for him to taint your skin with a knife. Punishments are usually slaps on the wrists, or small threats of losing your privilege to easting more of his dishes. If he ever goes too far, though, he'll apologize every day, begging for your trust, pleading that he'll change, he'll never harm you again.

Xanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Very much. He'll be doing every order of yours, except escaping. Want someone to die? You have the right person to ask! New clothes? "Oh, my sweets, give me the details and I'll make sure you have it!" For him, people-pleasing helps with you liking him, and every step of the way is something he would endure to steal your heart. He adores you, worships you. You're insecure? He'll make sure to utter every praise in the book, comfort you. Avoid mirrors? Darling, he knows what it feels like to feel repulsive to your body. No worries, he won't force you to be uncomfortable! Anything for his beloved poppet.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Love is a process for him to undergo for about a long time, but he's under your spell after observing you in his pastry shop every day you visit. You're so cute, everything about you makes him captivated. At first, he thought it was attraction, fascination on his part, but the more you do anything, the more he falls behind the counter. He offers you his desserts for free before abducting you, giddy heart beating whenever you take a bite and compliment his cooking. Anything you do, really, makes him entranced. It takes long before he finds out it is love, he asked 2p France about it, too! And even the Frenchman guaranteed it was love, and he was certain, utterly certain, you are his soulmate after time of being in denial.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Oh no! He's delusional, he feels love must be slow, and sweet. You'll fall by nature, for him! Your eyes should not drift to other people, that's not how soulmates work! Albeit the fact that he has kidnapped you, fed you one of your kind, forced his affections, does not mean he would be doing something so sickening towards you! No, he would not even dare choke you, or litter your skin with scars. Your tears are not worth losing yourself, as that would make the man live with shame. You're his one true lover, his soul's only connection. If he broke you, he'll break himself, too.

[ween-kitchens]

guess who forgot they can post writing on tumblr againnn anyway this was bribery so stiff would watch rtc HKFHD

(this is part of the sniflins au! idk if it’s canon or not but it takes place in that world! the sniflins is an au by myself, @angeart @loveroped and @stiffyck !)

jimmy can feel scar smiling against his neck, nuzzling closer every so often, and his stomach fills with butterflies. his chest is filled with a fuzzy glow—a wonderful mix of both his own and scar’s happiness. he can no longer tell what emotion belongs to who, and it’s wonderful. under the lazy warmth of the afternoon sun, it’s as if there’s no one else in the world aside from them, and jimmy couldn’t be happier.

that idea is very abruptly disputed, as joel snores loudly from across the picnic blanket. jimmy stifles a laugh, and he can hear scar giggling quietly in his ear (which, for the record, might just be the best sound ever). 

both grian and joel fell asleep a good ten minutes ago—grian almost fell face first into a cupcake, and joel dozed off midway through insisting that he was not going to fall asleep at all. scar and he have since concluded that it was the sniffer traits that made them so sleepy in comparison to them, and that they will never let either of them live this down.

“ruins the moment a bit, doesn’t it?” jimmy jokes quietly, if only to hear scar’s laugh again.

scar hums, the sound vibrating against jimmy’s skin. “well, I don’t know. doesn’t make you any less beautiful.” 

jimmy feels his face burn in a way that is entirely unrelated to the sun. “oh my gosh.” he buries his head in his hands.

scar is laughing again, sitting up with the sole intention of making jimmy even more flustered, it seems. “oh, but you are! look at you!”

“I will hit you.” jimmy says, muffled through his palms.

“I don’t believe you.” scar teases, sing-song. “you love me too much.”

“I absolutely don’t.” jimmy says. even to his own ears, it sounds laughably false. but right now, he’s proving a point, so.. shut up.

scar presses a kiss to jimmy’s neck, and jimmy feels his face grow impossibly warmer. “oh yeah? now, unless our soulbound broke in the last few seconds, i’m fairly certain you do, sweetheart.”

and- whilst jimmy may not usually be the most forward person in the world, desperate times call for desperate measures. the desperate times in question being his immense flusteredness, and the desperate measures- well..

jimmy takes his hands away from his face, shifts to face scar, grabs his collar and pulls him into a kiss. scar is surprised initially, but melts into it almost immediately—that wonderful glow growing in jimmy’s chest.

and- wow. jimmy somehow manages to forget just how happy scar makes him—not that he’s complaining; it’s something of a fantastic surprise every time he remembers again. like right now, for instance. because scar’s hands are at jimmy’s waist and cupping his cheek, and he’s leaning ever further into the kiss, and jimmy can feel the thin scar that runs through scar’s bottom lips and it’s bliss.

they pull away to catch their breath, giggling breathlessly all the while, and jimmy takes the opportunity for payback. he peppers scar’s face in kisses, delighting as he laughs, and occasionally giving scar’s lips a teasing peck.

“point- point proven!” scar is saying, despite the fact that jimmy has considered stopping at least twice and each time scar whined until he kissed him again.

“mm, no, I don’t think it has.” jimmy grins. “I think I might have to kiss you forever, actually.”

“I mean-“ scar says, and jimmy cackles at the abrupt shift in his tone. “I wouldn’t object, per say-“

“you’re an idiot.” jimmy says, fond as anything. god, he loves this man so much.

scar beams, as if he knows exactly what jimmy is thinking. “I know.”

[jae-bummer]

You & Me Book Club

Request: 11 with hyunjin? "Your bias makes every excuse he can think of to hold your hand" seems so him omg

Prompt:

11) Your bias makes every excuse he can think of to hold your hand.

Pairing: Stray Kids Hyunjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff

.

The sun streaming through the windows of the sitting room made you feel like a sleepy cat. Sat directly in the light and warmth, you let out a soft sigh before readjusting and cuddling deeper into the couch.

"Comfy?" Hyunjin smirked, looking at you over the edge of his book.

Nodding contently, you looked back down to the novel in your own hands. It had been Hyunjin's idea to start a book club consisting of just the two of you. Changbin had attempted to join on several different occasions, but after an over dramatic argument questioning if he really could read, the topic had been dropped. Afterwards, you may have had to bake cupcakes to clear the air between the two, but to Changbin's delight, Hyunjin had not been allowed to have any. Someone had to discipline him on occasion.

This month's read (Hyunjin's pick) was Pride and Prejudice which hadn't necessarily been a surprise to you. For whatever reason, the book seemed to match Hyunjin's vibe, and he had been thoroughly enjoying it. It fulfilled the need for drama that you both subconsciously yearned for, but "in a classy way" he had said.

Flipping to the next page, you looked to the side of your book, and at your leg touching Hyunjin's. You were both sitting cross-legged, your knees jostling against each other. Narrowing your eyes, you noticed that Hyunjin was now only holding his book with his right hand, but his left hand sat palm up on the knee closest to you.

Without even having to look at him directly, you knew he was keeping an eye on you as you tried to assess what he was doing.

"Are you reading too intensely?" You tried not to laugh harder as he quickly averted his eyes from you and fixed them back on his page. "Airing out your sweaty palms?"

"First mistake," he sighed. "I don't sweat, I glisten. Secondly, we've been reading for so long that the hand in question fell asleep."

"We've been reading like fifteen minutes."

"This book is very heavy," he nodded. "And it was fifteen very intense minutes."

You made a show of lifting the novel up to your face and examining it. Hyunjin let out an exasperated sigh in response. "Can you just like...maybe squeeze my hand for a second?

"Put down your book and do it yourself," you muttered.

"And miss out on Elizabeth ghosting her own cousin? Absolutely not."

Rolling your eyes, you set your book face down on the arm of the couch and took Hyunjin's hand into both of yours. Kneading each of his fingers in turn, you ignored the small hum of satisfaction that fell from his lips.

"Sorry," he cringed. "Would you mind just like..."

Setting down his own book now, he took your right hand and laced your fingers together before setting it on his knee. "Perfect."

"I'm failing to see how this helps your sleepy hand," you muttered, lifting your brows. Looking down at your entwined hands, you couldn't help but recognize how nice it felt to be in contact like this. Your relationship with Hyunjin had always skirted the lines of inappropriate for a friendship. It was as if his love language was strictly limited to flirting, and you were conditioned to be receptive.

"If I had to explain it to you, it would be a waste of perfectly good reading time," he said, sounding genuinely proud of himself. "Just take my word for it. Don't question science."

"You can't just throw around the word "science" and expect me to-"

"Y/N," he whispered. "Reading time."

Heaving a sigh, you picked your book back up with your free hand and began reading again. After only a moment, you tried to slide your fingers from Hyunjin's.

"Whoa!" he gasped, his expression wounded. "Don't you care about my health and well being?"

"You're so dramat-"

"My hand could fall off and it would be all your fault."

"Hyunjin," you groaned, trying to pull away from his now tightened grip. "I have to turn the page."

"Use your nose," he muttered, keeping his eyes locked again on the words in front of him.

Finally freeing yourself, you huffed out a laugh. "You're the most ridiculous little man."

"No, that's Han," he hummed without missing a beat. "Have you ever stopped to consider how big Mr. Darcy's hands are?"

"I'm sorry, what?" you openly gaped. You weren't sure what Jane Austen was doing to him, but at this point, he had to be losing his mind.

"His hands," Hyunjin said simply. Lifting his own in front of his face, he wiggled his fingers. "They've got to be massive right? Big hand energy?"

"What does that even mean?"

"I have it. Big hand energy. How big are your hands?" he asked, feigning curiosity. Since before you had even started reading today, it had become clear that he was working off an ulterior motive.

"They're...average? I don't know," you grumbled. Furrowing your brows you tried to catch his eyes, but they were darting around too quickly.

"Let me see," he hummed. Dropping his book again, he lifted your hand to sit in his. His fingers were almost an entire joint longer than yours and he laughed in satisfaction. "Tiny hands. Just like Felix."

Wrapping your fingers around his, he sat your held hands on his knee again and went to pick up his book.

"Okay, hold it," you finally managed. "You're acting way more weird than usual right now. What's going on?"

"Fine, I can't take it anymore!" he puffed. "I've been reading this same paragraph for at least the past ten minutes."

"Because...?"

"Because all I can think about is holding your hand."

Your heart seemed to skip a beat at his admission. "Because...?"

"Because your hands are very worthy of holding!" he continued dramatically.

You grinned at him, feeling as if your heart could burst from your chest. All of this time Hyunjin had only wanted to show you affection, but he was far too in his head to go about it a normal way.

"I still think I'm missing a crucial part to the plot here," you prodded.

"If we were characters in a book," he explained slowly. "I would be the hero and you would be the love interest that I'm mortified of being rejected by."

"Why don't I get to be the hero?" you grinned. "And you can be one of the townspeople fawning all over me."

"Come on, Y/N," he said deadpan. "Do I look basic enough to be a towns person?"

"Valid point," you nodded. "But why would you be mortified of rejection?"

Hyunjin opened his mouth and then promptly closed it again. You could tell he was nervous about saying this part out loud.

Wanting to comfort the strange and wonderful person in front of you, you lifted your entwined hands, and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles. Any hint of doubt or fear fell from his face as his jaw dropped open.

"You're the best twist my story has ever taken, Y/N," he said, his tone one of awe. "And it's not a happy ending unless you're in it."

[sstar-ggirl]

The Charming Man| Neil Lewis x gn!Reader

Mars rants about things: LITERALLY LOVE HIM SO MUCH and he’s literally The Smiths coded idc what you mfs gotta say. And his favorite Smiths song is ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’ because yeah i said so. But in this fic he shades Y/N so much for listening to The Smiths bc he’s a little asshole and I love him.

Warnings: Cursing, Neil being a hater but its playful banter bc him and Y/N are childhood friends, they are in an established relationship of course, eww holding hands, EWWWW KISSING, y/n threatens Neil once but its playful banter and they are joking, pet names both cute and cringey to annoy Neil, they dance in the end bc why not :D! Neil loves the smiths but doesn’t want to admit it.

Word count:798 words

An average boring day in Gumshoe Video and there you stood organizing the tapes and sorting out what needed to be specifically on display for inviting customers, and also because there was an upcoming event for specifically dark detective movies, and he wanted to be prepared beforehand. Your head bobbed along to the song playing in the speakers, slightly swaying your hips to the song. “What she asked of me at the end of the day, Caligula would have blushed.” You were singing along to the song and then low and behold your boyfriend Neil walks in from his office “ Y’know babe I don’t know why you listen to this boring crap; studies show that music will slowly rot your brain as time goes by.” You chuckle in response to this “Neil my love, Shut up. And what study even says that? And so be honest with me Neil, you like The Smiths, and may I add, I caught you nodding along to the song literally 3 days ago.” He looked so shocked and offended at that statement, it was like you told him his movies and store suck. “I do not?? You listen to them so much it gets irritating sometimes and it’s completely normal for a human being to nod along to the sound of music even if they hate it.”  You couldn’t contain yourself now. His face was red as an apple as you continued “Also this is why you love me! I’m not going to ruin your chances of the universe punishing you with eternity because you like a music group that started in England way back in the 80’s.” You jabbed him in the arm playfully. “And this is why I love you Neil, your stupid ass always seems to have a smart-ass opinion on everything I do because Mr. Neil Lewis has to be the king of the world and cinema!” And you both cracked up at the fact that you're actually right about that.

“Can I join you?” He was teasing you now and was walking towards you and placed a hand on the shelf you were organizing. You hand him a tape and continue. Then he says out of nowhere, playing with the tape in his hands instead of helping. "I love it when you’re this opinionated and you think there's nothing bad about you because you're always the leader of everything and you have to get the red crayon.” “Yeah, yeah whatever Neil, continue talking about kindergarten Neil and watch when I clock you again in your fucking nose. On the same spot too!” After that was said, he walked away to sit at the counter and his gaze stood on you. You were humming along to the song and then once you finished you dusted your hands off and walked towards Neil and held his hands swinging them side to side sort of dancing. “What are you even doing Y/N…” “Shh shut up and dance with me.” He tried to pull away, but you immediately wrapped your arms around his waist. “No, I don’t-” You cut him off with a kiss to his cheek “Come on please Neil for me, please cupcake” “No Y/N. I refuse.” “Please sweet cheeks.” You had to contain yourself from laughing as he cringed at the name you gave him “What is wrong with you Y/N?” “Come on princess, I’ll cook dinner tonight and we can watch any movie you want even the most unfathomable movies to exist.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine because that offer sounds too irresistible.” You clapped and dragged him away from the counter for more space, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his chest, He rested his arms around your hips and laid his head on top of yours swaying both of you, Neil softly started humming the song ‘The Charming Man’ by The Smiths and your jaw dropped, “So you DO like The Smiths after all!” you looked up at him and he shushed you and put your head back to its previous position, “Shh sweetheart, I was joking with you the whole time, I like some of their songs.” Your eyes rolled at that, but you couldn’t help but blush and feel content with how you two were right now.

Moving your arms to his waist and hugging him tighter you sighed “I love you, Neil Lewis. I love you so much baby.” He moved his head and gave you a kiss and you melted into and eventually pulled away for air. “I love you too Y/N L/N, you're all I need to keep me alive.” And then the moment of passion and cuteness was ruined by a customer walking in. ‘Always at the wrong moments huh?'

[i-yap]

Thinking about the wedding ask you answered before but what if Grayson proposed to his s/o and his s/o already bought a ring to propose to him as well? Like that would be so cute 😭💕

Hey sorry I'm a little late, in responding, I usually have a couple meetings on Thursday and after human interaction I'm too dead to do anything.

omg your request is so monica and chandler idk why..like that scene she proposes and..yea . Thats a really cute idea.

Dick grayson x reader

Some may consider being friends with your boyfriends ex weird, but barbara and kori were still a part of his teams and they knew what grayson had with you was something special and different. And so you became sort of friends..at least this way you got gossip on grayson. But it was also the reason why you were here, In a jewellery store. looking through wedding bands.

"And then he kept crying "take me to y/n" " laughed kori telling the story of Dick on anesthesia. You laughed back in return"What can I say, the man's a simp". "Yea never really saw him like that you know" replies Kori.

"Like what?" . "Loving someone so much, he was sweet with me, but he never really made effort. I guess I always knew it was a temporary thing. I couldn't even bring up commitment with him, I don't think I even heard him say the word "wedding" the whole time we were together."

"He is a litttle hesitant towards commitment I suppose, its his childhood- all that repressed trauma" you say , trying to cheer her up a little. "But with you it seems like he might even ask you to marry him- though the idea of him asking anyone to marry him sounds crazy"

"Why is that?" you ask

"Dont take me wrong, he loves you but I just cant see him getting down on one knee and -well popping the question"

And so here you are now. Staring at the perfect wedding band set . Was this a little unconventional ..yes. Did you care? Hell no. You knew Dick wanted forever with you. You guys had talked about kids, grandkids, what flowers you want in your wedding. He just wasn't popping the question and if he wasn't going to do it, you would. You understand he has his issues, but he is committed to you, he loves you and you can help him out with this little something.

After that talk with kori you had been monitoring Dick , He did talk a lot about marrying you but never really brought up the actual question. And you didn't want to wait longer. This was the man you wanted to spend forever with..its decided.

So you and dick plan out a perfect date. He was more than excited to make sure everything was perfect- saying he was just excited because you guys haven't had a proper date in while(which is a lie , dick takes you out every week for a fancy date )

But it turns out perfect. By the private beach, a pretty blanket with champagne and food. the sun setting slowly and a chill spring air which makes you sit just a little closer. You take out the ring just as the sun starts setting. Dick looks over perplexed. He looks at the ring, then at you smiling and then ring again. "Dick grayson, I love you. I never thought I'd meet a man like you, I didn't even know they existed. And they don't , you're special to me. You are kind and smart and really hot. There is no one else for me , its just you. Marry me?"

Dick gives the biggest smile, pulls you up onto the sand and get down on his knees before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring. "y/n, I guess you beat me to it huh? Ive been carrying this ring for 3 months now waiting for the perfect moment. But every moment with you is perfect, you are perfect for me and you make me want to be the perfect man for you. Ive known that since the first date , I know that right now and I will remember it forever. Will you marry me y/n l/n?"

"First you answer my question" you hiccup, tears welling up in your eyes.

"haha, yes yes I will marry you y/n grayson"

"is this a bad time to mention I don't like your surname"

"We can change it, keep it something you like, like cupcakes..y/n cupcakes" he says tears in his own eyes.

you giggle as you pull him up, sliding the rings onto each others hand and kissing as the sun falls below the ocean's horizon.

[setsugekka]

❥hate & hurt (with all my love) (m)

↳ two things always remained true:

1) for better or for worse, change is inevitable.

and 2) chan always came back.

bang chan x fem!reader — childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits, heavy angst, romance, sexual content [12.5k wc] cws: physically abusive parents (somewhat detailed), parental death, emotional manipulation, drinking, recreational drug use, sex as a coping mechanism, unhealthy relationships, language, heavy themes throughout. sexual content: penetrative sex (unprotected), a lot of carelessness emotionally.

February is cold, and that's reason enough to find little joy in this month as well and many of the ones surrounding it, but your space heater at work giving out twenty minutes into your shift at work is certainly cause for more.

You can't help but wonder, how do situations like this always come to find me?

Typically not anything too egregious, but most can admit that the small things tend to add up. Now, work is cold, and you have an unreasonably large number of books to wade through that must, ultimately, find their place amongst the numerous shelves that line the walls and walkways.

What else could possibly go wrong?

A lazy thought to yourself accompanied by a similar, tired blink as you bend down behind the front counter only to then hear the doorbell ding to signify the entry of a patron. Because of course they would right now, when you've already resigned yourself to the horrors of sorting by last name.

The words begin to tumble out of you before you've even stood fully again—halfway into turning your head towards the sound as it quickly dies out behind the door closing. "Welcome, what can I do for—"

The rest of them die in your throat, which is no match for the feeling of anxiety-fueled dizziness once eyes meet.

"Chan."

In fifth grade, Chan had decided he was going to be your best friend.

It really had been as simple as that; the memory sticks out despite a long line of them that involve him, the way he had caught you on the curb after school as you waited for your parents to come pick you up—cupcake in hand, not even particularly caring of sweets.

Of course, he couldn't have known this, you weren't best friends yet.

"You're going to be my new best friend." he proudly declared, no room for argument from you.

At such a young age, girls and boys being best friends is far less of a topic for discussion as it would become later on in middle school, in high school. Not even something on the radar, in fact. Chan was friends with a lot of girls—one in particular—classes were small, and it had been simple enough to keep up with your peers even if none too close to them, yourself.

Everyone knew Chan and Sana were a package deal, until Sana's parents had decided to move elsewhere, leaving Chan without that one person that really held him down in a way that no one else really seemed to. You couldn't help but wonder why he had chosen you as the follow-up, and as adults, the idea of it wildly amusing to the both of you no matter how many times it had been rehashed.

Suppose there's something special, maybe even magical about the concept of having one, true best friend when you're a child. Nothing else like it, no one else who holds that special place in your life. Difficult to keep on keeping on without that role being filled.

Whatever the case may have been, you found yourself next in line.

And perhaps you were too young to consider how wildly bizarre such a proclamation really was in the grander scheme of things. No concept of ulterior motives (and really, what ulterior motives could this child even have), but with a bright, dimpled smile and a baked good that you didn't have any particular interest in, suppose you were down to partake in his first round of try-outs.

"Okay," you remember answering, and firmly at that. Probably because you didn't have someone holding down the title in your life, either. "Best friends then."

"Hey…"

Voice wobbly, you drop the book in hand and circle around the desk to greet the man. It's been three years at least since the last time he'd come around, not that you were ever keeping count. The two of you do something of an awkward dance with one another as you first go in for a hug and then halfway through contemplate whether or not it's appropriate to even do so. Chan, at least, attempts to meet you halfway before you second-guess the gesture.

Eventually, a messy hug is decided upon by the both of you, though not without its chaotic logistics and limbs tangling among one another like two people never before engaging in such an act with another person before.

The irony in that.

"Hey," Chan says then through a smile that's so forced you wish you could ignore it. "Didn't know you worked here."

Of course not, how could you?

"Oh, yeah, a little over a year now."

Silence.

There's a part of you that sort of hopes the floor will open up and swallow you whole, but you force yourself to remember that it's a bit like this every time he comes back around. Always too much time between the last, always so much history but not enough of it that's recent. Huge, towering holes of time left unaccounted for between you with every year that passes by. Every year since he left.

You don't blame him, not purposefully, at least. Moving away was the right call for him, and even the frequency in which he did come back coming as something of a surprise to you with how tormented his relationship with his family always had been.

Hopefully Chan says something soon, because you're out of beginning statements, not that you had all that many to begin with. Besides that, the skin on the inside of your lip is beginning to grow thin from nervous chewing, and you'd rather not have to swallow blood along with the mounting lump in your throat.

It wasn't always like this.

Chan's eyes fall to the floor between the both of you for a split second before flashing back up and towards you. It's a face that says I know, it's weird, and I'm sorry for that, but with no real ability to make it any better either. In fact, you suspect he's about to make it worse.

Call it Bestie Intuition, or whatever.

"So," he says with a drawl, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before finally finding the strength to get the words out. "My parents died."

Oh.

There's so much history in that statement. So much feeling, and contempt, and distaste that even when he says the words as plainly as can be, you can't help but catch the hint of relief that accompanies them. It's bad enough when someone's parents pass away, even worse when there is so much love there that it's excruciating.

Where does that land those who take solace in the fact then?

Maybe once upon a time you could have reacted to the statement with unbridled and hysterical glee. Congratulations buddy! Drinks on me! a potentially anticipated response maybe five or six years ago, but now there's too much space, too much distance between the two of you to say anything other than the obvious. The standard fare towards people in grief even if they aren't, actually.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That makes one of us."

You can't even blame him, knowing everything that you know. Parents are people and deserve the amount of respect that they give to others, and they certainly never took it upon themselves to be deserving of it from Chan, or anyone close enough to him to hear the yelling coming from the other end of the phone line, much less see the cigarette burns and bruises left when he was finally comfortable enough around someone to roll his sleeves up behind closed doors.

For people like them, you hoped Hell to be everything that the religious fanatics had ever made it out to be, and maybe even a little more.

"Anyway," he says abruptly with a sigh, not wanting to linger on the fact too long. "Next of kin, so I'm sort of tasked with dealing with the aftermath of everything. They have a shit ton of books in the basement and I heard this place takes in that kinda stuff if it's worth anything."

"Yeah, we can give them a look, for sure."

"You want to come over tonight and maybe take a look around before I bother dragging everything over here?"

Forever constant, forever in a state of metamorphosis. You wonder how the two can exist simultaneously in such a way.

He continues the thought. "They didn't die in there or anything, but you're welcomed to rummage through my mom's old shit and take anything you want. Jewelry or whatever."

"I'm sure that's precisely what you need, a constant reminder of that woman every time you see me wearing a set of earrings." you chuckle softly.

Chan grimaces. "Good point, maybe don't wear them around me. Either way, you know they have that big firepit in the back so we can have some drinks, get some food, catch up?"

Catch up. Code.

Besides the fact that Chan makes very little effort to keep up with you in all of the time that he's away; social media messages back and forth exchanged between the two of you dwindled down over the years to nothing more than the standard handful expected of friends. Birthdays, Christmas, maybe New Year’s if we're feeling particularly giving.

There's no catching up, and every time Chan has returned for one reason or another since having originally left, the knowledge that you come to learn about the new him, his new job, new everything—is limited.

A chain link fence erected between you, and perhaps the very second of his departure. You have a difficult time pinpointing the precise moment of your realization. Always held at something of an arm's length now—you can see him through the holes and around the silver, metal wiring—but you couldn't get through it if you tried.

You can't help but wonder if his new best friend lies somewhere on the other side, right beside him. Or maybe he has simply grown past the necessity for such things. An emotional crutch because he needed it as a young boy, as someone trying to make sense of the world around him and why his parents hated him so much for seemingly just existing.

Then he moved, and things got better. Chan built the fence, but never told you.

You can't help but wonder if you remind him of everything that he has tried so hard to distance himself from. Maybe you don't need a pair of earrings for that, after all.

A fence to keep him within the barrier of healing that he has created upon leaving, or to keep you out?

"Okay."

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:12 : want to catch dinner tonight?

To: Weasel (lovingly)

19:13 : can't, something came up

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:14 : what could have possibly come up on a thursday night?

To: Weasel (lovingly)

19:20 : chan's back in town. he stopped by the shop while i was at work. we're gonna catch up.

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:21 : ahhhh riiiight. 'catch up' i know what that means. same thing it always does when he comes back around and is bored -_-

To: Weasel (lovingly)

19:21 : hyunjin please. his parents passed away.

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:22 : okay? good. they were pieces of shit and i'm sure he's thrilled i don't see why he's got to pretend to drown his sorrows with getting his dick wet. he barely even talks to you when he's not around.

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:30 : whatever. i love you. hit me up tomorrow to pick up the pieces. i'll be around.

"Fuck."

Breathy and punched out of your lungs with a particularly hard thrust, you attempt to find purchase in the sheets beneath your fingers as Chan roughly rocks into you from behind. His hands feel tight around your hips to hold you in place for him, and while you can't very well view the expression on his face from this angle, you can certainly hear the litany of bitten back groans that just occasionally drop from his lips.

"Close, close—" you follow the expletive with then, and his grip on you gets even harder—hips firmer and faster as you snake a hand down between your legs to get the rest of the way there.

You remember the first few times that you and Chan began sleeping together—taking your relationship to the next level—the both of you used to joke as if there was anything particularly romantic or emotional about it for either of you. But he used to be more involved in the process, more present, more engaged and interested and with some insatiable desire to please…even if you guys were just friends who would fuck every now and then.

The first time he came back after moving, you recognized the change.

"Chan—" you say, and receive no response.

"Fuck, you feel so good—" you continue on, an attempt to bring back some of the passion that you remember so vividly once having been there.

"Want you—"

"Shhh," you finally hear, accompanied by a particularly harsh thrust that feels something akin to some sort of threat. A few beats of silence follow after it, as if he's rethinking having ever done it to begin with before eventually landing on his feeling of correctness in doing so. "Don't talk so much."

If you were anyone else—maybe less used to this, less expecting of it—it might ruin the whole thing for you. Instead, you're thankful for the position and the way that he can't see how you roll your eyes at him, at the way that he is now before you come.

Yours brings about his, a louder, still pulled back groan as if anyone in this house is going to hear him. Chan wastes no time pulling himself from you and then flopping over to lie beside you as you situate yourself similarly.

It's always like this, every time; every feeling held so heavily in your chest bubbling up to sit inside of the dryness of your throat. Choking, drowning. Never actually dying, no matter how much you wish for the release from this.

Hyunjin always tells you not to go, and in the end, your mind is made up to do just that long before you ever even inform him of your consideration to do so. Your new best friend—though you don't call him that.

For whatever reason, you've still not been able to relinquish the title; put up 'help wanted' adds in the absence of the original title holder.

Because he's still around. Sort of.

You always wonder why you feel like crying afterwards, swallowing the burn down just in time for Chan to get up and head to the bathroom for his own clean up. It's a means to an end, less about remembering anything that ever existed between the two of you, and more about forgetting.

"I talk too much?" you finally say sarcastically as he disappears into the connected bathroom. Chan doesn't bother to stop and turn back, or really acknowledge the fact at all until a few, long moments and you hear the shrieking of the shower knob turn.

"Sometimes," he says.

"God forbid I try to spice things up with a little dirty talk, for old time's sake."

"Well, I wish you wouldn't."

Blinking slowly, the memories of doing this so many times before all come flooding back to you. A heavy sigh through your nose and you're sitting back up to collect your clothing from the floor beside the bed.

"Okay Chan," you say in response, now with evident contempt laden within it. "I won't say anything next time. I'll just come over and you can do whatever you need to do with me and then I'll go quietly, alright?"

You wonder if anything you say will even bother him, but just as quickly you hear the glass from the shower walling slide open and the man in question's head pops out from around the corner.

"You didn't come?" he says angrily, exhausted. Knowing fully well that you did. "You didn't enjoy yourself, right? Don't make me out to be the scumbag that's using you for whatever-the-fuck like you don't come over here time and time again knowing exactly what's going to take place."

He disappears back into the shower, ending it off with the additional "as if you can't just say no."

Dressed again and quickly heading down the stairs to take your leave, you don't bother informing him of the fact—you're sure he knows as much—it's far from the first time that the two of you have partaken in this exact scenario. Doing the same thing over and over again, each time thinking that the outcome will be different for some inexplicable reason.

The thought comes to mind as you reach the bottom of the stairs and upon glancing to your right, are met with a family photo of Chan with his parents—smiling, grinning ear to ear, as if the child in the photo isn't wearing jeans at the beach in the summer time because father dearest gifted him with a brand new cigarette burn only a couple of nights prior.

The thought being: perhaps he's just dealing with some things, even unbeknownst to himself. The death of loved ones is difficult even in the best of times, and you're not entirely sure where hating your abusive parents falls within the scope of that. Probably coming along with a whole different set of complications that often go unexamined, unspoken of—because God forbid you ever say it out loud, to anyone, that the people that were supposed to love, cherish and protect you did any and everything but that, and in fact, made your loving of them an abject impossibility.

Chan never told anyone else in his life about his parents abuse, only you; because the first time he admitted hating them with a shaky yet certain voice, you held his hand, gave him another red solo cup full of beer, and told him that you understood.

So, where's your red solo cup now?

It wasn't until your shared sophomore year of high school that you really started picking up on the signs.

There was always regret in that, too. That you should have noticed it earlier, but you were kids and what did you know about family dynamics that sat quite a bit outside of your own norm. In your own home, you had parents that loved you, supported you—they weren't perfect but they tried, and it wasn't until a few years into Chan's coming over to yours for dinners and hangouts that the comments about how nice your home life is started to come with more and more frequency.

"It's so nice here," he would say, as if dreaming of a life just like yours for himself. He probably was. "Your parents are so kind."

In high school—when he started going out to parties more, skipping school more, underaged drinking more like the troubled kids in movies and television shows might oftentimes be depicted in such a crude and stereotypical way—did you decide to finally take him up on one of his offers to come along with.

Sitting in the backyard of some stranger's house, probably a college aged guy that you can't imagine has any good reason to be hanging out with young high schoolers, Chan scooted his lounge chair closer to you with a sort of tipsy messiness that had you giggling at the time, though that joy was relatively short-lived.

"Remember I told you I wanted to try out for the swim team," he said just before taking a sip of a beverage he had no business drinking for his age. "I didn't make it. Go figure."

You reeled, shocked by the fact. "What? But you're good, I've timed you myself."

From a distance. Never able to get close enough before to see the implications of everything that surrounds him.

"Yeah," he sort of laughs, like he has to or else he'll cry. "Can't swim if I can't take my shirt off, can I?"

Eyebrows knitting together, you look at him contemplatively, like it's a puzzle you're meant to put together yourself except that you're missing so many of the pieces necessary in doing so. Chan's lips thin into a straight line, looking out into the empty, dark of night ahead that leads to nowhere before taking another sip of his beer.

A puzzle gifted to you, carefully handed to you personally to keep along with him. It's not so easy to just say things sometimes, sometimes…the best that you can do is just set someone up to ask so that you have a reason to say it.

"Why can't you take your shirt off?"

"We heard about Chan's parents."

Breakfast with your own folks is easy. Usually.

Mother's voice is compassionate, but beneath the words is something else—you figure that she must have some kind of understanding, if not the full picture. You never told them, it wasn't your place and you knew Chan wouldn't have wanted you to. Still, the adults in our lives have a way of knowing things without us really saying them—years of life and experience on us, after all.

"Yeah, I saw him yesterday, actually."

"How's he taking it?" your father then asks, equally compassionately-knowing.

"It's always hard I guess, he's doing his best."

"You should have him over for dinner some time," mother then adds, and internally you're screaming. "We always loved having him."

You know. They were the only set of parents in his life that loved him. Part of you doesn't want to deprive him of that, even now. Even after all of the miles of growing apart the two of you have done over the years.

You can't tell them that he only calls you when he's back in town to fuck you, there's guilt in tarnishing their opinion of him no matter how deserving of it he may be. It's not really his fault, you think to yourself, and then wonder if you'd be willing to give any other man who treats you this way the same kind of leniency in doing so.

What makes him so special? Special enough to treat you like this.

Best friends.

"I'll ask him," you lie, no intention of doing such a thing. "We have plans later in the week so I'll see what he's up to." you continue to lie, knowing perfectly well that he hasn't messaged you at all since the night before.

Three days go by without a word, and on the fourth, Chan finally messages you again.

From: Chan

13:03 : hey, i'm gonna set some of my folks shit on fire tonight in the back yard, do you want to come over?

You read over the message two, three times—biting the inside of your cheek in thought for a moment before putting your phone back into your pocket and proceeding with filing away the book in hand. This can wait, it's early enough in the afternoon that he doesn't need a reply right now, and besides, it's not like his parents’ stuff nor the firepit is going anywhere any time soon.

Plus, you're still kind of pissed off about last time, contemplating your willingness to put yourself right back into the same situation all over again, and not giving any thought to why it is that you keep doing so to begin with.

A few minutes pass, and you hear your message tone again.

From: Chan

13:08 : don't ignore me, we don't have to do anything. you're seriously mad about last time?

13:08 : you're really gonna ignore your best friend?

You're wise enough now to know manipulation when you see it, but maybe not wise enough to do anything about it just yet.

To: Chan

13:10 : yeah, i'll come over. but only because there's a photograph in there i really want to fucking burn.

"What are you going to do with the house?"

When you ask the question—and rather abruptly, at that—Chan is mid-overhead swing into tossing one of many ugly, ornate throw pillows into the billowing blaze of the fire that resides in front of the both of you. It lands with a plop, the fire moving to accommodate it only to quickly thereafter swallow it as intended. He already has another one awaiting the same fate tucked up under his other arm.

"Sell it," he says simply enough, tossing the other pillow and then hunching over to pick up his beer bottle again. "If I never see this place again it'd be too soon. I'd be happier setting this place ablaze, but you know, laws."

"Yeah, I've heard people are a little touchy about arson nowadays." you chuckle.

It's only then that you really put two and two together—the death of his parents, the selling of the property, and what that means for any future of him ever returning to this city again. If you had to guess, it's a weight lifted off of his shoulders, the no longer having to play pretend with these people even with the rarity in which he has done so now into adulthood.

No more pretend, no more reason to ever come back here.

Your chest feels tight at the thought. All Chan has spent the past few years doing is creating space between you and him, and now? The final nail in the coffin of your friendship. It was good while it lasted! you imagine him saying to you in some flippant, heartless way while not necessarily meaning for it to come out as such, but you can't help but latch onto the thought and think it further through—when was it good? Not for a long time, now.

"It's getting chilly, we should go back inside soon."

On your lap sits the picture from the wall at the bottom of the stairs, and as you pick it up and stand to throw it into the fire, Chan happens to take notice of your choice. The two of you meet eyes, and for a second you wonder if there's a part of him that wishes to protest in your doing so—you wait, give him time to say not that one, or anything of the sort, but instead you're met with a bizarre concoction of softness and relief. As if he's thankful for your being there, because you're strong enough to do it, and maybe he kind of isn't sometimes.

Chan takes a sip of his beer as you throw the framed photograph into the flames, right where it belongs, and as the both of you watch it burn, you still watch him out of the peripheral of your vision.

"I still have some of the scars," he says. No particular feeling behind the words. Stating the obvious.

"I know," you reply softly, opting into biting your tongue so that the pressure of angrily gritted teeth doesn't give you a headache. "I see them every time."

"Why did we never date?" you ask, somewhat drunkenly and from the far end of a couch that no longer adorns ugly pillows as decoration.

Chan's eyes narrow towards you, beer bottle in hand and a movie that neither of you care about playing on the television that's actually kind of nice—he has decided to take that back with him instead of destroying it. Him enjoying it would probably piss his parents off more, anyway.

"What kind of insane question? What do you mean why?"

Inside, the house is warm but empty and dark in a way that somehow feels fitting, all things considered. It's somewhat eerie—maybe because people who were once evil and now are dead once lived between the walls—too much space for how little space the both of you take up inside of it. Strangers inside of someone else's home, a place that doesn't belong to either of them, even with the ties of familial relation present.

"I feel like it's pretty common in high school that best friends catch feelings and eventually date, or at least try it out just to see because they don't know any better—Oh! Remember when Jisung thought we were totally dating in junior year just because he saw us sneaking off to your car during lunch period?"

Chan snorts into his bottle at the memory. "I mean, we were definitely sneaking off to do something, but it didn't have anything to do with us dating."

"I don't know, I guess it's fascinating that through all those years, and hormones, and puberty, and even actually sleeping together we just never…thought about it."

You had. Pretending that you hadn't was a long-upheld lie told not only to him, but especially to yourself. Chan was unreachable past a certain point, and you knew it well enough. In high school, the relationship between the two of you had reached its blissful peak, though you suppose you hadn't known it at the time.

The top of the mountain. Then graduation came, and the subsequent scaling down the other side of it.

"I was never in any position to have a girlfriend, you know that."

He doesn't bother going into detail, he doesn't really need to, either.

Unable to take his clothing off for the swimming team, unable to take his clothing off for any potential partners. Only for you.

"My parents asked if you wanted to come by for dinner some time, by the way," you finally say, though originally with no intention of doing so. Part of you silently begs for him to say no.

He smiles gently. "That's nice of them."

Close enough.

A few awkward beats of silence make themselves known between the two of you before Chan finally sets his empty beer bottle down and slides himself closer towards your end of the couch. He doesn't say anything—doesn't really need to when his hands curve around your calves and pull you down into a lying position against the cushions for him to settle himself between.

Up over your knees and down the slope of your thighs towards the button on your jeans, he's quick with it—always has been—and shimmying the fabric down your legs along with your underwear, well, you knew this was going to happen.

Chan sits up, thumbs his own pants open and pulls them down his hips just enough to expose himself as necessary. He extends a hand towards you to help you up and to bring you over onto his lap, though you're met with the intrusion of fingers before anything bigger makes an attempt.

Whining into the crook of his neck, Chan smells like burnt firewood and beer. As well as cowardice and selfishness and a lot of regret shared between the two of you.

When you're ready, you say as much—sinking down slowly onto him and being met with the trembling exhale of his breath against your ear once fully seated. One hand comes up to the back of your head as if to hold you in place, as if you have anywhere else to go.

At least this time you know better. Better than to try to engage him in any way outside of precisely what this is at its foundation. It's been a long time coming, but you know where you stand.

It still feels like shit, though.

Fit and strong, Chan lifts you up and pulls you down along him in all of the right ways, because sex with him has never been anything but perfect. Just the right amount of everything to a shocking degree, though it has waned ever so slightly over the years.

Pulling away from his neck, the circling of his t-shirt slides to the side ever so slightly to make one of many scars along his body known to you. It's not new—far from it—and you know the stories behind most of them anyway. This one in particular; a long burn about the length of a toothpick just over his shoulder. Mother curling her hair in the bathroom and he young child having the audacity to desire loving attention from her.

How can anyone be so cruel?

Leaning down, you kiss it lightly, then thumb over it gently as if doing so will offer him some sort of solace whilst inside of you.

Instead, it does the opposite.

"What are you doing?" he says, sudden and curt but still dragging your body along his own. "Don't touch—"

You're happy to apologize for having done so, and there's terror that springs up in your chest though it feels somewhat displaced. An acute feeling of fright at what's about to happen to you in the way that his voice changes with each word that drops from his mouth, and before he is even able to finish the sentence, Chan is pulling you off of him entirely, and pulling his pants back up instead.

"Why do you have to do this? Why do you always have to do shit like this? Every single time."

"I'm sorry! I didn't really think about it, I didn't think you would—" you stammer in response, word vomiting in an attempt to quell the volcano in front of you at any cost.

"Didn't think I would notice? Like I don't have a perfect mapping of every single scar, every single memory that these people left on me in all of the years that I was under their care?"

The last word being so rife with sarcasm that you can't help but recoil from the way that he says it. It's so stupid, so so stupid because of course he knows. As if he will ever be able to forget so long as he lives.

You claw to get dressed again, scrambling your things together quickly as Chan stands and runs a hand through his hair like he isn't entirely sure of how he wants to even deal with this. Like he's trying not to say something that he doesn't mean, or maybe something that he does.

"Can't we ever just have a nice, fun time together?" he finally lands on, exasperated and airy in the words. "Can't we just fuck like old times when I'm in town without you doing something to make me fucking regret it?"

You full stop. Rage and confusion and hurt feelings simultaneously all making their way through every nerve and every bone in your body—a race to see which one gets out first and is the underlying emotion within your reply.

"Regret it? You regret it?"

Rage wins.

"You fucking regret it?" you ask, once again laden with sarcasm as so many times before, because the concept of what he says is just so selfish that you can barely even fathom it. "We were best friends for years, we grew up together, you were everything to me and when you left, I understood why—I was happy for you, I wanted you to heal. Then the messages died off, your visits died off, and the only time you've ever been bothered to come and find me when you are in town is because you know I'm an easy lay for you, isn't that right?"

Chan doesn't answer, but his face has since twisted into something you can't even really recognize. Somewhere between disgust and awareness, though you can't be certain which one is meant for who.

"Right?" you nod, continuing on—halfway into a laugh now as if delusionally humored by the fact now that everything is laid out onto the table. "We're not friends, we're certainly not best friends anymore. You come find me when you're in town because you know that even though you've moved on from this place, from everything that happened to you here, from me—I haven't. And when you fancy yourself a pathetic fuck for old times’ sake, you know exactly who to call, right?"

There's only a second of silence, Chan begins to say no. Not that you let him.

"Right? Isn't that right? You can say it, we're all friends here, allegedly." you laugh again.

You grab your bag from the floor next to the couch, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way towards the front door.

"That's not true." he says, defeated, like the words are what he means but he knows his actions have said otherwise time and time again.

"Sorry about your scar, I shouldn't have done that," you say with finality as you reach the door and crack it open for your departure. "Now please do us both the favor and never contact me again."

"You look so pretty like this, you know."

One of Chan's old things that he would be so amused by was calling you pretty, gorgeous, beautiful—something of the like—when either covered with his cum, or stuffed full of his dick. It became such a thing, that he would make allusions to it even outside of the bedroom, though no one else in your shared circle of friends would ever become any of the wiser about what all of the giggles were about.

The night before he moved and with legs hooked up over his shoulders, you remember the words like they were yesterday. Like they were important.

Maybe to you they were.

"I'm going to miss you saying super annoying stuff like this," you said, an airy giggle punched out of you with his deeper drive inside. "Who else will call me pretty while balls deep inside of me?"

"I don't think you'll have a particularly hard time finding that."

For years, the words would pop up in your memory—trying to dissect some hidden meaning between them. As a relatively inexperienced teenager, you didn't really understand what he had meant by it. Now, obviously, it's not that uncommon for guys to be in their lovers’ guts and calling them pretty, it's actually pretty common. Though, Chan hadn't said it since then.

The first time back since moving, Chan fucked you the same as always, though a little bit quieter, a little less verbal, and with eyes that didn't meet your own quite as much as you remembered from before. Only a year between, maybe you were remembering it differently than it was. Maybe you had just placed a lot of extra thought and feeling where it never really belonged to begin with.

You didn't recall it feeling so much like just sex as it did upon his return, always a little something extra, a little something different that felt like some kind of intangible more that also sort of wasn't there at all.

And thinking back to before the move, before everything changed—you remember lying with him after the fact as he checked social media from his phone, damp from sweat and other such sticky bodily fluids.

A fingertip lightly tracing over the scars, and Chan softly smiling into the touch.

"And then I told him that I don't think I was going to want to fuck some guy who wants me to do his laundry every time I come over, like, isn't that fuckin' weird?"

"Extremely weird," you reply, nodding lightly towards Hyunjin in agreement as you take a sip from your beverage. "Sounds like he wanted you to be his mommy or something."

"Uhg," Hyunjin sighs out in answer to such a concept, leaning back into his chair and slinging one arm up over the back. "Totally fuckin' weird."

It's a typical spot for the two of you to be dining at: a small, relatively unknown corner restaurant that sells mostly sandwiches and drinks and not much else outside of that. Not far from your job, and an ideal meeting place when Hyunjin texts you to catch a break and get a bite to eat real quick.

You take a bite of your food in the small lull in conversation, though Hyunjin's strange, stiff movement stirs your attention quickly back to him. Mouth a little too stuffed full of bread to ask, you unfortunately have no other choice but to try to make out what's happening based on the expressiveness of his face—and expressive he is—first eyes wide in shock, then narrowed in what you can only gather is disapproval of some sort.

"Not you…"

"Hey."

You don't choke on your food and that's impressive enough of a feat once it immediately dawns on you just who it is and why it is that Hyunjin is so suddenly displeased. They don't have history—not really, not personally—but he's heard enough in the meantime since Chan has left that he's been able to construct enough of his own opinion about the guy.

They met once, Hyunjin was cordial enough. Earlier into Chan's Return To Fuck And Then Disappear Without A Trace tour that he was much more able to pretend that he respects the man at all.

"What?" Hyunjin says, already an evident bite to it that you have concern might start something of a scene. "What do you want? What are you doing here?"

"Easy man," Chan answers, hands up in the air in front of him like he's already admitting defeat at the scene. Probably a good idea. "I just want to talk to her. No funny business."

"You'll have to forgive me for not exactly believing you have the best intentions at heart. You never really do, after all."

"Look, I know you have some problem with me and that's fine but I didn't come here to fight with you about—"

"Alright, enough."

When you finally speak up, it shuts the other two up almost immediately. You're thankful for that, because you don't really want to have to fight or plead or get into something of a shouting match just to settle this situation. Especially in public.

So, you sigh, putting your fork down against the plate and looking up towards Chan as he stands beside the table—a strange sort of half-frown curved into his lips, like he knows it's there and he's trying to not look so pathetic but he also can't entirely help it.

"How did you find me?" you question, exasperated.

He shrugs. "Snapchat location. Sorry."

Turning to look towards Hyunjin—who is now rolling his eyes at the simplicity of the mistake—you shake your head and whisper something to the effect of rookie mistake, then stand slowly from the table and point a finger straight into Chan's face.

"You've got thirty minutes. Hope you brought a script."

Chan's truck is just like you remember it.

It's not often that you find yourself riding with him in it, and for obvious enough reasons. Neither he, nor his parents, ever sold it once he moved out of town and thus it has remained in the driveway of his folks' home for years—awaiting he return once more.

One of the tires feels a little bit wobblier than you remember, perhaps an alignment that needs retuning and a suspicious clicking sound that may or may not be coming from the transmission. No doubt the wear and tear of years of neglect, but Chan doesn't really need the thing to be in perfect working order anyways, as the backend is filled as full as road-safety-possible with things he intends to drop off at the dump.

A fifteen minute drive of silence, meaning that he only has another fifteen once he parks the vehicle and the two of you sit in each other's company awkwardly.

If you intend to keep count, of course.

The radio is on but it's so low that you can't make out any of the words being said, paired with the static of being such an old model—it gives you something to hone your attention in on though, rather than the nervous way in which Chan picks at the skin around his nails as he presumably tries to figure out how to make this better without ever admitting fault.

You can make it a lot easier on him, because you've already come to a conclusion of your own approximately a week prior—maybe even more. Maybe the last night you were with Chan at all.

"I don't want to have sex with you anymore."

"Why?"

He answers it surprisingly quick, and that kind of makes you feel worse about the whole thing; such a nasty, sinking stomach feeling that hangs in your gut about how it really only ever has been about the sex for him ever since he left. That you carry no other meaning, no other interest to him outside of being able to offer that when he happens to come around.

Might as well tell the truth, the whole truth.

"Because you don't make me feel like I'm actually there."

Chan's eyes remain glued on you, and although his expression is one of confusion mostly, there's a particular hint of disgust that settles through upon hearing that. Like he didn't know. Like this is news to him.

"Rather, having sex with you makes me feel as though you wish I wasn't."

Looking at Chan is hard, but you suppose it has been for a long time. Like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun, one with the high probability of misfiring and killing the person standing at the wrong end.

You take the opportunity as the man sits dazed to grip at the door handle and jimmy it open with the kind of practiced ease that tells the story of having done so many times previously. A door rusted and misshapen from the elements, a door that Chan undoubtedly would have to reach over and open for anyone else.

But not you. No, you've been here so many times before, you know this door like the back of your own hand, and that makes all of this hurt just that much more. Every happening, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant carrying the weight of the world within—the weight of years of friendship, the weight of something else not dare ever said.

Slipping out of the seat, it takes Chan a few moments to even realize what's happened; already a good bit of the ways back down the nasty, dirty road of the dump back towards the main road. You hear the truck rev back to life, tires spinning beneath themselves before he manages to pull it back around and meanders up beside you as you continue walking towards the pavement with phone in hand.

"Come on, don't do that. Why are you walking home, seriously?"

It must be your lucky day—though, you're not entirely sure how much of that can be true on account of the way that all of this has played out. You know when to take the wins that life hands you through the abundance of otherwise losses, though, and when you manage to snag a rideshare that's only five minutes away from your current and completely bizarre location, you breathe a sigh of relief, and allow yourself the freedom to tell your best friend precisely what it is that's been eating away at your mind since that night. Since before that night, really, though it's been difficult to come to terms, find the words, and swallow down the feeling of wanting to vomit every time you have to make peace with it in some way.

"Because we're not friends," you say firmly, looking him dead in the eye as you do so. "We haven't been for a long time, and I hate to admit that now I'm wondering if we ever really were."

The truck slows to a standstill as the words wash over the receiver, and you're proud of yourself for how strong you must appear to look.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, is what really rattles through your mind with each step away that you take. Go back to him. Don't go back to him. He's fucked up and you know that but you know he's a good guy. Dealing with his issues isn't your responsibility.

You are not a rehabilitation center for fucked up men.

Between the back and forth in your mind, the to and fro in such a way—an internal battle that feels like every organ inside of your chest is being strangled and wrung out on the cool, dusty flooring beneath your feet—that is the one thing you keep reminding yourself like a cultist chant. Over and over and over again until you're inside of your ride and swept off towards your home.

Where you can cry in peace, be honest with yourself and your feelings and not have to put on a face of strength in front of a man who wouldn't be able to bear the truth upon his own shoulders if he tried.

"What if I said I thought I was in love with you?"

You had huffed out something of a laugh at the words, not really sure what to do with them but opting out of putting much stock in what was said at the time either.

There was a brief glance towards him, not that it made much of a difference in the pitch black darkness of the bedroom closet where the two of you were seated. It was another house party that you somehow had gotten roped into—the last week particularly bad at Chan's house, and he had the bruises on his arms to prove it.

When things had been particularly bad at home, Chan acted out just that much more in an attempt to not have to think about it—not have to count how many days there were left until he would be able to escape. Heavier drinking, more reckless driving, longer nights out and less days in school for you to be able to check up on him, so sometimes coming out was the only way you'd be able to keep something of an eye on him.

He wasn't drunk this time—a brief moment of relief felt—squashed by him admitting instead to partaking in the joys of recreational cough syrup abuse.

And so, here the two of you sat now; two in the morning on a school night as Chan rests curled up in the dark of someone's closet because the trip had become just a little bit too much. You didn't know much about this sort of thing outside of the bit of reading you'd done, but auditory hallucinations were not uncommon.

"And why would you say that?" you asked him in response, because it wasn't really the time for this sort of conversation, and you weren't sure if there ever really was going to be a time for it either.

"Why not?"

"That doesn't seem like a very good reason to say it," you replied, playing it cool as best as you could, all things considered. "Plus, I don't know that you're in the best state of mind to be making any sweeping declarations of love to anybody."

Chan sat up straighter, as if his ability to be upright was meant to prove you wrong on the matter. His hand fished around in the dark for something—grabbing at your sweater, then your leg, until inevitably finding its target in your hand and clumsily curling fingers within your own.

"You're always so difficult when it comes to talking about feelings, but I guess that's something that the both of us understand pretty well, isn't it?"

Yeah.

You hadn't bother responding verbally to it, and eventually Chan changed the subject towards some other inane story that barely had a conscious beginning, middle or end. Or maybe it did—your mind still wholly left back on the original comment, revisited frequently for many years to come.

Over two days, twenty-two missed calls, and fifteen ignored text messages, the one that finally has to drop the wall that you've now erected between the two of you is one that you always knew to be coming anyway. Reading the words hits you harder than expected though, maybe because you thought you would have more time to make things right.

From: Chan

18:09 : i know you're not talking to me but wanted to let you know i got someone to deal with selling the house, so i'll be leaving town tomorrow finally. it was nice seeing you.

You lose count of how many times you've banged on the old, ornate wooden door in front of you, though you accept that little time has passed since your beginning of doing so. Do you look deranged to any potential passerby? Probably. You can't be bothered with that right now, however.

Halfway into another swing towards it, the door finally budges and pulls open abruptly—Chan stands there with something of a confused, slightly dim-witted expression that would likely have the ability to melt your heart if not for the beating that it's already taken in his brief stint of being here. Bandaged and bruised and with wounds barely scabbed over, your heart aches upon laying eyes on him again because now you know for sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that this will be the last time.

Chan always came back. Until, of course, he wouldn't anymore.

"I…" he starts, slowly, clearly somewhat confused by not only your fervor in banging on the door but also just your being there at all. "I didn't think you would come. I was on the phone, I thought it was—forget it. Hi?"

"What happened with my parents a year ago? When my mother went on vacation without my father?"

You watch Chan's eyebrows slowly pull together at the center of his face, contemplating not only the question itself but the purpose of you presenting it entirely. When you urge him further, he stutters and falters under the time crunch, garbled words lost in a mouth that has no idea what to do with them.

"I—I don't know!"

"Last summer, I was considering staying abroad somewhere. Where was I thinking of going?"

This time the thinking through of your question is shorter, most likely on account of his catching on to the reasoning behind them.

"I don't know."

"And when I finally adopted my dog, the dog that I loved so dearly and had been looking forward to so much, what did I decide to name him?"

Chan's features have since twisted into something more akin to compassionate sadness—and no doubt because he has figured out the purpose behind all of this.

"I didn't know you have a dog."

"I don't," you sigh, fighting tooth and nail to choke back the sob that threatens your throat and chest. "He got hit by a car five months after I adopted him."

Closing his eyes, Chan's body goes limp in front of you as his head drops to face more towards the floor than to you. You don't really understand how it is that he couldn't have known, gone all of this time without knowing anything happening in your life, and still thinking that everything could remain precisely as he left it between the two of you during his short visits back.

Treating you like you only matter when right in front of him, something that he has no choice but to acknowledge then.

"My mother had an affair, it almost ruined their marriage. Actually, I would say that it has, they've just stayed together through it anyway, I don't know why. I wanted to go to Switzerland, because it'd have been such a huge change of scenery. And his name was Greg, because I thought it would be funny to give a dog a person name."

Chan lets out a small huff of laughter through his nose, seemingly unsure as to whether or not he's even allowed to find humor in such a thing now.

"It is funny."

"Why did you shut me out when you left?"

Even just saying the words feels like a punch to the gut—toppling over and grasping at your midsection in thought of it as you somehow manage to say what it is that you've been thinking for all of these years since then. It feels so bad to acknowledge it for what it is; eyes stinging and so unfathomably choked up that it feels as though you're drowning on the doorstep of people who eventually got what was coming to them. For living as terribly as they did, and taking their poor son down with them until he remain unable to self-regulate even after they've passed on.

"Do you want to come in?" Chan says then, a shake to his voice that you haven't heard from him in a long, long time.

It reminds you of the first time he told you about everything. About them. About his life. The terror of opening up and being honest and God forbid…telling somebody the truth.

"Please…please come in," he finishes in a plead.

The house is mostly empty now.

He's certainly made quick work of it, and you can't help but assume it to be largely on account of wanting to end his time attached to this city as swiftly as he possibly can. There's a strange, looming ambiance of sadness that sits idly in the air as you follow Chan inside, up the stairs, and towards what once was his bedroom. So many memories residing in these walls—almost none of them pleasant—you imagine a child that at some point in time was happy here, playing with toys, loved…until one day everything changed. Forever and for always.

Chan keeps his hands stuffed into the pockets of his gym shorts like he's afraid of daring to touch the walls or the railing of the stairway. Like having done so had once resulted in one of the many scars that sit along his flesh to this day. It's only once the two of you reach his bedroom door and he nudges it open does he finally withdraw them and usher you inside with the flip of a switch along the wall.

Inside, only a small handful of things remain; bed still intact with a small box set beside it, as well as his suitcase sitting next to the doorway.

He takes short strides towards the bed, slightly hunched as if still nothing more than a child who is the recipient of a scolding like so many times before in this home. Old habits die hard.

Chan sits on the mattress with a metallic creaking that follows the bend of it, and with a pitiful running of his palms over his face, he finally manages to gather the courage to look you in the eye again.

"When I was eight, my dad started telling me that no one would ever love me like they did. No one would ever love me because there was nothing about me that was worth loving. I don't think I ever told you this."

He hadn't, but the thought of it makes your stomach drop. You wonder how many other stories of the same caliber he has still tucked away in the back of his mind, things that he dares not spare conscious thought to, yet they seep into everything that he does regardless of the fact.

He chuckles a bit before continuing the thought.

"It's like, you try not to believe that stuff, you know? But when the people who are supposed to be the ones who are everything to you are the ones saying it, it's hard not to believe it. I grew up seeing depictions of families on television, from my friends, the movies—that was never my reality—but I had to believe that they loved me, because if they didn't then how could anyone else possibly do so?"

"Your parents were shitty people, Chan," you say firmly.

"I know. I mean, I know that now, right? Because I'm an adult, and even as a teenager I knew that. Maybe I was lucky in the way that I started hating them young, it gave me the gift of sight, to see them for precisely what they were and not have that veil kept over my eyes for any longer than I had already lived with it, but still…"

"It's hard. Hard to accept. To move on from."

"Yeah, exactly."

Remaining steadfast in the center of the room, you can't do much else besides look upon him as he continues thinking through the words that he wishes to say to you. He's missed so much of your life as an adult, and it's no one’s fault but his own. The price he has to pay, but still a difficult pill to swallow as someone who wants nothing more than to have him there.

It's always been like that, for as long as you can really remember.

"I don't think I ever really knew what love actually was, or looked like. What it felt like to have it, or to give it to someone else. I think I tried. I think I tried a lot, with you, with us. But—"

Chan grimaces then, as if the memory of so many attempts to do something right and failing are all coming flooding back to him like a tidal wave. He flexes his hands twice, a subtle jerk to his head before finishing his words.

"I just couldn't ever get it right. So when I left—"

"You stopped trying."

With a couple of small nods, Chan's eyes finally come up enough to meet yours. "Yeah."

More than anything else, you know there is deep self-loathing and disappointment embedded within him. Thoughts and feelings and regrets that the man has spent years trying to bury in hopes of never having to face them ever again, now all laid out on the table before you in the most honest and vulnerable display.

I love you, I love you, I love you, you think to yourself as you watch his eyes dance and glitter in the shining light of the overhead lamp. Chan had said it to you once before, so why can't you now? Frozen in place and terrified of the potential outcome from such an outburst. Say it, say it, say it—

"Anyway, after tomorrow I won't be back here. The rest of the paperwork I can do back at home, so we don't have to, like," he pauses mid-sentence, glancing away for a split second before attempting to come back to find your gaze—falling short of it and looking past you, instead. "Ya know, do this again. This is the last time."

Ask me to come with you, ask me to come with you, ask me to come with you. "I guess that's for the best, for you."

He laughs again, now giving up the ruse of ever trying to look you in the eye at all and instead looking off to the side, elsewhere entirely.

"For me, for you. For both of us, probably."

Chest tight and that familiar choking dryness in your throat once again making itself known, you have no other option but to attempt to swallow it down—take this well, guard yourself and your own feelings when it comes to him because he has dropped the ball in doing so time and time again. Chan can't be what you want him to be for you, and maybe he never really could have been. A teenage dream; where love conquers all, even very real, very present trauma.

"I just didn't want to leave and you think that I've been like…doing this on purpose. Hurting you, I mean. I've never wanted to do that. You've only ever been the person in my life who has meant the most to me, and I'm sorry for how I've treated you since I left. When I came back. Everything. You don't deserve that."

I don't, but you can be better too.

"You remind me of being here, but you probably think it's only in all of the worst ways. That's true, but it's not only that. You're the only thing that makes ever coming back to this city bearable," Chan says, now finally able to meet your eyes again. "I should have done a better job at making the feeling mutual."

You want to speak, so badly have so much that you wish to say. The words get lost in your throat before they ever meet the air of the room, however. Say it, say it, say it.

"Well, I ought to get you home, huh?" he then says with a bit more of a chipperness to his tone. Standing to his feet and making his way towards you. "Your parents like me, don't want to burn every bridge when I leave."

It takes you by force before you have even so much as an opportunity to consider otherwise; arms stretched out and around him, pulling him close and hard against you, completely closing any of the distance that remained between your bodies. Chan collides into you with something of an amused and stumbling huff, but allows the embrace to carry on while you shove your face into the soft, warm plush of his black sweatshirt.

The sob that rips through you is nearly choking, and you no longer have the ability to fight it back any longer as your fingertips grip hard into the fabric beneath—as if in an attempt to keep him there, precisely where he is. Precisely where he has always belonged.

Don't go, don't go, don't go. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Chan holds you there in the middle of his childhood bedroom, full of horrific memories, old cigarette smell, and almost certainly a long forgotten splattering of blood that had been missed over the years.

"Hey," he whispers eventually, what feels like hours having passed since the first moment of your intimacy shared like this. "Hey…don't cry."

The words are so softly spoken, it almost doesn't sound like the man you know at all. You can't help but snort at the fact though, because what an absolutely asinine thing to say, all things considered. Still, Chan sets his hands on your shoulders and pulls you back just enough to get a good look at you—tear-stained cheeks and wet eyelashes clumped together in a mess with a quivering lip that just won't seem to quit.

And still, he smiles. Lips thin and tight, but at the very least, he is at peace. He is happy.

Because of you. Because of your love for him, felt but not spoken.

"Remember the good stuff, yeah? It wasn't all bad, though maybe you were better for me than I ever was for you. I think that might have always been destined to be the case. Ever since I picked you back in grade school, just looking for another girl to save me, huh?"

"Why do you say stuff like that?" you manage out through a sniffle, a lazy attempt made at drying your face in the aftermath. What you really mean, however, is why do you still believe you have nothing to offer? Why do you still believe you're unworthy of other people's love?

"Hey." he says again, and this time you're able to give him your attention as you look him in the eye from where you stand.

The two of you stand like that in silence for a long moment. Chan nervously biting at his bottom lip as if everything that he has ever wanted to say to you lie just behind it, desperately waiting to be freed.

"I—"

Chan kisses you then for the first time in years. Soft and meaningful, as if everything he has ever thought and felt reside in it. No good at words (neither of you are), so maybe this will simply have to do.

Heart beating so fervently against your chest that you worry your ribcage may shatter beneath your flesh, Chan brings himself away and creates space between the two of you once again, though his eyes never leave yours for a second.

"Come on, let's get you home. You can come by tomorrow morning before I leave at noon if you really want to kick me to the curb yourself."

Waking up feels harder than ever, but simultaneously different in a new and exhilarating way.

It's sunny out—surprising enough considering the time of year—and you can hear your mother downstairs making breakfast as your father's footsteps make a sound one after the other as he heads up the stairs and most likely towards your bedroom to inform you of the impending morning feast.

But you don't have time for breakfast, because you have your future to enact.

You've pre-packed a bag, done so shortly after getting back up to your room the night before. The decision has been made to tell him, tell him everything, be completely open and honest about your feelings because you've never been more sure of anything before in your life.

Chan isn't perfect, but he doesn't have to be. You know him well enough to know that along with his faults come the newfound ability to become better, to grow, to heal. To work hard to become the best version of himself he can possibly be. Not only for himself, but for your future together as well.

Two knocks at your door, you call for your father to come in.

In hand, he has a small, white envelope, and though you can't quite put your finger on why just yet, you feel the beginnings of your stomach dropping in real time as he motions to hold it up for viewing.

"This was left at the doorstep this morning, must have been early, was already there when we stepped out to go for a walk."

You sit up abruptly, reaching wildly at the item and begging for what you think to be true, to not be.

Please don't do this, please don't do this, please don't do this.

"It's addressed to you," he finishes, though it's already in your hands by the time the sentence finds its end. Bless your father, always a perceptive one, takes his leave immediately thereafter.

Prying the envelope open, you pull out what's inside. White, folded paper from some notebook with the edges where it was torn all frayed and messy. You try desperately to swallow back the sob that's already attempting to make its way up and out of you, though you don't have the strength in you to do so as you unfold the item and inhale shakily to center yourself for reading.

We were so close, please, I love you.

At the top, right hand corner of the paper sits a scribbled little picture of a cupcake—brown paper to hold it and pink frosting with little blue and purple flecks on top for sprinkles. He must have found some colored pencils and decided to make good use of them for this in particular, or bought them precisely for this.

'Back at home, I've been a swim instructor for young kids for a few years. It's deeply rewarding, and I finally get to do the swimming thing like I've always wanted to. Well, not exactly, but at least I can take my shirt off in the pool now and I don't have to feel bad about whether or not people are looking at the scars.

I have a dog, too. Her name is Berry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for the joy and the loss of your friend, I think I'll always deeply regret that, right along with everything else about your life that I've missed when we could have just as easily shared it together.

I've never been very good at saying stuff, and neither have you. I think that's what always made our friendship so easy, because we clicked so well on a level that didn't require words. I've never had that with anyone else, and I don't think I ever will again. I have a lot of regrets, they all kind of involve you haha. Not your fault, you've always been amazing, but I don't think I've ever really known how to give that back in the way that you deserve to receive it. There's a saying, 'people know how to give love, but they don't as easily know how to receive it,' and I guess I've somehow landed myself as the worst of both worlds, because I don't know how to do either of them.

All of this is to say: sorry for lying about when I was leaving, I guess you've probably gathered by now that I'm a coward who ran away all over again, just like I did before. I run away when I'm given the opportunity to do so, because that's all I've ever known how to do. I want to be honest with you, I really, really do, but I'm scared about what that could mean. How I can't run anymore if I am.

I don't want to lie, and I can't tell the truth. So, I ran.'

By the end of the letter, your eyes are barely able to focus on the words—blurred vision through tears and shaking hands that won't allow you to hold the paper still between your fingers. You sob and sob, choked and desperate for quick breaths that have you heaving where you sit at the loss of the one thing you've wanted—the one person you've wanted—through it all. A beacon of hope, a small glimpse of promise as the two of you stood together in one another’s embrace in the middle of his old, and now to be forgotten, bedroom floor.

You clutch the paper tightly in hand, nearly crumpling it entirely before you realize you don't want to ruin it, but the act of having done so folding the bottom left edge over just enough to show there to be more written on the other side. Numbers as well as letters.

And so, you turn it over.

This time, a crudely drawn picture of a key next to a house; a stick figure in a black hoodie, another stick figure in the coat you had been wearing the night before, and a small, cute dog.

Below it all sits another note, much shorter and succinct in length.

'but if by chance you find the strength to say the words that I can't—no more walls, no more fences.'

Then just below that sits an address, and a gate code that has you jumping out of bed and reaching for the closest pair of pants that you can get your hands on, as if every second is more time wasted, more time slipping through your fingers at finally making all of this right.

'143—you figure it out haha.'

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

[luvrsux]

“Sweet Treat”

word count: 3.9k

summary: you’re a professional baker and someone who you liked in your past, ace, is infatuated with your skills

contents: fluff

a/n: my bad for the over 4 month hiatus. so much has happened but pls don’t expect fanfics as frequently. i just wanted to post this because i missed writing 🤍

The day was as bright as a solar eclipse. The weather was just perfect that it’d wrap around your shoulders like a soft blanket on a cold winter day. The air brushed your scalp and behind your ears in just the right way—as you were speedily sprinting your way to work.

The “perfect” day would’ve been actually perfect if you hadn’t mistaken your day off for today instead of tomorrow. You would’ve been trotting along this very sidewalk, breathing in the fresh air and smiling at pedestrians with that sweet smile you’d use at your job—but no. Your lungs might as well be coming out your mouth with how much you’ve been hyperventilating.

To your rather small amount of luck, the bakery wasn’t far. It would’ve been a 10 minute walk but it turned into a 5 minute run which felt like eons. You lived in a rather compacted, populated city, so your body crashed and ran through innocent pedestrians, causing multitudes of ‘sorry!’ and ‘my bad!’

You finally met with the glass door of your small bakery you used your talents on. Your baking skills made this small bakery turn into one of the most famous ones in this city. Well, you and your equally amazing co-worker, Pudding.

You swung open the door with the last bit of energy you had left in you. Your legs were wobbling and the floor seemed to be as equally as comfortable as your bed. Pudding, who was wide eyed and holding a serving tray to serve the only table there. You gulped, trying to moisturize your dry throat from your heaving. You carved her an embarrassed smile while your eyes watched her serve the table.

“Pudding, I’m so so sorry! I thought today was Thursday” You excused and Pudding just absorbed it like a dry sponge. She murmured her polite gestures to the consumers after placing their desired order. You watched her brown big tails bob as she trotted towards you.

“No worries! I’m sure you’ll make it up to me by restocking any missing treats on the front desk” She smiled, a hint of sarcasm behind her chocolate eyes. You peered behind her shoulder to see more than half of the front glass missing. Pudding knew she could bake and stock but chose not to because that’s your job at the end of the day. You sighed.

“Of course. Write down anything I need to bake” You hang up your bag on the coat rack beside the door. Pudding smiled innocently and hummed but you knew it was fake. Pudding was black and white, and can easily go dark in a blink of an eye. Luckily, though, you two do get along rather well.

You walk past her to burst into the double doors leading into the sleek, silver kitchen. Everything was cleaned and freshened up, prepared for your talents. You washed your hands, pumping the bright colored soap gel into your palms and rubbed them together. You shook off your dewed hands and looked behind you to the steel table. A sticky note.

“Way ahead of me, I guess”

Your body moved mindlessly and aimlessly as you baked and baked and baked. A dozen lemon bars and fudge bars, A dozen and a half of croissants, some drizzled in chocolate and some with matcha, ten muffins of different flavors, refilling the large cookie jar, carrot cake cupcakes and macarons. Your apron was lathered with flour, chocolate and remanences of sweet filling. Despite all of that, you still had one more order to go. You threw the tin tray of unbaked strawberry cupcakes in the large oven.

The kitchen smelled entirely of sweet baked goods, and that may sound good but it made you nauseous. You needed to step out for fresh air, even the smell of coffee sounded better than all this yeast. You picked up the tray of now cooled cinnamon sugar muffins to stock up.

“I told you, we’re all out! Now leave!”

You heard puddings scratchy, angry voice even before bursting out the doors. There before her stood a tall, brunette guy with a smug grin. Seemed like the mere presence of this stranger irritated Pudding beyond belief. You blinked, tray in hand as you watched Pudding try to shoo off this customer.

“C’mon, you don’t have any in the kitchen or somethin’? I’m starving” His voice was like butter, as soft and smooth as the ones you’d plop into your mixture to make. Not only that but it was *awfully* familiar.

“Do I have to spell it out?” Pudding scrunched her nose up only to receive a hearty chuckle from the man himself. You took in a deep breath and quickly stood beside your angry pastry chef friend.

“Hey I just finished making these” You smiled. Pudding averted her angry expression to you, immediately softening up when she laid her agitated eyes on you. She made eye contact with the smoking muffins that were calling the attention of this person before her. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this” You whispered.

Pudding pouted at the customer and strutted off, flipping one of her pigtails as a ‘fuck you’ while she snaked into the kitchen to most likely bake her anger out. You opened the glass fold to restock the section the cinnamon sugar muffins belonged and the guy before you widened his eyes.

“I knew they had some in the back!” He exclaimed, leaning over the desk to snatch one off the tray. You gasped and tried to retreat but stopped when you made eye contact with his face.

“I’ve been craving these since forever!” He took a hearty bite out of it, carefully unfolding the wrapping. You watched him chewed and chewed, his freckles lying upon his inflated cheeks. His eyes were closed shut, as if he was envisioning the flavors through his eyelids. He moaned like this was his last meal on Earth.

“Portgas Ace” You blurted. His trance was interrupted. He flickered his eyes open and stopped chewing momentarily. His sudden awkward eye contact caused your cheeks to flair out of sheer embarrassment.

“Oh I-… That’s your name right? I think we went to the same high school” You explained. He raised an eyebrow and swallowed. His expression then beamed once he recognized your face.

“Right, right! You were in the culinary club and you’d always make the best food! Uhhh (F/N), was it?” He snapped his fingers while he pondered. By now you were finished with restocking and the tray was tucked under your arm. You smiled.

“Yeah, that’s me! Everyone in the club hated you for always eating our food with your younger brother but personally I didn’t mind” You explained. You typed on the register for the amount of money Ace owed for his now bitten muffin he stole from you. “Made me appreciate my talents” You continued.

“I remember your cooking and baking were my favorite. My bad if I ever disrupted you or anything. Hey, did you make this?” He pointed at the muffin. The cinnamon sugar muffin is your own special recipe. It was the first baking recipe you learned on your own just by experimenting. You nodded bashfully.

“It’s my own recipe” You smiled. Ace blinked for a moment. No wonder he loved these things so much, he thought. “Anyway, your total is 2-“

“I want a dozen of these”

His request almost made you choke on your saliva. You blinked for a moment and realized that his request was almost the entire stock you had left. You opened your mouth agape to say something before he continued.

“I remember having one of these months ago before I moved and never forgot about em’. I’m going to a get together tonight and I need nothing but the best for the guests” He explained with a smile on his face, all while eating the muffin in his own hand.

Your temporary halt came to an end and you began rapidly typing in the register to calculate what it’ll all come to, including his own.

“26.55…” You murmur, still stunned that this one guy was so amazed by your recipe that he’d wanna buy a dozen. Not only for himself, though. For other people.

“Here” Ace’s fingers held a sleek card in between them to pay for his order. You took it, gently brushing your fingertips against his. You swiped his card to reveal a successful transaction for his sweets.

“Thanks, really” You saw, gushing like a little girl while giving his card back. Ace just chuckled upon taking it back. His smile was beaming and happy, like he had no care in the world.

“Keep makin’ those! I’ll be the ones keeping you in business just for those babies” He joked. You giggled, grabbing a dozen box for the muffins. The box was a soft pastel pink with white polka dots. The bakeries logo was printed on the middle in cursive. You placed each and every muffin delicately until all twelve were placed. You closed the box and stretched your arms to drop them into Aces hands.

“Thanks so much! I’ll be coming here more often”

Ace left with the pretty box in hand as well as a pretty smile plastered on his face like he just saw a unicorn. You watched in awe. Back in high school, you remember everyone having a gawking crush on the boy. He was attractive and tied every girl with a thread by their hearts just by his charm. You weren’t one of them, though. At least not like that.

When Ace would compliment your cooking, it’d warm your heart better than any oven you’d use to bake your goods. You never knew if it was romantic or not, but you’d look forward to Ace disrupting the clubs time just to taste your cooking or treats. You felt that all over again. Nostalgia kissed your cheeks like a long loss lover.

“Hate that guy…”

Your trance was disrupted by your co worker. Pudding watched him disappear with folded arms. Her aura and expression was devilish despite her sweet, pure appearance. Her tone against Ace might as well shoot him through his chest. You raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” You pondered. You felt embarrassed even thinking about being flattered by Ace considering one of your closest friends seemed to chew his head off. She scoffed and cleaned the cashier counter of crumbs.

“He comes in here and just eats all of our samples and says—ahem” She cleared her throat only to attempt to lower her voice to sound masculine, only to not really work as much. “It’s only samples, they’re meant to be free” Pudding attempted to mock Ace’s voice, only to cause a snicker from you.

“He seemed to really like the cinnamon sugars. That’s all I care about” You replied, shrugging your shoulders bashfully. You felt Puddings eyes pierce through you.

“Don’t tell me you actually like him?” Pudding judged. Those words made the hairs on your body spike up. You peered toward her and just scoffed.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You just brushed past her to place the tray you’ve been clenching on back in the kitchen where it belonged. You heard Puddings small heals crack behind you like firecrackers.

“If you actually like him I wouldn’t… Entirely judge you”

Pudding rolled her eyes as she followed you to the kitchen. The room was filled of the smell of fresh vanilla cake. Pudding must’ve made it after her tussle with Ace. You carved a smile.

“I don’t like him. I mean I guess I did in high school, but I dunno” You place the tray into the vastly large sink to cleanse it from the residue of the muffins. Cleanliness is everything in the cooking industry after all.

“He probably has a girlfriend. He always has back then” You projected your voice over the loud sink. You scrubbed until the tray sparkled.

“And you wondered why I didn’t like him” Pudding remarked. You flicked off the metal sink from pouring out fresh water. You whipped your head back.

“Don’t you like that chef? Sanji? From culinary school?” Your words made Puddings face turn the same hex as a tomato. You giggled in amusement.

“N-No! He’s such a— Low life loser!” She frantically explained. She sure convinced you. She puffed her cheeks and began aggressively taking our ingredients to make yet another dish out of her emotions. You took it as a sign to just stay at the register for the day…

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

Weeks pass and Ace came in almost every day just for the same order. It started off with the cinnamon sugar muffins. Then it evolved to a cinnamon sugar muffin with a cup of black coffee. Then it evolved to just him staying at the bakery table just to study and occasionally talk to you while you were at the register. Ace might as well be an employee with how much time he’d lounge there.

Ace would sometimes bring a group of friends, sometimes consisting of his two brothers. They, too, would compliment your baking as much as Ace would but it didn’t feel the same. The way Ace said it and how’d he appreciate it on a regular basis made your heart flutter every time.

But there he was, approaching your register ready to order the same thing. You gave him a sweet smile and snaking your hand to the cinnamon sugar glass cabinet. Your hand movement made Ace carve that same smile you’d crave every time.

“Nice to see you again, Ace” You giggle, bagging his muffin and preparing his coffee. You heard his smooth chuckle from behind, like he was wrapping those toned arms around your waist.

“You too, (F/N). Can’t wait to start my morning with your baking” He winks. You turn and snap the lid on his molten coffee. You caught a glimpse of him biting his lower lips and furrowing his eyebrows, like he was pondering something.

“Hey uh-… Actually I came to ask you something” He blurted out. You just barely finished typing his order on the register to pay. You blinked your eyelids a few times.

“What is it?” You murmur, ready to expect the worse. Ace inhaled, scratching the back of his neck and using the same hand to massage his chin.

“Well uh-… Jeez this is hard” You heard him stammer. You raised an eyebrow, wondering why such a cocky, confident guy like him was struggling to talk to you.

“Are you—… Tired of the muffins? I can actually show you a new recipe you may like instead-“

“No, no!”

His freckles were drowning in his own blush. His cheeks were a bright red and you couldn’t hold in a giggle for much longer. He continued to breathe in and out until he leaned over the counter before you.

“I was wonderin’ if… Maybe you’d like to come over? We’ve been talking for a bit I figured I’d— Y’know—“

You put him to a halt by finally letting out your flattered giggles. Ace felt even more embarrassed and looked up at you with folded lips. You waved your hands.

“Sorry, sorry It’s just—.. Are you asking me out right now? Like a teenage girl?” You tease. Ace let out a bashful chuckle, feeling oddly naked that now he’s doing the asking.

“Yeah, I guess so” His response made you giggle even more. You died down and eyed him up and down with loving eyes.

“Yes, I’d love to. Better have a nice dinner planned for an experienced chef and baker like me” You mimicked Aces confidence only to make him laugh with you. You both had bright cheeks and felt like teenagers again.

“Okay then. I’ll see you there” He winked. You heard a swish come from the counter. He moved his arms off to walk off without his average order. He didn’t care about his regular, he cared about asking you out. You gushed. Especially when you read his address name and number written on a sticky note he may or may not have pre-written on the counter.

“Remember when you said you don’t like him?” A squeaky voice from behind spoke. It sent shockwaves throughout your body and you hitched.

“Pudding…”

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

You made sure to wear your best yet appropriate outfit. Nothing too fancy but nothing like you just rolled out of bed. You patted down your clothes, adjusted your hair and made sure you looked presentable as you stood before Ace’s front door. Once you finally gained the confidence to knock, you heard swears from beyond the door. A frantic, brunette swung open the door and you were startled, to say the least.

“Uh— Are you alright?” You asked, peering behind his shoulder to see a small gust of smoke. Did he just come out of a raging fire you didn’t know about, you thought.

“Hey!” He sang, carving an awkward smile. He stepped aside to open the door for you. “Yeah Im uh— Great! Come in”

Ace was nervous and struggling to make a good environment for you. Usually, this would be easy for him since he was a harem himself but he genuinely liked you. Something about you feeding his stomach in just the right ways and you being sweet and generous about it.

Ace’s kitchen was full of smoke upon arrival. There laid a baking tray on his kitchen counter and you eyed it for a moment. Had Ace been… baking?

“I uh— Made you something” He closed the door and scurried to the kitchen. He tried picking up the tray but scorched his hand. He winced and shook his hand to erase the pain. You almost let out a snicker.

You quickly dropped your bag to approach your date to analyze his creation. They looked like rocks shaped in muffins. Seemed like Ace kept them under the heat for too long…

“You can tell I’m not quite the best baker” He chuckled while running his fingers through his locks to massage his scalp. You picked up a “muffin” and scrunched up your nose as you took a bite.

It was awful.

But somehow you can enjoy it regardless since this guy went out of his way to enter your hobbies and talents to impress you. You carved a smile. The best ingredient for any dish is love.

“How about we bake something together” You suggested. Ace’s eyes went wide and bright, like you spoke heavenly words that melted in his ears.

You tied your hair to get it out of the way, scrubbed your hands and rummaged around Ace’s house for ingredients. Ace had just enough to make a simple vanilla cake with buttercream icing. You mainly instructed Ace to grab the ingredients and measure them out for you to mix and mix.

You let Ace lick and eat the spoon you used to mix the cake batter. He moaned and smiled like a child and it made you blush. You poured the cake batter into a baking tin that was doused in butter. You splashed a bit of batter on your face on accident. You felt Ace’s thumb pick it up effortlessly and lick it off. You swore you’d melt right there and then. You left it up to Ace to place it into the oven as you began to prepare the frosting.

“So what made you wanna bake?” You ask in the midst of your mixing. Ace had been leaning against the counter on his back and licked his fingers of any excess batter.

“I guess… I wanted to impress you?” Ace looked at you with pleading eyes. You felt your body temperature rise into the clouds just by his look. “I um-.. Never really felt this way about a person before… Sorry If it’s so awkward”

You made sure to test the icings texture until it was to your liking. You smiled in delight.

“So you’re saying you like me?” You blurted out, taking a sheet of plastic wrap to cover the bowl of icing while the cake finished baking in the oven. You saw Ace’s face plaster in pigment.

“Yeah”

His voice was low and genuine. You both made direct eye contact for a moment before you looked down to avoid the overwhelming amount of embarrassment. Ace carved a smile, already knowing you won’t object his confession. If anything, you felt the same way.

“Do you?” His voice was low and soft. He caressed you without even touching you… yet. You let out a small giggle and sigh.

“I can say so, yeah…” You reply. Ace’s chuckle hugged you. You fondled with your fingers, twisting and turning them before opening your mouth agape. “So…”

You caught a quick glimpse of Ace biting his lip before he laid a hand on your cheek. You hitched before you felt his warm, tender lips on yours and quickly synced against yours. You hum, sending vibrations throughout his face. You felt him smile against your lips and it was only contagious. You couldn’t help it.

You pulled away and fluttered your eyes open. You looked up and down at his face and he smiled like a dope. You giggled.

“Your lips taste like cake” You gush. Ace chuckled and licked his own lips for a taste. Your bodies were pulled close, like just one slight move could end up in a kiss again.

“Guess that made the kiss more enjoyable” He winked. You sarcastically rolled your eyes and pushed his face away. You can only take so much flattery.

Once the cake was done and cooled, you and Ace giggled while you lathered it with the frosting. It obviously looked like a mediocre, homemade cake but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t just your cake. This was you and Ace’s cake. It meant more to you than anything that you didn’t even wanna take a bite. Ace waved a fork full of the cake in your face.

“No you try it first!” You reject. Ace shook his head and folded his lips.

“No, no. You’re the guest, c’mon” He encouraged. You sighed, knowing that you’d get nowhere if you didn’t oblige. You open your mouth wide to let Ace drop the cake into your mouth and chewed.

It tasted better than anything you’ve tasted before. The ingredients were generic, but this cake tasted more magical simply because you made it with someone you felt intimate with. You smiled.

“It’s amazing…”

“I know”

You giggled helplessly and swallowed. Ace took a bite himself and shook his head. Of course it was amazing to him. He could taste anything you’d made any day of the week and appreciate like it was his meal on death row.

“Now, here’s the billion dollar question” Ace spoke, liking off the excess icing off the fork. You hummed.

“Which is sweeter? Me or the cake?” He smirked. You giggled and shook your head. You took it upon yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and you felt his arms secure your back.

“Let’s find out”

Those three words made Ace latch his hungry lips against yours. Your mouths were as sweet as the bakery you worked at. All you could taste was vanilla and buttercream. This was, by far, sweeter than the cake. You both made out in sync for what seemed like years. Ace pulled away, leaving a small connection between your lips via saliva.

“So..?”

“Your lips, for sure”

all credits and characters belong to eiichiro oda