[twenty Questions] Sungho X F!reader | 2.3k Words College Au, Coworkers 2 Luvrs, E2l Kinda, Forced Proximity

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[☼] fluff/humor

[♡] smut/implied smut/steamy

[☾] angst

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Wish I Were Heather  ☾☼ (song fic) (requested)

Infatuation ☼ (requested)

Pretend ☼ ☾ (commission!)

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Don’t Fret, My Love ☼

Safe With Me ☼ (short) 

Royal Pain ☾☼ 

Holy Mary ☾ (short song fic) (with video!)

NSFW Alphabet ♡☼

A Flower For You, My Love ☼ ♣

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Indeed  ∞ ☼ ☾ ♣ (eventual ♡) 

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Jasmine ♛ ☼ ♡ ☾ ♣

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Not So Bitter Days ☼ (requested)

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Nineteen

Oliver Aiku x Reader

Content: You don't know Oliver's actual age and assume that he's just some creep

[2,023 words]

     Oliver casually leaned against the counter nearby, his gaze locking onto you as a mischievous grin slowly spread across his lips. After a brief pause, he pushed himself off the counter, making his way toward you with confident strides.

     "Hey there—"

     Before he could even finish his sentence, you suddenly let out a scream so piercing it could've been heard miles away, your eyes locking onto him in pure shock.

     "Ah! Stranger danger!" you shouted with a dramatic flair.

     The entire room seemed to freeze. Conversations ceased, and a few heads turned in your direction, some with looks of confusion, others with a hint of concern. In an instant, you were off like a shot, darting through the crowd with the speed and agility of a deer escaping a predator. Without missing a beat, you slipped through the back door, leaving no time for anyone to react or stop you.

     Oliver stood there, blinking in complete disbelief, his face a mix of confusion and frustration.

     "What the hell is up with that chick?" he muttered, watching as you disappeared from sight.

     Shuto, his friend who had been standing nearby, couldn’t help but snicker under his breath, shaking his head with amusement. "Dude, that’s the second time she’s done that to you. What did you even do to freak her out so bad?"

     Oliver let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his dark, licorice-colored hair. The green underlayer of his hair caught the dim party lights, adding a subtle pop of color to his otherwise dark look.

     "I literally just said ‘hey,’" he responded, his voice tinged with bewilderment. 

     Unbeknownst to him, you had recently turned eighteen and were hyper-aware of the creepy old men who suddenly seemed too interested in your ‘freshly legal’ status. It freaked you out, so you had developed a habit of running at the first sign of a suspicious-looking older guy. And unfortunately for Oliver, with his strong facial hair, he looked like he had been through two divorces and had a midlife crisis at least once.

     The problem? He was only nineteen.

     It definitely wasn’t the last time you saw him. In fact, it felt like he was popping up everywhere you went. At the café you frequented every morning, there he was, standing in line ahead of you. At the grocery store, you’d turn the corner to find him browsing the aisles, as if the universe had a strange sense of humor. Even at the movie theater, when you were just trying to enjoy a film in peace, you’d spot him in line for tickets or grabbing snacks, like you couldn’t escape his presence no matter where you went.

     He wasn’t actively following you, you were sure of that. It wasn’t like he was showing up in places you were just to make you feel uneasy. But somehow, it seemed like fate had a funny way of throwing the two of you into the same spaces at the most unexpected moments. It was as if the universe had decided that your paths were meant to cross over and over, whether you liked it or not.

     The next time you encountered him, it was a literal collision at the bookstore.

     "Oh, it’s you," he muttered, rubbing his chest where you'd bumped into him.

     Your eyes widened in recognition. "Ah!" Without missing a beat, you turned on your heels and ran once more, nearly knocking over a display of discounted romance novels.

     Oliver groaned. "Seriously? Again?"

     By the time the next inevitable encounter happened, you were at a party—one mostly filled with college freshmen and their friends. You were laughing with a friend when your eyes landed on a familiar face. Your laughter died instantly.

     What the hell was a grown-ass man, who looked like he worked a corporate job and was on his third failed marriage, doing at a party for college kids?

     Your confusion doubled when you got a good look at him. Okay… he looked really good. Like, annoyingly good. His dark hair was styled messily yet effortlessly, and those mismatched eyes were way too pretty to belong to some sketchy older dude.

     Unfortunately for you, he noticed your staring and started making his way over.

     "Hey, gorgeous."

     Oh no. That was dangerous. That was flirting. And worse? It was working.

     You stiffened. "What are you doing here?"

     Oliver blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Uh… what?"

     But before he could even respond properly, you turned on your heels and disappeared into the crowd. Again. You leaned against a wall, your heart racing. What was wrong with you? Why did he have to look so good?

     Was this how girls with older men kinks felt?

     The next incident, you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot in to stop them.

     It was him.

     You made direct eye contact. He sighed. "Oh, for the love of—"

     You slammed the ‘door close’ button repeatedly like your life depended on it.

     Unfortunately, fate was not on your side, and Oliver casually stepped in, letting the doors close behind him.

     Trapped.

     You stiffened, staring straight ahead. Maybe if you didn’t move, he wouldn’t notice you.

Oliver, exasperated, pinched the bridge of his nose. 

     You’ve lost count on how many times this has happened now. 

     One seemingly ordinary day, everything around you seemed to crumble in the most unexpected way. It all began with something as simple as an invitation—your friend had asked if you wanted to tag along to her boyfriend’s soccer practice. At the time, it didn’t seem like anything extraordinary. You figured it would be a good way to kill an afternoon, a casual way to pass the time. Plus, her boyfriend happened to be on Japan’s U20 soccer team, which was cool enough in itself to spark some curiosity.

     You had expected to watch a bunch of talented players showing off their skills, maybe even get a little impressed by their moves. The idea of watching a professional practice session sounded like it would be a decent way to spend a few hours, and that was it.

     What you hadn’t expected, though, was to see him. The very same guy who seemed to keep showing up in all the random places you visited. The one who had somehow made his way into your life without you even realizing it. 

     Dressed in crisp white and coral, effortlessly orchestrating the field with razor-sharp precision, was the very man you had spent weeks actively avoiding like the plague. Every pass he made was deliberate, every defensive maneuver executed with ruthless efficiency. He moved like someone who had spent his entire life perfecting his craft—quick, calculated, untouchable.

     Your stomach twisted violently as the realization hit you like a freight train. The guy you had been convinced was some weird, middle-aged creep with a concerning tendency to appear everywhere you went? The one whose presence had unsettled you to no end? Yeah. Turns out, he wasn’t some lurking menace at all. He was an elite athlete in his prime—one of the country’s top young players, no less.

     And now? Now, he was looking right at you.

     Oh, shit.

     Your breath caught in your throat as he strode toward you, still glistening with sweat from the intense practice session. His damp, jet-black hair clung to his forehead, a few unruly strands falling over piercing, mismatched eyes that locked onto you with an expression teetering between amusement and exasperation.

     There was no escaping it now.

     "You’re strange," he said flatly when he finally approached you. He was half expecting you to bolt again, but was a little taken back when you didn’t. Instead, you looked up at his towering frame with doey eyes filled with embarrassment. 

     "H-How old are you?" you blurted out, because at this point, you needed absolute confirmation that you hadn’t been acting insane for no reason.

     Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Guess."

     “25?" You said so confidently he gasped.

     "WHAT?!"

     "…30?"

     "Now you’re just fucking with me."

     "Um… 29?"

     He stared at you, visibly in pain. "I’m nineteen."

     Your jaw dropped. "What?!"

     "I’m literally on the U20 team," he deadpanned. "That means I am under 20."

     "Well, I didn’t know you were on the team!" you snapped, now feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

     Oliver let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Now that you found out I am, I bet you want me though, right? Tch, shallow women these days."

     "Hey!" You crossed your arms, scowling. "I thought you were some weird old dude following me around! Besides, I don’t even know your name—" Your eyes flickered down to his jersey, where ‘AIKU’ was printed in bold letters.

     '…Aiku.'

     He sighed, clearly exhausted. "Oliver," he corrected.

     You blinked. Oliver Aiku?

     "Yeah." He rubbed his temples. "That’s it. I’m shaving my beard."

     That threw you off. "Wait, what?"

     Oliver groaned. "I look in the mirror every day and think I look fine. But no, apparently I’ve got the aura of a dude with a corporate job and three divorces! Do you know how messed up that is? I’m still in the ‘teens’"

     "Sorry," you muttered, averting your gaze.

     "Unbelievable," Oliver grumbled. "I can’t believe I got traumatized by a random chick who thought I was thirty."

     You snorted, crossing your arms. "Traumatized? I was the one out here fearing for my life every time I ran into you!"

     "Well, maybe if you actually looked at me instead of running away screaming, you wouldn’t have this problem."

     You pointed at him accusingly. "Are you actually nineteen? Or are you a forty-year-old man who got isekai’d into a younger body?"

     He groaned. "For the last time, I am nineteen!"

     You narrowed your eyes. "That’s exactly what a forty-year-old would say."

     "Bro." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared at you.

     "Sorry, what can I do to make it up to you?" you asked sheepishly, genuinely worried you'd somehow messed up the vibe. 

     Oliver eyed you with a half-frustrated look, his hands on his hips like he was preparing to deliver some life lesson.

     "Give me your phone," he said, not waiting for a reply as you reluctantly handed it over. You were half scared but curious, was he going to take 0.5 pics of you and leak them to the internet?

     Oliver continued navigating your phone, asking "You busy tomorrow night?"

     You blinked. "Uh, no. Why?"

     He turned the phone in his hand and casually added his number to your contacts, tapping the screen before handing it back to you. "You are now."

     Your eyes widened in shock as you looked down at your screen. "Wait, did you just—?"

     "Yep. Don’t make me regret it," he said with a teasing smile.

     Before you could even respond, he was already walking off, leaving you standing there with your phone in hand.

     You tried to shake it off, but when you met him the next night, you were hit with a wave of surprise. There he was, standing at the restaurant entrance, his usual grin on his face. But something was different.

     Oliver had shaved. Completely. No beard. His face, which had previously carried the ruggedness of someone much older, was now startlingly smooth. And if possible, he looked even younger than you remembered—maybe even younger than his real age of nineteen.

     "Oliver?" You stammered, unable to hide the shock from your voice. You had expected some hint of stubble, some remnant of his previous ‘older man’ look, but no. Nothing. Hair really is a man’s makeup. 

     He chuckled, clearly amused by your stunned expression. "Surprised?"

     "You look... like you're actually nineteen," you managed, still processing the sight of his clean-shaven face.

     Oliver grinned, his mismatched eyes twinkling mischievously. "Yeah, well, I thought I'd give it a try for a date with a pretty girl."

     You shook your head, still trying to process the fact that this was the same guy who had spent weeks looking like someone who pays alimony and a mortgage.

pairing: neighbor!wonbin x f!reader

genre: neighbors to lovers, babysitting!au (kinda)

warnings: reader has a baby brother, mentions of reader blushing, 2k

a/n: my first riize fic ^^ i hope yall enjoy this hehe

back to masterlist !

“you know, you shouldn’t even be here right now.”

“yn.”

wonbin’s tone is stern and you cross your arms, letting out a loud huff to show your discontentment. from your position in the kitchen, you can stare at your neighbor-turned-babysitter all day, but you’re currently angry, so you opt to pout and grumble instead.

you can clearly hear wonbin sigh in defeat and you watch him lean back on his arms on the floor from the corner of your eye. he’s a few feet away from your little brother, giving him enough space to draw in his coloring book.

the handsome boy (you’re angry, but not blind) turns to you, black hair perfectly framing his stupidly pretty face. your eyes fall to his lips for a second. one second too long apparently because soon he starts to grin and you have no other option than to look away and pout again.

a chuckle leaves his mouth and it annoys you more than it should.

he tilts his head a bit and looks at you, eyes raking over your casual outfit. you’re really trying to not look his way, simply because you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing your attention is on him but you’re still curious as to why he seems more concentrated on you than on his job.

don’t look.

your hand covers your mouth as you spin your pen with your fingers, swiftly clicking on it before writing a new sentence in your notebook, elbow propped up on the kitchen island.

all the while you flip a few pages in your textbook to get to a new chapter of history, wonbin hums, high fiving your brother when the latter shows him his colorful drawing.

you swear you’re not paying attention, but the way you can hear him smiling as he speaks softly makes your face burn, ears turning red. he’s good with kids, and although you’re supposed to be pissed at your parents– and thus him– you can’t help but admit he’s doing a good job.

you would have done a good job too, you tell yourself.

your hand stills over the counter, pen inches away from the paper. in not even one second, you went from being productive and finally getting some homework done to thinking about wonbin and his pretty eyes.

you hate this, because you swear you’re angry at him. or at least you’re supposed to.

deep down you know that the so-called hatred you have for him right now is a way to stop you from thinking about what you really feel for your neighbor.

gosh, his eyes are just so pretty.

maybe you’re overreacting a bit too. maybe you’re being a bit dramatic, because the way wonbin starts to frown as he notices your brows furrow makes your heart throb.

you had decided to sit at the kitchen island to do your homework, because the kitchen table seemed a bit too close to the living room. but now that you’re actually in the kitchen, you realize you’re facing him (and your little brother, of course) and if you’d even look up for one second, eye contact would be guaranteed.

this sucks, you think, as you slide off the barstool and wander deeper into the kitchen. maybe if you’d fake looking for something to eat in the fridge, he would finally look away.

without really being thirsty, you grab the first carton you find and move to pour yourself a glass of whatever said carton contains. ah, apple juice it is.

you think you’re finally starting to get more comfortable in your own home after wonbin’s arrival but then he lets out a giggle– one that you find absolutely adorable too– and your lips freeze on the brim of your glass, head snapping towards the living room. “what.” you almost bark out, eyes fierce.

“it’s nothing,” wonbin has to swallow a laugh and divert his eyes, waving his hand in front of his. “don’t worry about it!”

you put your glass down on the counter and put a hand on your hip, eyes big and confused. “tell me,” you just watch as he lets out another giggle at your desperate tone, “c’mon! i’m gonna think you’re making fun of me if you don’t tell me.”

“your slippers,” this time wonbin looks at you, really looks at you. he sees how your eyes go wide and how your nose twitches in surprise. he sees how your lips fall open and gape at him and he sees how eyelashes flutter when you blink rapidly. he speaks up again, still looking at you, “they’re cute.” you’re cute.

“ah,” you nod, a bit surprised.

“you can compliment me back, y’know”

“i can literally kick you out right now.”

wonbin only puts his two hands up, a teasing smile clear on his lips as he admits defeat.

–

it’s slowly getting darker outside, the sun disappearing behind the houses in your neighborhood.

you’re on the last page of your essay when wonbin closes the living room curtains and finally agrees to your brother’s request of watching his favorite film. you find it rather domestic, how he’d hauled your brother from the floor to the couch and how he’d draped your blanket over the both of them.

the disney film is on pause as your brother babbles about his classmates, excitedly recounting yesterday’s events. you go to turn on the stove to prepare dinner and smile to yourself when your brother mentions the solar planet you had helped him make for his science fair. you smile even bigger when wonbin applauds him and makes him promise to show him one day, because he has to see how good you two are (his words).

when the water is boiling in the pot and you’ve stacked and pushed aside all your school work to prepare for dinner, you don’t directly realize you set the table for three until wonbin points it out, leaning casually against the fridge.

“i didn’t know i was invited for dinner.”

you shrug in an effort to act as casual as he is, but it comes off as rather stiff so you just turn away, mindlessly stirring the pasta. “well, i wouldn’t want you to starve. who else would my parents turn to when they’re in need of a babysitter?” certainly not me.

you’re clearly still a bit bitter that your parents don’t trust you to babysit your own brother.

wonbin just laughs, like he’s having the most fun knowing you’re irritated at him for replacing your “part-time job”. you send him a nasty glare and it only makes him chuckle more, obviously entertained by your displeasure.

he goes to lean on the counter next to you as he watches you do your magic, as per your brother’s words, and lightly bumps his elbow into yours. “c’mon, i know you’re not really mad at me for being here.”

you flick his crossed arms and check to see if the pasta is not overcooked. “i just don’t understand why they’d waste money to get a babysitter for him when i literally exist and live here!” okay, so maybe you’re not being hundred percent honest and are more pissed about the babysitter being wonbin than the waste of money but he doesn’t have to know that.

wonbin continues to stare at your face, tracing your side profile with his eyes. “i offered to babysit, and your dad knows i’ve been saving up for a car...” his smile is teasing when he shrugs as you send him a glare.

“and what if i was saving up for a car? you’d be ruining my chances to do so.” you’re stubborn and not letting go.

your neighbor, who’s actually way too close to you for your liking (you’re sure he can count your beauty marks with how close he is) stifles a laugh. “we both know you’re not saving up for a car,” his voice insists on the ‘not’ and you know he sees you rolling your eyes. “besides, you don’t need one.”

the pasta looks good as you go to grab two oven mitts, glancing at wonbin from the corner of your eye. you’re confused and he knows because not even a second later and he’s grabbing the oven mitts from your hands and carrying the pasta to the kitchen table. “i can always just drive you around, y’know. contrary to what you think, i do actually enjoy your presence, babe.”

when his words register in your brain, you can’t seem to move from your spot in the kitchen and wonbin finds it all too cute, smiling while ushering your little brother to sit at the end of the table.

babe. babe? “babe?” your fingers find wonbin’s hand, wrapping slowly around his wrist when he walks past you to get some glasses. he stops in his tracks, tilting his head a bit and smirking at your surprised gaze and vulnerable tone.

he just nods, the top of his cheeks blushing only for a fraction of a second. unbeknownst to you, his heart is beating like crazy. “shouldn’t i have called you that? you don’t like it?”

you shake your head, still startled from him calling you by an affectionate nickname, something he had never done before and something you would have never guessed he would ever do.

“It’s alright,” you say, voice suddenly shakier than usual, “i didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

your fingers let go of his wrist but he doesn’t directly move away, staring at the way your other hand is holding tightly onto the kitchen counter. he notices how you’re reaching for the utensils but your mind is focusing on something else, your fingers absentmindedly pulling the kitchen drawer open.

suddenly, wonbin feels a pang of guilt. he can’t seem to decipher what the expression on your face means but he’s worried he might have gone too far, or that you’re too far gone in your head.

“hey,” his voice startles you out of your thoughts, “are you sure it’s okay? i can stop if you want–”

“no!-” your panicked tone startles him a bit and you clear your throat, fiddling with one of the rings on your fingers, “i mean, i– i didn’t mind it? i quite liked it.”

wonbin’s eyes widen a bit, surprised but thrilled. “oh.”

“yeah.”

the short awkward silence between the two of you gets interrupted by your younger brother’s complaints, and you quickly move past wonbin to serve the youngest one in the house a big plate of spaghetti (his favorite).

it’s only when you’re seated at the table that you realize wonbin’s marched over and took your plate, serving you before him. he looks almost ethereal under the warm kitchen lights and you can’t help but stare, this time not caring about getting caught.

the pasta looks extra good when he puts your plate down in front of you and your stomach grumbles at the sight, earning a slight chuckle from the boy in front of you.

your baby brother’s focus is entirely on his dinosaur shaped fork, which wonbin takes as an opportunity to reach over the table and grab your hand, drawing a stifled gasp out of you. his thumb is rubbing circles on the back of your palm and your hand feels heavy but comfortable in his grasp.

your gaze travels from your intertwined fingers to his face and you almost melt at the soft look in his eyes. it almost looks like he’s in love.

he is, but you don’t know that. yet.

“let me take you out on a date, please.”

the way his voice gets stuck in his throat and his tone gets breathier tells you everything you have to know and you squeeze his hand lightly in a comforting manner. he anxiously bites the inside of his cheek while he waits for your answer and he’s glad you don’t see his leg bouncing up and down under the table.

“i would love to, wonbin.” your cheeks turn red and your lips automatically curl, revealing the smile wonbin likes so much.

the stress leaves his body the second the words leave your mouth and he suppresses a nervous laugh, free hand coming up to push his hair back.

“yeah?”

“of course,” your smile is contagious when you nod, “how could i say no to you?”

general taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @blaqpinksthetic @odetoyeonjun @pockyandme @soobin-chois @lolalee24 @soobisms @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse @enhacolor @honglynights @starry-mins @bibinnieposts @yoonzin0 @atrirose @haisuken

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

goodnight and go ¡!

pairing: bnd x reader.

warnings: cursing, yelling, some mentions of sexual relationships, mentions of cheating, overall some couple's arguments.

summary: how would bnd argue with you + what i think would be their triggers. (things they would do that would cause the argument)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sungho; i don't see him as a person who would get into an argument often, tbh you guys could date for over 4 years and argue twice in that period, but when you did?? awful. i know that sungho is a virgo men and he's very mature and he is always looking for the best for everyone but when you guys argue about something he thinks (or knows) he's right about, he wouldn't shut up, because he's right and how dare u say otherwise? eventually it would turn into an "i told you so" type of argument and you both would just get out of each others sight for a few hours, maybe sleeping or just doing stuff around the house without interchanging a word. that until you both let down your ego (if you have any) and talk things out more calmly.

riwoo; he is the type of person to just nod and nod and nod again to anything you say, he might be right but he ain't going against you. he tries to be the bigger person but ends up feeling wronged and you can see him zoned out even days after the disagreement. "you know this is all your fault, right?" and he will say yes, that until you try to put the blame on him for EVERYTHING, he may have some of it but all of it??? that's when he snaps "you can't be like this, you are not being reasonable" unfortunately that leads to a bigger fight. it's not that y'all don't resolve things but it usually just gets forgotten and eventually you don't remember and never apologize for it.

jaehyun; bro is crying after the first scream. myungjae is a very sensitive person but i don't think he would like to openly cry, and if he does, it's not out of sadness or fear, he would get overwhelmed and very angry because he feels like you are not listening and you are just saying wrong things to him and making him the bad guy when he didn't even knew what was going on this time. firstly he'll definitely try to talk things out quietly, appealing to your soft side and trying to hug it out for an instance but it always goes wrong and y'all end up screaming at each other just for him to get all pouty and win your forgiveness and your apologies too.

taesan; arguing with taesan was not a thing, you guys just talked things out when you didn't like something and that was it, it never happened again. but when you see him kissing some girl outside the club you both were at you went crazy, slamming doors when you got home with him following closely and trying to make you listen. "you fucking cheated, what else do I need to know?" he would try to explain you that she approached him and kissed him out of the blue but he pulled out right away (which was true) but you didn't listen and it eventually made him get even more angry, his cold wall finally falling down when he said "what the fuck is wrong with you? you think I'll cheat on you? that's who you think i am?" and the way his words sounded to you just made it worst. like he was putting the blame on you. but overall, it doesn't matter how bad the argument is, you ain't going to sleep without working it out, he won't let you.

leehan; the worst part of arguing with leehan is his lack of response. it pissed you off that you went all out on him about the fact that you guys haven't got any intimacy of any kind in a while and that when you both actually had the time and the desire to do so, he ditched you for his friends. you explained how you understood that he needed to see his friends, but always? every time he's free? what about you? what about your relationship? leehan had a girlfriend to take care of too, not just his friends. so when you said all this to him and he just looked at you with those sleepy eyes and nodded without saying much, you got angrier. not because he was not yelling back at you but because you've got this conversation at least five times before, always getting the same reaction and always getting the same results. until one day y'all finally work it out and make a balance, it was that or breaking up so leehan finally listened.

woonhak; arguing with woonhak is literally a mess. you guys scream, put the blame on each other, say things you could (and will) regret later, even mention stuff from the past just to make a valid point. you would go to bed angry because none of you would say "sorry" or at least try to work things out, the silent treatment was something very common between you two since neither you or woonhak would give in. eventually he'd talk to his hyungs when he feels like this time it's been too long and you guys haven't make up yet, he takes the advise and approaches you with his head low, like a puppy with his tail between his legs, shy and with so much remorse you just talk things out and call it a day.

ONE KISS, ONE LOVE

PAIRING: park wonbin x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive dialogue but nothing explicit

TROPES: established relationship!au, idol!wonbin, age gap vibes but no real mention, reader babies wonbin like he deserves to be, texts at the end, just sickening sweet stuff

WATCH: wonbin's night routine

NOTE: inspired by the video above! once again, these wonbin fics write themselves ... he might be my favorite boy to write rn or maybe that's just my way of coping!! anyway don't be surprised if i just start spamming u with the wonbin fics i just have too many good ideas. but they're all gonna be set in this same established relationship style, he's just so bf coded lol... anyway, enjoy <3

you've been in bed for a good twenty, clad in cream pyjamas and skincare intact, when you hear the frontdoor open – signalling your boyfriend, wonbin's arrival. you pause the video you're watching on your phone and sit up to greet him, "bin? welcome home." his heavy footsteps stop where his figure finally comes into your view.

wonbin looks wiped out, no doubt, eyes shadowed by his somnolent lashes. he stares at you for a moment before humming, the sound halfway between a thank god you're here and i could die right now. he peels his layers off with speed, black leather jacket hung up on the tree-shaped rack near your closet and his other outerwear finding its place on the small cabinet next to it.

you watch fondly as even in his fatigue, he patiently makes sure no outside clothes pollute the bed. as soon as he's in nothing but his white tee and boxers though, he jumps onto you, deflating the air out of you like a body pillow.

"hello," he mumbles, face disappearing into your chest where he snuggles closer. 

"hi, love," you welcome him warmly, fingers carding through his hair as a force of habit. you breathe against his limp body, letting him unwind on top of you as he often does. it's a silent activity, a night routine of sorts for wonbin on his longest days. he'd trudge home and settle close to you, wordlessly like a cat looking for soothing. 

sometimes, you talked to him about your day and he'd hum along, eyes on yours telling all you needed to hear. other times, you would go back to doing whatever you were doing – watching a show, playing a game, or talking to a friend – while he recharged. he even insisted it worked best when you were just doing your own thing.

today, you do neither. setting your phone aside, you occupy yourself with wonbin himself, first meandering through his charcoal hair and then trailing down to his neck, tracing hearts and stars into his skin. you can feel him relaxing under your touch, his face finally coming back into your vision. 

"tired," wonbin says, voice coarser than ever. "need to sleep." 

"i know, baby," you croon, "wanna wash up first?"

he shakes his head adamantly, "no. sleepy."

you laugh softly, "angel, i'm sure you are but you can't sleep with your makeup on, can you?"

"had a few drinks with taro hyung," he murmurs as if that explains his behavior.

"really? you had time after practice?"

"he snuck it into practice. beer after all that sweating was nice."

"wow, look at you," you muse, hand brushing his bangs out of his eyes, "you sound like an old man."

"i am," wonbin pouts, "let the old man go to sleep."

"sorry, love, i can't do that," you say.

"rude."

"say what you will," you sit up fully, pulling your sluggish boyfriend with you. ignoring his groans, you kiss his nose, "wash up, okay? can't have my rockstar breaking out because he was too lazy to wash his face before bed."

he groans again but this time it's an endearment, his kiss on your cheek disguising his smile. "but i can't move, y/n. please."

"i'll help you," you snake out of the sheets, squatting as you heave wonbin out as well. he stands up unwillingly, head wilting like a sad flower. you laugh, pulling him toward the washroom, "will you listen if i do all the work?"

that gets the job done alright because two minutes later, wonbin's settled against the sink with you between his legs. you crane around his tall limbs to reach for his products, having memorized his night skincare by now. 

cleansing balm in hand, you carefully cover every inch of his face, the makeup turning into oil gradually. "okay, babe, now rinse your face for me."

"you said you'd do all the work!" he complains without missing a beat. 

you glare at him, "i can't possibly wash your face without making a mess of both of us."

"sounds like an excuse to me."

sulking, he turns around, washing the balm off. next, you go in with his foam cleanser, gently circling his cheeks and forehead. despite all his earlier declarations, he watches you attentively, his hand loosely clasped around your waist to keep you in place. you have to scold him midway at one point when he gets cheeky and sneaks a hand down your pyjamas, feeling the hem of your panties. 

eventually, you dry his face off with a hand towel. "there," you peck his cheek, "all clean."

when he doesn't let go of your waist, you raise a brow at him. "you only love me when i'm clean," he scowls, "don't you?"

you narrow your eyes at his tantrum, "i think you're forgetting how i'm sacrificing my screen time before bed to clean you up right now."

he looks unconvinced as he tails you out of the bathroom. he's about to throw himself back onto the bed when you stop him by his hand. "change first," you explain, pulling out fresh pyjamas and throwing them at him. 

wonbin stands idly and it's only when he starts raising his arms up that you realize he wants you to do it. you sigh, "bin, you're such a baby today." but you smile as you pull his shirt off, disregarding the way he instantly flexes when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. slipping his pyjamas on, a piece at a time, you clap when he's done.

"i would make a great mother," you pat yourself on the back.

"you can adopt me if you want," he shrugs and you snicker, "i don't think i need to." 

"you want anything to eat before you sleep?" you ask as if you hadn't quite literally brushed his teeth. "chocolate," he says without any conviction and you roll your eyes at him, watching as he launches himself at the bed.

"quick, come here," wonbin whines. you pad over to your side of the bed and join him, giggling when his body curls around you instantly. his nose finds its indent against your neck this time, cold and fresh. 

for a minute, you think that's all you'll hear out of your boyfriend for the night. but it's just as you're about to reach for your phone when he speaks up again, "sorry if i'm boring."

you're not sure if your ears hear right, "what?"

but his voice is solemn, "...i'm probably kinda boring lately. so i'm sorry."

you turn on your side to face him completely, hand coming to rest against his cheek. "bin, you idiot. you coming home is the best part of my day."

"really? even though i'm too dead to do anything?" he perks up but his eyes gloomy, "we don't even fuck anymore. or go to the movies. or go out at all."

you laugh, "you're making us sound like an old couple on the verge of divorce, baby. you're just busier because of your comeback! i'm so excited and you should be, too."

"i am. but i don't want bore you."

"you don't, though. i'm lucky enough i get to see you at night and take care of you when i can. plus, it's not like you won't have more time after your promotions, right? we can do everything you want then."

wonbin blinks at you, his cool hand finally coming to meet yours where it was still caressing his cheek. he kisses your palm, "thank you. i'm glad."

"of course, love. now, go to sleep or you'll regret it tomorrow," you chirp, rolling over and shutting the lights off quickly.

"...you really would be a great mom," wonbin laughs at your behavior. 

"good night, wonbin."

"good night, mom."

you hit his arm at his brazenness but when he just laughs again, the sound is too sweet for you to even pretend to be mad. so instead, you hug him closer, hand on his bicep and his legs tangled with yours. 

–

bin: I AM FREE AT LAST

bin: FROM THE SHACKLES OF IT

you: …

you: how would ur fans react if i leaked our texts

you: so much for being mysterious

you: "shackles of it" boy have you ever touched a book

bin: okay so you're rude today

bin: i miss y/n mom version

you: ew?? if u have a kink i dont think this is gonna work

bin: because…? 

you: is sungchan still single

bin: i was kidding! haha!

you: ok.

bin: seriously tho let's do smth fun 2nite

you: i get off work late today :(

bin: whatttt you have a life outside of me :0

you: do you WANT me to break up with you???

bin: what i meant was i will be there to pick you up <3

you: wtv man idgaf anymore

bin: noooo

bin: i'll do anything you want don't be mad

you: anything?

bin: well other than leaking our texts ofc

you: i want to live together

bin: ???

bin: we alr do

you: wonbin 

you: baby

you: you just always come over to my place

bin: i sleep there it's my home wdym

you: and you still pay the bills for your place?

bin: i don't make that bag for nothing

you: ok so what if we lived together instead

bin: but i really like your place!!

you: i do too

you: let's make it our place 

bin: shit

bin: i just actually blushed irl

you: :) 

you: is that a yes

bin: i want to marry you

you: okay well let's calm down

bin: did u just reject me

you: i'm telling u that you're gonna regret proposing through text

bin: i love u and i want u to be my wife

bin: omg i just shed a tear at the thought of calling u that

bin: wife…. im changing ur contact name

bin: or should i change it to fiancée? since we havent yet tied the knot

you: park wonbin

you: we are 20 years old

bin: untrue

bin: im 22 

you: i am not marrying you right now

bin: … is there someone else

you: i'm not marrying anyone right now

bin: ok so i'm not husband material

you: you are

bin: i'm not father material? you: no comment

you: but we aren't ready babe

you: let's take it slow k?

you: just move in first

you: we have so many memories to make

bin: you're such a flirt

you: ??? u just asked me to marry you but sure

bin: i'll be moved in by the time you come back home

you: i thought you were picking me up

bin: that was before u asked me to move in

bin: now i have to bring all my stuff over

bin: which side of your closet can i use? bin: also thoughts on letting me keep my rock collection next to your figurines?

you: right side and no

bin: wow u didnt even think about it

you: imagine we get into a fight

bin: i refuse to

you: i'm just saying i would be tempted to throw them rocks at u

bin: you would do that????

you: depending on what u do

bin: why are you expecting me to do anything at all????

you: …experience

bin: wow

you: to be loved is to be known

bin: you can't flatter me now

you: i love you 

bin: …

bin: i love you too

Mirrored Reflections pt. 2

Yotasuke Takahashi, Blue Period // Le Christ au Jardin des Oliviers by Eugéne Delacroix

DON’T STOP.

༄ sypnosis. you ramble about one of your recent adventures while sitting on your boyfriend’s lap as he’s working.

༄ note. small and quick fic i wrote inspired by an arabic poem: “don’t shorten your speech, i love your details.” by zaid al hourani. didn’t re-read it. repost.

༄ tags. al-haitham x female reader. just fluff, bits of angst and comfort.

“so then, i walked up towards the cave and you won’t even guess what i saw..”

you were rambling about your recent adventure out in the deserts of sumeru while sitting on your boyfriend’s lap. al-haitham was at his desk in his study, busy scanning through the stack of papers and scrolls in front of him.

you’d told him earlier that you could just leave him alone if he needed some space to finish his work, however al-haitham insisted that you’d stay with him.

as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud, he loved having you near him in any type of way. it’s somehow comforting and it takes his mind off of all the stress he’s having about his work as the akademiya’s scribe.

you continue to happily tell your tale while your eyes were focused on al-haitham’s face. however most of the time his eyes wouldn’t look back at yours at all— not even sparing you a quick glance.

al-haitham’s distant gaze was solely focused on the words that were written down on the papers before him.

he was silent and only nodded or hummed ever so slightly while you talked to him. gradually, your boyfriend stopped those small reactions all together.

it left you with a weird, tinge of disappointment in your chest. of course, you hadn’t expected al-haitham to full out react to your story since he was busy. plus, he usually doesn’t give too big of a reaction anyway.

you still felt like a nuisance for sitting on his lap as he worked, even though al-haitham verbally asked you to stay with him earlier.

you hadn’t noticed that your voice was trailing off the more you got lost in thought, yet al-haitham was quick to realise.

it didn’t look like it to you, but your boyfriend had been listening all along. he was skilled at multi-tasking and especially at the moment, where it came to dividing his attention between you and his work.

“keep going, love.” the scribe finally replies with the slightest of a smile as he keeps reading the contents of the document, “i promise, i’m listening.”

one of his hands move to hold onto yours. his thumb rubs over the skin of your palm, fingers slowly massaging the flesh. it was his indirect way of comforting you.

you smile softly at al-haitham’s words and actions before continuing your story. despite it all, you decided to keep the unnecessary details out of the way and focus on finishing your words as soon as possible so al-haitham could complete his duties afterwards.

“my love.”

your boyfriend’s voice interrupts you mid-sentence and you stop talking to look at him with a puzzled expression, “yeah?”

al-haitham sighs softly, putting his pen down and pushing the papers to the side for the time being. your heart felt like it stopped and your stomach dropped; did he want you to stop? does he finally find your rambling too distracting?

“you’re cutting the details.” the scribe says as he gently puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

“huh?” your eyes widen at his words. you didn’t even know how he caught up on such a minor thing.

al-haitham brings your hand up to his lips and places a few delicate kisses on each of your knuckles. his warm breath on your skin and the affectionate glimmer in his eyes as he finally looked back at you were almost too much to bear.

“please, do not shorten your speech, my dearest.” he whispers, moving his lips up to kiss each of your fingertips. “speak your mind. i promise that i will be here to listen to every word you utter.”

it was in that moment that you realised that al-haitham had been paying full attention to your words this entire time. it couldn’t be otherwise since he easily figured out that you were leaving out details.

al-haitham slowly adjusted you on his lap by holding onto your hips and bringing your body closer to his— your back pressed against his chest.

“can you do that for me?” he eventually adds, looking at your eyes and then at your other facial features which he fancies equally.

to say that you were flustered by the sudden attention from your boyfriend was quite an understatement, though either way, you nodded.

“y- yeah, sure. i will.” you manage to get those words out before clearing your throat.

al-haitham smiles softly at this and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “there’s my girl. thank you.”

your boyfriend then continues to pick up his pen again while his other hand stays on your waist. his fingers absentmindedly play with the fabric of the clothes you’re wearing.

you pick up your story from where you had left it at; this time recalling it without any details missing— just how your boyfriend likes it.

ARE YOU READY FOR IT? | LYNEY

warnings 1.8k words, implied child neglect, the dark themes of the house of the hearth, once again i will say that this is not canon compliant

notes thank u naosaki (art) for proofreading the first ever chapter of the series!!! and being my hypeman overall LMFAO

masterlist | next chapter

A deep breath. In, out. Once more. Rehearsed lines, practiced smiles, and a heart as steady as a frightened squirrel.

“Good?”

You meet his eyes. “Good.”

The corset isn’t as suffocating as you expected it would be. Aether ensures that you’re as comfortable as possible dressed in this snug bodice with a puffed-up, full skirt that drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those of those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine—because you’d eventually have to fight with this thing on.

The polearm feels heavy nestled in your palms. Strange, as you had never gone through a night without spinning it around your body and thrusting it into the air in the solitude of the night where no one would suspect a thing. You flick your wrist, not bothered to watch it disperse into the air. You’ve come to a point where green stems are more at home in your hands than weapons. You’re not sure why you don’t feel content with that revelation.

“Are you ready?”

Your gaze snaps to Aether, who’s looking at you warily as if standing across a ticking bomb. “Yes.” You offer a smile, hoping it comes across as comforting.

Aether tries for a smile back, though it looks more like a grimace. You can see it in his eyes: he doesn’t trust you. But his desire to learn more overpowers his wariness, and now, you’ve struck a deal. So long as you’re wearing this disguise, you are allies.

“Paimon is starting to miss your muddy apron,” Paimon says, wilting as you twirl around. “You look a lot less like Y/N.”

“This is who I really am, Paimon.” You glance to the ruffles and the thick coat, engulfing you in everything Fontaine. 

Paimon tilts her head. “Who?”

You cast her a dry smile. “Runaway coward, fraud, and Fatuu.”

YEARS BEFORE.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been an orphan under the care of ‘Father’.

If you were to shut your eyes and reminisce about life before the orphanage, you’d catch a fleeting glimpse of your mother’s face as you were surrendered over to grand doors, ones that felt like they were fifteen feet tall and thick enough to keep you from your family. You don’t know if your mother was kind or if she intended to leave you here long enough for everyone to call you an orphan. You eventually stopped dreaming about her.

You find that it doesn’t matter because you’re already here. You wouldn’t know where she would be. Waking up spelled out another day of pushing through.

“Hush, child,” a voice whispered as you hiccuped, overwhelmed with unfamiliar faces and tall, tall walls. Your chin was gripped by hands with sharp nails, but they didn’t hurt you. “Save your tears. You are safer here.”

You blinked rapidly, tremors jostling your shoulders with each ugly sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your breathing slowed as the shed tears cleared your vision, finally seeing the woman in front of you. She looked as if she had just done something horrible; she looked as if she wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throat if you screamed and thrashed around her hold.

You looked at her and saw someone you knew would protect you.

It became a little less dull when ‘Father’ let you borrow one of the weapons from the stash. The one you chose reeked of dried blood and looked dangerously unused, its surface marred by rust. It was long, and you concluded from the tip that it was no sword; it was all too different from the weapons you’ve seen around. On your first swing, you stumbled and nearly let it slip through your fingers.

“A polearm,” ‘Father’ noted, staring down at you in a way that felt as if she was scrutinizing every action and every thought running through your head. “Would you like to try it out?”

It was difficult. Each swing felt as if you were inches away from hitting your own head—or, even worse, felt as if you would make the wrong move and hit ‘Father’, who’s watching you in silence. She doesn’t stand from where she’s seated, though she does speak here and there. Stand straighter; don’t hold it too tightly; watch your balance.

You loved it. You held onto the rusty polearm more than you breathe. You train, and train, and train until it twirls around your fingers seamlessly, like water rushing through smooth rocks, until it’s as easy as a second limb.

That is how you made a name for yourself in the House of the Hearth.

During the times ‘Father’ returned briefly from business trips, you’d make her watch you train. You made her see how far you’d come, and she knew it, too. She’d even invite the other orphans to spar with you, but you were never defeated.

The orphans would hear your name, and they’d either scrunch their noses in distaste or brighten up in awe—it’s all the same, in your opinion. They hear your name and think of how fondly Arlecchino favors you.

The next one, they whisper. The next king.

The House of the Hearth became something greater than a home. It became a training ground for future soldiers, disguised as an orphanage, yet it treated you far better than your own household. Here, you've matured in wisdom with each thrust of your weapon and with every hidden truth that Teyvat conceals; it's where you learned to sharpen and embrace them all. Here, no one can hurt you. No one tries to break down your walls or question why you have them up in the first place. 

‘Father’ took you in and gave you another chance. ‘Father’ saw your battered arms and torn faith and introduced you to a house where you wouldn’t ever have to feel this broken again. And you, too young and too aware of the creeping loneliness clawing at you, took her hand and never looked back.

The House of the Hearth is where you learned what it was like to feel respect. Fear goes hand-in-hand with it, but you can’t help it if it can’t bring you down because you’ve climbed far too out of reach.

“That was a really good match,” Freminet mumbles as you walk over, sweaty all over and panting from exhaustion—but there’s a wide smile on your face, only ever appearing after battling someone.

You beam at his praise. “Yeah? I was testing a new move last night. It didn’t work, though.”

“I didn’t even notice you slipping,” Freminet says, puzzled, prompting a burst of laughter from you.

This side of you is only reserved for Freminet. To everyone else—and especially ‘Father’—you’re cold and cruel, and you don’t like wasting time with other people. But you’ve grown fond of Freminet, just as his quiet murmurs and hours-long of whispers are meant just for you. It’s a strange friendship. Everyone else thinks you could never get along.

What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters, not when you’re something here.

“‘Father’ is calling for you,” Freminet says, gesturing vaguely to the side.

You pat Freminet’s head and flick the polearm back to life, materializing in your hands. “I’ll see you at dinner, ‘kay? Don’t sneak off this time.” Freminet pretends to think about it, humming thoughtfully, then smiles when you nudge his shoulder before darting off.

“Every kingdom would have the next king,” is what ‘Father’ says when you’re a few steps across her. There’s a ghost of a smile on her face—or at least is what you like to think. Your heart races. “I see it in you, child.”

Warmth fills your chest. You bow your head to hide the unprofessional and childish smile.

“Ah,” she continues, looking off to the side. “Before I forget…fetch your siblings. I have news to share.”

You frown, failing to hide your disappointment. You were hoping for a bit more. “Of course, ‘Father’.”

The House of the Hearth was perfect. This was where you thrived—where no one else could take this victorious feeling away.

But then Lynette became a part of the ‘family’, and with it, she dragged along Lyney.

Lyney, with his slicked back, matted hair, violet eyes wide yet somehow dim, and figure thinner than a stick—the picture of every orphan stumbling into their new home for the very first time. Lyney, who stands beside ‘Father’ as they’re introduced, his gaze wandering the room, the unfamiliar faces, then your unimpressed eyes. Lynette is behind him, peeking out from his shoulder.

‘Father’ gives them the usual: a promise of no betrayal, a promise of a bond as strong as the blood shared between the twins. They listen. You scowl.

It is also here, in the House of the Hearth, where your world is flipped upside down, all because of violet eyes that seem to have never left yours.

There’s something about Lyney that unnerves you.

You assure Freminet that it’s not just because you’re miffed that The Knave is paying too close attention to the twins. You would get over the jealousy—you knew it was for the twins to feel at ease as they settled in; she’d done the same to you (the only difference is she never stopped). But Freminet has also taken a deep liking to them, saying you’re wary for no reason.

He isn’t wrong. You’re wary for a reason you’re not sure why just yet.

It was just that Lyney’s face pissed you off.

He keeps staring from over ‘Father’’s legs, sharp eyes following your movements. His face is blank, keeping you from reading his thoughts, yet his eyes are wide. You can’t tell if it’s akin to a trembling puppy or a cat prepared to pounce. You hate the feeling of his eyes boring into your skin.

You tell ‘Father’ all of this as the other orphans scurry off to bed, and you’re in charge of cleaning the dining table. With each plate stacked, venom spits from your mouth, brows knitted, and teeth bared in a snarl. You haven’t questioned any of ‘Father’’s decisions—you’re wary of this particular one, though.

‘Father’ has that quirk on her lips, amusement evident on her suspiciously bright expression. “You haven’t met Lyney yet, have you? What’s brought this reaction out of you?”

You nearly fumble with the glasses, avoiding her eyes. “I-It’s not as if I hate him. I just—I don’t know. There’s something strange about him.”

And speaking of strange, ‘Father’ has that look in her eye that you’re starting to feel agitated by. You think that the knowing smile is a nice look on her, however, you’re not sure if what’s running through her head at the moment can be considered nice.

“I see,” she says, a lilt in her tone.

“See what, ‘Father’?” You bristle when she smiles wider. “See what?”

references: kingdom and the next king — lyney voiceline: about “father”: king

taglist @thenyxsky

to chase a dream | zhang hao ˚₊‧⁺˖

all your life, you and zhang hao have been chasing each other. you wonder here, if this is where your symphony ends.

TAGS: musician!au, gn!reader, rivals to lovers, angst with happy ending, suggestive!makeout

A/N: something about zhang hao called for dramatics so here i am (≧∇≦)ﾉ ! self-indulgent as usual :)

WORDS: ~1450, EXTRA: music info and terms here !!

"That was wonderful playing earlier."

History doesn't even begin to describe what you have between you two.

Your friends could joke that there would be enough to write an opera. Star crossed and all. All about the virtuosos of violin and piano. Of Zhang Hao and you.

You want to hark it back to those fitful days in grade school. Full days of comparing sheet music, trying to one-up each other about the difficulty. Hao, and his too big violin case and you, trouncing him every talent show because his hands hadn't quite yet grown out of their stubbiness. The satisfaction in remembering those big whiny tears brings warmth to your soul.

Then, there came high school.

Oh, you loathe it; he doesn't. Not when his hands became a study in lines and grace. Envy would eat you alive if you had any less pride. But you weren't so above yourself to not look at him. Hard to not notice when he grows a head taller and of course, starts topping the local competitions only to shove it under your face.

Your parents loved it. Gave a reason to push you further and deeper into competitions and over the top galas. To push your fire against someone who was all finely diced ice. There was nothing you liked less when you wanted to live for the glory of the crowd, not medals and flowers.

Eyes followed you everywhere when he was in the picture. And yours always found his.

"Here to mock me?" you ask.

The laugh you draw is enchanting. "Never." And it's so sincere you might just believe it. "Just here to say my farewells."

The Winter Gala spins behind both of you: through a door, down some ornate stairs and into a pit of some thoroughly drunk musicians. From the balcony, only the trickles of laughter and music eke out the door. But you would hardly focus on that, not when Hao stands very plainly in front of you.

"Already? it's only an hour into reception." You twirl the champagne in your hand with consideration before you gesture him to come to where you lean on the balcony rail. "Thought you would stay to kiss ass with some of the others."

"Not this time. No, I mean..." The howl of the wind carries his unease. Traffic horns and gala laughter do nothing to smother whatever he tries to hide in his tone. You know him too well.

There's more than history between you two.

But whatever he says next has you rethinking everything. "I'm leaving, leaving. I won't be back in the country for a while so, here I am."

There's a moment where you think he's entirely pulling your leg. Pulling you along to another little joke at your expense. But you've known him your entire life at this point, and you’ve been through too much to realize that he’s not joking.

“… Am I the first to know?”

You count the beats and steady your breath. Years of this, all for what?

“Only Minghao-Ge and Junhui-Ge, and now you. But knowing them, they’ll be drunk enough tonight to let it slip,” he explains in this awfully fond tone. “Mark Lee from the LSO watched me perform at the showcase in July and scouted for me. I think he got on Junhui-Ge’s nerves with how much he emailed him.”

Medals and flowers. Smiles and bows. The curtain draws, where are you now?

"Congrats," you say after a second – watching nothing but your past fly by you. Despite the ache, you raise your glass. "Cheers," you smile and take a sip. Raising it into the moonlight and offering the glass to Hao for his own toast but he just shakes his head.

You pout. "Don’t like it?”

Instead, he takes the glass from you and settles it onto the edge. Pink dusts his cheeks as watches you from the corner of your eye. “Want to remember this.”

Heat flares to your cheeks at the weight of Hao’s words. A night to remember is one way to put it.

"So, when are you off to London?"

"This Monday."

You blink. "... That's fast."

"Why? You think you'll miss me?" and it's said with that smile of his. Infuriating and secret, so many layers of discourse that haunt you – it’s a memory that you'll take to the grave.

"Of course, it's you," you mutter, disgustingly honest with yourself. "It'll just be... quiet, without your excuse of music causing a riot." Honestly, you can barely hear Hao's chuckle when you're too stuck in your head to mind the charm in it.

You want to edge back into your comfort zone of easy quips, nothing serious but scathing wit. But nothing you say lights the fight that used to start so easy back when you two were younger. When your worries were small like the cars below.

A full look at his face is all you want to chance a glance for. What would you see? Remorse? Eagerness? Disappointment? You could read him like a book with a single glance, what’s stopping you now?

"What about you? are you going to stay in Singapore? I thought you'd be the one to chase excitement."

"I’ll chase whatever my parents dangle in front of me.” And the laugh he breathes is empty because you both know it’s bitter but true. Hao’s stood aside long enough to understand. So, when he sidles closer next to you it warms you more than they ever did. "Yixing-Ge told me he's also planning to leave for Boston, promised me that I'll get his seat when it happens."

"If it happens,” he teases.

"It’ll happen."

You nearly jump when you feel it. Hao’s warm hand on top of yours. It’s spindly and calloused, worn out in the way a weathered musician’s should be. It’s all you need to guide you back to where you are.

"I know you'll make it. Just make sure it's something you want.” Hao’s breath is right next to your ear. Clear as day and easy as a song. It’s so simple to say: take what you want.  

Blood in your ears, chest heaving, nothing to catch you when you fall but the discordant crash of keys.

It sounds like a melody.

"It's never going to be something I want."

"Then, what do you want?"

You.

Instead, you turn to face Zhang Hao. A challenge of a smile on your lips because you know where this ends.

To face the music, the crowd, the eyes that watch.

"What's it like? to chase a dream?" you ask.

Brutal, visceral, freeing. An infinite number of interpretations for one word.

The stage becomes your world, and the spotlight burns you alive. Pressure flays your skin even as your fingers glide across smooth keys and you hush your heaving breath. Running to your last page, heart in your hands, smearing red across white. There's no audience when you dream; you are your own critic, you are your own end, but your destiny is not you.

To chase a dream is to become raw.

"Like chasing you."

You hum low and satisfied. Carding a hand through Hao’s hair, you guide him down.

Kissing Zhang Hao feels like being on stage all over again. Being set on fire, skin flaying, blood rushing. It’s everything he isn’t, but everything you are.

You swallow his groan, biting across his lips as your hands trail down him. Everywhere you've wanted to touch feels unbearable. You want to chase this feeling: Hao's hands on your hips and cradling your jaw. Trailing his red ears and holding around his throat; it's little fires everywhere.

Distance doesn’t exist as you push into each other. Hao has you against the rail, hands cradling you like you’re his own instrument. Playing you to pluck you into satisfaction.

Years of us, made for this final movement.

This ache and greed that makes musicians like you two come alive. You know Hao as your years of black and white keys that haunt your dreams and make your reality. There isn’t a crevice in his mind you haven’t touched or a melody that he’s played where he never thought of you.

You hold Hao by the chin, determination set into your eyes and a chord of steel in your tone. "There better be a future for us – I’m not having you leave me here in your past.”

"Anything," he breathes against you. More than history. More than a future. Chasing your dream. "Anything for you."

thanks so much for reading !! this was a tough one but i'm glad i wrote it ! if you enjoyed please like or reblog :D ⭒ masterlist

inappropriate affairs

Inappropriate places he likes to fuck you. 

Itto, Ayato, Thoma, Tighnari x Reader

A/N: I apologize in advance, this is not nearly as smutty as I wanted it to be. It takes me like 300 words to set up the scene and then I end up getting too lazy to finish it looooollllll,,, i’ll do better i promise (honestly this is not the first tighnari smut ive written…. i have an old draft from when he first came out where he chases you and then fucks you teehee)

WC - 2.3kish

SMUT // NSFW ((reader w a pussy))

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