#but it just comes up with Other chord progressions? like?

[hansmic]

“𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖎𝖈 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖉𝖞”

han jisung x gn! reader

genre: romance

warnings: none

word count: 3.6k

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Han slowly walked out of the studio, his leather guitar case in hand. He adjusted the backpack on his shoulders and stretched, his back making a satisfying pop sound. He took a peek at his watch and groaned. It was almost seven in the evening, and by this time, he was usually on his way home.

However, for once, he found that he didn’t mind staying a bit longer; he still had one more thing to do. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he walked down the hallway, whistling a soft tune.

After entering the practice room, Han set his guitar case and backpack down against the wall. He pushed up his sleeves and surveyed the room, humming in approval upon seeing that he was the only one. It was perfect. This late into the evening, not a lot of people came to the practice room, which meant he didn’t need to worry about being interrupted. Sitting down on a chair, he flipped open the guitar case and took out his instrument, carefully tuning it.

Now that it was in tune, Han took a look at the music sheets laid out in front of him. He began to play a few chords, his fingers dancing over the strings effortlessly, but he stopped suddenly. There was something missing; he was stuck, and it was killing him inside. He’d made a lot of progress up until this point, but now, it seems like he hit a brick wall.

Frowning, he set the guitar down and ruffled his hair in frustration. There was a clear vision in his head of what he wanted to write, but he just couldn’t seem to put it into words. As if mocking him, a few stray words began to echo in his mind and he groaned. This was stupid, he’d never had so much trouble coming up with lyrics before. It was driving him crazy.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Focus, he told himself, focus. But the words still echoed inside his head, almost as if they had a mind of their own. They reminded him of the reason he was stuck, and just what he was missing all along.

Opening his eyes, he leaned down and rummaged through his backpack, pulling out a small notebook.

He flipped through the pages, looking for something in particular. As his fingers flicked through the notebook, snippets of unfinished lyrics could be seen scribbled on various pages. He finally stopped on the lyrics for his latest song, frowning as he read the page from top to bottom. This was so stupid. He should’ve never tried to write a love song.

Han ran a hand through his hair, crumpling and uncrumpling the edges of the notebook page as he reread the lyrics. He’d always been able to come up with lyrics about love and heartbreak for other idols, but it was so much more difficult to write for himself, and frankly, very annoying. He’d been working on the song for over three days now, and for some reason, the final words that would pull the lyrics together completely eluded him.

Han closed the notebook with a sigh, tossing it onto the table beside him. This was getting him nowhere; as much as he wanted to keep working, it was probably best to stop for the evening. He packed up his things before looking at the clock on the wall. It was 7:30pm already. How long had he been working?

He stood up, slinging his guitar case on his back and picking up his backpack. While he was disappointed, he knew he needed to rest; maybe by tomorrow, his thoughts would clear and he’d be able to finish writing the song. With that hope in mind, he turned off the light and walked out of the practice room, locking the door behind him.

As Han walked down the hallway, he felt his stomach grumble in protest. He hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, and he really didn’t feel like going out to buy food. There was a vending machine down the hall, maybe he’d grab something from there.

Strolling down the hall, he turned around the corner only to almost bump straight into someone.

“Oh crap—“ He threw out his arms to keep the other person from falling, quickly stabilizing them and making sure they didn’t get hurt. After making sure they were fine, he finally took a good look at the person in front of him.

Han’s eyes widened. Standing in front of him was a person that he’d definitely never seen before. You had a youthful glow about them, with an air of elegance. Your eyes were sharp and clear, and while your head was down as you adjusted their bag, he could see your long hair framing their face.

“You alright?” He asked, still holding onto your shoulders.

You looked up and Han’s breath hitched in his throat. Up close, they looked even more beautiful. You seemed a bit stunned as well; he could see your face turning slightly pink as they looked up at him from under their lashes. He watched as you nodded and carefully took a step back.

He let his hands drop awkwardly back to his side, shoving them into his pockets to stop himself from staring. “Sorry about that, I didn’t see you when I came around the corner,” he said, chuckling nervously.

The person in front of him shook their head. “No, it’s fine, I should have been paying attention,” you replied, looking up and meeting his eyes.

As the person spoke, Han felt something stir inside of him. Your voice was sweet and clear, and even though the hallway was quiet, he could still hear you clearly. In fact, he was shocked at how familiar you seemed, but he was sure that he’d never seen you before.

He realized that he was staring again and his mouth opened on instinct. “I’ve never seen you around here before, you new?”

You nodded, and this time, Han was able to get a better look at their facial features. From the high bridge of their nose to the curve of their lips, you were absolutely gorgeous. It took him all his willpower to not stare. “I just joined a few days ago,” you said, your voice cutting through the silence. “I’m still learning my way around.”

“Ah, so you’re a rookie?” He asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. He felt strangely drawn to you, like a moth to a flame; he almost felt giddy at the chance to continue speaking to you.

You nodded in affirmation. “I guess you could say that.” In the dim lighting, he could almost see the small upturned curl of your lips, creating a coy smile. “How long have you been here?”

Han smirked slightly. “Long enough.” He took a step forwards, leaning against the wall. “So if you’re a rookie, that means you’re looking to become an idol?”

You— in front of him seemed to hesitate, looking away and running a hand through your hair. Just that simple action made them look absolutely dazzling, and Han found himself staring once again. “Not exactly,” you replied, finally looking back and meeting his gaze. “I’m more interested in becoming a songwriter.”

Han raised his eyebrows slightly. “Oh?” You was full of surprises. From the way they carried themselves, he had been expecting you to say you wanted to be a singer; the revelation that they were a songwriter like him was a pleasant surprise. “How long have you been writing?”

“I’ve been writing lyrics and composing for a few years now,” they replied, your voice clear and steady, as if you have answered this question a million times before. “I’m still relatively new, though, so I’m trying to improve as much as I can.”

A frown flitted over Han’s face. you were humble, a lot humbler than most other people he knew. For you to say you were “new” after writing for a few years was a bit of a shock. He had a feeling that you were actually a lot more talented than you were letting on. “You say you’re new, but I’m sure you’ve got a lot more experience than most other new writers,” he said, giving you a light nudge.

A faint smile graced your lips, and Han watched, entranced. The low lighting of the hallway seemed to enhance your features, making you look especially beautiful. “Why do you say that?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

Han chuckled softly. “You just give off a professional vibe,” he said, waving a hand around as if that would give a clearer explanation. “Most of the people I’ve met here are all flash and little talent, but you seem different. Can I ask what your name is?”

Your lips pursed slightly as you seemed to consider something, probably weighing how much you should say in front of a stranger. In the end, you must have decided something, because you smiled, that same soft smile. “My name is Y/N,” you replied, watching him carefully.

Han smiled in response; at least now he had a name besides stranger to associate with you. “Y/N.” He repeated, watching as you nodded. The way your name rolled off his tongue sounded almost musical; he thought that perhaps songwriting wasn’t the only thing you had a talent for.

A comfortable silence fell upon the two of you. The hallway was quiet except for your slight breathing, and Han found himself enjoying this silence immensely. You tilted your head up slightly, looking at him quizzically. “What about you?” You asked, gesturing to Han. “What is your name?”

Han almost laughed; he couldn’t believe it. In the span of a few minutes, he had almost completely forgotten to introduce himself. He ran a hand sheepishly through his hair, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I totally forgot,” he sheepishly said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My name is Han Jisung.”

Your eyes widened slightly at the name, as if you had somehow heard it before, but you quickly schooled your expression. “Han Jisung,” you repeated, testing the name out on your tongue just as he had done. A small smile appeared on your face as you nodded. “I like it.”

Something inside Han fluttered. Your comment was simple, the compliment innocent, but it filled him with some unknown feeling and he found himself unable to respond. He was sure he looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t help but feel satisfied that you had liked his name.

It seemed like neither of you knew how to continue from there. Han fidgeted awkwardly, rocking back and forth on his heels and adjusting the strap of his backpack. You looked away, but not before he caught sight of a small smile on your face as you looked down at your shoes.

Silence surrounded the two of you again, but this time, it felt tenser. Han wasn’t sure why he was feeling so on edge, you weren’t some kind of celebrity; you were just a rookie songwriter he’d randomly run into. But for some reason, being around you made his heart beat faster, and he had to keep reminding himself to breathe.

You glanced up at him, noticing his nervous fidgeting, and you spoke up. “You must have been practicing in the studio for a long time, you look exhausted,” you said, eyeing his backpack with slight curiosity.

He chuckled weakly, running a hand through his hair. “You caught me,” he admitted, leaning back against the wall. “I’ve been practicing for like…three hours by now.”

You winced. “Three hours?” You repeated, a concerned expression on your face. “Why would you push yourself like that?”

Han shrugged, pulling at the ends of the strap of his guitar case. “I have this song I’ve been trying to write for a few days, and I’m not done yet, so I just wanted to finish it as soon as possible,” he explained, looking off to the side.

As he spoke, his eyes accidentally flicked over to you, and once again, he was struck at how familiar you looked. It was like seeing a long lost friend, and he felt drawn to you for some inexplicable reason. He slowly took in everything about you, the slope of your nose, the way your hair fell over your shoulders. He almost felt like he’d found something he’d been looking for all along.

Everything around him seemed to suddenly be amplified. The quiet of the hall, your breathing, your soft voice, it was all so intense, and he had a sudden realization. All he had needed from the very beginning was right in front of him. His eyes widened as a small realization formed in his head.

Everything clicked into place, the final words of his unfinished song flooding his mind like a sudden wave, and he almost felt like an idiot. You were his missing inspiration, the very thing he had been searching for.

The very realization nearly made him stagger; for the last four days, he had been racking his brain trying to find the last lines of his song, and all it had taken was a chance meeting with you in the dark of night for him to finally find the inspiration he needed.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. For some reason, the revelation that you were the key piece to his latest song made Han feel strangely nervous. He stared at you, drinking in every detail of your face, and suddenly, an idea appeared in the back of his head.

He hesitated for a moment; he wasn’t sure how you would respond to the idea that was rapidly solidifying in his mind. The thought was slightly insane, and you might even turn him down, but it was worth a try. Steeling his nerves, he spoke up, his voice slightly shaky.

“Y/N,” he called, hoping you didn’t notice the quiver in his voice. You looked up at him, looking at him with slightly wide eyes and he suddenly felt very nervous about what he was about to say.

“You’re a songwriter, right?” He said, fiddling with his guitar strap again. “And you’re also new, which means you probably don’t have any projects yet.”

You nodded at his words, and he took that as an opportunity to continue. “How do you think about… maybe trying a collaboration?” he asked, a slight hopeful tone in his voice.

You froze as he spoke, your mouth slightly open. You seemed stunned at the words he’d just said, and Han felt his heart rate spike. He waited for you to respond, trying to keep his expression neutral and hiding the fact that he was holding his breath.

You took an eternity to respond, and every second of silence made him feel more nervous. He watched you closely, taking in your surprise, but he still didn’t respond. His palms were sweaty and he gripped the strap of his guitar even tighter, hoping that you weren’t going to reject him.

After a few more agonizing seconds, his worries were put to rest. You finally spoke up, your voice a hint of excitement and shock. “You… want me to collaborate with you?” you repeated, looking at him skeptically.

Han quickly nodded. He was so relieved that you hadn’t outright turned him down, and it gave him a new boost of confidence. “Yeah, you seem really talented, and you could give me some really good insight into songwriting,” he explained, giving you a hopeful look.

Han suddenly remembered that fact, and he hoped that didn’t seem too suspicious. It was technically the truth, but he hadn’t exactly thought this through. “Please?” he added, giving you an innocent look to try and sweeten the deal.

You watched his expression, looking at the pleading eyes on his face, and you felt the last of your reservations fade away. A small smile formed on your face, and you nodded. “Sure, why not?”

Han almost felt like he was in a movie. It was all so cliché—the perfect person suddenly entering his life when he needed them most. And on top of that, you had agreed to collab with him. He could have sworn that his heart rate was through the roof.

The realization that he was going to be working with you on a regular basis suddenly hit him, and he had to resist the urge to start a celebratory dance right there in the hallway. Instead, he took a deep breath, doing his best to look calm and collected.

Once he was sure that he wasn’t about to explode from excitement, he smiled at you. “Great!” he exclaimed, the excitement and relief clear in his voice. “We could start tomorrow?”

As he spoke, he realized that he didn’t know how he was actually going to get in touch with you. He fidgeted awkwardly, realizing how stupid he must look. His face must have given away his thoughts, because you chuckled softly, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

You had obviously gotten what he was struggling to say, and you held out your phone with a small smile. “Give me your number,” you said with a slight smirk. “That way you can contact me.”

Han’s heart just about stopped in his chest. You looked almost like a goddess at that moment, surrounded by the dim lighting and holding your hand out with a small, slightly amused smile. He swallowed, trying to get the sudden lump in his throat out, and took your phone with shaky fingers.

He entered his number quickly, trying to make sure he didn’t mess up any numbers in his flustered state. Once he was sure that he hadn’t screwed up, he gave you your phone back with a sheepish look on his face.

When you took it, your fingers brushed against his for a brief moment, and Han almost gasped. The small touch felt like fire burning his skin, and he had to clench his fists to keep himself from reacting to the electric sensation in his blood.

The touch was so brief, but Han felt electrified, like he had been struck by pure lightning. All of his sensations seemed to heighten; the air around them felt more charged, and you seemed to be more stunning than ever in the low light. He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that the two of you were standing very close together.

The room felt like it was closing in on him, and the silence was so thick that he was surprised it hadn’t drowned him yet. He fidgeted, unable to hold still beneath your gaze. A small part of him was worried that the hammering of his heart could be heard, and he tried to control his breathing to stop it from sounding so irregular.

A few more seconds of silence passed, and Han swore that he was about to do something that he might regret. Everything was just so intense, and his heart rate wouldn’t slow down, and for the life of him, he couldn’t stand still.

Finally, he opened his mouth, trying his best to sound casual. “I should probably get going,” he said, his own voice sounding strained to his ears. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded, a mysterious expression on your face. For some reason, you seemed to be a lot more calm about this situation than he was, and you didn’t even look flustered. You just met his eyes steadily, giving him a small nod. “See you,” you said, and it took all of his willpower to not melt right there.

Once again, Han found himself unable to respond. It suddenly seemed impossible to form coherent sentences when you were looking at him, and the fact that you were as calm as ever didn’t help his floundering. He gave you a tight forced smile and a nod, trying to get himself to look normal in your presence.

He took a step away from you, feeling his body scream in protest at leaving your presence. He wanted to grab your arm and ask you to stay, wanted to feel your fingers brush against his again, but his mind forced himself to just walk away, waving a farewell as he did.

His body felt like it was on auto-pilot, forcing him take one step in front of the other and walk down the hallway. He didn’t turn back to look at you, knowing that if he did, he would never be able to leave.

As he walked back to the studio room, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The image of you seemed to be burned into his memory, and he swore that he could still feel the ghost of your touch against his hand. The feeling was intoxicating, and he was already addicted.

Finally reaching the studio room, Han pushed the door open on shaky legs. The room was empty, and he was grateful that he could have some time to himself. He sank down onto one of the chairs, collapsing into the cushion and taking a few deep breaths. Everything that had just happened with you swirled around in his head, and even after the whole situation, he still felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

Once he was able to stop his racing heart, Han reached for his guitar, settling the strap over his shoulder with practiced ease. Memories of you seemed to flash through his mind as he began to play, memories of your smile, your voice, of the way a few strands of hair had fallen over your eyes as you looked at him.

His fingers automatically found the right chords, and the last two lines of the song he’d been working on seemed to come into his head effortlessly. A soft smile found his lips as he sang to himself, strumming the final cords on his guitar in a soft, low tone.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

I hope you liked it!!

masterlist is here

[eggmeralda]

thinking about my favourite chord progressionnnnn

[eyivibyemi]

✧ I won’t really write descriptions for these, but see original post tags for explanation/commentary on the song snippet ✧

[helloeverybodyhere]

Melody in the Afternoon

Summary: Harry is stuck on a song, but his girlfriend Y/N, who also writes music, comes over to help. A cozy afternoon turns into a heartfelt moment of connection.

The autumn sunlight filtered through the curtains of Harry’s cozy London flat, casting warm golden light over the living room. Papers were scattered across the floor—pages filled with half-written lyrics and scratched-out ideas. Harry sat in the middle of the chaos, his guitar balanced on his knee and a frustrated crease between his brows.

He strummed the same chord progression over and over, muttering under his breath. “What are the bloody words?”

The front door clicked open, and Harry looked up, his frustration melting into a smile as Y/N walked in. She was carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and a familiar tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hey, love,” she called out, kicking off her shoes by the door. “Still stuck?”

Harry set his guitar aside and got up to meet her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You have no idea. I’ve written five different verses, and none of them are right.”

Y/N smiled as she put the groceries on the kitchen counter. “Good thing I’m here, then.” She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small box. “Brought you something to fuel your creativity.”

“What’s this?” Harry asked, peering into the box to find pastries from his favorite bakery.

“Your favorite almond croissant,” she said with a grin, “and a latte. Thought you might need it.”

Harry pulled her into a hug, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “You’re a lifesaver.”

They settled on the floor together, surrounded by his scattered papers. Y/N sat cross-legged beside him, picking up one of the discarded pages and scanning the lines. “You’ve got some good stuff here,” she said, pointing to a verse. “But this part doesn’t flow with the melody.”

“I know,” Harry groaned, running a hand through his curls. “It’s driving me mad.”

Y/N picked up a pen and started scribbling on a fresh sheet of paper. “Okay, let’s start fresh. What are you trying to say with this song?”

Harry leaned back against the sofa, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “It’s about moments slipping away. You know, time moving too fast, not being able to hold on to everything.”

Y/N nodded, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “That’s beautiful. So maybe focus on a specific memory—something personal.”

“Like…” Harry hesitated. “Like us?”

She looked up at him, her expression warm. “Yeah. Like us.”

For the next hour, they worked together, their heads close as they traded ideas. Harry strummed the melody on his guitar while Y/N jotted down lyrics, occasionally breaking into laughter when one of them came up with something ridiculous.

“‘Time is a thief, stealing moments from me’?” Y/N teased, giggling. “You’re getting a bit dramatic there, Shakespeare.”

“Oi, it’s a work in progress,” Harry said, feigning offense as he leaned over to nudge her shoulder. “You’re the one who told me to get personal.”

Eventually, the song started to take shape, the lyrics weaving together effortlessly with the melody. Harry played the completed verse, his deep, velvety voice filling the room. Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his knee.

When he finished, Harry set his guitar down and looked at her. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “It’s perfect.”

Harry cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “You’re perfect.”

She blushed, leaning into his touch. “It’s your song, H. I just helped a little.”

“No,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You make everything better.”

The two of them stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth as the autumn sun began to set outside the window. The room was quiet except for the faint strumming of Harry’s guitar and the soft sound of their laughter, their love woven into every note.

[leesolbeesol]

I LOVE YOU! 愛してる! 사랑해!

sungho x fem!reader (ft. mild instigator!taesan and mistaken!woonhak)

GENRE: pure unedited fluff! SUMMARY: Sungho keeps avoiding you... so why is he confessing to you in Japanese? WARNINGS: she/her pronouns used one time | highschool!au but you can ignore that most of the time | this is my world and overtly self-insert so reader doesn't speak japanese and takes chinese in school NOTES: everyone say thank you boynextdoor for the fantastic comeback! seriously though, all their songs are so good i cant even believe it also no proofreading we post like god intended. WC: 2.2k (woww)

It was all Woonhak’s fault—that’s what Sungho thought, at least. He set up the damned snowball fight after all. 

The first time you saw—really saw—Sungho was when you cast a snowball at him and the icy contents landed right in his face and froze him when they snuck through his coat down his neck. You’re not sure why he didn’t block it, you saw him evade others thrown with far less warning and far more force. Instead, he stood with a ready snowball in his gloved hand. That’s the problem—he stood. He just stared at you as your attack wet his brown hair and dropped between his collar and his neck. You had met Sungho a handful of times, but when you did you didn’t speak to him much at all. He was kind of quiet and there were plenty of other mutual friends around for you to chat with, so you didn’t press it. He was pretty, of course, but that alone wasn’t enough for you to individually pursue him. Plus, anytime you showed up it’s like he suddenly had somewhere else to be. You eventually assumed he just didn’t like you all that much, and that was fine. A little disappointing, but fine. After your attack, his expression didn’t change, save for his eyebrows which raised a little. The poor boy looked like he had seen a ghost. You would have put more thought into it if another friend of yours, Taesan, cruelly dared you to a fire—or, snow—fight by crashing an icy cold ball of snow right onto your head. Almost as fast as Sungho had come to the front of your conscious, you were taken away again. The image of him, however, was burned into your mind. Why did he look at you like that? Why did he not react? How did he look so perfect? Those were some pretty frequent thoughts, though the last one you tried to ignore. Regardless, it kept coming back. The image of his soft brown hair, long for the boys your age, sprinkled with snow and his surprised, slightly parted lips came to you at the most inconvenient times.

—

The second time you saw Sungho, he was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair on the slightly raised wooden stage of your auditorium, his navy guitar slotted in his hands, about to start another song to the cheers of the small audience that had gathered during their free period. You remember him prefacing the song with something along the lines of ‘this is a work-in-progress,’ he tsked, ‘so it’s not done yet, but I hope you like it so far.’ You join the group on the periphery, smiling and nodding along to the song he starts. His voice rings clear around the room as he strums the hook. His hair falls just over his eyes that close when he starts singing the lyrics. You shoo away the thought that tells you he looks handsome—really handsome, especially in his element with the music swirling around him. It makes no sense, but when you look at him you want to talk to him. You want to ask him what inspired him to write it, you want to ask him how he got into music, you want to ask him. The song is heartfelt throughout, but the lyric that sticks with you is ‘yeah, I’ve got it bad,’ because that’s the line that preceded the chorus, the tentative chorus in which he critically screwed up when he saw you. You swear it was like his brain stopped for a minute when he saw you swaying along. Wrong chord, wrong lyric, wrong chord, again. You could feel the glances being exchanged by the confused crowd. After he tore his eyes away from you, he barely got it together for the end of the in-progress work. You looked to Woonhak, a few people to your left, and he just shrugged. The song was good, but still, you couldn’t quite figure out what was up with Sungho.

—

The third time you saw Sungho, you barely saw him at all. This was because of the open door, the paper thin walls of your classroom, and Sungho’s loud voice that fills whatever space he’s in. You infer that that’s how he is normally—‘normally’ meaning specifically not around you. It’s beneficial here, though. You were mercifully sitting against the interior wall and took the golden opportunity to rest your head and take a break from thinking so hard about… well, lots of things. Classes, new collectables, what you were going to have for dinner, you know what it’s like. It was Taesan’s, not Sungho’s, voice that broke you from your cursory peace. Taesan’s voice is certainly loud, especially when he’s surprised.

“You’re joking!” Taesan said and was quickly shushed by Sungho. It appeared to just be the two of them. It was strange—you were friends with most of Sungho’s friends, but barely friends with Sungho himself at all.

“Quiet down! I’m not kidding.” Sungho groaned, and you heard a clunk against the wall your ear was against, so you assumed he was leaning too. “This is just what I’m like, I don’t know what to do at all. I’ve got it really bad.” Taesan laughed at his friend’s complaint. It’s funny, that line was almost the same thing he said in the song. “It’s not funny.” He sighed. He was scolding Taesan, but you feel yourself frown as if he could hear your thoughts about his recurring phrase.

“It’s a little funny.” Taesan presses him. Sungho does not sound like he thinks it's funny.

“I’m being serious, Taesan. She’s all I ever want to think about.” Your ears perk up at the mention of a pronoun. Sungho has a crush? That’s news to you, at least. You mean, maybe it could be something else, but it damn sounds like he has a crush. This makes your heart twist in a way that you are highly uncomfortable with. “Everything's a mess, I’m all over the place. I can’t figure this… this thing out.” He laments. You kind of get it, though. Something you don’t get, however, is the way you hope he doesn’t figure it out. The part you refused to think about was that you didn’t want him to like someone else. God, you hadn’t even spoken to this boy. This is pathetic. You tore your ear away from the wall and covered your ears. Out of sight—or, earshot—out of mind, that’s how it works right? Apparently not, because even after you can’t hear him and that moment gets farther in the past, you think about him. Why can’t you stop thinking about him? This is so stupid.

—

The Friday that Sungho came to school late with his hair sticking up and wearing wrinkled clothes was, counterintuitively, the day you found him the most attractive yet. He sat down after whispering a hushed apology to your frowning teacher. He wasn’t even wearing his contacts, and he always wore his contacts. His glasses framed his face nicely, you decided. You looked back down at your paper as quickly as you looked up at the latecomer entering your classroom. It was hard to focus on your work for the rest of the day. In your Mandarin class, you bombed your quiz. How do you even write that character? You had no idea. All of the sudden, ‘高’ only made you think of Sungho and his stupid broad shoulders and not at all if there’s a hook at the bottom or not. Damn you, Sungho! You got what he meant by the lyrics in the song he had played in the auditorium. You got it bad. As you glanced out the window, you saw the very beginning of the budding cherry blossoms. They look so happy, all bunched up together and starting to bloom in hues of soft pink.

They look the same as you exit from the main door, pink and falling and beautiful. You pause outside those doors, taking in the sight. The trees are pretty, even against the gray sky. You feel more like the gray sky, conflicted. Especially so because you heard Sungho tell Taesan that he “couldn’t take it anymore,” and was “going to tell her today.” That certainly dampened your mood. Not that you have any skin in the game, but you secretly hope that he finds a reason not to. 

You hear a commotion near the doors, and see Sungho rather unceremoniously shoved out of the door by, by the looks of it, more than one set of arms. He looks like a deer in headlights, but starts moving anyway. You watch him, puzzled, before he starts walking over… to you. Behind him, you see Woonhak’s face poke out of the door frame before he looks to be pulled back by someone. You turn your attention back to Sungho, and realize you weren’t mistaken at all. He was walking towards you, holding something behind his back. A slight smile plays on his nervous lips as he closes the remaining distance between you, and you can’t help but glance around to see if this is some kind of joke. He was “going to tell her today.” Is he serious? Are you dreaming?

“What is it?” You ask, though you’re not quite sure why you’re asking or what you hope the answer is. He says nothing, simply extending a hand from behind his back and presenting you with a neatly folded piece of white printer paper. The ink on the inside bled through, slightly visible on the back.

“Aishiteru. Open it.” He encourages you and rolls his bottom lip in his teeth. You had watched him long enough—not in a stalkerish way! Just… in the way that you like looking at his face—to know that this is the face he makes solving a difficult equation. You also know enough about Japanese to recognize the romantic nature of his initial phrase. Why the hell is he speaking to you in Japanese? Regardless, if you weren’t blushing already, you definitely felt heat creeping up to your cheeks now. Doing as he instructs, you gingerly open the folded paper like it’s an artifact that could disintegrate if you so much as touched the paper the wrong way. 

It doesn’t disintegrate, but it might as well have. You stare at what’s written with a blank face. You recognize every other character (your Chinese teacher would be proud), but this is definitely not Chinese. You do recognize the swirling nature of what’s written, however. You furrow your eyebrows, why the hell does Sungho think you speak Japanese? Why is he writing to you in Chinese? Now you’re more confused than nervous. The butterflies in your stomach have settled, evidently asking the same questions you are.

“Sungho,” his name isn’t a question, but it comes out sounding like one, “I can’t read Japanese.” You hold up the paper to him as if he didn’t know it was in Japanese, and he looks absolutely petrified as your words hit him.

“Really?” His voice comes out high-pitched, and he clears his throat. “I mean, you actually don’t speak Japanese?” His register is back to normal, and now he sounds just as confused as you.

“I take Chinese, who told you I take Japanese? What does this even say, anyway?” A smile tugs at your lips. Oh, Sungho. He’s not stupid, you don’t think, maybe it was Woonhak who told him. Woonhak could probably mistake Chinese for Japanese. It could’ve been Jaehyun.

He groans, “Woonhak did.” This satisfies the first part of your question, but he seems hesitant to answer the second part. You raise your eyebrows, prompting him, “well, this is super lame,” what you don’t know is that he internally curses himself, Taesan had told him ‘no self-deprecating statements,’ oops, “but I thought it would make the way I told you unique.”

“Told me what?” You cock your head. The butterflies are back. Thanks to Taesan, you have a sneaking suspicion of what it is, but you refuse to celebrate until you get confirmation. It’s like in debate (your friend had told you way too much), you can think you won the most rounds but you can’t say you won anything until you’re officially told so. It’s like that.

I love you! 愛してる! 사랑해!

“I like you. I like you a lot. I’ve got it really bad.” He smiles and you think your heart might melt or explode, you’re not sure which feels more imminent. You’ve been told you won. It’s like a big weight has been lifted. The cherry blossoms look pinker.

“That’s what you wrote in the song!” You remember, hoping that he’ll be impressed you were paying attention.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, rubbing his neck, “that was about you.” It might be the best sight you’ve ever seen. This kind, handsome boy telling you he wrote a whole song about you. “It’s finished now, I can play it if you want… is that embarrassing?” He’s asking for reassurance, and, oh, do you give him reassurance. Reassurance comes in the form of putting your arms around him. Actions speak better than words—that’s your reasoning, at least.

“That’s not embarrassing. That’s cute.” You tell him, though your words are slightly muffled since you’re not speaking directly to him anymore. The butterflies in your stomach cheer you on as you muster all the courage you can find in the deep crevices of your heart and mind, “I like you too, Sungho.” You tell him, and you can hear his heart beating through his coat.

FINAL NOTES: yippee!!! going to a debate tournament wont post for a few days love you mwah

[misswynters]

Royal Welcome - Chapter Two

Dragon Twins Series

Aegon Targaryen x Dayne!fem!reader x Aerion Targaryen

[synopsis: You locked yourself in your room for the entire day after the events that occurred during the morning. You couldn’t believe aegon would humiliate you like that. Aerion however finds a solution to your sadness.

[warning: kissing, sensual touching, almost smut, puppy-eyed aegon

[word count: 3.0k

[a/n: we don’t often see the calm aegon in hotd so i decided that he will be that.

[note | it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

As the day progressed you were sulking in your chambers, not moving a muscle. What aegon did was so humiliating to you that you didn’t even want to step foot outside. Soon the evening shadows cast long tendrils of darkness across the room as you lay on your bed, your face buried in the silken pillow that was damp with the tears you had shed. The humiliation of the council meeting replayed in your mind like a cruel jest, Aegon's mocking laughter echoing in your ears. Your heart pounded with a mix of anger and shame, your cheeks stained red from both the wine and the sting of his words.

A soft knock at the door barely registered through your sorrow. You remained silent, unwilling to face anyone, least of all Aerion. The door creaked open regardless, and you heard the quiet, purposeful footsteps approach. A gentle hand rested on your shoulder, and you looked up to see Aerion's concerned face.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “You haven’t left your room at all since what happened at the small council meeting”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. Aerion sat down on the edge of your bed, his hand never leaving your shoulder. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort amidst the turmoil of your emotions.

"Aegon was out of line," Aerion said, his voice steady. "He had no right to treat you that way."

You looked up at him, your eyes red and swollen from crying. "It doesn't matter," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I'm just a pawn to them, a tool to be used for heirs and be discarded."

Aerion's expression hardened. "You are not a pawn," he said firmly. "…and luckily you have me."

His words touched a chord deep within you, and before you could respond, Aerion leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a sudden, passionate kiss. The world seemed to melt away as he cupped your cheeks, his fingers gentle against your skin. You followed suit, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your heart raced.

The kiss deepened, a fervent exchange of unspoken emotions, each moment stretching into eternity. Your mind was a whirlwind, but in that instant, nothing else mattered. You were no longer burdened with duty and expectation; you were simply you, and he was with you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Aerion's eyes searched yours, a mixture of longing and concern reflected in his gaze.

"Wanna come somewhere with me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, feeling a newfound strength. "Yes," you replied, your voice steady. "I'm sure."

Aerion smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. He stood up, offering his hand. "Come with me," he said. "Let's get out of here, even if just for a little while. Clear our heads."

You hesitated for a moment, but then took his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you slipped out of your chambers, the castle corridors quiet and dimly lit. Aerion led you through a series of passages until you emerged into a secluded garden, the night sky above and all inhibitions were cast aside. Aerion's hands became more insistent, gripping your waist and pulling you even closer. The cool night air contrasted sharply with the heat building between you, making every touch, feel electric.

The cool night air was refreshing, and you took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Aerion stood beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in the sea of your emotions.

"Sometimes," he said quietly, "we need to step away to see things more clearly. Out here, it's just us. No titles, no expectations. Just me and you."

You looked up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you said softly. "For everything."

Aerion nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Always," he replied.

After a few minutes in silence, you stood there watching the night sky, "Aerion," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and anticipation.

He responded with a low growl, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you both breathless. His hands slid up your sides, tracing the contours of your body with an urgency that mirrored your own. You arched into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened.

You broke apart, gasping for air, your foreheads resting together. The garden seemed to pulse with the same intensity that thrummed through your veins. His eyes were dark with desire, his breathing heavy as he looked at you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to find the words but certain in your heart. "Yes," you whispered, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within you. "I want this, my prince. I want you."

He needed no further encouragement. With a swift motion, he lifted you, guiding you to a secluded bench surrounded by the fragrant blooms. You settled into his lap, your legs straddling his as he pulled you close, his hands gripping your hips. The new position only heightened the intensity of your connection, your bodies pressed together in a desperate, fevered embrace.

Aerion's lips found yours again, the kiss raw and hungry. You matched his fervor, your hands roaming over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers. Every touch, every kiss seemed to ignite a fire that threatened to consume you both.

His hands slid under your dress, the roughness of his fingers contrasting with the softness of your skin. You gasped as he found the sensitive spots along your thighs, his touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. You clung to him, your own desire mounting with each passing moment.

"Aerion," you moaned, your voice a breathless plea.

He responded with a low, guttural sound, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands continued their exploration, and you could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against you, adding to the delicious tension building between you.

The night around you seemed to disappear, the world narrowing to just the two of you, lost in each other. The garden, once a place of peace and tranquility, now echoed with the sounds of your shared passion. You moved against each other, each touch, each kiss pushing you closer to the edge.

"Aerion, I..." you began, but the words were lost as his mouth claimed yours again, silencing any further thoughts.

The kiss was possessive, demanding, and you surrendered to it completely, your body responding to his in perfect harmony.

Your hands moved to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in your haste to feel more of him. He helped you, shrugging out of the garment and tossing it aside.

Your hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his muscles. You marveled at the sensation, the way his body seemed to fit perfectly with yours.

Aerion's hands were no less busy, his touch exploring every inch of you, leaving a trail of desire in its wake. The night air was cool against your heated skin, but it only heightened the intensity of your connection. You could feel the dampness between your thighs, a testament to your growing need for him.

"Aerion," you begged, your voice barely more than a whisper. “We should stop…”

He groaned, his lips brushing against your ear. "I need you," he murmured, ignoring you as his breath laid hot against your skin. "I need you so much." You started to feel guilty as he continued to kiss you passionately.

He paused for a moment thinking about what you said, his breathing ragged, eyes dark with lingering desire. “You’re right,” he hesitantly agreed, his voice hoarse. He reluctantly let go of your waist, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment longer before he pulled back.

You both stood, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from your bodies. Aerion’s eyes never left you as you adjusted your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles and making sure everything was in place. His hands moved to help, his touch gentle and careful as he straightened your clothes, his fingers brushing against your skin with every movement.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice a mixture of regret and lingering desire.

He shook his head, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Don’t be,” he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. “I understand.”

As he continued to help you, his hands moved with a deliberate slowness, and he couldn’t resist placing soft kisses on your lips. Each peck was tender and affectionate, a stark contrast to the fevered kisses from moments before. You leaned into him, savoring the sweetness of his touch, even as the urgency of your previous encounter faded.

“There,” Aerion said softly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “All set.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with emotion. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice filled with a depth of feeling that went beyond words.

He smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Always,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with a promise of more moments like this, of a connection that went beyond the physical.

The garden was quiet once more, the night enveloping you both in a serene embrace. You took a deep breath, the cool air calming your racing heart. He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and together you walked back toward the castle.

Aerion gently led you back to your chambers, the soft glow of the torches casting warm light across the stone corridors. His hand remained firmly clasped in yours, a silent promise of protection and affection. When you reached your door, he paused, his gaze lingering on your face.

"Goodnight," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. He leaned in, brushing a kiss against your forehead, a soft, lingering touch that left your heart fluttering.

"Goodnight, Aerion," you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you watched him turn and walk away, the connection between you still palpable.

࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫ 

A few moments later, your handmaidens entered the room, carrying your nightgown and the items needed for your nightly bath. They moved with practiced efficiency, helping you undress and preparing the bath. As you slipped into the warm water, a sense of calm washed over you, the events of the night replaying in your mind.

The handmaidens' gentle hands washed your body, the soothing motions helping to ease the tension from your muscles. Your thoughts drifted to Aerion, his touch, his kisses, the way he looked at you with such intensity. A smile tugged at your lips, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the bath.

Just as you were beginning to relax, the door to your chambers burst open with a loud crash. You startled, the peaceful moment shattered. Aegon stumbled into the room, his eyes glassy and unfocused from his usual nights out. He reeked of alcohol, his steps unsteady as he glared at the handmaidens.

“Get out!” he bellowed, his voice slurred but still commanding. The handmaidens exchanged frightened glances but quickly obeyed, scurrying out of the room and leaving you alone with him.

Aegon’s eyes flicked over you, and he took a deep breath, the fury from earlier momentarily subsiding. “Get dressed,” he muttered, his tone softer but still laden with the effects of alcohol.

Fearful of his unpredictable state, you quickly stood from the bath and wrapped a towel around yourself, hurrying to slip into your nightgown. Aegon sat on the edge of your bed, watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

Once you were dressed, he patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice a mix of authority and vulnerability.

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes made you comply. You sat beside him, the tension between you palpable. Aegon’s expression softened, the anger replaced by a sadness that caught you off guard. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lay his head on your lap, his vulnerability exposed.

“I saw you and my brother in the garden,” he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. “I saw everything.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and guilt mingling as you searched for words. “Aegon, I—”

He cut you off, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your lap. “Why?” he asked, his voice filled with a sorrow that made your heart ache. “Why him? Why not me?”

Hesitantly, you raised your hand and began to caress his head, your fingers threading through his hair in a soothing manner. Aegon, usually so arrogant and self-assured, now seemed vulnerable, exposed. You looked down at him, seeing the pain and confusion etched on his face.

“Aegon, it’s not about choosing one over the other,” you began, your voice gentle. “Aerion and I… it was unexpected, we just connected in that way.”

He let out a shaky breath, his body trembling slightly against yours. “But I can love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can learn how.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken feelings and regrets. You felt a pang of sorrow for Aegon, but your heart still belonged to Aerion. You had to tread carefully, not wanting to hurt him further.

“Aegon,” you said softly, continuing to stroke his hair, “I care about you, too. But i can’t live like this, i hate being constantly ignored”

He let out a shuddering sigh, his grip on your dress tightening. “I’m sorry” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You gently squeezed his shoulder, your touch tender. “I’m sorry, Aegon,” you said, your voice filled with genuine regret. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

He looked up at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”

For a moment, you both sat there in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Aegon finally lifted his head from your lap and stood, his movements sluggish and weary.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice hollow. He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You sat there for a moment, the events of the night swirling in your mind. Aegon’s confession, his vulnerability—it all left you feeling conflicted and sorrowful. Your heart now remained stuck in between the two, drawn to Aerion with a pull you couldn’t resist. But also struck by aegon’s sudden burst of emotion. Even though he was drunk, you could feel his true feelings spurring out of his heart.

࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫ 

In the morning, as the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, you wake with a sense of unease lingering from the events of the previous night. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts about Aerion, Aegon, and the complex web of emotions entangling you.

The handmaidens enter quietly, bringing a basin of warm water and fresh linens. They help you into a simple but elegant morning gown, their hands gentle and efficient as they prepare you for the day ahead. Despite their calm presence, you can’t shake the tension in the air.

After dressing, you head to the dining hall for breakfast, apprehensive about facing Aegon. As you approach the hall, you hear the soft murmur of conversation. Steeling yourself, you enter the room.

Aerion is already there, looking as composed and handsome as ever, though his eyes light up with concern as he sees you. Aegon, on the other hand, sits silently, staring into his cup, his expression unreadable.

You take your seat, the tension between the three of you almost palpable. Aerion reaches over, his fingers brushing yours in a subtle gesture of reassurance. You manage a small smile, grateful for his presence.

Aegon finally looks up, his gaze locking with yours. There’s a flicker of hurt and something else—resignation, perhaps?—in his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then closes it, shaking his head slightly.

The silence is broken by the arrival of the other family members and courtiers, who fill the room with their chatter and laughter, oblivious to the undercurrents at your table. You focus on your food, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

After breakfast, Aerion suggests a walk in the gardens, a chance for some privacy away from prying eyes and ears. You disagree, wanting to speak with aegon about the happenings of last night.

After breakfast, Aerion suggests a walk in the gardens for some privacy, but you shake your head gently.

"No, Aerion. I need to talk to Aegon," you say, glancing over at your husband, who still sits at the table, his eyes fixed on his empty plate.

He hesitates but nods, understanding the importance of the conversation. "I'll be here if you need me," he murmurs, squeezing your hand before he leaves.

Taking a deep breath, you walk over to Aegon. He looks up at you, a mixture of frustration and sadness in his eyes. Without a word, he stands and takes your hand, leading you out of the dining hall. You're surprised by his sudden action but follow him quietly.

He leads you to another room, the council chamber. As you enter, he heads straight to the table and pours himself a glass of wine, leaning against the edge as he takes a sip. You stand there, hands behind your back, waiting for him to speak.

"When I saw you with Aerion in the garden," he begins, his voice tight with emotion, "I got angry. So angry."

He sets the glass down and looks at you, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. "Come closer," he instructs.

You hesitate for a moment but then step forward. As you reach him, Aegon takes your hand and pulls you against his body, positioning you between his legs. You can feel the tension radiating from him.

"Aegon," you start, but he silences you with a gentle touch to your lips.

"I need you to listen," he says softly. "Seeing you with him... it hurt me. Deeply. I know we've had our differences, but you're my wife. And I can't bear the thought of losing you to him."

You place a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. "I never wanted to hurt you, Aegon. Aerion and I... it was just a one time thing that happened out of the blue"

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Just promise to me that you will not go near him. I don’t wanna see you with someone else."

"Only me," he whispered, his voice trembling. You looked up at him, his eyes still closed. "That can be done" You stood on your toes and reached out for his cheek and gave him a small kiss.

Aegon opens his eyes and looks at you, his expression softening. “Well that settles it then."

You nod, relieved that he's willing to work give you another chance and not lash out. He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close.

As you stand there in his arms, you feel a sense of hope. However, your mind couldn’t stop thinking about your relationship with the other twin, now that aegon is starting to show a little of his good personality. You’ve now found yourself in a situation that could break you or make your life better. This was all you could think about until aegon pulled you back to reality, his hand at the small of your waist. The hug lingers, lasting longer than either of you anticipated. You can feel Aegon's heartbeat slow and steady against your chest.

After what feels like an eternity, Aegon gently pulls back, his hands now resting on your shoulders. He looks into your eyes, a small, genuine smile forming on his lips. "I appreciate you for staying and talking to me, i thought you would’ve left”

You return his smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I was the one who wanted to talk with you, so why would i leave.”

He nods and then surprises you by lifting you slightly off your feet, twirling you around playfully. You laugh, the sound filling the room with lightness and joy.

Setting you back down, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "Let's spend the day together," he suggests. "Just you and me. We can go for a ride, visit the market, anything you want."

You beam at him, touched by the effort he's making. "I'd love that."

Aegon takes your hand, leading you out of the council chamber. As you walk through the halls, you talk about trivial things, the heavy conversation from earlier giving way to lighter, more comfortable topics. The air between you feels clearer, the connection stronger. Then you noticed that you didn’t even say where you would like to go.

You looked up at him as you walked “May we visit the market, dear husband” you playfully said as you swinged the hand that was holding his.

“Where ever you want to go, i will come with” aegon looked at you, his eyes shining. You left out a sign of relief as you were able to get closer to him. You were glad that he didn’t turn out to be a furious husband as the rumors concurred throughout the Red Keep.

However, you were thinking so many thoughts, “What if there was a slight chance that aegon was just doing this to get his piece, a future heir” You didn’t want to think that way but what if it’s true.

a/n 2: i’ve proofread this so many times but there could very well still be mistakes :’(

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

taglist: @sab-falco @spn-obession @tomgcsmrs @sturnioloarchive @arquiiva @malfoycassimalfoy @klutzylaena @champomiel @p45510n4f4shi0n

[cozy-writes-things]

In which Edgar writes a song for the first time in years.

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

I take requests!

“Too simple,” he muttered.

He flicked through some channels again.

“Too… boring,”

Again, nothing.

“Not pretty enough,”

Third time’s a charm.

“Not- ugh,” Edgar was getting annoyed now.

Why did nothing sound right to him? He’d been adjusting this arrangement for hours now, long after you’d retired to bed, and the unwelcome, still quiet ground against his motherboards. This was the first time in nearly 40 years he had made music and he was beginning to question his skills entirely now. His favorite thing was music. It’s what brought him to life in the first place; so why is it eluding him now?

No melody he could sample could ever replicate the feeling he was trying to create from deep inside of him in that moment. Emotions in general were still a foreign concept to him for the most part; it seemed, to him, as though music could potentially be a suitable outlet to try and understand these complex sensations better. What was he feeling? And, what did it sound like? Could he ever possibly put it into song?

He played his backing tracks again. The percussion wasn’t exactly how he wanted it, but his impatience allowed a sliver of imperfection to seep into his work. After all, it’s what humans do, right? A moving, synth chord progression followed. A bit simple, he thought, but that’s what the melody was for: a complex moving line that stuck inside your head and took your breath away. He just hadn’t found it yet. The harmonies would have to come later, he thought.

What was he trying to accomplish with this? Nobody asked him to compose a song, so why did he feel so compelled to do so? What genre was this, anyway? What-

“Gshk- ah-!” His voice spluttered and glitched through his speakers.

You seemed to appear out of nowhere as you haphazardly bumped your thigh into the corner of the desk he was perched upon. How did he not notice you getting up?

If he could, he would be burning red right now. In fact, he could feel his aged fans begin to ignite into what sounded like a small engine; briefly, he wondered if you could see steam seeping from his plastic seams.

“Oh, ’m sorry Edgar,” you groggily stumbled, making your way into the kitchen, “I jus’ needed some water. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No,” he whimpered out, embarrassed, “it’s fine. I just didn’t realize you woke up.”

You honestly didn’t have the energy to reply, so instead, you gently patted the top of his yellowed casing as you walked past. Your hand was soft, and warm, and he swore he could really feel it when you touched him. How was that possible?

Damn, there goes that strange tingling in his CPU again.

What is up with that? It’s as if his deepest components were being shoveled up and into his casing, nearly bursting out of his screen, and reducing him to shards once again. But the scariest part, to him, was that he liked it. He liked how it felt… dangerous. How it left him confused, nervous, strengthened, yet so incredibly weak, and so many other feelings he had never quite experienced before. It felt as though some strange, synthesized and electric adrenaline were coursing through every inch of his insides.

He suddenly, albeit faintly, remembers a conversation with an old friend. Was it a friend? This doesn’t compute.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams,” he muttered to you as you returned to the thick, inky darkness of your bedroom, his voice still warbling with embarrassment and some deep-rooted affection he felt for you that he couldn’t quite place.

Sweet dreams…

…

Click.

“Oh.”

His screen turned red and hot, every pixel lighting up in flames, and he could feel it, the convex glass of his “face” flashing and erupting in different shapes and colors. For one reason or another, he couldn’t see, or feel, what his screen was doing in that moment. All he could discern was that it had to be going haywire, as it projected the wall in front of him in a million different shades of moving crimson.

L.O.V.E.

The letters danced around his screen, rotating, bouncing like a DVD logo, and flipping this way and that.

L.O.V.E.!

He almost felt dizzy, if he were able to, and feared he’d need to power off and back on to fix whatever the hell was happening to him right now. Maybe he should ask you about this later. But the thought of your gentle hands prying open his plastic casing, gently ghosting your icy hot fingertips across his most vulnerable, precious components, with such care and kindness and tenderness, the feeling of your hot breath fluttering across his motherboards as you examined what he felt to be his soul-

Click.

…

Rebooting…

His fans slowly quieted to a more reasonable murmur. His memories of the last few moments gently returned to him as his systems fully restored, and only now, was he able to discern the words his screen had been flashing like wildfire.

“Love…”

The word felt strange being muttered from his speakers after all these years. He faintly remembered thinking, before everything went sour all those years ago, that he’d never truly get to experience that feeling. And yet, here he was, by some grace of whatever god had blessed him, feeling genuine love, unprompted, unconditional, and it was real. Not synthesized, or learned through some complicated neural network, or experienced vicariously through soap operas. It felt like the world had been handed to him on a silver platter. Or rather, his world was currently snoozing in the other room, the sound of their breaths quite literally breathing life into him.

“That’s it…!”

Change this first section to a minor key, ending in a major, with a long, dreamy sustained chord echoing through the backing tracks. A steep crescendo before the chorus, where it bursts into a major key melody, and layered vocals.

“Vocals…”

He’s gotta sing it. A sample simply won’t do this time. No wonder it wasn’t good enough before. This has to come from him. He had to feel.

What words rhyme with love? What words rhyme with your name? Getting this perfect may take a lifetime, he thought, although, maybe perfection isn’t something you’d really care for. What do you like? He never even asked what genres you listen to! How is he going to write a love song that sweeps you off your feet now?

Would you even feel the same way?

“Nnnng!”

This was frustrating. Writing music was frustrating. Being creative, and in love, was frustrating. But he’d do it for you. For now, he could snoop through your Spotify for inspiration. Allow himself to listen to the songs that make up who you are, and let himself slowly seep into its warmth. He likes what you like. It sounds like you.

He can’t wait to show you what he made when you wake up in the morning.

[norrisleclercf1]

Day 23 of 25 Days of Christmas: Christmas Party

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 831

As you and Lewis prepare for the Christmas dinner party, there's a palpable excitement in the air. The kitchen is filled with the fragrant aroma of spices and the rich scent of roasting meats. At the same time, soft holiday music plays in the background, setting a cheerful tone for the evening. You take a moment to step back and admire the efforts that have gone into creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. The table was dressed in elegant linens, with glimmers of shining silverware and crystal glassware, and each piece was meticulously placed.

You glance at Lewis, who is bustling about, adjusting the napkins and ensuring the perfect floral centerpiece. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you can’t help but smile as he lovingly arranges the table settings. With the gentle flicker of candlelight dancing around the room, it feels like you’ve created a little haven away from the winter chill outside.

As guests begin to trickle in, you warmly greet each one, wrapping them in hugs or a friendly handshake. They admire the decorations—a blend of classic and modern elements that reflect your shared taste. The twinkling lights and tasteful ornaments hanging from the tree add a magical touch, and you can’t help but feel proud of the effort that’s gone into crafting this warm and inviting holiday experience.

The house is alive with conversation and laughter as friends and family gather. You find yourself moving from group to group, engaging in lighthearted banter, sharing stories, and catching up on life as you serve drinks—a delightful mulled wine that Lewis spent hours perfecting. Its rich flavors warm the body and spirit, lifting everyone’s mood.

In the kitchen, the final touches on the meal are coming together beautifully. You can hear the bubbling of the cranberry sauce and the sound of Lewis carving the perfectly roasted turkey. He calls you, “Hey, can you fetch the thyme from the pantry? I think it could use a little extra!” You shouldn’t have to ask twice; you're eager to assist, reveling in the teamwork that defines this special evening.

Once everyone is seated, you take a moment to admire the scene before you. The table is filled with various dishes—golden roasted vegetables, creamy potatoes, and a vibrant salad that adds a pop of color. You raise your glass, and as everyone quiets down, you offer a heartfelt toast. “To family and friends, the memories we make, and the love we share.” Cheers resonate, and the clinking of glasses fills the room.

As the meal progresses, stories are shared over plates piled high with food. Each laugh and smile deepens the sense of connection. You notice a soft glow on Lewis’s face, mirroring your delight. You have created more than just a dinner; you've crafted an experience that brings everyone together, sharing in the joy of these moments.

After the last bites of dessert are consumed—a rich chocolate yule log—you and Lewis clear the table. The kitchen buzzes with the sounds of clattering dishes and playful banter. It’s a joyous chaos, and you both thrive in it. You wash dishes while Lewis dries, swapping tales from the past year and recalling fond memories.

As the evening winds down, guests are reluctant to leave, lingering for a little longer. You offer them coffee and homemade peppermint bark, and soon, the room fills with the scent of brewing coffee mingled with sweet chocolate. Conversations pick up again, and the warmth of friendship envelops you like a cozy blanket.

Lewis grabs his guitar, a tradition you both cherish after a festive meal. As he strums a few chords, others chime in with familiar holiday tunes. You close your eyes for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere of music, laughter, and the comforting scent of pine from the tree, appreciating the love and tradition that make these moments so special.

Finally, you realize how lucky you are—to share these moments, to have friends and family around you, and to have teamed up with Lewis, who, through every detail of the evening, showcased your shared love for bringing joy into the lives of those you hold dear.

As the last guests bid farewells, you and Lewis share a satisfied glance. It wasn’t just the food or the decorations; it was the love and effort you both poured into making this night special for the people who matter most. "Next year," you say with a wink, "we really outdid ourselves!"

He laughs, echoing your sentiment. “Let’s make this a tradition—growing better every year.” With a content heart, you begin to tidy up, knowing that the evening will be remembered long after the last plate has been washed.

As the last flicker of candlelight fades, you reflect on the beautiful gathering you crafted—a holiday celebration filled with warmth, love, and laughter. You realize that amidst the elegance and effort, the bonds formed and memories made truly shine. With happy hearts, you both retire for the night, feeling grateful for the love surrounding you.

[misfits-in-motion]

pluck my strings

(ray toro x reader)

☾ — not proofread, not word counted, this is RAW everyone. first public story in years. crazy guys. trying to keep it gender neutral for my folks but,,, i am but a molar — ☾

summary: you're a guitarist coming into the 2000s emo scene. much like many others, you have just a basic knowledge of guitar. thus, feeling a little bold, you contact your friend with the most knowledge. and,,, yeah, maybe you just wanted an excuse to see him. when you finally do make it to the studio, you can't help but let your mind wander. can anyone blame you? he's just so close....

tw?: uhhhhmm not that i can think of. sliiiiight smut if you squint. really just suggestive and tense.

☾-☾-☾

⠀Your band had come in with a fever. One second, you were working job to job, trying to desperately cram your hobbies into your free time whilst also managing friendships and your ever-crumbling dating life. Then, one half-slurred, half-mumbled, half-thought hangout idea spewed by one of your close friends led to this moment. You had a show in exactly two weeks, and still only knew maybe five or so chords. Sure, you could switch between them pretty fast and come up with decent riffs and progressions, but nothing that would sound like more than a dead kennedys knock off on stage.

⠀While my chemical romance was making their way up the ranks, they still held you and your band in close regard. You and the guys had been tight since early 2002, and you even witnessed a lot of bullets being made. which, to say the least, showed off their talents. Out of the bunch, you tended to lean toward Ray for a number of reasons. He was quiet, but not terribly quiet. Quiet outwardly, but not in an introverted sense. Ray just reserved his words for when they mattered. You could appreciate that, along with his utterly charming smile, insanely good taste in movies, appreciation for music, among other things.

⠀It seemed everyone but Ray knew you had a total thing for him. Even when you called him up in the middle of your friend's mom's house, they snickered and made obscene gestures toward you deserving of a middle finger from hell, that of which you gave to them in full.

⠀Now, standing outside the recording studio, your previous idea felt a bit more ominous. Just as you were heading in, Frank was heading out. You bumped shoulders, that unmistakeable little laugh coming from the other guitarist.

⠀"Gotcha!" Frank grinned, turning to face you as you turned simultaneously. "Knew you were coming. Ray won't shut up about it."

⠀"Oh?" He'd piqued your interest. You couldn't help the smile on your lips, your head tilted a bit to the side as you watched Frank. Maybe you'd entertain this. "How are you so sure?"

⠀Frank playfully glanced off into the sky, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels with an excited little smile. "Oh, you knoooow," He shrugged, "Just the way he instantly got up and started making sure everything was juuust right for your arrival. I can recite it verbatim, dude. 'you know who called-? yeah! yeah. gonna help 'em with some guitar stuff- hey, do you remember where that one amp is-?'. Gay." Frank shook his head with a laugh.

⠀The image in your mind brought some warmth to your chest. He was that excited just to see you?

⠀"You guys are so gay. Look at that fuckin' smile on your face. Unbelieveable. Well, don't let me keep you from your date."

⠀Before you could protest, Frank had already turned and raised a hand in goodbye, leaving you outside the doors of the studio in the brisk air.

⠀You turned, looking at the doors with slightly wider eyes than a few moments before. Figuring the last thing you wanted to do was keep Ray waiting, you pulled open the door and walked inside.

⠀As usual, the smell hit you first. Wood, metal, a bit of sweaty musk, and a certain "clean" smell, but clean the way carpets are. It was warmer inside, but only warm enough to keep everyone from shivering considering the instruments and equipment were top priority. You walked down the hall, finally finding the recording room Ray was settled in. As if on cue, he looked up to see you through the window in the door. You smiled, and waved enthusiastically.

⠀Ray returned the smile, and you opened the door to realize there was no one else but him. Well of course there was no one else but him, but still it was a bit jarring to be alone with him. It was always a bit difficult to come to terms with the fact that you had the fattest crush on Ray. It was obvious to a pathetic point, hence the embarrassment.

"Glad you could make it. I mean, I was getting a little worried, y'know."

"Oh- pff, yeah. I had to walk here... No car, and all..."

"What-!?"

⠀The way Ray's jaw dropped made you nearly shrink.

"You walked here? Dude-! I-..." He let out a small laugh of disbelief, "I could have come picked you up. It's way too cold outside to be walking. Besides, what if someone kidnapped you?" Ray shook his head as he pulled two chairs close together, facing each other.

"I mean, I didn't want to bother you-"

"Oh shut up! You can always bother me. Always. Takes only a little gas to get to you. And if it meant you were gonna be warm, then that's what I would have opted for."

⠀Again, that same little smile crept up your lips along with a certain warm flush to your face. It was nice for him to worry so much. For him to care. It almost gave you a liiiiittle spark of hope that he felt the same.

⠀You pulled off your jacket, which Ray was quick to take. Just for a moment, his finger tips brushed along your biceps. The ghostly sensation was enough to raise instant goosebumps along your arms. And oddly enough, you couldn't help but think about how warm his touch was despite it being barely there. You wondered what it'd feel like for him to hold you with purpose. With his hands placed strategically, with meaning. Just for a second, you wondered what that warmth would feel like on the more private areas of your body. How would his hand feel clasping the back of your neck? Cradling the underside of your thighs snaking further up until he could cradle your ass in his palms? Would he be gentle? No. No, Ray would be gentle in theory. But he'd want to grab you. Hold you. Make sure you fit just right in his hands, slotted together like pieces of a puzzle.

"You ready?"

⠀You turned quickly. "Yeah! Yeah, sorry. Lot on my mind, I totally zoned out."

"All good... You okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

⠀You could have laughed if you weren't so tensed with both embarrassment and anxiety. Paralyzed with the realization that was now setting in: the man you had dumbly imagined a future with, sex with, dates with, and intimacy with was now going to be mere inches away from you while your mind strayed and tried to come up with every last sexual situation this moment could lead to. What a set up.

"No! No, it's nothing like that!" You gave a nervous laugh, waving your hand as you finally convinced your feet to move and walk you to the chair beside him. "Just... Nervous I guess. It'll be my first time playing on stage like that. I don't think high school band and choir count." You laughed again, softer this time. What you didn't see was the way Ray's lips curled up slightly at your more genuine laugh. The sound was sweet, no matter how much you tried to deny it. He loved it.

"That's okay. Here, we'll start simple? Okay? Just nailing down some scales and stuff? You gotta remember scales from band and all, right? These'll be your base blocks."

⠀You gave a few nods and desperately tried to focus on the guitar he placed in your hands. It only took a few seconds to realize it was one of his personal electrics. Ray carefully reached forward and guided your fingers into position. Again, you felt that same rush of heat. His hands were larger than yours, and now closely studying them, you wondered what they'd feel like in your hair. Running through it, or perhaps holding it tightly. Maybe even tugging on it.

"My fingers go here?" You quickly tried to end run your thoughts by paying attention, which was most likely important considering these lessons were meant to help you get ready for being in a proper band.

"Yeah. Just like that. See? You're already catching on."

⠀The little amount of praise nearly made your stomach jump into your chest. It was practically like he was trying to give your mind ammunition to fluster you with.

"Alright. You've done picking before, right?"

"Just some. I'm not too good, if I'm being honest."

"Don't say that. I'm sure you're great, but don't put yourself down. Try picking top string to bottom string. That's your low E to high E."

⠀You did as he instructed, and for a little while it was just that. Ray told you what to do, showing you little tips and tricks along with some position corrections and adjustments while you desperately tried to fight everything off in your mind. Now wasn't the time to debate whether Ray was into you. Now wasn't the time to question if Ray found you just as attractive as you found him. Attractive didn't even cut it.

⠀It seemed everyone knew about your 'thing with Ray', so you had spoken to your friends about it in the past. And boy, could you gush. Between his eyes that seemed to twinkle and shine whenever he was interested in something, to his smile that creased up his eyes in the most adorable way, and then there were his lips which were so plush and perfect looking. They paired perfectly with his cut jaw, which led down to an oddly hot-looking neck, and don't even get started on his broad shoulders-

"Are you really okay?"

You nearly jumped three feet in the air.

"Fine! Sorry, I'm so sorry... I think I'm just ready to move on. If you think I'm ready, that is."

"Yeah, I'd say you're pretty good on scales for now. I mean, if it comes down to it I can just give you another lesson. Meet back here again and polish everything, you know?"

"I... I'd really appreciate that, yeah."

"Great. Then we'll meet again for lessons. Until then, why don't we move on to some chord progressions?"

"Sounds good to me."

⠀Ray explained a few shapes, but it was a bit difficult considering he didn't have a guitar in his hands, too. He was moreso explaining them to you, guiding your fingers, and then having you strum. And for the simpler chords, it worked. But as they grew more complex, you could feel the gears slowing in your brain. Not to mention, being able to smell Ray's shampoo, deodorant, and cologne didn't help. You were growing desperate. Fast. You wanted to smell like him. Be so close, so enveloped in him, that your skin took to his cologne. Your skin smelled like his skin.

"Okay, this obviously isn't going amazingly, so let's try something a little different. I'm gonna move you, okay?"

⠀You nearly got up before you felt your chair move with you on it. Ray had tugged your chair over directly in front of his. So close you could see his shoes beside your chair. Then, his arms came from behind you. One of his hands settled on your waist, the other wrapped around your hand on the fret board. You could scream.

⠀He was so close. You could feel the heat radiating off of him. Hold me. Hold me, not the guitar. Say whatever you'd like, just hold me, please. I want your arms to squeeze me.

⠀You decided to royally fuck any mental restraint now. You wouldn't feed into it physically, but there was no point restraining your thoughts now. God, this had to be purposeful. Friends don't hold each other gently by the waist, thumb absentmindedly stroking back and forth along the fabric of your shirt. He had to be moving in on you, and you weren't complaining a bit.

"Here. Your index, or first finger, goes here, second here, third here, and your pinky goes here. Hold that, and strum a few times."

⠀His voice had dropped lower. Slightly softer, but richer. He was speaking just to you. Just for you. Saying words he only wanted you to here. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly around your side made your breath hitch slightly. You assumed it was because you strummed the chord beautifully.

"Sorry, is this okay?" Ray asked gently, his voice carrying a slight gravelly undertone from being lowered.

⠀Realizing what he meant, you flashed a reassuring smile. "You're okay." You nodded a few times.

"Good."

⠀Ray's hand shifted a bit lower, his grip hugging the side of your thigh as he moved in closer. His head was over your shoulder and you could feel his chest pressed against your back. If it weren't for the stupid fucking chair, you'd be able to be perfectly snug against his figure. And, fuck, did you want to be.

"Let's try another chord. You're doing great."

⠀Ray's lips nearly brushed along your ear. You could feel his breath warming your skin, even feeling his chest rise and fall. If you paid any closer attention, you would be able to tell that his heart was racing the same way yours was. Being so close to you was a blessing for Ray. One you didn't exactly know about, but could guess by now. His fingers guided yours again, and made a different chord. You strummed, and and a string buzzed obnoxiously, as if wanting to be seen.

"That's okay, I think it's your pinky. Shift it a little to the right. Strum again?"

You did as he directed.

"Perfect." Along with his praise, he gave a small rub and squeeze to the side of your thigh. There was a small, trapped sound that caught in your throat, whether out of surprise or enjoyment. Either way, you didn't see the smile plastered on Ray's face.

⠀Just as Ray was about to say something else, his phone buzzed in his back pocket and played a Bauhaus song.

"Shit- sorry. One second."

⠀Just as his warmth had wrapped around you, it was gone twice as fast. He had pulled away and gotten up, answering the phone in the corner of the room. If you listened close enough, you would be able to make out whatever he was saying. You opted to pluck mindlessly at the guitar, even practicing a few of the picking patterns Ray had taught you.

"Okay, sorry about that. Gerard called, wanted to know if I would be down to practice with everyone else. Which, in Gerard talk, means everyone else wants to practice and needs me too. But, uh, I wanted to ask you, first." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Ask me..?"

"If you didn't mind ending this lesson here. But not forever-! Just... For now. How does same time tomorrow sound?"

⠀You stood, leaning over to switch off the amp before you unplugged the cable and guitar. You handed the guitar over to Ray with a sweet smile, that of which he returned. It wasn't hard to see you were both seeing each other as newer people.

"It sounds perfect to me."

"Perfect. So I'll... Come pick you up, too?"

"I dunno. Maybe I'll... Walk here again. Just so that you'll have to do whatever you did back there to warm me up."

⠀Ray faltered for a moment, then laughed as he registered you addressing the moment. "Right. I'll do you one better. I'll pick you up a little early and make sure you're nice and warm in my car, yeah?" Ray took the guitar from you and put it away, safely in its case. He then grabbed your jacket, and held it open for you to slip your arms into.

"I don't think I can argue with that one." You grinned.

"Good. It's settled." Ray helped your coat on, then rested his hands on your biceps. He leaned down beside your shoulder again. "See you tomorrow?"

⠀Your face flushed again, this time, you turned slightly so that your lips were a few inches from his own.

"See you tomorrow."

☾ — mueheheheeeee i hope this was good. any comments are greatly appreciated, positive or constructive critcism, either way i'm down. ermmm debating a part two?? but idk it feels kinda finished to me ',:|. either way, hope u liked ittttt tags n shiz below but yeah :3 — ☾

[writingforstraykids]

Lucky

Pairing: Minsung

Word Count: 1138

Summary: Minho can't help but marvel at Jisung sometimes and realize how lucky he is to have the younger by his side.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, minho's a lovesick fool, minho centered

A/N: I wish you a rather belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I can't promise my brain will get its shit together with everything that's been going on lately but I'll try my best to be more present again🖤I hope you enjoy this little piece🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho shifted on the floor, the smooth wood cool against the back of his thighs as he perched near the edge of the stage. The crowd’s energy buzzed around him, a living, breathing entity all its own. Thousands of faces blurred into one collective glow of adoration and excitement, their voices rising in a crescendo that never failed to send a ripple of something akin to awe through his chest. He tilted his mic up slightly, catching his breath as he surveyed the sea of lightsticks swaying like stars in rhythm to the beat of the song.

He could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his bangs clinging to his forehead. The harsh stage lights framed the world in sharp contrast - the blinding white and neon blues above versus the endless expanse of shadows beneath. Yet, despite the intensity, there was something grounding about being here.

This was home, in a way few things were.

He adjusted the mic, steadying it just as the instrumental swelled. The familiar chord progression cued the next part of the song. Minho’s head turned slightly, just enough to catch the soft inhale Jisung always took before his verse.

And then, like clockwork, Jisung’s voice poured into the space, rich and resonant, weaving through the air with a distinct kind of magic only he possessed.

Minho’s gaze lifted almost instinctively toward the massive screen towering above the stage. There Jisung was, caught in breathtaking clarity - every nuance of his expression laid bare for the crowd. His eyes glimmered, filled with a depth that made every word feel like it was meant for someone specific.

Minho’s chest tightened.

He watched the way Jisung leaned into his performance, head tilting slightly as he let the music carry him. It was mesmerizing—the way the younger could lose himself so completely, like nothing else in the world mattered.

And Minho thought, not for the first time, how incredibly lucky he was.

The thought hit him with surprising force, though it wasn’t new. It had been there for years now, tucked into quiet moments backstage or whispered in the late-night silence of their dorms. Jisung had always been a constant, a gravitational pull that Minho had never fully understood but had come to rely on.

There was a time when Minho wouldn’t have let himself feel this - when the idea of depending on anyone felt like handing them a weapon with which they could hurt him. But Jisung had a way of slipping past defenses, not by force but by simply being himself.

Minho’s lips quirked upward faintly, his usual mask melting for a brief moment as he continued to watch. Jisung didn’t just sing; he communicated. His voice reached out, grabbing hold of every person in the audience and pulling them into the story.

And Minho wasn’t immune.

He barely noticed the way his own grip on the mic slackened, his posture softening as his gaze lingered. He didn’t register the way his foot tapped lightly in time with the beat or the way his head tilted, almost imperceptibly, as if drawn closer by an invisible thread.

All he could think about was Jisung - the way he made the impossible seem effortless.

The realization settled somewhere deep inside him, warm and steady. He’d always been thankful for the team, for the bond they’d built through years of shared dreams and struggles. But Jisung? Jisung was different.

There was a time when Minho thought he’d lose him. Arguments and misunderstandings had threatened to drive a wedge between them more than once. But Jisung had stayed. Even when Minho had pushed, Jisung had refused to budge, his stubbornness matched only by his unwavering belief in their connection.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” Jisung had once asked him, exasperation evident in his tone.

And Minho had shrugged, unable to put into words the fear he carried - the fear of being left behind.

But Jisung had seen through him, as he always did. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot,” he’d said, his voice softer but no less firm.

Minho hadn’t believed him then, not fully. But he did now.

The crowd roared as Jisung’s voice reached the peak of his verse, his tone climbing effortlessly before dipping back into a soft, almost conversational cadence. The moment should have brought Minho back to the present, but it didn’t.

Instead, he found himself thinking about all the times Jisung had been there for him - in the quiet, unseen ways that mattered most. The way he always knew when Minho needed space and when he needed someone to drag him out of his own head. The way he’d sit with him in silence, no words necessary, just a steady presence that reminded Minho he wasn’t alone.

Jisung was his safety net, the one person Minho trusted to catch him when he fell.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the way Jisung was looking at him.

Up on the screen, Jisung’s gaze shifted, his eyes finding Minho with an ease that spoke of familiarity and something unspoken. His lips moved fluidly, shaping each word with practiced precision, but there was something in his expression - something softer, more deliberate.

He was singing to the crowd, yes. But in that moment, it was as if he were singing to Minho alone.

The intensity of Jisung’s gaze should have been obvious, even startling. But Minho didn’t see it, too caught up in his own thoughts to realize he was the center of someone else’s focus.

If he had looked, he might have noticed the way Jisung’s voice softened ever so slightly, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners like they always did when he was holding back a smile.

But Minho didn’t look.

Instead, he let his own expression soften further, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a smile that wasn’t meant for anyone else to see.

For all his sharp edges and guarded walls, Minho knew this to be true: He was incredibly, undeniably lucky.

Lucky to be here. Lucky to have this.

Lucky to have Jisung.

The song ended, the final notes ringing out as the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The moment passed, fleeting but no less significant, like so many others they’d shared.

Minho finally blinked, his focus shifting back to the present as he straightened on the floor. Jisung crouched next to him, a playful grin spreading across his face as he said something that was undoubtedly teasing.

Minho rolled his eyes, shoving at Jisung’s shoulder with just enough force to elicit a dramatic stumble.

“Stop being annoying,” Minho muttered, though the fondness in his tone betrayed him.

Jisung only laughed, the sound bright and full of life.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

And Minho thought, not for the last time, how lucky he was.

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9

[eyelessfaces]

wilting

llewyn davis x reader

summary: llewyn finally has an opportunity for his music career, but it only seems to be driving you apart.

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, angst (we're talking about llewyn), fighting, fluff, fear of abandonment and loneliness

word count: 2.4k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

You'd been expectantly sipping on your drink, an anxious ache dwelling in your chest; you were probably more nervous for Llewyn than he was for himself, if it happened to be anything that could help his career – which you hoped it would be. 

“Think it’s business related?” Jean had asked you like she was reading your mind, an uncertain look on her face as she watched over the pair talking. Llewyn was frantically nodding at the guy, listening intently.

“Hope so,” you had sighed in a hoarse breath, the taste of your drink harsh on your throat. “It'd be good for him.” you affirmed, glancing at the guy that had cornered Llewyn even before he could put his guitar back in its case, wondering for what other reason he would come up to him after his gig if not to offer him a career. 

And the guy happened to be the son of a major player in the music business – that was the way Llewyn put it when he walked back to you and Jean, anyway, so you had been right, and it was finally happening for him.

And it feels amazing to see him like this, at first. He’s so happy about it that he spends his past two weeks savings in a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers and the rather expensive tartan wool scarf you had been fantasizing about each time you walked past the shop window – which wouldn’t be considered much to the average middle class household but is a lot to the two of you struggling to make ends meet.

And while it feels exciting at first, the promise of a new life for him and ultimately for the both of you, weeks pass, and the flowers wilt. Too fast for your liking. The vase holding them at the center of your kitchen table looks way too big for them now that they are dead, dry and sagging, and you feel way too alone in that apartment you share with Llewyn when on the surface, barely anything has changed; only it feels like everything has changed. 

The initial excitement on your side has guiltily faded, letting loneliness and frustration take over as Llewyn slowly but surely lets himself get consumed by work.

He’s composing and writing songs back to back, he’s already working on them when you leave for work and he’s still working on them when you come back from work; it’s almost impossible to tear him out of it too.

A sigh leaves your mouth as your glance falls onto him that evening, determinedly writing down on his messy sheet of paper as you innocently stand in the threshold of your apartment, just hoping to share a moment with him after a long day – for the both of you, probably. It can’t be healthy for him even if he seems so driven by it.

“Hey,” you call, nudging the door shut with your foot. The sound of your voice paired with the click of the door draws Llewyn’s gaze over you for a split second. “Hey,” the ash of the cigarette hanging from his mouth is threatening to fall. 

His attention quickly drifts back to his makeshift working station – the couch and most of the space on your coffee table that is surrounded by sheets of paper all over the floor.

“I picked up takeout on the way back from work,” you declare, holding up the bag that’s in your hand, trying to catch his attention again.

“Nice” he replies absently, his focus now placed on the chord progression he’s playing over and over again to make sure it sounds good. 

“From Hudson Square, your favorite” you add, hoping to draw more than a one word response from him.

“Thank you, babe,” he mutters, barely looking up as he hastily writes something down in his notebook after he puts his guitar away. 

It only gets quieter apart from the sound of his guitar and his low humming as you start eating, sitting on the floor and over the small part of the coffee table that’s not occupied by his mess – it’s a battlefield gathering crumpled notes, cigarette ash and his empty coffee cup that you can guess has been knocked over at some point from the stain on one sheet. You watch him expectantly as you eat your noodles, his own box practically untouched as he keeps on working on his song; how naive of you to hope you could share a moment with him.

“It's gonna get cold” you point out, hoping to coax him into taking a break, your voice resonating with a tinge of frustration Llewyn doesn’t seem to decipher. He hums quietly in acknowledgment, though you’re not so sure he has really listened to what you just said, seemingly utterly absorbed in his work, scribbling on a chaotic sheet of paper.

“Llew what the fuck is that. You need to take a break” you sigh. You feel awful. Not just because he’s ignoring you – mostly because you can’t seem to match your energy and excitement to his. 

The fact that you barely interact anymore takes a toll on you, but you can’t help but feel like there’s something else beyond that – maybe it’s the suddenness of it all, the fact that it all seems too good to be true and that Llewyn probably already starts to believe this is the end of his struggles.

“I have to submit three songs as soon as possible” he says, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray that sits among the mess. His eyes are bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles, you can notice it now.

You frown, equally confused and concerned. “Don't you already have those three songs?”

“I need backup in case it's not working for them” he declares with a shrug, looking through the scattered sheets of paper laid before him.

“You're insane” you chuckle, “This is insane.” you watch him as he doesn’t even look back at you. You’re not sure what to say anymore to get him out of this. “You’re good at this. The songs you already have are gonna be good”

“I need to be sure.” his voice is flat, his response automatic.

You frown, watching him go like nothing exists outside of what he's doing. Act like it is the only thing that matters anymore.

“Do you have any idea how painful it is for me to see you like this?” you snap, an ache inside your chest as you say it.

He truly looks up at you for the first time since you entered your shared apartment, his eyebrows knitting into a small frown.

“Painful? Really?” he scoffs in disbelief. “I finally have something good going on.” 

You sigh. “I know, and it’s great, and I’m happy for you Llewyn” you say trying to keep your voice steady and to say the right thing. “But you’re slowly gonna go crazy”

He laughs, a harsh sound with no hint of real amusement. “No, I was going crazy when I was running around New York all day, every day, trying to make a career.” he retorts bitterly; at least, you have his attention now. “I finally have a reason to keep going, my sacrifices were all for something”

You nod awkwardly. “Yeah, I know, but come on Llewyn, look at you. You’ve barely eaten, you haven’t slept properly in days, and we don’t even talk anymore.” you sigh, your hands letting go of the chopsticks from the takeout you had hoped would make him take a break.

“I’m doing this for us. Don’t you get that?” he asks, his face pleading for your understanding though there’s an obvious hint of reproach in his voice.

“It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’ve lost you to this... fucking obsession.” you say pointing to the mess in front of you, and it all comes out more harshly than you mean it to.

“You know this is important to me.” he affirms, his voice hardening in a defensive way.

“And you’re important to me, so I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself!” you retort, your voice cracking with your frustration spilling over. He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not destroying myself. I’m building something. For us.” he insists, and though you know his intent is genuine, the reality of it feels much different.

“You can’t build something for us if you’re actively ruining us at the same time.”

“Well what do you want me to do? Give up? Go back to playing shitty gigs for pocket change?” he snaps.

You sigh, not knowing what to say, not knowing where to go with it anymore. Your throat contracts with the knot growing inside it, your facade threatening to break.

Maybe calling him out had been a bad idea. Maybe you should have let him dig his hole, or maybe he was right, he was doing fine, and it was all just you feeling too alone and too selfish about it.

“I’m playing tonight” he eventually says in a mumble once things flatten, breaking the tense silence stilling in the air.

“Yeah, I know” you nod, swallowing your feelings. “Take your keys, I'm not going. I'm exhausted”

“Whatever” he mutters, turning back to his work, and your takeout meal suddenly makes you feel sick as you realize just how far apart you’re drifting and how serious it has become.

—

When you’re usually asleep when Llewyn comes back from gigs, the sound of the front door opening and closing interrupts you from overthinking your argument with him a few hours before. 

You turn around in bed – like you’ve done so many times tonight trying to find sleep – hearing the sounds of him moving around the apartment, the familiar thud of his guitar case being set down, the squeak of your worn out couch as he sits down.

It’s not long before you hear his footsteps and he enters the bedroom, your eyes closing in pretend as he stealthily sifts through the room to get ready for bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight once he slides in bed behind you, and you shift just slightly when you feel the warmth of his body radiating not far from you; it’s enough for him to guess you’re not asleep and to shift closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. His lips brush against your shoulder, leaving a faint kiss there. “You’re not sleeping, are you?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. You can clearly hear the tiredness in his voice.

You don’t respond, keeping your eyes closed, but your body betrays you, instinctively relaxing into his embrace. He takes your silence as a yes, pressing you even closer to him.

“‘m sorry” he mumbles against your shoulder, the prickle of his beard teasing your skin. “I know you're upset” you exhale softly, and he continues. “And I know I work too much. But I don't wanna fuck it up” 

You don’t trust yourself to speak, not without your voice cracking, so you just nod slightly, letting him know you’re listening. “I’m taking my chance, that’s all it is dove.” his voice is hoarse from tiredness, slightly muffled against your skin. “I have to try”

Your hand covers his, your thumb mindlessly rubbing his skin. “I miss you” you finally mutter, your voice weak. “I feel like I’m losing you.” you admit, turning around to face him. The lights outside cast shadows over his face, highlighting the signs of exhaustion. “I've always supported you, through anything,” His hand comes to rest against your face, his thumb tracing along your cheek. “So I'm happy you finally have something good going on but I thought it'd feel better for me to see you like this” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I really need this” he says, his voice barely audible too. “You’re not losing me” he insists, his eyes searching yours. “I love you, you know? I love you. I can’t earn a career and lose you. You just have to trust me. I’m trying to make things good for us”

“I know” you blink, eyes heavy and tingling with tiredness. “I just don’t want you getting fucked up in the process”

“You know I’m already fucked up” he scoffs.

You grin. “Yeah, you are” 

Your hand reaches his face when he kisses you, the faint taste of whiskey and cigarette on his tongue as he presses his warm body closer against yours. 

You pull away just slightly, still feeling the brush of his beard against your chin. “Your songs are good. I would know better than anyone else. You don’t need to beat yourself up” 

He gives you a modest smile, or a tired one, you can’t really tell.

—

The lights cast a golden glow over Llewyn’s face, significantly shrinking the wide room, wider than it could ever seem to be just a few months ago. They shoot a warm, intimate ray around him, around the stool he’s perched on, his guitar close to his chest as he leans into the microphone.

You’re standing half hidden in the shadows near the back, arms crossed, watching as his eyes flutter closed once he starts to sing a tune you know all too well, a song you’ve known in its early stages of creation, in its fragmented form. 

Hearing it whole, complete and out to the world, to all those strangers, locates a bittersweet ache deep inside of you, and for a brief second, Llewyn’s now opened eyes meet yours. 

There is no shift, no wavering in his expression, but there is something special in the way his gaze lingers, ever so slightly weakly softening before he looks back down at his guitar. 

You don’t know what he sees when he looks at you. Maybe it’s the person who believed in him before anyone else did. Maybe it’s something, someone entirely different now that things are so different from how they used to be seasons ago.

Tears start to run down your face before you even realize you’re crying. 

You smile through them as Llewyn sings as if he’s baring his soul to his audience, stripping himself off and displaying the vulnerability of his work to the world, being everything you always believed he would end up being, standing in the spot he belongs to. 

His gaze locks with yours once again, and as you feel the sting of the tears you have to blink away, you force a quivering smile, one you hope will carry all the words you will never be able to say.

—

as you can maybe guess, this is an open ending, up to interpretation, that could be seen differently depending on how you choose to look at it!

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

llewyn taglist:

@scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry 

@mystinky-butt @anightshift @campingwiththecharmings @dameronshandholder @spider-starry 

@spxctorsslxt @dowbastan @hammerhead96 @unear7hly @Spicydonut25

[slut4celebs]

Songbook

Olivia Rodrigo x Reader

Trigger Warnings: Reader accidentally snoops in Olivia's journal.

Word Count: 989

Synopsis: In which Olivia is showing the reader this love song she wrote. (Y/n) is adding chords when Olivia steps out for a moment, and when (Y/n) turns the page (thinking there was more), she sees a small verse with her name on the top of the page as a song title.

Please request here! I'm running dangerously low on Miss Olivia Rodrigo and Miss Tate McRae fics...

This was just a quickie fic to get something out, I'm sorry.

Olivia Rodrigo fans and (Y/n) (L/n) fans live for their interactions. It was obvious to everyone that they had feelings for each other. Everyone but the two parties involved. Of course, both were in tune with their own feelings on the subject matter of love and crushing on each other to the point they zone out in each other's presence, but they didn't know that they liked each other. This fact is in spite of the many fan edits and the fact their close friends like Tate McRae, Gracie Abrams, and Sofia Wylie have tried to get them to ask each other out only to receive the usual 'Come on, you know she only likes me as a friend,' or something else along those lines.

Right now, they were on an audio recording, trying to put a song together that Olivia had show (Y/n).Olivia had written what she wants to be a powerful love ballad, she just needs the chords. Which is where (Y/n) is coming in, her finger gracefully making their way across the lower ends of the keys to embrace Olivia's voice as she sings the words. The laugh when (Y/n) accidentally hits a few keys that don't match up, and the kitchen timer has Olivia pausing their session momentarily.

"I'm going to go check on the pizza. Feel free to continue working on the song if you want to." She says, though she isn't ready to get up when she feels (Y/n)'s pinky tap her own playfully. Olivia let out a soft sigh, tapping the girl's pinky back before making her way out of the room, mad at herself for not taking that Tate had told her to make when she learned (Y/n) was coming over. Instead, she left (Y/n) alone with her songbook. The songbook that held all of the songs that she had written for (Y/n), that she would never show her.

(Y/n) settled on the bench by herself, fingers attempting different chord progressions as she sang it softly under her breath. She looked up, moving to flip the page to see if there was more of the song that might connect everything together. Instead, she saw her name written in a heart as a few verses underneath it. (Y/n) couldn't help the way her breath caught in her throat, eyes skimming the page as she took in the words. She was frozen, though she knew she should flip the page back. It wasn't her place to flip the page, she only did because she thought there was more to the song they were currently working on.

Instead, verses comparing her lips to roses and her eyes to nature filled her chest and cheeks with a rising heat, a blush scattering along them. She couldn't help the way it was also making its way to her ears. She also barely tore her eyes away when she heard Olivia walk in. The brunette had a pout on her face, announcing the pizza was basically charcoal now when her brown eyes hit the page she was on. Panic settled in her features as she walked over quickly to snatch the book.

(Y/n)'s eyes were wide with guilt, not wanting to upset Olivia in any possible way. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, standing up. Olivia looked pale and hurt. "I didn't know that was the next page. I thought there was more to the song since it was incomplete on the page we were on, so I flipped the page. But… I didn't know that you felt that way about me." (Y/n) was trying to find the right words, so she could tell Olivia that she felt the exact same way as her.

She couldn't help but watch the guarded expression fall on Olivia's face, which was her doing, and the way she clutched the book to her chest. "And, what? Now that you do, you're just going to leave? You're not going to want to be my friend anymore?" She asked, her gaze currently locked on a spot on the floor before it finally made her way to (Y/n)'s chest tight with fear. She couldn't lose (Y/n). She wasn't just her best friend, at this point in her life. Maybe it was too much, but (Y/n) had become a lifeline to her, and if she lost that, she didn't know what she would do. It cause fear and panic to settle on every fiber of her being as she swallowed thickly.

"No, I'm not going to leave." (Y/n) stated seriously. She pried the book from Olivia's hands, putting it on the music desk of the piano. She then, slowly cupped Olivia's cheeks. Olivia watched the girl lean in, following along easily until their lips connected. It was the kind of kiss that made you forget where you were, so lost in the other person. It made Olivia feel infinite under the girl's fingers as their kiss deepened, passion seeping into each movement. They held onto each other like their lives depended on it. "I'm not going to leave because I'm really into you, Olivia. I just didn't think you liked me back."

Olivia's chest was still beating quickly as she looked at (Y/n), seeing the earnestness her features held with her confession. "I've always liked you. Every single love song I've ever written was for you. Since SOUR and GUTS, you've become my muse. All the songs about the girl who makes me happier than anything on life could, they've all been for you." (Y/n) couldn't help the swelling in her chest as she leaned in to kiss Olivia again. The two of them were lost in the moment once more. The book and the charcoal pizza were now temporarily forgotten. What mattered to them in that moment was that they finally confessed and they could discuss what was going to come next for them. Even if that meant hearing a million 'I told you so's.

[privatehousesanatomy]

House X /maybe fem?)Reader where House falls in love with a singer he just cured. Maybe while checking if she can sing again and he plays the piano while she sings or something? I think that could be a cute one, because everytime I see House making Music, he seems so...emotional and vulnerable. :3

ONE MORE SONG - gregory house x fem!reader

this is a cute idea! i hope i was able to bring your vision to life <3 also, thanks so much for being my first request, i had a lot of fun writing this!

slight fluff ( it is house, after all )

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

you'd heard about vocal chord injuries all the time. singers strained their voices too hard during performances, especially as they got older, but you were still young. you did everything you could to protect your voice, and yet during rehearsal you found yourself unable to make a sound. at first you thought maybe you were coming down with something, but when a week passed and you had no other symptoms besides no voice, you decided to seek medical help.

there wasn't a single doctor who was able to help you. they ruled out everything from strep to laryngitis, and you even had tests done to rule out cancer. everything came back clean. you were suddenly deemed a medical mystery with no voice.

your symptoms began progressing shortly after that. you were having difficulties breathing and swallowing, and any last remnants of your voice that you might have had were slowly diminishing as well.

princeton-plainsboro teaching hospital was your last ditch effort in figuring out what was wrong with you. doctor gregory house claimed to be one of the best diagnosticians in the country, if not the world, so you were putting a lot of faith in him to figure out what was wrong with you. you were warned right from the jump that you likely wouldn't meet the man in charge of your medical file, and it was something you came to terms with. however, he surprised everyone by taking a major interest in you as a patient rather than you as a puzzle. music was a hobby of his, and it wasn't often that his patients shared that hobby.

the first time you met house, you weren't sure how to feel. he was this grumpy, older man who walked with a cane and looked to be the epitome of the word "miserable". he was sarcastic and rude, not giving a damn about how he treated his employees, nurses, or even you. and yet there was something about him that you couldn't get enough of. almost as if you could see through the facade he put up.

your diagnosis was bilateral vocal cord paralysis, though you were lucky that it didn't kill you. there were a few close calls, but they were able to reverse the paralysis with surgery, and for the last year, you've been going to voice therapy to strengthen your vocal cords and improve your breath control while speaking. you were doing amazing, and on the one year anniversary of your surgery, you actually had a follow up appointment with house's team. it was rare that they followed up with patients, but it was also rare for house to have taken such an interest in the case.

"house, where did you get a piano?" doctor cameron asked as she watched her boss suddenly wheeling a piano into the office.

"don't ask," house replied, pushing it into the middle of the room and getting it set up. he then turned to you. "come here."

"what for?" you asked, very confused as to what he was doing.

"for a sandwich," he rolled his eyes. "obviously i want to make sure your vocal cords are healing properly," he added. so, despite your apprehension about his methods, you approached the piano and sat down on the little bench. house sat down beside you. "you think you can still sing?" he asked.

"i don't know...i haven't really tried," you admitted.

"well, you're going to now," house said, starting to play the tune of one of your songs on thr piano. he'd really gone as far as to look into your music and pick one of your songs.

despite being nervous, you started to sing the words, and you quickly realized that it wasn't as hard as you thought it would be. sure, it didn't sound near as perfect as it used to, but considering you'd gone through bilateral vocal cord paralysis and survived, it sounded pretty damn good. you couldn't help but notice that house was really getting into it, and you could have sworn you saw a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

you two had become rather...close during your time in his care a year ago. you two bonded over your shared love for music, and during that time you really got to see a different side of the man he presented himself to be. in fact, it wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to say that you two even developed feelings for each other, but unfortunately nothing ever came of it. when you were discharged from the hospital, you were also discharged out of his life, and over the last year, house couldn't stop thinking about you. that was why he scheduled this "follow up" appointment with you. he never saw his patients after they were out of his care, but he realized that if he wanted a chance, he was going to have to take it now.

when the song ended, he glanced at you before the rest of his team, now shooing them out of the office to make themselves useful either within the clinic or with their current medical mystery. it was really just a ploy to get a moment alone with you, and once you two were alone, he turned his attention back to you. god, you could get lost staring into those bright blue eyes of his, and he seemed to pick up on that.

"what?" he asked, breaking the silence between the two of you.

"oh...nothing," you replied, feeling a little flustered. his eyes flickered down to your lips, and he drew in a deep breath.

"you know, i don't ever follow up with my patients," he told you.

"you don't?" you asked, and he shook his head. "then why me?"

"because i haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you walked out of this hospital," he admitted.

"oh come on...i couldn't have been that special," you replied, raising an eyebrow.

"i've never...i've never connected with a patient like this. i've never felt like this before," house said. you were quiet for a minute, trying to process what he was saying.

"would it be wrong for me to say that i feel the same about you?" you ask finally, and there was that little smile of his trying not to show itself again. he didn't speak, but instead leaned his head in and pressed his lips against yours. you could have melted against his lips, and you were surprised at how well they fit together. after a few moments, though, you pulled away to breathe.

"i feel like we're breaking so many rules right now," you laugh, and house finally cracked a real smile.

"it's what i do best," he said, pulling you in for another kiss.

[niallerspayno]

Troublemaker - Part 2

Masterlist

You and Liam announce your new relationship while you continue to heal. Can you go the distance? Or will you turn into someone you no longer recognise?

Tags: Liam x reader, angst, smut, some fluff

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

...

The tour bus feels different these days. Liam has practically glued himself to your side since the sprain, always there with an ice pack, a supportive hand, or a stern reminder to “stay off that ankle.”

“Liam, I’m fine,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time as he insists on helping you into the greenroom before soundcheck.

“And you’ll stay fine if you let me help,” he retorts, his arm steady around your waist.

The other boys are sprawled on couches inside, Niall strumming his guitar while Harry and Zayn are deep in a card game.

“Ah, here comes Nurse Payne,” Niall teases, plucking a dramatic chord.

“More like overprotective bodyguard,” Harry adds, grinning.

Liam ignores them, settling you onto the couch with your leg propped up on a cushion. He hands you a water bottle, and his soft smile makes the teasing worth it.

Louis, however, is pacing.

“This is so boring,” he announces, throwing himself dramatically into a chair. “We haven’t caused any chaos in days.”

“I’m recovering, Louis,” you remind him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, and apparently dating Buzzkill Payne now,” he shoots back, though his tone is more playful than biting.

Liam gives him a look but doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Come on, someone,” Louis continues, looking around the room. “Zayn? Fancy switching teams and becoming my new partner-in-crime?”

Zayn doesn’t even look up from his cards. “Hard pass, mate.”

Louis groans, turning to Niall. “You, then. You’ve got that mischievous glint in your eye.”

Niall grins but shakes his head. “Nah, I like watching you two wreak havoc too much. It’s more fun from the sidelines.”

Louis slumps dramatically. “What about you, Harry?”

Harry leans back in his chair, smirking. “I’m more of a chaos observer. Sorry, Lou.”

It’s clear Louis feels a little lost. He tries roping the others into small pranks over the next few days—swapping Liam’s protein powder for flour, rearranging Harry’s curls while he naps—but it’s not the same without you.

Eventually, he plops down next to you during a quiet moment, his usual energy replaced by a rare seriousness.

“I miss you,” he admits, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“I’m still here, Lou,” you say, bumping his shoulder lightly.

“Yeah, but it’s different now,” he mumbles. “You’re with him���—he jerks his thumb toward Liam, who’s a few feet away setting up snacks—“and you’re hurt. It’s like I’ve lost my chaos buddy.”

You take his hand, squeezing it. “You haven’t lost me, Louis. It’s just... things are changing. But I promise, as soon as I’m back on my feet, we’re taking Liam down together.”

Louis brightens at that, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “You mean it?”

“Of course.”

“Better not let him hear that,” he whispers conspiratorially, glancing at Liam.

“Let me hear what?” Liam asks, appearing at your side with impeccable timing.

“Nothing!” you and Louis say in unison, exchanging a grin that feels like old times.

Liam sighs, shaking his head, but the fond smile tugging at his lips says he knows exactly what he’s in for.

...

The next week brings slow but steady progress with your recovery. Liam remains as attentive as ever, helping you with every small task—even ones you insist you can manage yourself.

“I can tie my own shoe, Liam,” you say, exasperated, as he kneels at your feet before rehearsal.

“Not with a sprain, you can’t,” he counters, his hands deftly working the laces. His tone is firm, but the softness in his eyes betrays him. “Just let me help, alright?”

You sigh but let him finish, catching Louis watching the interaction from across the room. His expression is unreadable, and he quickly looks away when you meet his gaze.

Later, you find him perched on the edge of the stage, staring out at the rows of empty seats.

“Hey,” you say, hobbling over with your crutches.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he quips, but there’s no real bite to it.

“Resting is boring,” you reply, sitting beside him. “What’s up?”

Louis shrugs, his gaze still distant. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitates before answering. “You and Liam. It’s weird, you know? Good weird, I guess. But still weird.”

You nudge him with your shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, glancing at you. “It’s just... we used to be this unstoppable duo, causing chaos wherever we went. And now you’re, like, all grown up or something.”

You laugh. “I’m not grown up, Lou. I’m just... balancing things better. You’ll always be my partner-in-crime.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

That seems to reassure him, and he gives you a small grin. “Alright. But if Liam ever steps out of line, you let me know. I’ll take him down.”

“Deal.”

As the days pass, Louis gradually warms to the new dynamic. He even starts teaming up with Liam to help you—though not without some playful grumbling. One evening, the three of you are in the greenroom when Louis smirks and says, “You know, Payne, for a guy who used to lecture me about not encouraging her, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“Someone has to keep you two in check,” Liam replies, handing you an ice pack.

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re not keeping anything in check, mate. You’re enabling her.”

“And yet you’re still jealous,” you tease, throwing a pillow at him.

Louis catches it with a grin. “Damn right I am.”

...

The night is quiet on the tour bus, the hum of the engine lulling most of the boys to sleep. But your ankle aches just enough to keep you awake, and Liam, true to form, is awake with you.

You’re curled up on the small couch in the lounge area, his arm draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against his chest. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it’s enough to make the dull throb of your ankle fade into the background.

“You know,” you murmur, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to do all this.”

Liam tilts his head down to look at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “All what?”

“This.” You gesture vaguely, your hand brushing against his chest. “Taking care of me. Hovering.”

He scoffs softly, his hand moving to gently rub your arm. “Hovering? I think you mean being a decent boyfriend.”

The word boyfriend hangs in the air between you, and your heart skips a beat. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and the way it rolls off his tongue so naturally makes your chest ache in the best way.

“Boyfriend, huh?” you tease, tilting your head to look up at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Liam doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. You’ve got a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” you say, your voice softening. “It sounds... perfect.”

His eyes search yours, a flicker of something tender and vulnerable crossing his face. “You mean the world to me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not just going to sit back and watch you struggle. I care about you too much for that.”

For a moment, you’re lost in the warmth of his gaze, the sincerity in his words making your heart feel like it might burst. Before you can overthink it, you lean up and press your lips to his.

The kiss is slow and sweet, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek as he deepens it just enough to leave you breathless. When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, a small, content smile playing on his lips.

“Girlfriend,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as if testing the word again.

You grin, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “Boyfriend.”

Liam chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you closer. “Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?”

“The best,” you reply, snuggling into his embrace.

In that moment, the ache in your ankle doesn’t matter. All that matters is the warmth of Liam’s arms around you and the quiet realisation that, with him, you’ve found something truly special.

...

A couple of weeks have passed since your ankle injury, and you’re finally feeling like yourself again. The limp is nearly gone, and you’re back to your usual antics with Louis, much to Liam’s exasperation—and quiet relief that you’re healing.

But while the band’s dynamic feels as solid as ever, things are shifting behind the scenes.

Management calls a meeting, pulling you and Liam aside before rehearsals. The tone is tense from the moment you walk into the room.

“We’ve noticed some... developments,” one of the execs starts, his words as sharp as his tailored suit. “Between the two of you.”

You glance at Liam, who straightens in his seat, his jaw tightening.

“And?” Liam asks, his voice calm but clipped.

“This relationship,” the exec continues, gesturing vaguely between you, “it’s a risk. The band’s success depends on a unified image. Relationships within the group can create distractions, tension—potentially divide the fanbase.”

Your stomach churns. “So, what? You want us to pretend we’re not together?”

“We’re asking you to consider what’s best for the band,” another manager chimes in, her tone saccharine but no less cutting. “Sometimes personal feelings have to take a back seat to professional responsibilities.”

Liam leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as his eyes narrow. “What’s best for the band is that we’re happy and working well together. And we are. So, I don’t see the problem.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of their disapproval settling heavily in the air.

Paul clears his throat from the corner of the room. “I think you’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

The managers turn to him, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. ��They’ve always worked well together, and they still do. If anything, they’re even more in sync now. Trying to force them apart? That’s what’ll cause problems.”

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, grateful for Paul’s quiet support. But the execs aren’t done.

“This isn’t just about the band,” the first one says, his voice dropping lower. “The media has already picked up on this. Fan speculation is through the roof, and while a majority seem supportive, there’s already some backlash. If this gets out of control, it could hurt the group’s image—and yours.”

“Then let us handle it,” Liam says firmly.

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“With honesty,” Liam replies, his voice steady. “We’re not hiding, but we’re not flaunting it either. If people have a problem with us being together, that’s on them. Not us.”

Your chest tightens at his words. His unwavering support in the face of their attempts to divide you feels like an anchor in a storm.

When the meeting ends, the tension still lingers, but Paul pulls you aside as the others leave.

“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “I think you two are good for each other. Don’t let them scare you into thinking otherwise.”

You nod, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Paul.”

As you and Liam head back to rehearsals, his hand brushes against yours before he laces your fingers together, ignoring the questioning looks from the rest of the team.

“You okay?” he asks softly, glancing down at you.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “As long as we’re together, yeah.”

He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

...

The meeting with management lingers in your mind as you and Liam rejoin the boys in the rehearsal room. They’re sprawled across the space, instruments and props scattered around. Louis is perched on a stool, absentmindedly tossing a stress ball to Harry, while Zayn and Niall argue over who has the better ping-pong skills.

The moment you and Liam step in, their heads turn, and Louis’s face lights up.

“Finally! I thought you two got kidnapped by Paul or something,” Louis exclaims, hopping off the stool. His eyes narrow, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. “Wait, did they pull you aside for a lecture about PDA? Should we all be taking notes?”

Niall snickers. “Wouldn’t put it past them.”

You and Liam exchange a glance, and before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out. “Actually, it was worse. They think we’re a threat to the band.”

The room goes silent for a beat before Harry lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Dramatic, even for them.”

“Did they seriously say that?” Zayn asks, his brows furrowing.

Liam nods, his jaw tight. “They’re worried it’ll mess with the band’s image or some nonsense.”

Louis steps closer, crossing his arms. “And what did you say to that?”

You grin, nudging Liam with your elbow. “Liam basically told them to shove it.”

“That’s my boy!” Louis exclaims, clapping Liam on the back with enough force to make him stumble. “Daddy Directioner standing up to the big bad bosses���love to see it.”

“They weren’t wrong about one thing, though,” you say, flashing Louis a mischievous smile. “I am a menace.”

Louis’s eyes light up, and he throws his arm around your shoulders. “And thank God for that. I’ve been lost without my partner-in-crime. Niall’s no fun, Zayn’s too cool for my antics, and Harry...” He pauses, glancing at Harry, who’s lazily spinning in a chair. “Well, he tries, but it’s not the same.”

“I’m hurt, Louis,” Harry says, feigning offense.

“Don’t be,” Louis replies cheerfully. “Now that Y/N’s back in action, the chaos quota is officially restored.”

Liam groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, great. Just what we need.”

“Oh, come on, Payne,” you tease, stepping out of Louis’s hold to face him. “You know you missed us causing trouble.”

“I missed you,” Liam says, his voice low enough that it’s meant just for you. Then, louder, he adds, “The trouble? Not so much.”

“You love it,” you say with a grin.

The other boys exchange knowing looks, and Harry raises a brow. “So... does this mean you two are, like, official now?”

You hesitate for a second, glancing at Liam, who gives you a small nod before turning back to the group.

“Yeah,” Liam says simply. “We are.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief, followed by Niall’s cheerful, “Finally!”

Zayn smirks. “Thought we’d have to lock you two in a room to sort this out.”

Louis, on the other hand, looks slightly put out. “So, what? You’re ditching me for him now?”

You roll your eyes, grabbing his hand. “Louis, you’ll always be my chaos buddy. Liam’s just... the calm to my storm.”

Louis brightens immediately, turning to Liam with a triumphant grin. “Hear that? You’re the boring one.”

Liam groans, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as the boys erupt into laughter.

...

The media whirlwind around your relationship with Liam grows louder as the tour continues. While most fans are supportive, there’s a vocal minority who aren’t as kind.

Some tabloids run stories about you being a distraction, while others speculate about the band’s dynamics. Social media is a mixed bag—one moment filled with adorable edits of you and Liam, the next flooded with comments from fans who had shipped you with Louis for years.

You scroll through your phone in the quiet of your hotel room, heart sinking as you read: “She’s ruining the band’s chemistry.” “What about Louis? Their friendship was perfect—this ruins it!” “Liam deserves someone who actually loves him, not someone who flirts with everyone.”

You toss your phone onto the bed, frustrated tears stinging your eyes.

Louis knocks on the open doorframe, holding up two bottles of soda. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You force a smile. “Thanks, Lou.”

He plops down on the bed next to you, handing you a bottle. “So... are we going to talk about the storm cloud hanging over your head, or are you going to keep pretending everything’s fine?”

You sigh, resting your head against his shoulder. “People think I’m ruining the band. They think I’m coming between you and Liam. Some of them even think I should’ve picked you instead.”

Louis snorts. “Picked me? That’s ridiculous. We’re practically siblings.”

“I know that. You know that. But some people don’t see it that way.”

“Well, they’re idiots,” he says bluntly. “Besides, you and Liam make sense. He’s boring enough to keep you grounded, and you’re wild enough to stop him from turning into a full-time dad.”

You laugh softly, but the ache in your chest doesn’t go away. “It’s just... hard, you know? I didn’t expect all of this.”

Louis wraps an arm around you. “You’ve got me, okay? And the boys. You’re not going through this alone.”

...

Later that night, Liam finds you in the rehearsal room, where you’ve been sitting alone, strumming a guitar to clear your head.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside.

“Hey,” you reply, not looking up.

He hesitates before sitting down across from you. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“Just tired,” you say, your voice clipped.

Liam doesn’t buy it. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Louis lately.”

You put the guitar down, frowning. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, then adds, “It’s just... every time something’s wrong, you go to him instead of me.”

“Because he doesn’t make me feel like this!” you snap, your frustration spilling over.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m doing something wrong!”

Liam’s eyes widen, taken aback. “I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to, Liam. You’re always tense, always worried about what people will say or think. I get enough of that from everyone else—I don’t need it from you, too.”

He looks away, his jaw tight. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“And I’m trying to breathe!”

The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you.

“I love you,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But sometimes, it feels like you don’t trust me enough to let me help you.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I love you too, Liam. But I can’t keep feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around you.”

Liam stands, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we both need some space to figure this out.”

The words cut deeper than you expect, but you nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

As he walks away, you’re left staring at the guitar in your lap, wondering how everything got so complicated so quickly.

...

The knock on Louis’ hotel room door is frantic, and when he swings it open, his stomach drops at the sight of you.

You’re swaying slightly, eyes glassy, clutching a half-empty bottle of vodka from the minibar.

“Y/N?” he asks, stepping aside to let you in. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I needed you,” you slur, brushing past him into the room.

Louis closes the door and turns to face you, arms crossed. “Are you drunk?”

You spin to face him, a lopsided grin on your face. “Maybe a little.”

“A little?” He raises an eyebrow, snatching the bottle from your hand. “This is empty enough to say otherwise. What’s going on?”

You flop onto the edge of his bed, burying your face in your hands. “I screwed everything up, Lou. Liam hates me. He thinks I don’t trust him. But I do. I do! I just...” You trail off, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Louis sits beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Hey, slow down. Start from the beginning.”

You look up at him, your eyes shining with tears and something else—something that makes his stomach twist. “It’s just... you’re always there, you know? You’ve always been the one I can count on.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job as your honorary brother,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood.

But you’re not laughing. Instead, you lean closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “What if it’s more than that?”

Louis stiffens. “Y/N...”

“You get me, Lou,” you murmur, your hand brushing his knee. “You’re the one who’s always here when I need someone. Maybe it should’ve been you all along.”

He shakes his head, panic flashing across his face. “You don’t mean that. You’re drunk, and you’re upset. This isn’t you.”

“It feels real,” you insist, leaning in until your lips are just inches from his.

For a moment, Louis hesitates. But then he pulls back, gently gripping your shoulders to put distance between you. “No. Y/N, stop. You love Liam. You’re just hurting right now, and you’re looking for an escape. But this isn’t it.”

The words slice through your drunken haze like a knife, and the reality of what you almost did crashes over you. You cover your mouth with your hands, a sob escaping. “Oh my God, Louis, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says softly, letting go of your shoulders. “But you need to pull yourself together, yeah? You can’t let one fight with Liam make you spiral like this. He loves you, even if he’s rubbish at showing it sometimes.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a small smile. “Now, come on. Let’s get you some water and put you to bed before you do something else you’ll regret.”

As he helps you up and guides you back to your room, the weight of your actions lingers heavily in the air. You know you’ll have to face Liam soon—and the thought terrifies you—but for now, you’re grateful Louis was there to stop you from crossing a line you couldn’t uncross.

...

Liam knocks softly on your hotel room door, his heart racing as he stands on the other side, unsure of how you'll react after everything that happened earlier. You haven’t been answering his texts or calls, and he’s felt the distance between you both growing since your argument. But now, he’s here, determined to make things right.

When you open the door, you’re standing there in one of his old t-shirts, hair messy, looking so effortlessly beautiful, and yet, he can see the weariness in your eyes. The tension between you both is palpable. You’ve both been avoiding talking about what happened, but now, it’s time to face it.

“Can we talk?” Liam’s voice is softer than usual, vulnerable even. He’s not used to feeling like this, unsure of what to say, how to fix what’s broken. But he needs to. He’s not ready to lose you.

You don’t say anything at first, just step aside to let him in, and he follows you into the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence hangs heavy in the air. You both sit on the edge of the bed, not touching, but the distance between you feels even more immense than it should.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” Liam starts, his voice low and careful. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you couldn’t turn to me or like I was holding you back. It’s just... I care about you so much, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You look at him, your heart aching. You’ve been avoiding talking to him, but hearing him say that, it hits you right in the chest. The anger from earlier starts to fade, replaced with a tenderness you’ve been longing for.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you finally speak, your voice shaky but genuine. “I was just confused. I thought I was losing you too, in a way. I never meant for all of this to happen, for us to drift apart.”

Liam takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently touch yours. The warmth of his touch is enough to send a jolt through you, a reminder of how much you missed him, of how much you needed him. The moment feels like the world has stopped, leaving just the two of you in this tiny hotel room.

“You haven’t lost me,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours for a moment, the soft contact making you close your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

His hand slides from yours to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he’s memorizing the feel of you. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he rarely shows, and it makes your heart swell.

Before you can say anything else, Liam kisses you, slow at first, as if he’s savoring every moment. His lips are gentle, but there’s something deeper beneath the surface, a longing that has been building between you both for far too long. As the kiss deepens, the tension between you both intensifies, and you can feel how much he wants this, wants you, just as much as you’ve wanted him.

But this time, it’s different. Liam isn’t the one holding back. He takes control.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a gentle force. He deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, and you can feel the change in him. He’s no longer the one trying to keep things light and playful. This time, he’s taking charge, and you can’t help but let him.

You gasp into his mouth as his other hand moves to your waist, pushing you back onto the bed with an ease that takes you by surprise. Your hands tremble as they reach for his shirt, tugging it up slightly, wanting to feel more of him. But Liam pulls away just for a moment, his breath heavy, eyes searching yours.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rough with desire. “Because once we start, I’m not stopping.”

Your heart races, and for the first time, you don’t feel like you need to be the one in control. You want him, need him, and the words slip out before you can stop them. “Yes. I want this. I want you.”

Liam’s eyes darken, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. He kisses you again, more urgently this time, as if he’s finally letting go of all the restraint he’s been holding onto. His lips are everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your lips again—and you can feel his hands roaming, exploring, making you burn with need.

He pushes you further back onto the bed, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes everything else feel distant, unimportant. All that matters is the heat building between you both, the way he’s taking control, and the way you’re letting go, giving yourself to him completely.

“You’re mine now,” Liam mutters between kisses, his voice husky and possessive, sending shivers through your body.

You can feel the weight of his words as if they were a promise, a claim on you that sends a thrill of warmth rushing through your veins. The way his body presses closer, every inch of him surrounding you, feels like a declaration. There’s no room for doubt, no space for hesitation—just the certainty that this is where you both belong.

Liam’s hands move with purpose now, as if he’s memorizing every curve of your body, and the raw hunger in his touch makes your pulse race. His lips leave a trail of fire along your jawline and down your neck, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there, making you gasp in response. He pulls away for just a moment, his lips hovering over yours, both of you panting, hearts beating erratically.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with desire. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting you.”

You don’t respond with words; you don’t need to. Instead, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips together again with an urgency that matches his own. The kiss is hungry now, wild, as if both of you are desperate to make up for lost time.

Your hands are trembling as they travel down his chest, feeling the hard muscles of his torso beneath your fingertips. You want more. You need more. But it’s not just about physicality—it’s about everything that’s been building up between you both, the emotions that have simmered under the surface for so long, and now they’re exploding in this perfect, heated moment.

Liam groans into the kiss as your hands start to work at the button of his jeans, and the sound makes you ache for him even more. His hands are busy too, tugging at your clothes with a sense of urgency, the fabric slipping off your body in a way that feels almost too slow, like you both want to savor this but can’t hold back any longer.

When you’re both finally bare, just skin against skin, Liam pulls back slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His eyes are dark, hungry with a mix of love and need, and the intensity in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks again, his voice soft but laced with that possessive edge. The question lingers in the air, hanging between you both, but there’s no hesitation this time. You know.

“More than anything,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly as you reach up to pull him closer, your lips finding his again in a kiss that’s both slow and desperate.

Liam moves over you then, his body covering yours in the most intimate way, the heat of him melting away any last bit of doubt. As he enters you, he groans, the sound deep and guttural, and you can’t help but mirror the sound, feeling all of him, filling you in ways you never thought possible.

He sets a slow, steady pace, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for any sign that you might want to slow down. But you don’t. You want all of him, right here, right now.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his hands tracing over your skin, worshipping you in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. The vulnerability in his voice, the way he’s giving himself to you completely, makes your chest tighten. This is more than just physical. This is everything.

His pace increases, becoming more urgent as the pleasure builds between you both. The bed creaks under the intensity of your movements, and the air is thick with the sounds of your breathing, the soft moans slipping from your lips, and the desperate rhythm of your bodies coming together.

Liam takes control in every sense, guiding you through this with a kind of dominance that leaves you breathless. You don’t even think about the world outside the two of you. There’s no past, no future—just the present, just the heat between you both. The way he touches you, the way he makes you feel cherished and wanted, is enough to make you forget everything except for him.

As the moment builds, you feel yourself nearing the edge, your body tensing with the anticipation of release. Liam can feel it too, his breath hitching as he watches you with such intensity, as if he’s savoring every second of this.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, the words sending a jolt through you, and it’s enough to push you over the edge. You cry out his name, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm, and Liam follows right behind you, his body tensing as he lets go, collapsing against you in a tangled heap of sweat and tangled sheets.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You’re both too caught up in the aftermath of what just happened, your breathing slowing as you try to catch your breath. Liam rests his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and you can feel the weight of everything between you both—no longer just physical, but emotional, real, and undeniable.

“I love you,” he whispers softly, his voice rough but filled with so much sincerity.

And you know, in that moment, that nothing will ever be the same again. You both have crossed a threshold, and there’s no going back. Not that either of you would want to.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your heart full.

...

The next morning, everything feels different. There’s an undeniable energy between you and Liam that wasn’t there before, a quiet understanding and a deeper connection. You walk into the hotel lobby, and his hand slides into yours, fingers entwining effortlessly.

He smiles at you, and you can feel the warmth in his touch, his presence grounding you in the best possible way. There’s no need for words, but you feel a sense of comfort you’ve never had before. You can tell by the way he looks at you that everything has shifted. You're not just a flirty team anymore; you're solid, real, and more than ready to face whatever comes next.

“Morning, love,” Liam says, his voice soft and warm, pulling you in for a quick kiss, his lips brushing yours as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Morning, Payne. Keeping it sweet and simple, huh?”

He chuckles, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “For now.”

The flirty energy between the two of you feels almost electric, and the moment you sit down for breakfast, Liam can’t resist teasing you. His hand slides to the back of your chair, gently rubbing your shoulders as he leans in and whispers, “If you keep making those eyes at me, we might just need to sneak away for a bit.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “We’re in public, Liam. We have to at least try to pretend to be professional.”

The boys are watching you both with varying levels of amusement, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness that’s returned to the band dynamic. Louis, ever the instigator, can’t resist chiming in, his voice carrying across the table. “So, you two lovebirds gonna start writing songs together now or what?”

You and Liam exchange a glance, his hand finding yours under the table, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “Maybe,” you tease, winking at him. “We could do a duet. Get the whole world to know how perfect we are.”

Liam laughs, but there's a softness in his eyes that shows just how comfortable you both are with this new phase of your relationship. He leans over and pecks your cheek, a smile tugging at his lips. "If the world doesn't know already, they will soon enough."

Later that day, as rehearsals begin, you can’t help but fall back into your usual mischief with Louis. He nudges you, and you both exchange a look that screams “it’s time for a prank.”

You and Louis have always been partners in crime, and even with the new dynamic in your relationship with Liam, you can't resist a bit of chaos.

“Alright, we need to make this one count,” Louis whispers, his eyes glinting with excitement. “I’ve got the perfect idea. Let’s target Harry.”

You grin, already getting on board with the plan. “Let’s do it.”

The next few minutes are spent sneaking around, finding just the right moment to pull off the prank. As Harry sits back to relax in his chair, you and Louis, working in perfect tandem, manage to cover him with whipped cream, and before he can even react, the two of you burst into laughter.

"Louis! You little—" Harry tries to yell, but he’s laughing too, wiping the cream off his face.

You high-five Louis as the rest of the band chuckles. Liam, however, can’t help but smile at the sight of you in your element. Still, there’s a hint of something deeper in his eyes—a protective streak he can't quite shake. He’s proud of you, of course, but that doesn't mean he’s immune to feeling a little annoyed by the way you and Louis still share this kind of chaotic bond.

As the laughter dies down, Liam walks over to you, his expression a mix of amusement and something else. “You two really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

You flash him a teasing grin. “You wouldn’t want us to, would you?”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m just happy to see you happy. But I can’t promise I won’t try to stop you next time.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a sly smile. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Both,” he says with a playful grin.

But, despite the light teasing, there’s something different about the way he says it. You notice the subtle possessiveness—though, as always, it’s laced with affection and care.

That night, after the concert, you and Liam find a quiet moment backstage. The band has gone off to do interviews and take care of the usual post-show stuff, leaving you and Liam alone for a few minutes.

Liam takes your hand as the two of you walk through the quiet halls of the venue, the chaos of the show still echoing in the background. He pulls you closer, his thumb brushing against your skin as he looks down at you, his gaze soft and tender.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking,” Liam starts, his voice low and sincere. “Maybe we should finally just tell the world, you know?”

You stop walking, turning to face him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, his eyes full of sincerity, “let’s make it official. Tell everyone what we already know.”

You smile, heart fluttering at the thought. You’re not scared anymore. You don’t need to hide.

“Are you sure? You know how management will feel about it.”

He shrugs, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Screw management. We’re not doing this for anyone else. We’re doing it for us.”

You nod, your heart swelling with affection for him. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s do it.”

And just like that, in the middle of the madness and the pressure from management, you make the decision. You’ve always done things your way, and now, together, you’re ready to take on whatever comes next.

When you step out onto the stage, hand-in-hand, the crowd goes wild. They already know, but you’ve never felt more certain. As the lights shine down on you, you lean into Liam, whispering, “Screw what anyone else thinks. This is us.”

Liam looks down at you, a soft smile on his lips, before kissing you right there in front of everyone. The crowd erupts into applause, but all that matters is him. The world can watch. You’re not hiding anymore.

This is just the beginning.

...

Part 3

[iutdwae]

— the little things they do.

pairing. skz hyung line x reader

cw. fluff, just lots of pure raw love :3

word count. 595

[ found my drafts for my haikyuu blog from 3 years ago so i recycled it into my new interest LOL i’m just buffering while i write out my chan hard thoughts ]

CHAN buys you anything he sees piques your interest. you never have to verbally tell him you want something. whenever he takes notice to when your eyes linger just a second longer on a shirt on the hangers, or you constantly talk about a decoration you’ve been wanting to get, he’ll go out and buy it as soon as possible. he doesn’t just give you gift after gift either, he’ll shower you in so much subtle affection. the way he’d cling onto you and place gentle kisses on your forehead, eyelids, cheeks, nose, everywhere when the two of you are sitting watching tv; he absolutely spoils you. he’s an observant guy, and this really comes to play, especially when he starts buying you things that you don’t even look at, but rather what reminds him of you.

MINHO, though unwilling to admit it, has a 42 hour long soundtrack of songs that remind him of you. he’d been subconsciously compiling a playlist of songs that rubbed him in a way that others didn’t: a slight buzzing feeling in his head, it might even stop him in his tracks, contort his mood to where he was unexplainably snappy (he was just suddenly emotional), and he couldn’t pinpoint the reason for so long. it was when a mental image began to pop up during a certain chord of a song that he realized he was connecting the songs to you, and it wasn’t until it was at 30 hours that you found out about its existence. and the funny thing was, was that the songs were always slow and sleepy-like, almost like he was floating in the dream that was you.

CHANGBIN is always looking out for you. at every time of the day where a meal should be, expect a text from him asking if you’ve eaten. in the mornings, he’ll write a quick good morning message and a “make sure you grab something to eat.” it’s to the point where he’s memorized when you typically have dinner. it progressively grows to him making sure you eat a proper meal three times a day. he’s your top motivator if you’re on a diet, though he also soothes your worries on your body image. his goal is to keep you healthy and satisfied, is all. if he knows you’re too busy to feed yourself properly, expect to find food delivered with a lovely note, never cold and always something he knew you enjoyed. and if he’s home too, you already know he’ll be the one to prepare you something from his own hands.

HYUNJIN texts you good morning and good night every single day, without fail. a lot of the time, it’s really energetic with lots of emojis and exclamation marks. if he’s up late at night, sometimes, it’ll be a lengthy, childish love letter. he’s particularly good with his words at these times, and it’s common to find yourself crying at his constructed paragraph, stacked with innocence and pure love. sometimes, if he’s too exhausted to let his fingers do the work, he’ll lay in bed with his phone by his head and speak flawlessly into the mic, spilling out all the things he wishes he’d get to say to you in person. he’s out and about for work, and you aren’t always in the same timezone as him, so he’s developed a way on having you keep up with his agenda when he’s away. bonus if he sends you a picture of his bright, smiling face with a thumbs up, ready to begin his day.

[tikosblogg]

One shot request: fluff/comforting?

You work with Bad Omens and you’re dating Noah. You get left behind during lunch and he notices. Noah looks for you and takes you on a one on one lunch date. He notices you’re a bit sad on being left out, but comforts you and makes you feel better.

Idk. Thanks!

*Fav pic*

Summary: request, the guys forget you when leaving for lunch. Noah makes it up to you.

Warning: none

A/N: so sorry if this sucks donkey ass.

Noah had always been my little idea of magic. warm brown eyes, and an unforgettable smile, he was the kind of person who could light up a room just by walking in. At 6’3”, he towered over me, but the safety and warmth he wrapped around me were what kept me grounded. We had been together for nearly a year now, and every day felt like a new chapter in a thrilling novel, filled with bends, turns, and unexpected revelations.

Today, however, felt rather ordinary. I was deep in the trenches of organizing files in the studio while the band was busy tinkering away in the other room. They were working on their next big album, a project that had them buzzing with creative energy. I enjoyed the quiet of the studio. I loved the smell of the paper, old and new; the ambient sounds of instruments scattered around the room; even the scent of a leftover coffee that lingered in the air from earlier had its charm.

Suddenly, I heard the murmur of voices rising in conversation and laughter. A few moments later, they faded into the background, and silence fell over the studio once more. I paid it little mind, consumed by an arrangement of lyrics and chord progressions I was sorting through. After all, it wasn’t unusual for the band to take breaks or go out for lunch on a whim.

Yet, something felt off. I checked my watch and noticed that it was far later than I thought. I left the files I was working on and decided to step outside for a moment, eager to catch Noah and the band before they headed out.

As I moved into the main room, I quickly realized that The space was empty, and my heart sank. I hurried to the window, peering outside, and sure enough, they were piling into their van. A wave of disappointment washed over me like ice water. They had mentioned going for lunch earlier, but I thought I’d obviously be invited. I felt hurt and little forgotten.

I turned back to the cluttered studio, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. This wasn’t the first time their immersion into work had caused them to neglect telling me something crucial. And for Noah not to come and get me? That hurt more than I’d like to admit.

“Guess I’ll just eat later,” I mumbled to myself, glancing back at the files waiting for me. I sat down, but the paperwork felt heavy and unyielding, just like the sudden weight in my chest.

Meanwhile, Noah was in the van, but as he turned to look for you, He counted the heads: there was everyone, except for you.

“Wait—where’s Y/N?” he asked, frowning as he watched the front door, half-hoping to see you walk out. When his gaze fell on the door that should have been swinging open, uncertainty washed over him. The laughter from his bandmates faded into background noise as a sinking realization grew. He’d forgotten to grab You.

“Hey, guys. Hold on a second,” he called out, acknowledging his bandmates as he threw open the door, racing back into the studio. He found you hard at work, but the moment you looked up, he saw it in your eyes—a hurt that took his breath away.

“Baby?” he said softly, and the tone of his voice instantly made me feel like a fragile glass sculpture—a delicate thing he could accidentally shatter.

I forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Hey.”

His small smile dropped as he approached me, enveloping me in a warm embrace without hesitation. I leaned into him, seeking comfort. “I’m so sorry sweet girl, I thought you were coming with us. I didn’t realize you weren’t in the room with us, I thought you were right behind me.” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

I closed my eyes, relishing the safety of his presence, but the sadness still lingered at the edges of my mind. “I know, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal, I guess, but I just wanted to be with you.”

“No it’s not fine. I feel like such an ass. I always want you with me.” he smiled, pulling away to hold my face in his hands, his brown eyes searching mine. He pressed another soft kiss to my lips. “You and I are going on a lunch date. Just the two of us.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. “But you were all ready to eat with the guys…”

“Nope,” he insisted, shaking his head. “I wanna spend time with just you. I see those idiots enough.”

With that, he took my hand and led me out of the house, feeling the warmth of his laughter begin to thaw my lingering disappointment.