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37-drc89 · 6 months

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the way things go; lee minho

❁ nothing warms your heart more than his presence.

trope: roommates to lovers.

genre: comfort, slight angst, work exhaustion, happy ending.

summary: finally understanding that your failure doesn't scare him away.

warnings: blood, mention of overprotective parent, family problems, let me know if i should put anything more in here.

word count: 3,7k.

masterlist

note: this is very much my first fic here, like, ever. i'm still green in tumblr, any links and mostly making posts look good, but i'll eventually master it. i look forward to seeing your opinions and things i can change or make better, i'll appreciate every comment. and, please remember that english is not my first language! if you see any typo or something doesn't make sense, please inform me! thank you:)

Coming back home on Friday after whole week of working your ass off really feels like a walk of shame. You feel like everyone passing by can tell how awfully you did at your workplace today. And they wouldn't be wrong, the amount of scolds your boss threw in your direction through past few days is worryingly numerous.

Whether it was missing out on paper work your boss asked you to do for him, because you were so sure the deadline was set on the day after, or accidentially knocking off of your desk whole cup of hot, sweetened tea that later on you had to scrap off of the covering, under the strict eye of the middle aged man that scared you so much. Especially with the amount of misfortune that chased after you lately, like it was glued to you.

Cringe makes its way to your face. You're shuffling your way to your apartment, not really in a hurry, feet lazily dragged after you as you didn't even have any strenght to properly lift them off the ground. You most likely look like you've been partying for at least three nights in a row, but you can't find it in yourself to care about it. Not now.

Seeing the building in which your apartment is placed have never felt so relieving and you can feel your legs giving up under your weight just at the thought of splashing on the bed and dozing off. Vision of passing out on the sidewalk doesn't seem appealing to you, so you rush yourself to the door, typing entrance code and walking into the elevator, stairs not even crossing your mind. Your tired body slumps itself against the wall as you patiently wait to get to the 6th floor, finding relief in having something to support yourself on. Finally getting to the door you can't help but feel excited, tapping your feet happily just at the thought of making up every hour of sleep you've missed this week because of your busy schedule. You slide the door open and the very first thing reaching your ears is eager meowing, three fur balls appearing at the entrance immediately. You can't help but smile, kneeling to give each of them gentle head pat before taking off the coat and shoes. This truly felt like a bliss, like you've just slid off a bag of stones off your back. Sigh leaves your mouth, heading to the kitchen you turn on the kettle as your tea craving grows with every second. Soonie appears next to you, sitting at the table just across from you. You've grown so friendly with your roommate's Minho's cats that neither you nor him have any problem with kitties occupying places people normally wouldn't let them sit on.

Then you freeze for a second.

You look at Soonie.

Soonie looks at you.

Your brows furrow and the cat goes back to whatever he was doing previously.

Fuck.

Minho is coming home today. He's been away for past five days due to his business trip, that was probably exhaustion fogging your mind enough to forget about this. He's coming back today. And your apartment looks like a bomb has been detonated right in the middle of it all. You can't risk him seeing how messy you got, Minho is always the one to put stuff at the right place, making his bed no matter in how much of a hurry he's in, always the one to do the dishes and basically make everything look perfect. You can't see him disappointed in you for such an easy thing, he'll think you don't even gather your life together. Not like you do, but it's nothing in his business, you shouldn't become another one of his problems. He's just your roommate and the only thing you share and should take care of is apartment that is now in complete mess. You can blame it on your lack of time, barely spending any time at your place recently, but that won't help in current situation.

Quick glance at the time, 4:23 pm, you reach out for your phone to scroll up the conversation with your friend to make sure how fast you have to act.

He's back in town at 5 pm. Could this possibly get any worse?

You scold yourself internally for letting this whole situation happen. But you don't have time to think about this now, and as you turn off the kettle you speedrun to the livingroom, gathering scattered clothes from all around the place. You blame it on Monday when you got up so late you didn't even have time for brushing your hair and of course, the shirt you were looking for was nowhere to be found. Out of all things, it was the one you needed that day.

Then you pick up empty cans of soda, bottles of water and cups of coffee from the table and quickly throw them into the dishwasher. You blame it on Tuesday, the night you realised you have to write that fucking paperwork you got scolded for missing on Monday. So you sat there for hours, head empty, taking breaks only when your tired tears started wetting your pages, scared that all your miserable efforts will be ruined.

Rushing to Minho's room you pick up blanket and pillows from his floor. You blame it on Wednesday, the day you were already on the edge of breaking down and giving up on your job. Even though the boy is only a roommate for you, you've grown so used to his presence you started finding peace in it. Even after the worst day you knew that someone will always be there waiting at your apartment to serve you cup of hot chocolate and bowl of ramen, to take your turn of folding laundry or just listen to how appaling your day was. But he wasn't home and it left you all to yourself which was never the best idea. So, seeking for at least tiny bit of comfort, you slept on his floor. That sounds so fucking stupid and weird when you think about it now, but just the aura Minho left in his room made you feel a bit closer to him. Reminds you of every time he invited you over to play some online games for 12 year olds or spill any tea that happened at his work. Though, you never wanted to interfere his private space, so sleeping in his bed didn't even cross your mind. Floor was just sufficient for you, and you let your tears flow that night, just as much as you needed it. You know he would understand. He might seem cold to others, but you know he would. He already unwrapped his side of him to you letting you see that truly, inside, he's softer than anyone you know; It's all for Soonie, Doongie and Dori. They really do get the best of Minho.

Going back to the kitchen, you gather empty boxes of instant ramen, snacks and every ready shop food that you could possibly find at the convenience store. You blame it on the whole week of rushing, not even having time to eat a proper meal. You can feel it down your stomach, body demanding anything that could properly feed it and give it any strenght to function as it should be functioning. Honestly, you can't recall the last time you didn't feel sick. Lump in your throat was your loyal companion since a week ago, constant urge to throw up not leaving your body even when you were falling asleep and you know you'll have to appreciate normal, nutritions food more.

You run around the apartment holding a wet towel, wiping quickly every mirror hung on the walls as you know nothing pisses Minho more than fogged glass. So you try your best to do it carefully, just like he does it. Reaching the last mirror placed in the front hall you eagerly wipe it, aware of your lack of time. Then it all happens at once.

Shitty food, lack of sleep, liters of coffee and ungodly amount of stress feel like kicking in all at once, like it's been gathering in your exhausted body for the whole week just for this one moment that you needed to be fucking careful.

Vision blurry, feet suddently tripping over itself, mind going blank just for a second, but second is enough for you to try holding yourself onto the small table placed right under the mirror and shaking it so hard when sudden thump reach your ears, followed by loud sound of shattered glass. You don't want to look. Because you're fully aware of what just happened. You don't want to look but you do. Eyes landing on the remains of now broken vase, water all over the floor, flowers that were resting inside it now cut in half and completely soaked.

And it was Minho's favourite vase. The first and the last thing he always glanced at when leaving or coming back home, admiring its beauty, pretty patterns, unique shape and the prettiest flowers inside. Flowers that he got for his 25th birthday that passed not so long ago from his dearest best friend Jisung. Flowers that he was so happy to receive, first thing he did after coming home that day was showing them to you, proudly, ranting about how they perfectly suit the room. And you ruined it all.

Your body slides slowly on the wet floor, water soaking your pants on your knees and you support yourself on the palms of your hands not to completely fall into the mess. You feel small pieces of glass ripping open your delicate skin of your hands, small streams of blood making their way to the floor, mixing with spilled water but you couldn't care less. Elbows start to shake under the weight of your body, shoulders tensing and your head falls, your own quiet sobs reaching your ears. It quickly turns into uncotrollable groans and whines, tears now flowing down your face with no end, nose already full, loose hair stick to your now completely soaked cheeks.

And you blame it on yourself. You could seek for anything to put his all on, like your boss, for making you feel useless for not even managing to do your fucking job properly and assigning you more work than anyone else in your department. Or your mother for not teaching you how to manage your time and how to function on your own, her overprotectiveness during your childhood and teenage years showing so often that you never even got any time to learn adult life before stepping into it. But you know it isn't their fault, no matter how hard you try to think that it is. You let yourself into this situation. You let yourself be in the state you're currently in. You didn't try hard enough to make yourself a decent person. There's no one you can blame but you.

Your endless cries must've muffled the sound of door cracking open, eyes reaching only feet of your roommate that was now standing at the entrance. You couldn't look up, even if you wanted to, you couldn't look Minho in the eyes. Not when he's witnessing your failure and the mess you made out of something so dear to him.

Meanwhile Minho stood there, body frozen, gazing at your tiny figure splashed on the floor, shoulders shaking. He doesn't even notice the crashed vase at first, your current state drawing all his attention immediately to you.

He doesn't give himself any time to think much longer about what's happening in his front hall right now, dropping bags he's been holding in his right hand and suitcase on his left and appearing at your side the second after, kneeling by your vulnerable body on the floor.

"Hey, hey.." Minho lightly lays his hand on your shaky back, carefully caressing it to soothe you. "Easy now, I'm here."

The only respond he gets is your dramatic, loud sob ripping out of your heavy chest. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Minho... Is the only thing you could get out of yourself, followed by another set of pretty disgusting, wet cries.

"Are you hurt? Let me see your hand, please," your roommate asked quietly not to scare you after noticing red coloured drops beside your knees. Gently, he took your harmed hands into his and studied small pieces of glass stuck in your skin. "Let's get it cleaned, okay?"

His hand makes its way to your waist and he stands up slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves that could put you in pain. He shuffles you to the bathroom and helps you sit on the toilet seat and starts preparing alcohol and wet towels.

You feel pathetic.

Not only you ruined his special item, something so important and beautiful, but now he has to take care of someone that caused all the damage. You feel helpless once again, like you couldn't do anything fucking right for once. Once.

Your caring roommate starts removing glass shatters from your wound, his tongue sticking out a bit from the corner of his mouth, fully concentrated in his task. He knows that if his hands twitch even a little bit, he might hurt you even more, and let me tell you, his hands are trembling. He can't recall a situation when he saw you in such state.

You always seem tough, tough against any misfortune that meets you. You surely talk to him when you need some shoulder to lay on, about your worse days and he's cautious enough to notice when you're exhausted. But he's never seen you at your breaking point, starting to believe you don't have any. Yet you're here, in front of him, not even being able to speak properly. He can't help but feel kind of relieved at the whole situation knowing that your hard, protective shell cracked a little bit, letting him see something he's never seen in you before. Weakness.

"This might sting a bit," Minho informs you as he presses alcohol soaked paper to your wound. Whimper leaves your mouth at the unpleasant feeling and you hang your head down. He quickly wraps bandage around your hand and clasps it between his warm palms.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about that the hall. I'll take care of it, okay?" He tries to lower himself, kneeling in front of you, so he can get a better glimpse of your puffed face. You shake your head and straighten your back, looking at him with serious expression.

"No." You sniff, "No, I broke it, I broke something so important to you and it's my fault. I'll clean it. I'll buy you a new one, the same one, I promise Minho."

His hands make their way to your back, slowly, eyes remaining on you for any sign of discomfort. When you sneakily lean into the touch, Minho pulls your body entirely towards his, clasping your weak figure into his arms and sways you left and right, wanting to feel your muscles relax in his embrace.

"What's wrong, hm? My roommate senses are tingling," his voice muffles itself by pressing his mouth against your shoulder, "Talk to me, y/n, please?"

"I had the worst week ever here, without you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You just shake your head no, holding onto his waist tighter than ever. You feel him nod. His calm aura pulls you in completely, feeling like walking into hot building during snowy, cold winter. Your cheeks warm up, pressing right below his neck, his body warmth transferring itself to you.

"It's lowkey weird." You choke out, coughing right after because of how stuffed your poor throat felt.

"What is?"

"You comforting me while I'm sitting on a toilet seat."

You manage to let out throaty chuckle to light the atmosphere up, however, you can't help the warm stream of tears flowing right after.

"Want to move it to the livingroom?" Minho pulls out of the hug slightly, setting his gaze at your red face again and your eyes make their way to the floor. You still haven't looked him in the eyes, not even once, as you're scared of the wave of guilt that will follow. As if the one you're feeling right now isn't enough. You feel like a child scared to get shouted at by their parents.

Minho crouches down in front of you and you hum in question, brows furrowed. He only gestures with his hand for you to hop onto his back, already positioning your legs on his hips. You groan but don't protest, you know how Minho is and you know fighting him is hopeless. Wrapping your arms around his next securely and glueing your chest onto his back, you melt into the warmth of his body. He stands up, feeling your breath tickling the skin behind his ear and smiling to himself, noticing how it got much steadier than it was before. He leads both of you out the bathroom and again, the sad view of Minho's favourite vase on the floor, not really looking any similar to vase anymore, hits you, shoving another wave of guilt through your nerves. You close your eyes and rest your forehead on your roommate's shoulder.

"I'm truly, so, so sorry Minho. I never meant to do this, I was just trying to make the place look presentable for you and it ended like it always does." the words left your mouth as quiet squeak, taking another deep breath before speaking again; "Yet you still have to clean the mess I did, like you always do. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you. I failed being your perfect roommate."

"Who said I wanted a perfect roommate?" he asks as you reach your shared couch, carefully laying you on it then sitting by your side, facing you. "You think I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I've broken like five vases in my life and none of this was anything I planned, just like you."

You finally find some strenght in yourself to raise your gaze and lock it at his round, dark eyes. And he's right, no matter how intensively you look into them, you can't find even a tiny bit of anger in them, they sparked with understanding and you find yourself feeling bad at even thinking someone this precious could get so mad at you. They were so pure you could see your ugly, messed up reflection in them. Before you could start thinking about this again, his eyes squinted a little bit as corners of Minho's lips curled upwards in the most beautiful, sincere, affectionate smile you've ever seen. You only realised that his hand was placed on your trembling knee when you felt his fingers caressing it softly, sending warm shiver through your whole body.

"What about the flowers? You loved them..." You turned around to take a glimpse of the mess once again but Minho quickly grabbed your chin with only pads of his fingers and made you look back at him. "I'll take over from here, you get rest now."

Just as he was about to stand up from the couch you grabbed him by his sleeve and almost agressively pulled him right into your arms, crashing in the tightest, breath taking hug as you truly couldn't believe you had him by your side. Just when you thought you crossed his boundaries by that sudden action and started to loose your grip on him, he dragged you right back to him like he was waiting for this moment to happen. His heart pressed to yours, he definitely could tell how fast and heavy its beating right now. Both of yours eyes closed, you just enjoyed this such intimate moment, very first one since you've moved in together. Neither you or him dare to make a move in fear of ruining this beautiful scene.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, so quietly you're not even sure he heard it. "only you can endure me as your roommate. How are you not tired of this?" Chuckle leaves your mouth but you quickly tone it out in case he responds, Well, I am actually tired.

"Because you're the only one that can endure me, too." He pulls out of the hug, though he doesn't move too far away, being so close to your face you could feel his minty breath on your nose. "I guess it's just the way things go."

Next thing your brain processes is his perfect lips landing on yours in swift motion. Suprisingly they're not rough, not even a little bit, they're so soft you barely feel them at first. Your heart goes up your throat for a mere second, dropping back down the moment he caress your cheek gently with his warm hand, now covered in the tiniest layer of sweat caused by the adrenaline. When your body finally understands what's going on, you lean into him completely, hand going up on the back of his head, tangling into his soft, dark hair and Minho takes is as a sign to continue, now pressing his lips onto yours with more force, making sure you feel them properly. A sigh of relief leaves both of your mouths and you smile into the kiss. When you eventually just slightly pull away from each other, faces still close, you notice new emotion making its way into his eyes, overtaking the rest as he studies every part of your face carefully. It's love. His eyes are full of love. Its so intense like it just have been freed from his chest after months of hiding in the deepest corners of his heart.

There's still so much you don't know about him and there's so much he doesn't know about you, but the gate has opened now and there's no turning back. You don't know what any of this means yet, but you can think of it tomorrow. Or in a month. Or in a year.

For now it's just you and him. And that's what matters the most in the world.

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SIXTEEN

in which you and eddie take some time to figure each other out in the afterglow of honesty.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 2.7k+

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◁ previous part, next part▷

16:00 ──────────ㅇ───── 24:00

HOUR SIXTEEN - 7:00 AM

Eddie’s favorite color is red. He likes his coffee with an obscene amount of sugar and creamer, which always leads to a regrettable stomach ache. He learned to play guitar on an acoustic six string handed down to him by his uncle, and he’s completely self taught beyond what his uncle taught him about basic notes. And his uncle’s name is Wayne. He refers to the man that raised him as Uncle Wayne.

Honesty turns out to be quite the beautiful thing in the morning light, and for the first time, you feel as though you’re truly getting to know Eddie.

It’s a give and take, an even exchange of bits and pieces of each other that are handed over without much thought. You finally have a clearer picture of the man you’ve spent the last fifteen hours straight with. A full photograph in time of who he is, who he really is, in a way that you wouldn’t have been able to fathom a week before. And it’s ironic, looking back on your relationship’s progression with him, the way you two keep skipping over steps before retracing to what was missed. How ironic you’ve let him see you at your most primal and vulnerable, but you’ve just learned his favorite color.

Eddie Munson isn’t a dick. He’s kind, he’s a huge goddamn nerd, he can be funny sometimes, his favorite color is red, but he isn’t a dick as you’ve been led to believe he was this last year.

Well, maybe led isn’t the right word. Everyone told you he wasn’t a dick. You just never listened.

Eddie’s just revealed his favorite movie genre as horror when you’re leaning forward, elbows pressing into your thighs as you ask him with a grin, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Very funny reference,” he deadpans, barely keeping his face straight as he jokingly narrows his eyes, “Especially considering it’s the Scream franchise.”

You still haven’t brought up that question of why exactly he fought for your honor after that fight. His grand reveal left you with more confusion than you ever could have anticipated, and more than this fragile friendship could handle this early in the morning. So you’d buried it down, somewhere deep inside, for the sake of the friendship.

“You can’t just say an entire franchise. Pick a favorite one, idiot.”

Friendship. Was that what this was? When was the last time one of your friends had seen you naked, or ate you out atop a kitchen counter?

“The first one. You can’t beat the classic.”

You fight your smile in a similar fashion that he is. Mirroring joy, mirroring surprise, “You’re definitely only saying that for the whole homoerotic friendship between Stu and Billy.”

“Oh, I definitely am,” he doesn’t even try to deny it as he cracks and laughs softly, “What about you?”

Even after nearly an hour of doing this, going back and forth and learning about each other, the novelty of Eddie genuinely asking you things about yourself hasn’t worn off. The curiosity that lights in his eyes, the way he leans into you to hear each word clearly – it makes you question if this was the same man who had once been so cruel.

“My favorite scary movie? I… don’t have one,” you lean back into your chair, a small huff of air escaping you from impact.

There’s two mugs of coffee on the small garden table between your chairs, having gone cold long since Eddie retrieved them for the two of you. That had been when he’d earnestly told you about his coffee preference – he’d been sweetly shy about the ordeal, bashful as he looked down at the mugs and informed you he’d tried to only put a normal amount of cream in yours, only a little bit of sugar. It had been so endearing, the way that when you asked what he meant by normal and he’d only murmured his confession of how he took his morning caffeine over the mug’s lip, you nearly caved into yourself.

“That’s impossible. No way. Absolutely not,” Eddie is animated as he waves his hands around wildly in front of him, shaking his head furiously at your answer, “I refuse to believe you don’t have a favorite scary movie, especially considering you quoted an iconic franchise. If you can quote Scream, you can tell me what your favorite is-”

You interrupt him with laughter, scrunching up your face, “Okay, first of all- Eddie, hey,” he’s still rambling, still being terribly dramatic in the flailing of his arms, so you reach over to grip the forearm closest to you. All his movements immediately cease as his eyes widen, staring directly at you in an oddity of shock, “First of all, it’s just common knowledge of pop culture. I’ve never even seen those movies,” you’re not sure if Eddie is breathing as your hand remains still tightly clasped against his forearm, and you’re not sure why he wouldn’t be, “Second of all, I’m a wimp. Scary movies might be my least favorite kind of movie, right behind apocalyptic action movies.”

When he takes a sudden deep breath, you realize he had been holding his breath, “Apocalyptic action movies?”

You begin to explain, to list examples, and you never once take your hand off his arms. You rattle off a list – 2012, The Day After Tomorrow, San Andrea’s Fault, etc. – all the while feeling his pulse race beneath his warm skin. All the while selfishly enjoying the contact, wondering how long it might take staying like this before your fingertips would mold to him. Maybe they’d eventually melt into his arm, skin molten together so that where he ends and where you begin is impossible to distinguish. A closeness with him that you had never craved so ardently before tonight, before today.

“So, doomsday movies,” he hums after you give your examples. If you were smart, you’d let go of him. It’s been too long for the contact to be brushed off as normal, “Does that mean you also hate zombie movies?”

“Nope. Those are an entirely different thing.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re entirely different.”

“They are. They’re completely unrealistic! San Andrea’s Fault… sort of… well, it could happen.”

“They’re not completely unrealistic. Some of them almost have, like, legit science behind them.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he scooted his chair closer. Or the slip of his arm in your loosening grasp, leading your hand until it rests against his wrist, so close to holding onto his own hand that rests palm up against his thigh in wait.

An offering.

“There is no logical way that one day, our world is going to turn into a real-life Walking Dead situation,” you say, trying to steady your breathing.

You won’t make the first move.

He’s leading this moment. If he wants to hold your hand, then he can take that final leap of faith.

“Have you actually seen The Walking Dead, or are you just blindly making pop culture references again?”

You can feel the thrill of his heartbeat pick up in the center of his wrist before he does it. With subtle movements, his wrist slips between your fingertips.

Only for them to be recaptured by his own knuckles. The dust settles. The warmth spreads. Your palm is pressed to his palm, your fingers interlocked between his fingers.

“I have seen that one,” you tell him quietly, looking down at your conjoined hands. His eyes are also downcast to them. The tendon in his wrist flexes as he tightens his grip on your hand, the small squeeze becoming more sure. It’s not an accident; this was never an accident.

It’s in the hair you notice on his forearm, wispy and blonde and almost comical in contrast to the dark curls that grow from his scalp. A layer of fuzz that covers alabaster skin dotted in rare and faded freckles, nearly invisible unless you look closely enough. You can see the tan line across his wrist from where he would normally wear a watch. If you follow the details further up his arm, away from the wrist now awkwardly pressed against yours in a twist, you can see the faded blue-black ink of his tattoos. That flock of bats, the most faded of his numerous additions to his skin, taunts you. You’ve already known him up close and personal in the last few hours, felt him flush against you and memorized the way his body was capable of pressing into yours, but it’s in these details that the ache arises. The sadness that you’ve never known him quite this personally before this moment, and the fear that you never will again.

An ache all because he’s let you close enough to learn the details of his skin – what a marvelous thing.

“That’s a miracle,” he mutters, fully entranced as he rubs the pad of his thumb across the top of your fingers. You’re quick to return the motion; his knuckles are far more rough than yours, and you try to count the groves in them, from long weeks no doubt, all in that brief swipe, “Or else I would have had to have insisted upon ending this lovely honesty hour, and subjecting you to a marathon.”

“We can still have a marathon.”

You’d do just about anything to remain in this position, to stay this impossibly close to him. You’re selfish and you’re clingy, squeezing his hand a little bit tighter as he had done to you, as if the grip on it reflects your grip on the moment. You can’t let it go – you can’t let him go.

No matter how you have had him, no matter how long he sits in this golden hour with his hand in yours, it will never be enough. This sudden and abruptly-arriving ache is incurable.

You want him, you need him, you bloom for him.

There’s something in his smirk as he awkwardly uses his freehand to bring his mug of too-sweet coffee to his lips that almost whispers that there’s a chance: he also wants you, he also needs you, he also blooms for you.

And so you tell him about yourself in turn. You don’t just stop at your distaste for horror or your fear of doomsday movies. You tell him how you don’t have a favorite color, how you switch it up too often and all he can do is chuckle at your indecisiveness. Once, an insecurity – now something silly to find amusement in at his side. You reveal to him your coffee preference; you take it with a normal amount of cream and just a little bit of sugar. You don’t reveal to him that before today, you’d always turned your nose up to hot coffee, an iced coffee connoisseur. Something in the sparkle of his eyes warns that he might already know. You don’t play any instruments, but you have a list of songs for him to learn, insisting that someday he’d have to play them for you on that guitar his Uncle Wayne gave him. (You can’t think too much on the way you’re once more speaking in some days with him. Your heart might burst if you do.)

You try to bare your soul, to stare down the barrel of honesty, just as he had. It’s scarier than you could have imagined. Finally, after fifteen hours, you get it.

You get it, and it only makes you squeeze his hand tighter.

At some point, he notices the way the sun is warming both of you with each passing minute, palms now sweaty against each other as he asks, “Do you want to go back inside?”

No. I want to live in this moment for the rest of my days. “We can if you want to.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Tell me what you want. You constantly do that with everyone else, you know. Let them make the decisions,” he’s smiling softly, eyes squinted against the sun now rising high in the sky, “I can’t even count the amount of times you’ve said that to Nancy on both hands. Which, I mean, awesome – Nance fuckin’ loves being the decision-maker. But we’re talking about me. You’ve never been shy about butting heads with me.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Quite the sudden high horse, Mr. Honesty.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “Well, it’s honesty hour. So, here’s more honesty – I love when you give me a run for my money. Who else is going to tell me to shut the fuck up when I’m on track to ramble for hours about Lord of the Rings?”

“You want to talk honesty? I would only tell you to shut up because I might have blown my cover and you’d realize I actually enjoyed your company.”

The soft smile widens, more shameless and more radiant, “Coulda fooled me.”

“I did fool you,” you tease, and your hand slips from his, but the warmth left behind doesn’t. It’s buried deep in your bones now.

Things will never return to normal, not for you. It isn’t a bad thing – it’s only a sure thing.

“For what it’s worth…” he pauses, that smile faltering. “I enjoyed your company far more than I ever let on, too.”

Is that why you fought for me, after fighting against me?

He doesn’t let you reply, instead smacking both of his now free palms against his thighs as he moves to stand, “Anyways, I actually do happen to want to go inside,” he gestures to those faded swirls of tattoos across his biceps and forearms, “I don’t expose myself to too much sun for obvious reasons.”

“Reasons being you’re a vampire?” you tease.

“Ha-ha,” he deadpans, “Yes, it’s definitely because I’m a vampire and not because of these sick tatties.”

“Calling those abominations sick is pushing it,” you playfully counter as you scoot to the edge of the seat of the chair, unsticking your thighs from plastic, “And I knew it. Your skin is practically glittering like diamonds, Edward.”

He scowls. “So Twilight is off the marathon line up.”

He sticks out a hand, the same one you had clung to for most of your conversation with each other. You don’t take it immediately.

“There’s going to be a marathon?”

“You’ve got something better to do?”

The thought of cuddling up with him on the couch has your heart pounding. Honestly, the couch would now remain tainted for the rest of your days. You might even continue to avoid showing up to his apartment just to avoid flushing red any time you see one of your friends take a seat on the spot he once took you on, had pressed into you as your knees had dug into those cushions, as you had moaned his na-

You had to stop thinking about it before he noticed your thighs pressing together tightly.

“For the record,” he says, hand still extended, unwavering as the sun forms an aura of gold around his outline, “Honesty hour doesn’t have to end when we go inside. From here on out, I actually insist that it be on the table. One of the perks of being my friend, I suppose.”

Those are the magic words. You don’t need to immediately know why he fought for you, or why he really led you to believe he hated you for so long. You don’t need to know why he kissed you and you don’t need to know why he’d changed his tune so suddenly the first night you two met. All you needed to know was that if you wanted to know, if you ever find the guts to ask him about these things, he would tell you.

You reach out and take his hand.

Immediately, he pulls you comically hard out of your chair. When you fumble directly into his chest, he’s already chuckling and wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, pulling back and glaring up at him without any true venom, “Eager much?”

“Very,” he boyishly grins down at you and your heart skips a beat.

Eagerly, wildly, suddenly, comfortingly – he now occupies a space in your brain you weren’t aware existed. It almost whispers I was always here, always waiting for him.

The two of you don’t waste any time as he tugs you inside, the promise of a movie marathon awaiting the two of you.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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#twenty four hours #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #sorry if it sucks #please be kind and if you're disappointed... do not tell me for the sake of my mental health haha

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dragonheartstring360 · 8 months

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Some notes for anyone writing a character with glasses, from someone who wears glasses everyday:

- glasses need to come off before changing a shirt, unless it has a really big collar. Otherwise, glasses will get ripped off by said shirt collar.

- weather will affect how well you can see out of them, especially rain. Raindrops will dot glasses and it’s like trying to drive a car in the rain without working windshield wipers. Snow sometimes does this too, but not as bad, and lots of dust kicking up will make glasses dirty and foggy. If it’s humid enough (talking like swampy, Deep South levels, weather app says “90-100% humidity”), glasses will fog up when you step outside. If it’s crazy windy, glasses can fly off and the character should hold onto them or take them off and put them somewhere safe. They’ll usually get dirty or break in a pants pocket, so maybe have character carry around a sturdy glasses case if needed.

- not all materials are good for wiping glasses off. Some shirt materials just make it worse.

- if your character’s glasses are super dirty or smudged, they will be able to see it 24/7 as they look around and it’s annoying af.

- although glasses can keep things from getting in a character’s eyes (like something that’s been sprayed), it doesn’t protect our eyes all the time, especially if it’s coming at an angle or there’s a large amount. For that, you’d need actual safety glasses or goggles (and yes, they do make prescription goggles, but they’re not cheap).

- speaking of waves, for the love of god, DO NOT have your character swim with their glasses on. At best, they’ll get wet and they won’t be able to see. At worst, if they’re forced underwater or an ocean wave smacks them in the face, they’ll fly off and/or break.

- a crack in glasses is actually annoying af and makes it very hard to see.

- if a character’s face is wet, like from sweat or a ton of rain, their glasses will continuously slide down their nose and they’ll need to keep pushing them back up.

- lots of liquids other than water will make glasses opaque.

- glasses should be fitted pretty well to a person’s head. So if the character’s face is dry or there’s a moderate amount of wind, the “legs” that go behind their ears should be tight enough that they don’t just constantly fly off or slip down their nose. If they do, they’re too big (but obviously something a tornado will make them fly off).

- although I hate the whole “they took off their glasses and now they’re a ✨ model ✨” trope, people do tend to look very different with glasses on vs off - especially a character like Harry Potter who constantly wears their glasses. It’s not unrealistic that people who don’t know the character well (or even those who do, but just aren’t as quick) won’t recognize them at first without their glasses.

- as far as I know (correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve never been able to do this), if a lens pops out of the frames, it can’t be popped back in by non-professionals without the right tools. The glasses are just done for.

- if your character has contacts in (or this is a psa for anyone who wears contacts), DO NOT have them rub their eyes. The contact will pop out and they’re very translucent and tiny, so trust me, it will just fall and be lost forever.

- being able to see clearly out of one eye and not the other (like with a broken/missing lens or a contact falling out) causes headaches.

- glasses are expensive af in the US (idk about other places). One time when I didn’t have vision insurance, an eye exam and two frames with lenses (I have blue eyes and very extreme light sensitivity, so have to have prescription sun glasses as well as regular glasses) cost over $900USD. If you want the special frames that become tinted and basically turn into sunglasses when you walk outside, it will cost extra.

- speaking of those lenses that become tinted when you walk outside, they take awhile to fade back to normal after you go back inside. Your character needs to be prepared to still be “wearing” sunglasses for the first 5-10 minutes after they walk inside.

- if a character is wearing contacts, they can wear normal sunglasses. If not, they’ll need special prescription sunglasses to be able to see. You cannot wear prescription sunglasses with contacts in or you won’t be able to see anything. Ever tried to look through your friend’s glasses and everything’s weird and warped and giving you a headache? That’s what it will look like.

- not exactly glasses related, but people with lighter colored eyes will always have worse light sensitivity than people with darker eyes. I have very blue eyes and looking up at the sky on a sunny day will literally make me see stars, and especially if I’m driving towards the sun while it’s setting, I have to have my sunglasses on or I literally will not be able to see and tears will be leaking out my eyes the whole way home.

- speaking of prescription sunglasses, unless your character can see pretty far without their glasses or they’re far sighted, you cannot just take prescription sunglasses off and still be able to see, especially while driving. You just have to deal with it and keep the sunglasses on and look like a Matrix wannabe if it gets cloudy or starts raining, or you have to do the super speedy Dance of Death where you’re still watching the road in front of you, taking off one pair of glasses and putting the other on super fast (which usually requires you to use your mouth to open and close things).

- GLASSES ARE FRAGILE. Seriously, a very petite person could sit in them and snap them in half. They’re not something you want your character just throwing around.

- there are varying levels of how well someone can see. There’s farsightedness and nearsightedness. Some people don’t have that much trouble and can see pretty far, so only wear their glasses as needed. But some people (aka moi) can genuinely only see a few inches in front of their face. Like if I ever lost my glasses or they broke, I’d be done for. I wouldn’t be able to work or drive or do anything around the house.

- glasses need to be replaced about once a year because of possible prescription changes or sometimes lenses losing their strength and becoming harder to see through. Trying to tough it out after long enough will give your character headaches/migraines and sore eyes from eye strain.

- some mascaras (especially thick ones) will smudge glasses when the character blinks. Same with false lashes (although they’ll brush instead of smudge). Usually less intense mascaras and shorter fake lash lengths are better.

- eye makeup is harder to see with glasses on.

- please, please, PLEASE stop using the whole “omg look how much prettier/more attractive they are without their glasses” trope. Not everyone’s eyes can handle contacts and some people prefer wearing their glasses. And it makes those of us who prefer glasses or have to wear them feel like shit, especially because there aren’t a lot of characters with glasses in media who don’t become the butt of a joke (ie the one wearing glasses is the “ugly duckling” for it like in princess diaries, or like Velma from scooby doo always losing them and patting around, or people who wear glasses will always be some sort of dorky/insufferable know it all).

- glasses come in all shapes, sizes, and colors and can be used to actually enhance a character’s style! Some of them even have magnetic frames that click in place over the simple pair, so have fun using glasses to build your character’s style.

- edit to add: no one ever purposely falls asleep with their glasses on. You will crush and break them when you roll around. However, if a character does accidentally fall asleep with them on, a love interest gently taking them off so they don’t wake them up and setting them on the table next to them can be a super cute moment.

- whoops thought of some more. Hair products, especially hairspray, can be a bitch to get off glasses and doesn’t always just rinse off with water. If they’re spraying anything, including dry shampoo, the glasses have gotta come off and get out of the line of fire first.

- hair can and will get caught in the little hinge by the legs and we do occasionally not notice till we take our glasses off and rip a hair out of our heads.

- be careful when you comb or brush, cuz if the glasses legs get caught in the brush or comb, it will be ripped off our face.

Hope this helps! May the writing gods bless your work 🤓

#friendly neighborhood writer #writer things #writers on tumblr #fanfiction writer #writers and poets #ao3 writer #writerscommunity #writing advice #fanfiction writing #creative writing #writing #fanfic writing #psa #glasses #characters with glasses

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ladyymiisa · 1 month

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ENTRANCED

summary: you’re japan’s most famous singer and hawks is your biggest fan

tags: hawks x f!reader, singer!reader, fanboy!hawks, feminine pronouns used for reader, fluff, hawks is such a loser i love him

author’s note: umm mha brainrot has been going crazy ever since the new season trailer dropped,, i might make a part two for this since im literally such a sucker for the popstar trope,, also this is such an indulgent fic for me i am so sorry chat

thinking about hawks.

hawks, who besides being japan’s number two hero, is also a man entitled to have his own passions and interests to indulge in, despite his incredibly busy line of work. and one of those interests is you.

radiant, talented, spectacular you, who japan had classified as its top favourite singer. rising to the tops in a short matter of time despite being a young adult, you’ve managed to make a name for yourself through your hard work. you had a certain image about you that lured people in, that made them want to see more of you.

you were absolutely gorgeous, with bright eyes that shone with excitement whenever you got on the stage, a smile that held nothing but affection for your fans as you talked to them during your meet-and-greets, and an aura so powerful that it made them want to have their eyes on you at all times. everyone was enamoured by you, and slowly but surely, hawks found himself caught in your love-net as well.

during one of his patrols (which was surprisingly peaceful considering the amount of people that usually stopped to either take a picture with him or ask for his autograph), he couldn’t help the whistle that fell from his lips upon seeing your image showcased on a luxurious shop’s glass window.

you had just recently done a collaboration with the brand, proudly showing off their clothes and accessories on your instagram stories—which he all hearted, by the way—and boy was he glad you did. the clothing embraced your body perfectly, hugging your curves and enhancing your attractiveness, as if you were made to wear them. you looked breathtaking, and hawks couldn’t find the strength to pry himself away from the glass window.

and don’t get me wrong, your appearance isn’t the only thing that lured him in. your voice won him over the second he decided to watch one of your music videos. the public wasn’t lying, your singing was mesmerising! despite how the music genre wasn’t particularly his favourite, the hero found himself going through all of your albums, singles and even listening to the songs you were featured on. after about three hours of continuous listening, hawks already had a playlist made with all of his favourite songs.

his favourite album is your first one. it really embraces your authenticity with its heartfelt lyrics and story behind it, about some of the hardest moments in your life. he remembers you saying in one interview that said album was the closest to your heart since it was the one that made you reach the tops, and also because it was the first album you wrote on your own. it was raw and sincere, much like the ones that came after, but it was clear that none could compare to the very first.

all in all, you could say that hawks is your biggest fan.

his apartment has a special corner in which he keeps all of your merch. from posters, vinyls, shirts and even exclusive plushies, this man has everything. sometimes he feels cringe for being such a diehard fanboy, but hey, he deserves to have the luxury of indulging in something as normal as having a small very big celebrity crush.

also, he definitely follows multiple stan accounts dedicated to you. pictures taken at any of your concerts? he has them saved. a very cool edit on tiktok of you while you’re performing? he’s hitting the like and favourite buttons immediately. like, this man spends countless hours looking at pictures of you on pinterest while he’s giggling and kicking his feet like a lovesick middle school girl.

and it’s no secret that hawks is your fan. almost everyone at his agency knows, especially since he makes no effort to hide it. not from his agency, and not from the media either. one time during a public interview, one reporter asked him if he had any favourite singers, in hopes of gathering more personal information about the hero, and hawks didn’t hesitate for a second before responding with, “y/n, of course! she’s incredibly talented and i love her music. i think i know all of her songs by heart, haha!” to which the media went wild.

of course, being the devious little shit that he is, hawks intentionally made the information public with the intention of gaining your attention. and to his delight, it did. not even a day after the interview was posted online, he woke up with two notifications from his instagram. the poor hero almost dropped his phone from ten feet up high in the air after reading the name of the account who messaged him.

y/nofficial

hey :)

heard you like my music, how about a free vip ticket to come meet me backstage after my next concert? <3

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sophieeeet · 18 days

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My Reason to Exist °‧🫧

Pairing: Husband! OT5 x Wife Femreader x your baby

Summary: You always endured your Husband's protectiveness but you didn't know that you have to cope up with your kids too

Genre: Fluff, Kissing , protectiveness from your husband's as well as you kids

Warning: Nonidol! OT5 x Nonidol! Fem!reader, Husband x Wife x Baby/toddler trope, sweet fluff, protectiveness, mention of (baby , princess, wife )

CHOI YEONJUN

Two peas in a pod, twins, copies: these are all things people have called your husband and son.

honestly, they're not wrong. your son has his father's looks from his fox eyes to his pouty lips -Yeonjun swears he has your nose and ears but anyway-and he carries the same protectiveness and love he holds for you, if not amplified.

you can't count on one hand the amount of times the house has been turned upside down because of their fights for a cuddle session with you.

of course, you have always tried suggesting them simply sharing you, but these problem children would rather eat raw zucchini than ever share the cuddle time.

so while your son is barely six, you can still count on him to team up with Yeonjun against anyone who wrongs you in anyway like what's happening right now for example.

you're out with your lovely family to buy some groceries, and since they both were whining about getting some sweets, you allowed them to go and snatch a couple from the next aisle.

on the other hand, you stayed to look for another type of detergent to clean the floor-especially since Yeonjun got this new type of paint for s/n and it's quite an endeavour to remove it with a regular detergent.

however, being in the cleaning supplies section never guaranteed the lack of filthy men who can't take no for an answer. this one man approaches you, smug grin on his face as he leans on the wall, "what's a pretty lady like you doing alone?"

"buying groceries like a normal person; now please leave me alone."

he quickly frowns, "don't be so stingy doll," his hand extends towards your arm, "I can show you a good time; I promise--"

the man is swiftly smacked with an egg on his face, and he is left with the egg dripping down his face, "what's your wrong with your kid, man?!" he yells at the person behind you.

He then grumbles, "ruined a potential good night."

"My kid was absolutely right in what he did," you hear Yeonjun’s voice. you then feel a hand on your shoulder, and you're pulled into a chest you're all too familiar with, ""junnie-"

your husband shoots a small smile your way, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before looking at his son, "that last throw was very good, son ! throw another one but just below his stomach."

A Cheshire cat-like grin is plastered on your husband's face as your boy prepares to launch another egg at the man.

there is a very evident scowl on your son's face as he yells, "don't you ever bother mama again, you stinky bum crumb!"

the man gasps and tries to make a run for it, but your son wouldn't be the son of Choi Yeonjun if he doesn't manage to land the hit exactly where he wants.

the man quickly crumbles to the ground screaming and alerting literally everyone in the store.

So Yeonjun picks both you and your son and makes a run for it.

you hold tightly onto him, "wait, ‘junnie, the groceries!"

"we can always order! saving my princess and son is more important!"

your son grumbles, "but I want to hit the rude man!"

"me too, champ, but-" Yeonjun’s sweat-drops and glances behind him, "I doubt the angry security guards wouldn't like that!"

CHOI SOOBIN

Your twin girls are one of the sassiest to exist.

In a way, they take after their father who is also pretty sassy but very low-key.

The sass of all three combined is terrible to be the victim of. Luckily for you, they don’t dare direct their triple ray towards you, especially-in any argument at least one will try to win you over. As you know the girls have inherited their father's professional yapping mechanism since birth, the trinity force uses that card whenever they're in an argument.

If it’s Soobin trying to stay on your good side, then he is hugging you from behind, pressing feather-like kisses on your shoulder and whispering about how sweet you are. If it’s the girls, then they cling to your legs and keep yelling about how much they love you.

So it is safe to say that you have a small squad to protect you from any potential “danger”.

“oh my, dear shouldn’t you focus on refining yourself a bit more?” you hear a woman say beside you.

You turn towards her, offended, “excuse me?”

“I mean,” her eyes scan you, disapprovingly, “you look average at best, and with that you won’t be able to find yourself a husband, let alone have children.”

You’re still processing her audacity as she continues, “but then again, it’s probably for the better that you don’t have children; you can barely take care of yourself.”

“can I help you?” your husband says as he approaches the woman.

She smiles condescendingly before chuckling, “I was simply telling this lady to take care of herself more; she hardly looks presentable.”

Soobin’s smiles tenses up as he is about to give the woman a peace of his mind, but his daughters beat him to it.

Your older twin stands in front of the woman, scanning her with pure disgust in her eyes.

She grimaces and voices out her thoughts, “you are like a crunchy lizard.”

The woman gasps, “how dare you-!”

You cut off the woman, curious about your daughter’s conclusion, “why a crunchy lizard, sweetheart?”

Your daughter looks at you with a small frown, shaking her head, “a crunchy lizard is an ugly sad lizard.”

A snort escapes your husband, and you’re barely able to contain your smile.

Your other daughter follows up, looking at her twin sister, “the lady looks like that one green thingy we saw yesterday,” she taps her little foot, trying to remember and beams at the woman,

“shrek! You look like shrek!”

Then they both glare at her, frowning, “you’re a monkey!”

Your husband doesn’t let it go as he deals the final -subtle-blow, “come on now girls; we shouldn’t bully the lady with the mcdonald’s like hairline Anymore, "

"Also ma’am you should look at yourself in the mirror before saying something to Others especially my wife, as you can see she gave birth to my beautiful daughters and she looks like a absolute Goddess to me and we actually didn't ask for any of you opinion, so keep them to you shallow of a life and excuse us please” Your husband concludes.

It seems like the woman can’t take it anymore as She starts muttering how the society is and the new generation is disrespectful.

A moment of silence is shared across the four Of you, before you carry both of your girls in your arms and start tickling them, “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or scold you, little evil Girls!”

They squeal, trying to escape your hold and calling for their father.

Soobin chuckles and wraps his arms around the three of you, “let them have it for tonight, y/n,” he ruffles their hair, “they were brave and defended their mom, after all.”

“yeah, papa is right!”

“yes mama, please!”

You pout then smirk at geto, “well I don’t mind, and since papa is also very proud of you girls, he will buy any toy that you guys want today!”

The colour drains from your husband’s face, and he Watches motionlessly as his girls latch onto him, screaming about the toys they want.

You giggle at his expression and blow him a kiss. He reluctantly blows you one back, while the girls excitedly pull him towards the toy store.

CHOI BEOMGYU

Your husband and son are so alike, save for the part that your husband is a bit more shameless, and your son is more on the shy side.

However, they both have the same bluntness and the tendency to give anyone who they don’t like attitude.

For example, today, you were walking in the park with the both of them to unwind a bit.

Not to mention that your son wanted to walk his dogs which was a plus, since you would be able to watch your dear son play around with them.

It was all going great until you saw an old ‘friend’ who came running at the sight of you. He was someone who has always been way too touchy and in your personal bubble.

You have tried talking to him about it, but you’re confident that he does it to somehow force you into reciprocating the intimacy.

Even if you’re a married woman with a freaking kid.

He giddily clasps your hand, “y/n, ‘been a long time!”

“h-hey,” you smile awkwardly.

He laughs, “I was passing by when I saw your figure, and I couldn’t help but come and say hi.”

You nod, “that’s great, but I am busy, so maybe later?-“

“you’ve gotten even prettier!” he exclaims, “I wish you would finally take me out on a-“

“can’t you see that she is uncomfortable?” your son retorts, “also, you should step back; you shouldn’t touch someone like this without asking them.”

You son squeezes himself between the both you and glares at the man.

The guy was about to reply to your son, but Beomgyu pushes him back with ease, pulling you beside him and hand resting on your waist almost by instinct, “My son’s right,” he tilts his head a bit, “ever been taught manners or do I have to do the teaching for you?”

The guy is taken back; offended, he snaps “you can’t speak to me like that!”

“and you can’t hold my mom’s hands like that, but here we are,” your son cleverly sasses him. On the other hand, your-shameless-husband pulls you into one scandalous kiss and smirks at the guy when he pulls back, “and you can’t hit on a married woman, by the way.”

You hear your son gag in disgust at his dad’s actions, but you’re too busy burying your face in your husband’s chest, hoping that the guy disappears before Beomgyu makes even more of a bigger scene.

You also hope that the ground would swallow you, but that’s the alternative option.

The guy clutches his fist, before walking away, spewing insults at the sky-since he is too scared to cuss out your husband. Once the man is out of sight, Beomgyu ruffles his child’s hair, chuckling, “good job, Bud.”

Your shy bean’s cheeks redden slightly as he looks Away, “…thanks.”

You’re still thinking about what just happened when you slap your husband’s chest, “Gyu, literally why?” you grumble, patting you Kid who started holding onto your leg the moment you hugged Beomgyu.

“why not,” your husband shrugs with a small smile, taking pride in your flustered form.

“dad, I want ice cream.”

“no, you just want me to let go your mom, so you can hog her for yourself,” Beomgyu grumbles, staring down at his and your little version.

Unfaltering, Your son looks up at him, “dad, I want ice cream.”

“- or else I’ll call Yeonjun uncle to-.”

“god damn it, listen here you-“

You laugh at their bickering

KANG TAEHYUN

There is no denying that both your son and your husband care for you very much, and they both- are very smart-as they compete for your attention.

I am talking he literally talk senses in your child whenever it comes to taking care of you whenever he wasn’t around and your son, in turn, lecture his father to stop being clingy to his mother as he is old enough to sleep by himself.

It's eventful, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t one of the reasons why you will get grey hair earlier than everyone else.

So their very smartass nature is also shown in their protectiveness over you.

A person doesn’t need to insult or even dare flirt with you for your devil duo to make their life a living hell; your husband and son don’t tolerate someone speaking to you if it causes you to ignore both of them.

For example, today when the three of you are sprawled in grass of the public park as all of soak the sun up, as you Are making a flower crown for both your nerds when suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulders

You turn to look at the person being a men with creepy smile gracing his face, “yes?”

He clears throat, a bit flustered by the attention, “I wanted to ask where are you from ?”

“Um-I ‘m sorry but ---”

“Don’t worry love, I’m gonn’ treat you good” as he lays his hand on your shoulders, your about to give him a good push before you son speaks up

“take your disgusting hands off my mother shoulders , you unnatural looking fiend,” your son sneers followed by his father’s presence as he pulls you behind him as the man hurriedly takes his hand off your shoulders, slightly annoyed as well as scared from your husband's buff figure from the two more company of your son and husband.

“who are you to lay your limping hands on my wife and speak to her so casually?” Taehyun presses, and the man cowers away at the intimidating look Taehyun gives him as well as his dead stare as the man grumbles a quick Apologise to your husband.

As the man tries to walk away your son stands in his tracks, hand folded and just like his father, that boba eyes glaring at the man

“ Aren’t you going to apologise to my mother properly for causing her inconvenience ? Don’t you have any manners, or not ? Is this how you treat a woman ?” Your son questioned him making the man conscious of his action followed by your husband’s comment

“ Well my son just said something, aren’t going to answer ? Or should we make-” Meanwhile, you’re watching all of that, mouth agape and trying to articulate anything but the man immediately replies in fear.

“I’m so sorry for the inconveniences I caused you ma’am I didn’t mean to do that, please forgive me ” bowing his head to you as you bowed back a little to acknowledge and accept his apology as the said man in question runs away after he saw your husband nod his head at him.

Your son hugs you tightly and glares at the man’s retreating figure “ Dad why did you let him go off so easily? ”

You immediately reply before Taehyun does “ he already apologized my Little man , so that’s enough of torment you and your dad gave him by your stares”

You can spot the small smirk on your husband’s face as he watches his son grumbles. As you pick up your son, kissing his cheek which makes him flustered and causing him to bury his face in your Neck.

Your husband watches both of you with a smile as He rolls his eyes, and pulls you by the waist, “do I look like I care about the stares ? He shouldn’t have interrupted our time together And neither should’ve touched your shoulders .”

“aww, you’re jealous!”

“no, I am not-“

“Yes you are father, don’t lie! ”

As both of laugh at your son words, you realise your creation as you ask both of them

“ Who’s gonna wear these cute flower crowns I made ! ”

“No- no Mama, you and dad can wear that not me ” Your son says quickly to get away from looking cute, as you thought to yourself how much he is like his father in nature too, always want to be more of intimidating rather than cute but they're so cute and adorable you can't even explain

“Nope baby you and your father, both are gonna wear them—”

Before you can finish the sentence both of your boys runs off away from you, laughing as you chase after them

HUENING KAI

You and your husband were blessed with the sweetest girl as your daughter, and she was just recently joined by another sweet girl.

You can never forget the happiness on your daughter’s face when she saw her baby sister.

It also seems that no matter how many times you give birth, your husband can’t help but get emotional when he holds your baby. His hands are forever delicate as he cradles her to his chest.

You remember what he said during the birth of your first daughter.

“I feel like a piece of heaven has been plucked and placed in my arms.”

The way he always goes soft for the three of you is honestly adorable.

Today, you were going on an outing with your- now 6 months old-baby and your older daughter who is almost six.

Your husband has always been happy about helping you out with you throughout everything, as he never misses a chance to carry the baby or the baby supplies.

You have offered to at least carry the bag, but he always refuses, stating that ‘you already carried the baby for nine entire months in your belly; this Is the least I can do.

So yeah, sometimes you wish to smooch your husband till forever at his cuteness and his care and love for you and your daughters but that’s not the point.

You’re walking hand in hand with your daughter as she sings her favorite song. You hear someone click their tongue, so you look to the side and lock eyes with an old lady. She takes the opportunity and approaches you.

“you should be ashamed of yourself!” she yells pointing at you, “your husband shouldn’t be carrying the baby supplies nor the baby itself for the matter,” she scowls, “that’s your job!”

Kai reply to the lady with a frown on his “with all due respect ma’am, but that isn’t her job, and taking care of the baby should be something we are both responsible for.”

“yeah!” your daughter huffs, “and don’t take out your sad life on my mama!”

Your eyes widen as you stare at your daughter.

On the other side, your husband is just as speechless. Your daughter pays no one any mind as she continues, “mama works hard every day! You wouldn’t know that! You immature nugget!”

Huening frowns lightly, “princess, that’s not nice-“

And for the cherry on top, your baby daughter throws the bottle cap she was playing with at the old lady, and frowns at her.

She starts babbling some nonsense that you’re Pretty sure are curse words in baby language. Having had enough, the old lady huffs, “the utter Disrespect,” and starts walking away.

The rest of the spectators’ eyes follow her till she is out of sight. Finally then, people start minding their own business, and you and your little family are left to the aftermath.

You giggle, “that was funny.”

“really?!” your daughter beams.

Kai cuts her off, “no,” he then looks at you with a small frown, a sigh escaping his lips, “y/n don’t encourage them-“

Your baby daughter screams happily when she sees her sister smile. She starts kicking her feet with the biggest smile on her own face.

Your older daughter starts laughing with her and tries to make her little sister laugh more-she was successful.

Meanwhile, you chuckle, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “admit it, Babe; it was kind of funny.”

His resolve softens at the sound of laughter from All three of his girls, “okay, maybe a little, but-“

“yay!!”

Ladies: 1

Huening Kai: 0

#choi soobin #soobin x reader #tomorrow x together #txt #txt smut #txt soobin #beomgyu #choi soobin x reader #kpop #choi yeonjun #choi beomgyu #hueningkai #kang taehyun #txt taehyun #taehyun smut #fanfic #txt moa #moasource

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finnlongman · 2 months

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Introducing: Moth to a Flame, the final book in my trilogy about a traumatised teenage assassin trying (and mostly failing) to live a normal life in a fictional closed city in Yorkshire. And also in Leeds, as this graphic suggests 😆 Sorry, that's sort of a spoiler for THK...

I figured I'd give you all three of these graphics so you can get a sense of the overall vibes of the trilogy. And so you know why I'm still using this overly cutesy font, because 2022!me made this decision and I guess I'm sticking with it. I know most people use these graphics to label tropes you'll find in the book, but aside from "found family", I'm not sure any of these really count as tropes. (New trope: Yorkshire?) You can also tell I've been getting steadily worse at marketing since 2022. Or maybe better. Who's to say, really.

(Yes, it does annoy me that the arrows for book one go in the opposite direction. No, not enough to re-make the whole thing.)

And if you're wondering what constitutes "considerably less murder"... I tried to track the body count of THK, and lost count at around 50. MTAF, by contrast, has, like ... 3 murders? Very different vibe. THK was when I broke everything and MTAF is where I slowly start putting it back together. This is the Bucky Barnes Recovery Fic of the series. We're talking grief, grappling with trauma, learning to be a person again, finding solidarity with others who've been messed up by the military and the arms industry, possibly joining a support group full of gay communists, and ultimately, realising that sometimes it's not enough to escape, because the whole system needs to be dismantled to stop it from hurting anyone else. I'm terrified no one will like it because they're here for the violence, but it was important to me to write it this way.

It's coming in May! You can preorder it now! And if you haven't read the first two books, you've got a perfect amount of time to buy and read those ahead of book 3's release to minimise cliffhanger agony.

Also: it still contains Esperanto, street art, no romance, an aroace protagonist, and bad life choices. I just figured those were a given at this point and didn't put them on the graphic.

#moth to a flame #tba 3 #the butterfly assassin #the hummingbird killer #finn longman

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howtofightwrite · 6 months

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I'm writing a scene where a cultivater (chinese martial artists who fights ghosts) falls in a forest and I'm trying to figure out how someone who fights on rough terrain would train to fall. I tried looking at martial art/parkour/stunt man tutorials, but I feel like a lot of the basic techniques (rolling, and slapping the ground to distribute weight) wouldn't work well on uneven ground. I also tried looking at hiking advice but they just say to fall on your pack. Any insight?

Chinese cultivators don’t fall, they choose to reacquaint themselves with the ground.

That sounds like a joke, but the best way to understand Chinese cultivators and Chinese fantasy media is to realize that martial arts are the gateway drug to magic. And that will get you into a lot of trouble if you follow that all the way into Martial Arts Give You Superpowers, which is both the outgrowth of the western understanding of Chinese culture and a trope rife with orientalism. Cultivation seems simple on the surface when you’re watching Chinese media, but it’s more than martial arts, it’s more than religion, it’s more than mythology, (though it is all of those too) it’s a genuine transition into metaphysics that reorients how we understand and interact with the world around us. The concepts we see in cultivation come from real martial arts philosophy that you find in Tai Chi, Shaolin, and most other Chinese martial arts. They come from real religions including Daoism, Buddhism, a healthy dose of Confucianism, general mythology and mysticism from a wide range of subcultures, and, to an extent, Animism. If you aren’t doing your reading with the Eight Immortals, Journey to the West, The Legend of the White Snake, and others then you should dig in. I also really suggest watching the live action C-Dramas whether they’re true Wuxia or more Xianxia idol dramas (and in this case the idol dramas are better because the action is slower) so you can acquaint yourself with the stylized martial arts portrayals, a wide variety of choreography, character archetypes essential to motif based storytelling, and the most important aspect of all—wire work.

Understanding and conceptualizing stunt action done on wires is essential when you’re trying to visualize and create action scenes in any East Asian genre. Your first instinct might be to dismiss the stylized movement as unrealistic (it is) but remember that it’s also genre essential. Hong Kong action cinema has a very specific feel to it that’s very different from the way Western cinema structures and films their fight scenes. Even when you’re writing, you’ll want to find ways to imitate it through your visual imagery on the page.

Probably the best way to contextualize cultivators is that they’re wizards who do martial arts. They’ve learned to transcend the limitations in our understanding of reality through knowledge and study to perform superhuman feats. How superhuman? Well, it gets wild. They can be anywhere from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon/Who Rules the World fly through the trees levels to Shang Tsung’s “I’m going to slam my hell reality into your normal reality because commuting to work is too much of an inconvenience.”

Which is to say, they don’t always fight ghosts. Sometimes they fight other martial artists, sometimes they fight other cultivators, sometimes they fight demons, sometimes they fight gods, and sometimes they fight incredibly overpowered monkeys. They’re often monks living in seclusion on a mountaintop, but not always. Cultivation is more of a state of mind. Anyone can do it if they learn how to absorb spiritual energy from the world around them through meditation and breathing exercises. Gods cultivate. Humans cultivate. Animals cultivate. Remember, the demons and the ghosts cultivate too. Sometimes, your master gets reincarnated as a demon. Sometimes, you do. The amount of wacky spellcasting you can do is dependent on how much energy you’ve cultivated, which is dependent on how old you are and how good at cultivation you are. Using the power means you need to cultivate more energy, the greater the spell or difficult the battle then the more energy is lost.

This is important to the question of: how does a cultivator fall?

Metaphorically? Existentially? Physically?

When we’re talking physically, wire work becomes very important. Think of your cultivator as being on wires. If they have the knowledge and understanding to do it, they can slow their own fall through the air to land harmlessly on the ground or twist over like a cat and launch themselves back off the ground to fly at their opponent in a counter attack. If they have the knowledge and understanding, they can teleport. If they lack the knowledge and understanding or want to trick their opponent, they can hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. If they’re relying on basics, they can also smack the ground to counter and spread out the impact then use the momentum from that fall to roll back onto their feet. They’ll do it no matter what terrain they’re on because it’s a basic technique that’s trained into their foundation to the point it’s a reflexive action. Any force distributed away from, and reducing impact on, important body parts like your spine is better than nothing. It’s better to sacrifice your arm than be paralyzed. At its heart, that’s the point of the technique. If you’re able to walk away with a functioning spine, it’s done its job. Your shoulder hurts? That’s normal. Your arm is sprained or broken? Sucks, but that’s better than the alternative that is paralysis and death. For reference, learning to fall was the first lesson my Wushu instructor ever taught me. It is that basic.

A lot of the time when portraying cultivators in media, the goal is to show them as being beyond the limitations of standard martial artists. How vast the gap is between the cultivator and the average human is dependent on both the setting and the cultivator. So, the average martial artist who possesses superhuman talents but hasn’t dedicated themselves to a life of cultivation and cultivators who are new to the path are going to be on the rung below and more likely to be knocked on their ass. Cultivators in the mid-range are more likely to have crafted or trained in solutions to being knocked on their ass which put them in a less vulnerable position while recovering and empowered/enhanced their martial arts. Cultivators in the top tier are usually straight up masters at spellcasting, if they deign to fight at all. Gravity need not apply. Rember, the time it takes you to hit the ground and roll to your feet is time your opponent has to launch a counter attack or move to a better position. Also, it means you’ve taken your eyes off your opponent. This is bad enough against a normal human opponent. Against another mostly immortal or ancient magic user this risks a terrible outcome.

Cunning and strategy are both as important as skill. Wisdom, knowledge, and hard work outweigh talent and raw potential. You’ll have to decide how esoteric you want to be and what limits you want to set. I really urge you to do this because the danger of power creep is real and especially prominent here. A character’s growth in power is often linked to their growth in character or their arc, as they gain a greater understanding of themselves and the world around them their skill increases. The self-discovery/self-reflection/self-interrogation/intense suffering to reach enlightenment portion is just as important and intrinsic to the martial arts portion of Martial Arts Give You Superpowers. It’s easy to focus on the Superpowers or the Martial Arts parts of the equation and miss the genre necessity of character growth. This growth often happens through heaps of steadily increasing trauma. Or, failing to undergo that by being too powerful and thus unable to progress is the joke like it is in Qi Refining for 3000 Years. (Go to hell, Bai Qiuran, you hilariously overpowered monstrosity.)

The irony is that the trajectory in character growth is the same trajectory the average student experiences when practicing martial arts. The only difference is that the power arc is inflated. This includes overcoming ingrained truths that you believe about yourself, about your own abilities, what you believe yourself to be capable of (both good and bad,) about your biases toward yourself and other people, your biases about reality in general, your understanding of good and evil, the potential upending of right and wrong, and facing the greater complexity found in the world at large. The stripping away of these illusions, coming to terms with uncomfortable realizations in a more complicated world, and the gaining of new understanding and confidence are vital to that growth.

Skill isn’t just represented in the power creep, it’s also found in a character’s sophistication and complexity in their approach to combat and life in general. Their awareness both of themselves and of other people, their ability to read intentions, their predictive abilities, their complexity in initiating their own strategy and tactics while also recognizing and countering the plans of others. It’s their insight into human nature and their cunning. It’s not enough to be powerful. The world is full of powerful people and not so powerful people who have the capacity to be just as dangerous. This isn’t Goku and Freeza slamming into each other while the planet explodes in nine minutes. You also need to be smart. It’s also not about being a better person. It’s about being a self-aware person. A person who is self-actualized. Monkey’s growth is in his awareness of the world around him through his experiences and in approaching problems differently rather than becoming less of a little shit. If you grow up in the West, one of the issues you’re going to face is thinking of these hurdles as materialistic rather than emotional or intellectual.

A lot of Western media misinterprets the concepts of “giving up” as physical sacrifice. One of the popular examples is physically sacrificing the person we love. In order to have enlightenment, we must be separated from them. We can’t physically be with them anymore. Whereas under a Buddhist structure, what we are actually sacrificing is our own ignorance, our own preconceptions, and beliefs that keep the world comfortable. Under this structure, we’re sacrificing our preconceived notions of who our loved one is. The person that we invented when we first met and we must force ourselves to come to terms with who they really are. The outcome of this isn’t necessarily going to be bad, but it’s still painful. The person we think we love could be perfectly wonderful. However, they’re not who we imagined. If we choose to hold onto the illusion we created, to ignore the realization that the illusion is the person that we love, we’ll only end up causing ourselves and our loved one more pain. We must fall in love with them all over again. Coming to terms with that is painful. All pain comes from ignorance. In sacrificing, letting go of, or overcoming our ignorance, we grow.

These are the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual challenges necessary for a cultivator because they allow the cultivator to level up. Yes, level up. Whether this is coming from the influx of gaming culture into media at large or because the concept synergizes with the Buddhist goal of progressing through the Six Realms toward nirvana, leveling up is how a cultivator’s increasing power is often depicted. Of course, once we reach the next level we can’t go back except by falling or failing and are no longer the person we once were. This then gets mixed in with Daoist principles of finding divine understanding by living in harmony with the universe. The more understanding we gain of the world, the more energy we can absorb as a result, but our original goals may be lost or changed in the process. If a character begins their journey on the path of revenge, their newfound contextualization of the situation that caused them immense pain may force them to give that revenge up or find they don’t want revenge anymore.

Failure is also an option and often a common part of the story. These stories usually follow characters through multiple lives and rebirths over hundreds and even thousands of years, especially if they’re also gods. This is the existential fall. The fall to the Dark Side. All our heroes are going to go through it at least once. This is also why a lot of Chinese media ends in tragedy with hope for the next round.

-Michi

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #michi answers #how to fight write #martial arts

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alocon · 3 months

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Always Irresistible [3] - Lando Norris

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

written by alocon

Summary: Despite all hope, Lando never lost his feelings for his best friend's twin sister. However, he still hadn't acted on it. Well, that was until the party, which led you two into a long-term secret relationship

Warnings and Tropes: Fluff, part 3 to the story released the other day.

[Part One Here] [Part Two Here] [Part Four Here] [Masterlist]

Always Irresistible - Ln4 x Fem!Reader

Your head leant onto your boyfriend's shoulder as you watched a film on your bed. He had basically moved all his stuff into your room by this point and was only using his room as a streaming setup. One of his arms was around your back, the other being placed gently onto your knee.

The pair of you had been in a fair share of arguments over the time you'd been in a relationship but it didn't stop you both from making up again in the end. It was a normal thing that happened between every couple in every relationship. Arguing was completely normal.

You first felt his attention on you when a jumpscare came onto the screen. Lando would usually look away until the scene was over and then would look back, but this time you could feel like eyes burning into you. You turned to look back at him, noticing the way his eyes scanned over your face. You were pretty sure he could draw you from memory down to the placement of every single freckle on your face by the amount of time he had spent staring, however, you didn't mind. It made you feel loved, appreciated. It made you feel beautiful. “What?” You asked quietly, confused about why he was staring at you now.

“You're just.” He paused to look over your face again, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “I'm so glad we're together.” You smiled. That was sweet.

You placed a kiss on his lips. “I'm glad we are too.” Apparently, that one kiss was not enough for his liking as he leaned in again, his hands gripping your waist as you pulled you in for a longer, more intimate kiss that the peck you had given him only moments before. You, obviously, kissed back, letting him climb over you, laying you back on the bed below him. You knew where this was heading and you were all for it as he lost the shirt, it landing on the floor beside the bed.

He had done everything in his power since you got together to make you feel like the most perfect woman in the world. It was like the two of you were made for each other, every kiss making you fall more and more in love. You adored the way he wouldn't let you go in the morning. You adored how, if he went out with his friends for the day, you would barely be able to leave his embrace because he missed you. You loved every single thing about this relationship. It was perfect. Sometimes you both wished that you could share it with the world.

“What the fuck.” You pulled away quickly from the kiss, Lando grabbing his shirt and throwing it on, over his head. You looked at the furious man in the doorway as he turned to walk away, stating that he wished to talk to Lando the kitchen. He placed another quick kiss to your lips before following the man, shutting the door behind him.

It was silent for a moment, weirdly silent. And then, shouting. Arguing. You listened into the argument as best you could but could barely hear anything. You could only pick out a few words here and there. You sat on your bed, thinking about what to do, deciding that, if it didn't stop in a couple of minutes, you would have to go sort him out yourself.

The arguing still hadn't stopped.

“I can't believe you'd do this. I made it very clear that she is one to fall and fall hard for someone and that she was very much off limits. I can't believe you would go behind my back to fuck with her feelings, what the hell. Seriously, what are you thinking screwing with her head like that?” Max was furious and Lando was a little anxious in that moment. He had never seen him so angry.

“I'm not, Max. I would never play with her feelings like that, don't be stupid. Why would I ever do that to her?”

Max's shouting only got louder. “Because you've done it before. How many times have you dated someone or got with them for a month or two only to turn around and change your mind and claim you can't love them like they deserve. That you love someone else and so it would be unfair to them. How do I know that you won't do the same to my sister?”

Lando's voice matched Max's now. “Because its always been her!”

Max went silent in an instant. It was Lando’s turn to rant at him, now.

“For God's Sake, Max. She is the one I've been in love with all these years. She's the one I've wanted to be with since we were 13. But I didn’t pursue a relationship because she's your sister. I would've felt bad because she's your twin. I tried to date other women to get over her. Believe me, I tried. But I couldn't, because I've never got over her. It's always been her. It will always be her.”

Max didn't know what to say. He didn't even notice your presence in the doorway. “Max, if you plan to keep shouting at my boyfriend, you need to leave.”

“Boyfriend?” Max looked between the two and saw Lando looking equally as surprised at that outburst.

You looked at Lando, stepping closer to him. “Lan he knows. Isn't it better to be fully open now?” You were speaking quietly to him. Your voice changed into a whisper. “Only if you're comfortable.”

“Yeah. I am.” You sat on the kitchen counter beside him as he spoke. He smiled at you, before turning to Max. “Yes. Boyfriend.”

“For how long?”

“July-”

“You've been dating for six months and didn't tell me?” He cut Lando off as he spoke.

“No, Max. July last year. 2023.”

“A year and six months and you didn't tell me?”

“We didn't tell most people!”

“Who knows?” He asked, looking straight at you.

“Zak, Oscar, Alex and both Lily's. Oh, and Max and Charlie but that's only because Charles doesnt know how to knock on a door and Max is his little gossip buddy slash emotional support rival thing.”

“And Alex and Lily only found out because they walked out of the club at the party last year with us. And we only told Zak, Oscar and Lily at first to make sure no photos of us holding hands were posted. So really, you're one of the first few.”

“Still though. That's so many people you told before me!” Max was slightly raising his voice again.

“Because I knew you'd act like this,” you raised your voice back at him. He looked surprised. As did Lando. Lando had never heard you raise your voice at anyone before. You rarely did. “Stop treating me like a child, Max. I'm a grown fucking adult.”

“I can't believe you're being so selfish.” Max deadpanned as he looked at you, voice still raised. “He was my friend first.”

“This isn't a fucking competition. He can be both your friend and my boyfriend!”

“Yeah? Says who?”

“Me! P was my friend before she was your girlfriend but you don't see me out and about bitching like you do. But no, you can't handle it being the other way around because for once, your sister has decided to do something for her that makes her happy without worrying what you would think of her. For God's Sake, Max. You need to grow up.” Lando placed his hand on you as you ranted at your brother.

“That's different. She was your best friend, Lando is my childhood best friend.”

“It's not different, you're just a fucking hypocrite.” You stood up off the counter, walking away. A few moments later, the slam of a door could be heard.

Max turned to look at Lando. “You need to make a decision, Lando. Our friendship or your relationship.”

You sat in the bedroom, having just let a couple of tears fall from your face. You had heard Max's words. And then nothing. You heard the door open and shut. That was an hour ago and you had heard nothing from then since so, as hard as it was, you figured that he had chosen Max. It didn't surprise you. Max was his best friend, you completely got it. You dropped a text to P.

To P: Hi lovely. I just wanted to apologise for not telling you sooner about this but Lando and I are (or were) together. I didn't want to tell you because we weren't ready for Max to know and I didn't want Max to be upset with you for knowing and not telling him. Miss you lots x

From P: Hi!! Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you did. I completely understand why you didn't tell me sooner. I had my suspicions anyways. What do you mean “or were”???

You began to talk to P about what happened, her promising to invite you over for a binge ice cream and crying session if he does choose Max. You felt a lot better. Opting to ignore everything else and shut the world out, you rolled over and closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep quite easily.

You were awoken not too long later by the feeling of a hand on your face. You groaned softly, opening your eyes to see him crouched in front of you, eyes at the same level as you. “Hey beautiful, how long have you been asleep?”

“Not too long. I thought you went with Max.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“About you choosing me or him? Yes.”

Lando placed a kiss on your cheek. “Oh darling, I'm so sorry. I didn't think. I just went out to get us food for dinner so that we don't have to cook. I should've messaged. I'm so sorry.” He placed his forehead against yours, helping you sit up as you hugged him. He pulled you off of the bed, bringing you to the living room to sit beside you, food boxes in hand. You smiled. He had gone out of his way to drive to Nice to get you food from your favourite noodle place. He passed you a pair of chopsticks, grinning at you.

“Thank you, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he responded, no hesitation.

“So,” you said after taking a bite of your food. “What happened?”

Max turned to look at Lando. “You need to make a decision, Lando. Our friendship or your relationship.”

Lando looked at him, surprise in his face as he never thought his best friend would stoop that far. Grabbing his keys, he signalled for Max to walk out the door, him following behind as a look of triumph appeared on Max's face. The two stayed in silence until they got to the car park. That was when Lando turned to Max.

“I'm glad you came to your senses and chose me, mate.”

Lando chuckled, a bitter, annoyed chuckle. “Who said I was choosing you?”

Max looked at him, his face dropping into one of confusion. “You're out here with me.”

Lando looked at Max. “I hope, for your sake, that you will never again ask me to pick between you and my girlfriend ever again because I will choose her every single time.”

“What the hell, Lando. I've known you longer.”

Lando stepped closer, right in front of Max's face. “And she's the woman I want to marry one day. So rather than me making a choice, you get to. You should take some time to calm down and to think long and hard about whether you want this battle because, when I do marry her, it's your actions that determine whether you'll be there alongside me as my best man or not.” Lando stepped back, turning around and getting in his car. “Now if you don't mind me, I'm going to get my girlfriend and I dinner.”

-The End-

[Word Count: 2008]

Hi All, Hope you enjoyed this part, I enjoyed writing it. I wrote this at work earlier because I had nothing to do hahah. Have a good day x Alocon

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