Ahhhh Fake Dating Tropes I Swear >>>>

ahhhh fake dating tropes I swear >>>>

To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018) dir. Susan Johnson

PLEASEEEEEEE

*chat giving height*

*Ladybug thinking* "Don't lie to me. You have to be taller."

THE PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE INSULTS

Vesperia, to Ladybug: In your opinion, what's the height of stupidity?

Ladybug: *turning to Chat Noir* how tall are you?

every word matters

remember, no wip is insignificant or trash.

every word matters. every word is a step of you becoming a better writer. every word is a reminder that you are a writer, because you're building these characters and creating this world from your own imagination.

and that itself is an accomplishment.

how can i love the heartbreak, you're the one i love [kim namjoon]

drabble count: 3

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summary: The loss follows you everywhere you go. The loss of your sister. Of music.

In the whirlwind of life, somehow, he approaches you. Kim Namjoon, with no attention to leave. You'd never thought you'd fall in love again, yet you do. And it consumes you.

pairing: bts namjoon x reader

chapter warnings: angst, swearing, mention of loss and suicide, fluff

a/n: hello hello! this is a heavy one, and i highly recommend listening to how can i love the heartbreak, you're the one i love by akmu, as it is inspired by that song (linked below). this is basically a series of events of how one came to fall in love with namjoon, almost like scenes of a music video.

i've always wanted to write a drabble based on namjoon for a while, and he's such a sweetheart, that I had to write one that was just... pure, in a way? I don't know how to explain it, but I might've almost shed a tear writing this :]

i love writing drabbles based on prompts, so if you want one, please don't hesitate to ask/submit on my page. thanks so much for reading! support is also greatly appreciated, for my crying college loans <33

Your relationship with Namjoon was meant to end before it even started. Or, so you thought.

“Oh, hey, you—fuck,” he tumbles out when you stumble into him. All you were trying to do was catch what he was working on. Of course, while tip-toeing over to him, you tripped over a wire and somehow landed in his chair.

“It’s fine.” You laugh and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Thank God you weren’t a blusher, you think, until his large hands wrap around your waist. His gaze is just as intense, too, mouth parted as he gazes down at you like you hung the stars and the moon. The wave of warmth hits you immediately, with such force that you can’t breathe. Your heart squeezes when his jaw clenches, as if trying to restrain himself from pouncing on you.

“What are you doing?” You ask instead.

“I was going through the playlist you sent me and listening to them. Maybe if we choose one that resonates you the most, your musical skills will come back.” As if to make a point, he scrolls through the 23 songs you carefully organized, ensuring that one defined each year of your life perfectly.

You snort. “I’ve been listening to this playlist nonstop for the past week. I think it would have come back by now if it wanted to.”

“Maybe.” Namjoon frowns, and you can’t help but like that he’s worried about you.

“You have a favorite so far?” You make a bold move—lean your head against his chest. The heartbeat is steady, like a background noise you don’t usually notice. But it’s a reminder. Of warmth. Of existence.

“All of them,” he replies immediately. “They all define you, so how can I not?”

In that moment, it comes back. In your mind, you hear the faintest melodies of You are my everything. Whispering in your ear, Namjoon repeats your name.

And you?

Heart full of love, you kiss him. You cup his cheeks and let his mouth graze yours. Soon enough, he’s pulling you closer so that you’re pressed against him, no inch of space between you two. I love you, his mouth says, moving softly against yours. I love you, his fingers say, threading through your hair, caressing your cheeks, moving you impossibly closer. I love you, his eyes say, bearing into yours.

Just like that, the music grows louder, and time rewinds.

“Do you not know who I am?” The man in front of you looks confused, and glances around, most likely searching for his six other members. Him—currently questioning you—is the tallest out of all of them, and sunglasses frame his face. Hair cropped short, hands in his pants, Namjoon Kim looks impossibly handsome. And impossibly unattainable. As the leader of BTS, you know he has responsibilities and rules he must follow. As do you.

“No,” you lie, and bow your head. Why did your company have to book a first-class fight, and why did BTS board a plane that wasn’t private? There’s never a shortage of them, especially for world class idols. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” his fingers go around your waist, and his eyebrows are knit together. “You look familiar.”

You look familiar. The words you hate the most. You pull away, making sure that your hair covers most of your face. The last thing you want is someone who knew your sister to analyze you, then offer you their condolences. It’s the same words every time, and though you understand that they have nothing else to say, they don’t understand that you have nothing to say, too. Because what are you going to do? Launch into her life story, like they’ll want to stick around?

Better to be alone than be the party pooper.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Then add, “Goodbye.”

Except it’s not a goodbye. Because you see him, in front of your face, outside in the hallway, a month later. His face isn’t covered at all, the sharp eyes boring into yours, yet conveying so much softness. And your head starts to run with questions about the paparazzi, who crowded your building less than a year ago, and all the fans who would start dating rumors.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss, and pull him inside. “You don’t have the luxury to wander around Seoul like this.”

“So you do know who I am.”

Is that all he got from the two sentences you uttered? You stare at him like he’s an idiot, and may—just maybe—his IQ is a fluke in terms of social conversations. He could be more textbook smart than street smart, after all.

“I’m not stupid,” he continues, like he could read your mind. Namjoon’s eyebrows raise like he’s challenging you to say otherwise. His head tilts, revealing the strands of his ashy hair that sticks out from the hoodie that covers his head. “I came because I’m on a mission.”

“Oh, yeah?” The sarcasm comes back. “What mission?”

He’s quiet for a minute, before saying under his breath, so low you almost can’t hear it, “Your sister sent me.”

That knocks the wind out of you, and you stagger back. Which says a lot, because you’re never one for dramatics. Mei was the one who liked to be the drama queen in your family, and you would always shake your head and smile at her antics.

“She’s dead,” you say tightly. “I imagine you were at her funeral.”

“I was,” he clears his throat. “And I’m genuinely sorry—”

“I’m sure you said the same thing a year ago.” Everything is strained. Your smile. Your stiff shoulders. Your fingers—bending them feels so robotic you’re surprised they’re not creaking—grab the single polaroid he produces from his pocket. Of her and the group at Music Bank. Beaming. Her arm is slung over Namjoon’s shoulder. You can see the intention in her smile: I have to show this to my little sister! She’s going to be so jealous. And the fact that you can still read her so well—through a picture, for God’s sake—brings the onslaught of tears.

Even after a year, the remnants of your sister is still here. And so are you, stuck in this country because you can’t find it in you to leave her.

“I’d say it a million times if it’d bring her back,” he murmurs, and you screw your eyes shut. God. Stop the fucking burning.

“She—” He sticks his hand in his pockets. “It sounds weird coming out of my mouth, but she told me that I was your favorite idol for a while. We were friends, or I’d like to think so, and every time our schedules clashed, she talked about you constantly. And she made me promise that I’d take you out somewhere fun. Or, well, she said the three of us should go out somewhere fun and I took it as a promise after her death. Mei nuna was a great sunbae, and I respect her so much…”

The two of you are staring at one another as the tears continue to roll down your cheeks. Respected. Well-liked. Beautiful. Popular. A diamond.

A diamond that shattered under society’s expectations.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Let me take you out. Or treat you to dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

Music has been the background noise growing up your whole life. The moment where you came home crying because your ex broke up with you, you swore that Don’t Push Me played the whole way home. When your sister became a trainee—then an idol—you hummed Euphoria for countless days. And when you graduated high school and entered Seoul University, Heaven entered your mind, and the notes refused to leave.

In fact, you were so in tune, you had a song for every mood, and could name its title after listening it in a second.

Until it stopped.

Of course, you knew why. Yet, you questioned it when others asked you where your supposed skill went. The only—supposed—facts you could give was the fact that this “gift” disappeared when you were organizing your playlist. And it was as if the music knew, at the song: How can I love heartbreak, you’re the one I love.

You were listening to the harmonization, noting the time. Umma and Appa came home later than usual, and that itself was odd. They were—still are—the two most punctual people on Earth. Except they did come home late—hours late, probably, if you hadn’t called them. You still could recall their sobs, the gasps in between every word they struggled to push out, and the sirens in the distance. Umma took so long composing herself, that Appa had to grasp the phone and tell you, his voice hoarse, the persona of a strong, diligent father gone.

No. This was a father who was grieving. “Your sister… she’s dead.”

And in the background, ran the lyrics: waiting till it runs dry will be our farewell.

Since then, you removed music from a part of your life. There was no more k-pop, no more dramas, nothing. It was like living in a void of constant, endless silence. Others didn’t understand. But your heart was cracked in half, nearly turned into stone without the music keeping it beating—your sister’s music keeping it beating.

She was, after all, the reason why you grew up attached to it. With her constant singing in the showers, and her shoving an earphone in your ear, music and you merged together. Mei was the glue in between. Now she was gone, and you fell apart.

That was two years ago. The dinner with Namjoon went well. Not life-changing, but eye-opening. Eye-opening enough for you to realize that there was more than one person grieving. Several of her friends wanted to meet you, but had no way of contacting your family, who had closed themselves off.

Slowly but surely, you opened up again. Allowed the possibility of music to flow through you, hoping it would come back. To you, hope was the thing with feathers. It came as quickly as it left.

But it was also the only thing you could do.

“Still nothing?” Namjoon teases, spreading his legs apart as he leans his elbows on them, facing you. You’re in his studio, perched on the sofa, taking a bite of the kimbap he ordered. This friendship is the best thing that happened to you in the past year, and you’ll be forever grateful to Namjoon for picking up the pieces of your heart you left behind. It’s a little joke between the community that he breaks things the instant they enter his hands, but he’s a healer, too.

But sometimes, when seeing the frustration clearly evident on his face, and his lips pressed together, you wish that you had the power to heal him as well. There was so much stress on him as a leader—it being a heavy burden to carry—but he’d never regret taking on the responsibilities. And he shouldn’t, but you wish you can ease the load for him.

“No,” you growl, scrunching your nose. “This is stupid, isn’t it? Why can’t I just be grateful that I’m able to digest music again? And don’t making some weird eating joke. I hear enough of them from Jin.”

He holds his hands up in the air. “In my defense, I make better jokes than that.”

“Uh huh,” you roll your eyes. “You know what they say. The top five people you hang out with define your personality. And there’s a very high probability that Jin is in your top three, which says a lot.”

“You’re in my top three, too. Shouldn’t that counteract his lack of humor?”

“Kim Namjoon, if you think I’m funny, we really have a problem.”

He pouts. “You have a dark humor I can appreciate. Unless I can’t appreciate that?”

You shake your head, unable to believe him.

“On the bright side, I was able to sing along—not off key, either—to every song you guys performed to!” You cheer, handing the leader a bottle of water backstage. It’s impossible to wipe the grin off your face. This is your first concert after your sister’s death, and you can’t believe that it went so smoothly like this.

“Obviously because Namjoon chose the songs you listen to the most—”

“Hyung,” said idol cuts off. “It was a coincidence. You know that.”

“Do I?” Jin smirks. “Sorry. I’m getting old, so you know how my memory comes and goes.”

Jungkook takes the chance to pipe in, “So you admit you’re a grandpa now? I can call you Halabuji?”

“Ya—” As the eldest member chases after the youngest, the two of you are left alone. The other members are most likely waiting in the van, and you’re positive that all of them are no doubt tired now that the adrenaline is wearing off.

“You want me to take you home?” Namjoon offers, breaking the silence that ensues between the two of you.

“You can’t even drive,” you tease. “I’m good. More than capable of taking myself home, but thanks for offering.”

“Okay.” The words are slow, like he’s reluctant to say it. But it’s probably you reading into it. Just like them, you—as a fan—had been in a haze for the last few hours, having eyes for a certain member only. The others were amazing, exceptional even. Still, your gaze drifted back to Namjoon’s, wanting more.

This crush on him was kind of getting ridiculous. Like the snowball effect, though, your feelings began to grow and grow, until you couldn't handle it. Can't handle it.

“Hug?” You blurt, and spread your arms out. With a chuckle, he steps into your embrace, picking you up.

“Namjoon!”

“It’s not my fault you’re tiny.”

It’s not your fault he’s tall, hovering over you. His body is hard, and the sweat clings to his skin, but you don’t mind. In fact, you melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck, face inches from his. He’s gorgeous, from his full lips to the warmth of his chocolate eyes that give you more than a sugar rush. Namjoon makes your body buzz, and your heart stutter, like it desperately wants to beat in sync with him.

“Thank you for giving me tickets for today,” you whisper, the words almost lodged in your throat. If there was no BTS concert today in Seoul, you would have sat there, in your room, thinking today of the day your sister killed herself. It’s pure coincidence that the company scheduled to have a concert on this certain day, but you truly needed the distraction.

His gaze softens, and he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Anything for you.”

It’s crazy how much happiness this person in front of you has brought you. As you pull away from the kiss, the memories dissipating, there are so many things you want to say to him. So many confessions, you don’t know where to start.

“Uh—” He pulls back, eyes widening in alarm. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—fuck. Shit.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you curse so much within 24 hours.” You giggle, but let the tears flow. Your heart is so full, the emotions need to escape elsewhere. Because you love this man. You love Kim Namjoon.

In truth, you never thought you’d love again after your sister died. Though with her, it was the familial love, she was your other half. And you never wanted to go through the pain of loss again.

Yet, for Kim Namjoon, you’d willingly rip your heart to shreds.

“I love you,” you choke out. “I love you.”

“You do?” he breathes out.

“I shouldn’t,” you murmur. “But I do.”

But he bought you dinner and made you laugh by searching for dad jokes online. He bought you a pasta because it was your favorite food and then took you to a street market and bought tteokbokki. And ever since that night, he’s been a constant in your life.

“It’s crazy, but I love you too.” At his confession, you sob harder.

Somewhere, far away in the distance, how can I love the heartbreak, you’re the one I love plays again.

Love Confessions

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soulmate prompts ✨

okay but honestly the soulmate trope isn’t written enough... there is so much angst that could stem from this. especially enemies to lovers, knowing that you’d have to live the rest of your life with ONE person, AHHHH

if you like my prompts, buy me a ko-fi! 💞

1. “But I hate you!” “The feeling’s mutual.”

2. Oh, fuck. My soulmate's famous. And now we're hiding from the paparazzi. Great, just great.

3. "You have a girlfriend. Who gets a girlfriend knowing their soulmate mark will appear when they're 18?" "I thought it'd be her, not you!"

4. "Did you just say-" I stare at my arm, the words that came out of his mouth etched on my skin.

5. If we weren't soulmates, I'd kill him. But now I can't, because we were tied. For life. Shit. How am I supposed to assassinate him now?