aocello
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Gongseop's face is unmoving, even more so than the bell was, but his pupils flick downwards towards Taesoo's noble fist, then even further down towards the ground—their feet—and Taesoo realises belatedly, ah, shit, touchy subject.
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"Get off my car," Si-eun repeats, in lieu of an answer. "Call a friend, or a cab. Go home."
The man hums lazily, nearly a purr; enough verve in it that Si-eun can feel the vibration from where he's crouched over him. "Home..." he drawls, and for a half-beat, the low bass of his voice makes Si-eun shiver.
He then promptly collapses into Si-eun.
Disgraced classical pianist Yeon Si-eun meets jazz pianist Ahn Su-ho, who didn't have any grace to begin with.
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Donghyun's fingers drift downwards to the threadbare hem of his shirt. "Sungho-hyung, are you mad at me?"
And that's just—right, so maybe this guy isn't as frail as he seems. Just what is he, to be able to be fortright to someone he's known for, what, five minutes at most, after knowing he hasn't exactly made a good impression? It makes Sungho feel—he's not sure, actually. Even more irritated at the levity? Envious at the self-assuredness? Curiosity as to how long he'll last? What would Sungho's life had been, if he had spoken every question he's ever had, he wonders.
Sungho could say Donghyun is his total opposite, but he doesn't know him well enough.
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Si-eun's voice haunts him on his ride home, ringing loudly over the sound of the motorcycle engine. I like you, I like you, I like you, said in the same sort of tone one would use to say it's stir-fried pork for lunch today, or I have cram school until ten.
Ahn Su-ho’s study in classical mechanics.
Or: a bad confession, and an even worse confessee. -
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"Yeah? It really is perfect for you, this constellation."
"What?"
Su-ho nudges his shoulder, snickers under his breath as he speaks. "You're as stubborn as a bull."
Trust Su-ho to pick up on Si-eun's glare, even if it's only directed at the sky. His giggles swell into full-bodied laughs, diffusing into the vast air around them. "You're really so funny, Yeon Si-eun," he says mirthfully.
Si-eun and Su-ho go stargazing.
Recent bookmarks
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One thing Han Taesan will do, is shut the fuck up about it.
Bookmarked by aocello
08 Mar 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
His smile had been shy and awkward and Taesan wasn’t sure that he liked it, or that he wanted Jaehyun to be there, and he’d felt unfathomably guilty for a second, and then Jaehyun had spotted him, and his mouth broke out into something impossibly wider, all his teeth on show, tiny and white, and Taesan’s chest did something, the sudden twist of a dislocated bone, the empty space left at the point of connection. That feeling had made him want to die, just a little bit.
That was the method of his selfishness; it would be harder to laugh without him around, harder to make sound, harder to care or not care. Jaehyun had a way of making everything he cared about and liked and did seem like the most vital parts of a place, and when he’d leave, Taesan would stand around and wonder, even if he’d never cared about the colour of the carpet, or the way Sanghyuk’s hair stuck out an angle, or the exact volume the TV should always be at, who would care about these things now?
“I don’t think that’s true,” Taesan says finally. He doesn’t know which part he means; whether it’s his own thoughts that are intangible to him, messy, half-finished, knotted together, contradictory; strings pulled too tight and insidiously sharp sometimes, a tangled mess of snakes other times, a pile of useless fluff still other times. Or, even if he’s a mystery to himself, he shouldn’t be to other people. Wasn’t there a line about that, or a couple thousand songs, about knowing someone better than you know yourself, and that’s what love was; to understand someone’s hidden feelings that they can’t decipher themselves.
Every once in a while, very frequently actually, Jaehyun would say a kind of thing that made Taesan want to curl up and hide in a lonely corner to go die, just so no one would see him bleeding out from the kind of thing that was supposed to be a flesh wound.
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forget-me-not (and other things left unspoken) by orphan_account
Fandoms: ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond
07 Feb 2016
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It’s three in the morning and he has better things to do (like his math homework) than stay up contemplating things he’d never once expected to face while growing up. Puberty? No cinch. First crush? A little rough, but manageable. Being named captain of the team? Okay, kind of a pain, but admittedly worthwhile.
Potentially discovering time travel at the age of eighteen?
There is a grim look on Miyuki’s face and he is suddenly nostalgic for the stressful kindergarten days following his dramatic sandbox break-up with his first ever girlfriend.
Bookmarked by aocello
24 Feb 2022
Bookmarker's Notes
“What would you do if you could go back in time to whenever you wanted?” The question hits a little too close to home, but he’s psyching himself out. There’s no normal, unsuspecting person on the planet right now who’d automatically see through Miyuki’s cleverly cloaked desire to hear someone humor his self-proclaimed delusions.
To his surprise, Kuramochi doesn’t hesitate.
“I’d go back to meet Matsui Kazuo when he’s eighteen and play a game with him.” Kuramochi grins. “Hyaha! I’d get to see him on the same level as me!”
“You really only think about baseball. Amazing.”
“Oi, don’t act like you’re any better.” Without warning, Kuramochi jabs Miyuki’s side with his elbow, startling him upright. “I’d meet someone else too. Another baseball player.”Right. Just. Never mind the fact that it’s already the end of the day and he’s done nothing, made no moves to pull the plastic bag that the present is in out of his backpack. The gift, in itself, is very impersonal, and deliberately so. Miyuki’s kept it in the original plastic bagging, and he’s even neglected writing a card so it wouldn’t be too weird. Except, well, it’s still weird.
It’s still weird, and he isn’t really sure why.It doesn’t make sense to him that his first thought goes back to the pocket watch concealed in the folds of his uniform pants. It doesn’t make sense to him that the first thought he has is I can go back to before I saw that. It doesn’t make sense for a couple of reasons: one, going back in time to just thirty minutes prior wouldn’t wipe his memory clean of what he just saw and; two, there’s no reason why seeing that scene should bother him as much as it does.
Seidou, alone, has taught him too many things about teamwork, about friendship, about relying on others, about forgoing tendencies of exaggerated independence, about humbling one’s self just to share a moment of silence with someone else instead of alone.
He hates this feeling. Hates how it feels like morning laps around the field, like too many pairs of shoes stampeding over the ground. He hates how his heart is racing against his will, how it’s thumping traitorously against his bones, shaking them until even Miyuki has to remind himself to breathe.
“You idiot,” he mutters to himself, right as his thumb lingers against the tip of the winding crown. “You never got to see me play at nationals.”
The laugh that slips past his lips is shakier than intended, and a part of Miyuki hates himself for it. He doesn’t want to look back and regret this moment. He doesn’t want to look back and think: I could have done it better.
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genuinely genuinely genuinely life changing
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Summary
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single alpha in possession of a working dick must want to fuck an omega. Something like that.
Bookmarked by aocello
17 Apr 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
The entire crux of Jaehyun’s character really, was that he was annoying, and then he was immediately endearing enough to make up for it. It was the exact thing you got used to around him; the oddly sweet aftertaste after an unpleasant bite. Cold water applied to a mild burn. The first bite of a buttery croissant after you paid an unconscionable amount for it.
So, despite thinking that they were playing hot potato with who was going to fuck him, he said, really nicely, voice gentle and coaxing, and a little tired, a faint line of frustration somewhere in there, “Whatever, you can both stay.”
Which was fine, you got used to alphas being assholes. It was like they hated not being above really wanting to fuck something.
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Years into the future Samuel Seo has switched crime for grading papers and early mornings. His past barely haunts him anymore, can barely touch him, until the one day it tackles him and he's forced to decide whether to punch back or not. or - Samuel Seo is a highschool teacher, Eli Jang is raising a highschooler.
Bookmarked by aocello
16 Apr 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Characterisation is on point and just a really charming narrative voice i love it so much
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Summary
Sometimes, James wonders what death might feel like.
It’s not often, or even purposeful. It’s the sort of thing that creeps up on him every once in a while, like the itching sensation in your throat when you’re about to catch a cold, or the ache of an old scar that tells you the season is changing. He goes through the motions of the life he’s carved out for himself, clawed his way to the top with his bare hands until he bled from the tips of his fingers, and the sweet fantasy of it all ending sings to him within his mind, stuck in his head on loop like his pop songs on the radio.
Sometimes, James thinks about him.
or,
James has a bad day. He takes some time to destress and reminiscence.
Bookmarked by aocello
17 Apr 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
His nails make a horrible scraping sound against the bottom of his bowl, and he realizes he’s run out of cucumbers already. It’s not like one cucumber will get you far to begin with, and he was eating them in the fistfuls, so he doesn’t know what he really expected. His stomach growls against his firm commands, and he resolutely ignores it, uncaringly tossing the bowl somewhere he’ll have to fish out when he wakes up next. The image behind his eyes is one of him when he was a child, right before the beginning of what he likes to think was the end of it all for him. Before he became whatever this is. There can be no end to James Lee if he never lived to begin with.
He longs for an equal. It’s not that he desires companionship—far from it, really—and if he wanted such a frivolous thing he could easily pick any ordinary girl out from a crowd and take her home with him, all without a word spoken. He, of course, would not ever do something like this; he’s an idol with an image to protect, and regular people don’t interest him, anyway. No, what he truly desires is someone to match him in strength. Being the most powerful man in the world is as much of a curse as it is a blessing, and there’s not a single person he could hope to relate to him, a single person that could make the hair prick up on his arms or ice cold terror wash over his body.
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BROOOOOO