#Instead of “accept the past and your regrets as part of your past and focus on what you can fix going forward”

[ceesimz]

don't smile

you just can't get over each other. (angst -> happy ending)

Seeing you in somebody else’s arms was never part of the plan Alexia set out for herself. 

A drink in her hand and a stranger in yours. At an event for the club of her life that was nothing when you were in the same room as her, breathing the same air, but you had an arm around your waist that wasn’t Alexia’s.

An hour before that, when you first walked in, she could have thrown up, or fallen to her knees and wailed like a child, or thrown a tantrum like a toddler. Because you walked into her place of work with her team, your only goal in mind being to make her jealous in front of her mother and sister, her colleagues, her colleagues’ family and friends, and just about anyone else around. 

Patri had invited you, apparently, which made sense. You had met through her, a fleeting moment Alexia once called fate. Now, as she watched you laugh, smile, joke, drape yourself over another woman, the captain thought of it as nothing but the beginning of the end for her. Her life hadn’t been the same since the two of you split. 

Waking up in the morning hadn’t felt the same now that her bed was empty and cold without. The start of her day used to be her favourite part. Waking to a warm bed with your sleeping form beside her, goosebumps always rising on her skin when you buried her face in the crook of her neck and breathed in as the scent of vanilla from her lingering perfume and the lavender of the bed sheets invaded your senses, it was just unmatched. She couldn’t describe the motivation it gave her. Instead, the only thing that greeted her at the crack of dawn was the sole, deafening sound of her alarm. It made it inexplicably harder to want to get on with the agenda for her day. 

Cooking breakfast wasn’t the same when you weren’t there to will her on with light kisses along her neckline. Doing her skincare in the bathroom wasn’t anywhere near as fun when you weren’t emphatically serenading her from the shower. Going to training didn’t feel quite so fulfilling when you weren’t waiting to welcome her with open arms once she returned home. Lining up in the tunnel of whatever stadium she was playing in that day wasn’t the same when you weren’t in the stands for her.

Yet you sauntered in as if none of that ever happened, flaunting the evidence of your success at seamlessly moving on with a grin on your face Alexia hadn’t seen before. She didn’t realise the reason for that was because it wasn’t genuine, like all the other ones you’d flashed at her in the past. That thought wasn’t even a concept in her world, the only thing she could focus on was the resentment towards you that consumed her. 

Months ago, the two of you made your way to your favourite restaurant, walking along the street with your arms linked together as you exchanged soft glances and loud laughter. Only an hour later did you walk out together, stuck in a screaming contest of whose words could do the most damage, before Alexia spotted someone with their phone out and walked away. You were left there, alone, with only the vicious words from the woman you thought you’d spent the rest of your life with as the only thing that remained of her. There was radio silence after that and it had stayed that way since. 

You blamed her and she blamed you, even if it was a combination of you both at fault and neither of you the root cause of it. Despite that, not a word was exchanged about the fight, the pair of you too stubborn and head-strong in the worst way to be able to look each other in the eyes again after all the insults tossed back and forth. 

The thing is… Alexia had just begun to accept the fact she regretted that day at the restaurant and everything to do with it when this happened. For weeks, she’d spent her nights with only the company of the light from her phone screen, opened on your contact. Her mind cried out for her to press the call button, but her heart and its fear of getting hurt again won, and she never found it within herself to do it. Had you shown up to the Barça event on your own, the blonde would have rushed over to you the second she saw you, her tail between her legs as she begged for your forgiveness.

But then you brought a plus-one, and Alexia had never been more happy with herself over a decision than she had about not calling you.

The new girl on your arm was merely an unassuming passenger you’d brought along on this tumultuous joyride. You didn’t like her that much, she was no blonde athlete, no love of your life, and it didn’t help that you couldn’t exactly remember her name without having to take a moment to think about it, but she knew her role and she played it well. It’d only taken three shots together at a bar the previous night to convince her. Then, all you had to do was slap a confident smile on your face and enter the room the club had hired and brush off the, at least, forty pairs of eyes on you like they were nothing. 

Except your smile faltered when you stepped inside, and everybody saw it. Everyone apart from the one person that mattered. It was too late to not go with the plan, however, so you did just that. In your defence, you believed you had no choice. But of course you did. There wasn’t a gun to your head, no one knew, not even Patri, that you were bringing anyone. The downfall was all your own doing.

Every laugh, every smile, every joke, every arm wrapped around her waist and every sly whisper in your date’s ear was purposeful, planned. You didn’t even have to look to know Alexia’s eyes were on you– they never left. And your desperation for her attention never left either, though you wouldn’t call it desperation, you called it… revenge. A pathetic attempt, however. And it was rather desperate.

The whole thing bordered on toxic, it was unhealthy, yet… it could only be the behaviour of two people that loved each other too much to let go for good. Neither of you were ready to accept that fact anytime soon, however. That you were still in love, and always would be.

Alexia hadn’t brought anyone with her apart from her mother and sister because, in the time she’d had you and lost you, not once did she even glance at anyone else. What was the point? When you lose the one person you married in your dreams as you slept beside them, everything else fades out of focus so that you can concentrate on breathing and blinking each day. Just the thought of having someone take your place made her feel sick. But she didn’t care to delve into why she felt that way. She just assumed she was still achingly angry at you. 

You didn’t give a second thought to the sickening pit in your stomach, assuming it was the vitriol that still coursed through your veins, and that putting on the performance you were then was simply fuelling it. It wasn’t guilt, it just couldn’t be. It wouldn’t make sense. 

To Alba, it was a performance that was totally transparent, especially after she saw the glimpse of intimidation at your masterplan when you arrived. And with the way her sister was clutching her glass, if she held it any tighter, she feared it might have just smashed into pieces in her hand. The brunette had been seated front row to the sympathy party Alexia had been putting on these last months; it took a thousand times of asking for the midfielder to show any kind of emotion towards everyone left in her life. Two days before the Barça event, Alba had to lay into her, to at least try to pull her head out her ass and remember that she still had people around who actually loved her.

The blonde didn't care about a soul anymore, and that fact became obviously clear when Eli tried to pull her daughter into a conversation with someone else's mother, only to receive some kind of grunt or grumble in response. Eli rolled her eyes and politely excused herself from the conversation, grabbing Alexia's hand afterwards and scolding her quietly. Alexia hardly caught a word she said. Not when it was the exact moment you chose to shoot a sly, triumphant smirk in her direction, which elicited a disapproving, down-right angry, and bordering on possessive scowl to her brow and frown to her mouth.

That only spurred you on; then you grabbed your date’s hand and, with a look in your eye Alexia had been on the receiving end of many memorable times, you headed to the bathroom. Like you were at some club, drunk on a night-out with no inhibitions, and not at Alexia’s place of work. 

A huff left her mouth and she slammed her glass down on the nearest table with the intention to follow you in and fire some colourful words your way, but Alba stopped her. The younger Putellas knew exactly what Alexia was going to do, and she’d be damned if she let her embarrass herself here of all places. She was thinking with her heart once again, not her head, and she didn’t have the best track record of doing so. The state of your relationship together was enough proof.

“Get off me, Alba. Now is not the- where are we going?!” She exclaimed in a hushed tone, trying (but failing) to not draw attention to them. Next thing she knew, she was in the smoking area outside the function room that’d been hired, her mother and sister both fixing her with warningful stares. “What is wrong with you both?”

“You need to leave her alone, Ale. Don’t cause a scene at work.” Alba said calmly, hands on her hips and hardly flinching at the outburst Alexia had afterwards.

“Me? Have you seen her?! What she is doing? She is causing a scene at my work and I am supposed to sit there and watch her?!” Her hands gestured wildly and uncontrollably, so much so that both women in front of her took a few steps backwards. She kicked at a non-existent stone under her foot on the cobbled ground and cursed under breath, mumbling a few choice words that had her mother lightly hitting her on the back of the head.

“You do not call another woman that! On my deathbed you ever say that word again, Alexia.” Eli had that same dagger glare to her eyes that worked on Alexia when she was a child. Even as a woman in her thirties, it still evoked fear in her, and her fury took a backseat after that as she apologised quietly. “What she does is not your business anymore. You need to let her go.” 

“Let her go.” Alexia repeated with a pitiful laugh, slumping back against the wall and putting her hands on her knees. 

She knew she had to let you go, and she was trying, why didn’t anyone see that? No matter what she did or how much time passed by, you were still the only person she thought about. You never left her mind, even if it did make her want to smash her head against the mirror she looked into every morning where she’d only see a reflection of herself when it should be you next to her. 

Nobody saw it because it wasn’t the reality. She loved you as much as she did the first day she saw you. Things were just more complicated now, because suddenly your futures were at stake. One future together that was happy, or two lifetimes of chasing an ounce of the devotion you felt when you were with each other. There was a mountain to climb or there was the coward’s way out.

“I need to let her go.” She said again, this time with more determination. She stood up straight, shook off the frustration she felt, and nodded at them both. “I will.”

Then, she headed straight back inside. But Eli and Alba shared a knowing look. Alexia wore her heart on her sleeve, she always had done. The two knew Alexia better than anyone, yet even they hadn’t seen her like this before, and that only meant one thing. Eli rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh, meanwhile Alba wanted nothing more than to smash your heads together.

—

You don’t know why you did it. How you thought it could ever possibly be a good idea was a mystery to you as you sat in the back of a taxi in awkward silence with your date whose number you would delete the second she stepped out of the car. 

Nevermind Alexia, you’d made a fool of yourself with such a fake, pathetic attempt at showing how seamlessly you had moved on. It was completely forced and you were almost certain that everyone in the room could see that. 

The minute you walked in earlier, adrenaline and the need for revenge took over. You acted on autopilot, the devil on your shoulder decided what to do and didn’t care to run it past you before it happened. Honestly, the whole night was mostly a blur. All you could remember was the expression Alexia wore and the cocktail of emotions you could see in her eyes from across the room. 

Her anger didn’t hurt, her judgement didn’t hurt, it was the disappointment so clear on her face that hurt. Like you’d stooped lower than she ever thought you would, which you knew was exactly what you’d done. But the second you saw Alexia leave, she shot one last look your way, which seemed… dejected, with a hint of longing in her eyes. So, perhaps seeing you with someone else had done exactly what you wanted, but you didn’t get the satisfaction you thought you would. No, as you drove in silence in the taxi back to your empty apartment with walls that had stories to tell of the two of you, you knew what you felt then was guilt in all its entirety. Guilt and regret.

Guilt, which you’d so vehemently denied earlier, yet were drowning in it when all was said and done. So when the tears that built in your eyes as you thanked the taxi driver and got out of the car finally fell, you didn’t wipe them away. You had no business doing that when they were the consequence of your own actions. 

Crying wouldn’t rewind time so you could take back such a stupid and naive decision. Crying wouldn’t make you feel any better at the behaviour the people you valued as your own witnessed and no doubt judged you heavily for. Crying wouldn’t get Alexia back. 

But you didn’t want her back, so you quickly wiped your face with the sleeve of your coat when you walked into your apartment building. Your neighbour from a few doors down was there, waiting for the elevator, and the look of pity he gave at the sight of you was enough to have you turning on the spot and walking right out again. 

It contradicted your last thought entirely, about not wanting her back. But you didn’t care, because you could not stand the idea of going home to an all too quiet and empty apartment. That didn’t mean you wanted her back though. She’d said some borderlin- she’d said some really unforgivable stuff in the restaurant. Even if you had kind of forgotten some of the things she spat at you, you knew she had and she’d meant it. 

You wanted a drink. Needed one, actually. So your destination choice was the local supermarket, which was a couple minutes away. As you headed towards it, the cool air of the evening dried your tears, leaving tracks that still glimmered under the streetlights, the warm white reflecting the shame that burned inside you for everyone that passed by to see. It was a vulnerable moment, but you did it to yourself, so it didn’t matter. You wandered the streets in the dark, alone, just like you did after that time at the restaurant. 

God, you would have done anything to know what Alexia was thinking earlier. You knew she was angry, that could have been clear even to Stevie Wonder, but there was something different, deeper, under the surface that you caught a glimpse of and it lingered in your mind. You had to stop thinking about her. 

That was an impossible task when she was in everything you saw. The alleyways you snuck off into on date nights, the cafes you ate breakfast in the mornings after whilst sat across the table from each other with bashful smiles and flushed cheeks, benches you would sit on together as you watched the world go by in front of you. All these sentimental places you walked by, where nothing had changed for them, meanwhile everything had changed for you. 

Things had changed between you both since, yet at the same time, nothing had changed at all.

The supermarket you went to, it was the same one the two of you would walk around together, picking and choosing what ingredients you would use for the next dish you cooked. You should have realised what shop you were going to end up at, but clearly critical thinking wasn’t your best skill at that time. 

You roamed the aisles, a basket on your arm, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart that was in tune with the continuous cycle of your mind. It told the same story you had shunned for some time, you were determined not to let it get to you that night. But just like your walk here, the shop showed no sign of anything that had ended, and it gave no instruction on how to forget that it had. 

You picked your poison and put it in the basket. Then you got another bottle of the same drink, so there was one to have on the way home and one to keep you company on the sofa. 

All was going well until you began to make your way to the exit. The aisle you chose to walk down to get to the tills was probably the worst one you could. The most unsuspecting, but undeniably the worst. Just as your mind finally let you think about something else, you spotted something on the bottom shelf that shattered the facade you had worked so hard to build.

Lavender laundry detergent. Unassuming? Yes. But in no time at all, it no longer was just a bottle of detergent. And it was fucking stupid. 

Suddenly, it was late Sunday evenings when Alexia would force you out of bed so that she could put on fresh sheets, adamant it was the perfect reset for a new week. Suddenly, it was the way she would pick you up and lay you down on the bed afterwards, giving an apology in the form of soft, gentle, slow, unrushed kisses because nights together felt timeless. Suddenly it was the feeling of her clothes against your skin, of tangled limbs in the early hours of the morning, of home. 

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. 

The breakup, the ambush at the club’s gathering, the weeks without each other, the tears that fell again. 

Your stomach twisted at the thought that hit you soon after. It should have been obvious, long ago. But so much time had passed, so much animosity, it initially seemed irreparable. How could she forgive you? And when had you forgiven her?

“Disculpe? Está bien?” 

No, you weren’t. Coming face to face with a decision you had detested for months wasn’t something you could just sit back and watch.

It was a decision you had to actively take.

—

“Alexia?” 

She put her foot through the ball just as you spoke, sending it flying over the crossbar. 

“Alba told me you would be here.” 

Alba? 

Ignoring you, she collected another ball and meticulously set it up outside of the box. 

“Please.” 

She geared up to take the free-kick, and this time, the net rippled and the sound echoed off of the houses around as it nestled in the top corner. The football pitch near her childhood home was often a place she went to when she needed time on her own. And God did she have a lot of it lately. 

Alexia gave as much as she was willing to; she turned her body to face you, hands on her hips, though she kept her eyes averted. It was an offer, not an invite.

“I… I came here with so much to say but now I don’t know where to start.”

The captain had mastered the act of coming across as stoic and unbothered. There, in front of you, she seemed emotionless and totally unbothered by your sudden appearance. The sharp sting of a lump in her throat told a different story. 

She had spent so long convincing herself this moment would never come, that you had given up on the idea entirely, which she knew was selfish to put this whole thing on your shoulders, but still. Then there you were, in front of her, looking at her like she was still something that mattered. 

Her shoulders tried to slump but she stood up straighter, her expression and her body language steady and unwavering in its coldness. Her jaw was tensed, her fingers curled into fists, eyes unblinking, almost like she was trying to bring on the anger she was supposed to feel. But the tears welled anyway, traitorously burning behind her eyes, and she had to blink them back before they betrayed her. 

“I need you, Alexia. And I don’t know why I’ve spent the past months telling myself I don’t.” 

You bared your soul in the hopes she did the same thing in return. 

In the last few weeks that led to this moment, Alexia thought the nights she spent wishing for this very scene to play out would have prepared her for hearing those words. It hadn’t worked, and the love she felt for you came rushing back, weaving in between the cracks she’d tried so hard to seal. It was a miracle she didn’t fall to your feet there and then. 

A part of her wanted to scoff and tell you it was too late. Those weren’t her true feelings. The way her nails dug into the palms of her hands and how the half of her heart she had left battered against her chest as it tried to escape, tried to make its way to you again, they shone a light on the truth that had long taken hold of her. She hated how easily she folded at the sound of your voice and the honesty within it, but you can’t hate who you don’t love.

Regardless, she swallowed hard, the lump not budging an inch, and she forced her face to stay blank as she replied.

“You don’t get to say that.” 

Her voice was steadier than she felt, but even as the words left her tongue, her resolve wavered slightly. 

“I know, but I am saying it.” You took a step closer. On that occasion, she met your gaze. “I’ve been a horrible person, and what I did yesterday, it… I don’t know why I did it. I don’t have any excuses or reasons why. I’m just sorry. I’m so… so sorry.”

Still, she didn’t say a word. You didn’t blame her. Begging for her forgiveness with your tail between your legs wasn’t a pretty sight. 

“I forgive you for what happened at the restaurant and I did a long time ago. I can’t do this life thing without you, I don’t know how I did it before you but I definitely can’t do it after without you. I love you. It’s only you.”

Words spilled out of you in a frantic manner as you filled the silence she left. Alexia stood rooted to the spot, absorbing every single syllable that you uttered. She saw the way your hands fidgeted and how you’d look her in the eye before glancing away, intimidated by her lack of reaction. It was like you were searching both her and the environment around for anything to tell you where you stood with her. Truthfully, the midfielder wasn’t sure.

Relief swarmed her chest so wholly it almost hurt, though her mind was still catching up. She wanted to tell you she heard you, that she forgave you, that she loved you, but… she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. So she let you stumble through apologises and half-finished confessions whilst she tried to remember how to breathe again. 

“Please. I n-need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything. I… I don’t know what else to say.” 

When so much time passed between you showing up and her giving away not a hint at how she felt, you began to feel embarrassed. Humiliated. Ashamed that you could drive away the one person you believed genuinely loved you.

You didn’t know what else to say, but you weren’t about to see her walk away from you again like last time. It hurt too much. If she didn’t want you in her life, then you would make the decision for her. You did have some common decency.

It’s just, when you turned and took your first step away from her, you couldn’t exactly take your second when a familiar hand grabbed your wrist and spun you back around. Though, she hesitated in her next plan of action, and it gave you a chance to see the stream coming from her eyes. Before you got the chance to apologise or run away or cry tears of your own, you were engulfed in an embrace. An embrace that was steady, strong, secure, like the ones you had gotten used to before everything went wrong.

“I’m still mad at you for what you did.” 

She sobbed into your neck as she spoke, her shoulders shaking with her cries, and somehow it was the most cathartic moment of your life. 

“I know.” 

—

happy ending... question mark? 😇 reverie national team fic is actively being worked on! this is just something i got the idea for the other day and it stuck in my mind since, though it looks nothing like i thought it would (i hate it sm) best believe im putting alllll my time and love and care and effort into the reverie nt fic!

[betweenstorms]

Part Four of Where We Part Across The Years (previous chapter) (next chapter) (WWP Chapters) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

The motorway stretched endlessly before you, the grey skies mirroring the dull ache that had settled in your chest. London was still long hours away, and all you had to keep you company were the monotone hum of tyres on tarmac and the storm of regret swirling inside your mind. Too much time to think. Too much space for regret to fester. You cursed yourself, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as your thoughts kept circling back to the night before.

You had fucking blown it.

After all those years, you saw Simon Riley again—bloody hell, he stood right in front of you, and yet you’d managed to do nothing meaningful with that moment. You had let the beer and the shock cloud your better judgement. The one chance to say something worthwhile, to ask the questions that had haunted you for years. Instead of asking him about the things that truly mattered, you got wrapped up in your own misery, your own failed ambitions.

The thought made you wince.

He had asked about you, about your damn life, but you hadn’t even had the decency to return the favour. You hadn’t asked if he was alright, if he was happy. If he was satisfied with how his life had turned out after all the hell he must have been through.

You groaned, cursing yourself again for your inability, your bloody incompetency to see the bigger picture when it mattered most, too tangled up in your own pathetic web of insecurities to make sure that he was truly all right.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you replayed the night in your mind, over and over, searching for the moments where you could have said something different, done something different.

Simon had been right there, and instead of taking the opportunity to reconnect, to ask the questions you had been holding onto for years, you let it slip through your fingers. You didn’t even give him your number or your address. You had let him walk away from you without leaving any way for him to find you again. Even if he wanted to, how would he know where to look? And, you realised with a sinking feeling in your chest, did he even want to? 

The bitter taste of regret coated your tongue as you tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind wouldn’t stop replaying the encounter. In the cold light of day, with the haze of alcohol missing, it all felt so surreal, so far removed from reality. But the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you, and the more you realised just how much time you’d wasted. How ironic. But that wasn’t new, was it? Your whole life felt like a series of missed chances, of not recognising the significance of things until they were long gone.

The truth was, you had been doing this for years—

—letting life slip past you.

A miserable pattern that shaped your entire existence.

When you were younger, just out of university, full of fire and ambition, you thought survival was your strength, your forte. You were fully convinced you could handle whatever life threw at you. But what you hadn’t realised until now was that it wasn’t survival you excelled at—it was failing to see the things that mattered, right when they were in front of you. Survival, you’d come to learn, wasn’t just about getting through the hard times, it was about accepting and embracing the good ones, too. The moments of opportunity.

And that, it seemed, was where you had always fallen short.

Oh, you had it all mapped out, didn’t you?

The life you were meant to have. A good career, a happy marriage, kids running around in a house with a garden, maybe a dog or two. You had imagined it all so clearly, like a perfect picture in your mind. But that picture had never come to life. Instead, you had watched the years slip by, each one more disappointing than the last.

Maybe if you’d paid more attention…

Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy chasing the perfect job, you would have noticed the cracks in your relationship with your now ex-fiancé before it all fell apart. You should have seen the signs. The strange messages, the late nights, the unexplained absences. Maybe if you’d been more present, more attentive, your roommate wouldn’t have been the one to sink the knife of betrayal deep into your back. You hadn’t been watching and he slipped through your fingers, into the arms of someone you had once called a friend.

You had been so fucking busy chasing the perfect little future you thought you deserved that you hadn’t noticed the waving red flags in the life you were living.

And by the time you did, it was too late.

And your parents. Gosh, your parents.

You should have spent more time with them when you had the chance. You should have seen it sooner—your fathers’s illness. Would it have made a difference? Maybe if you had been more involved, it wouldn’t have progressed the way it had. Maybe there would have been more options, more time. But you were too wrapped up in your own life, in your career, in trying to piece together the version of yourself you thought you should be. And now your dad, your hard-working and loving father, was suffering, and you were left with the guilt of not having been there when it really counted.

The truth was, you had been drifting through life.

Existing, but not really living.

And now, as you stared down the seemingly endless stretch of road, the grey world outside your car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had been doing it all wrong. You had always prided yourself on knowing your limits, on being self-aware enough not to overestimate your capabilities. But now, sitting here, you realised that maybe that was the problem. You’d been too cautious, too reserved, too unwilling to take the risks that mattered.

Maybe if you had fought harder for the things you desired, if you had been more aware of the moments passing you by, your life would be different now. Maybe you wouldn’t be driving back to a small flat in London, alone, with nothing but regrets for company.

It was bloody funny, wasn’t it?

As a child, you never think you’ll fail. You dream about the future with wide eyes and open hands, certain that everything will fall into place. You never think that one day you’ll look at your life and feel like you’ve betrayed yourself. Jesus, if you could meet your younger self now, what would you even say? You would probably sink into the ground with shame, unable to look into your own eyes. You should have done better for yourself. You should have loved yourself more, been braver, taken more risks.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know how you ended up here.

Somewhere along the way, the fire in your soul had gone out. The ambition, the hope, the belief in the greater good—it had all faded, replaced by this dull acceptance of mediocrity. You’d convinced yourself that this was enough, but the truth was it wasn’t. You could have done more. You should have done more.

And you didn’t.

But you could change, couldn’t you? You could pick yourself up, move out of the flat, find a job that made you happy, and take better care of yourself. It was all within your grasp. But you hadn’t done it yet, had you? You had let the years slip by, watching them drift past like birds on the horizon, too far out of reach to ever catch hold of.

Such thoughts became your constant companion over the following days.

Or had it been weeks? Months? Honestly, you’d stopped keeping track of time—everything blurred together into the same dull rhythm of work, sleep, and self-doubt. Life in London had become a strange, muted existence, the days bleeding into one another without distinction.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting on the sofa, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, working on a presentation for the following morning.

The small living room was bathed in the bluish light of your screen, the rest of the flat swallowed by darkness. Your focus drifted in and out, the words on the screen barely registering as your mind kept wandering, as if waiting for some small spark of inspiration that would never come. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, trying to will yourself to focus, but it was pointless.

Then you heard it—a knock. A soft, uncertain tapping at the door.

Your fingers froze over the keyboard, eyes narrowing in confusion. You glanced at the corner of the laptop screen. 02:29 AM. Who the hell would be knocking at this ungodly hour? Then, the knock came again, low but insistent, cutting through the quiet.

Your heart began to race, a prickle of unease settling over your skin.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

Not at this time. Not at all, really. Your parents were in Birmingham, visiting an old friend for the week, and you didn’t have anyone else in London who would drop by unannounced, especially not in the middle of dawn. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how alone you were. The knocking didn’t stop, each thud echoing louder in the stillness of your apartment.

With a tight throat and a hammering heart, you carefully pulled the blanket off, your bare feet sinking into the softness of the carpet. Every step you took toward the door felt like it carried a weight of its own, your breath coming shallow as you pressed your ear against the wood. The knocking stopped for a moment, and you strained to listen, the eerie silence in the flat amplifying your heartbeat.

Slowly, you peered through the peephole, breath held. You blinked, your brain struggling to make sense of what you were seeing.

Hazel eyes, shadowed but unmistakable.

Simon fucking Riley.

A surge of adrenaline shot through you, your hand fumbling with the lock before you flung the door open with more force than you’d intended. The cold air from the hallway rushed in, but all you could focus on was him—standing there in the dim light, his broad frame filling the door. He looked the same as that night outside the pub back in Manchester, the same quiet intensity in his gaze. But here, now, it felt different. More immediate.

More real.

“Jesus Christ,” you snapped, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“Didn’t mean to.”

His response was simple, understated, however, it didn’t calm the storm of emotions raging inside your chest.

You stared at him, your mind racing, your pulse drumming in your ears. He stood there, wearing a dark surgical mask that obscured half of his face and a beige baseball cap, the unmistakable Union Jack patch stitched on the front. His outfit was as unassuming as it was intimidating—black jacket, blue jeans, and military boots. And the way he was built, solid, bulky and imposing, would have made anyone else wonder if this wasn’t some kind of robbery. Or worse. He was an intimidating man after all.

But you knew those eyes.

Those sharp, piercing eyes that could cut through the fog of a thousand thoughts.

You’d know them anywhere.

For a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other in the stillness of the dark. You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, your arms wrapped around yourself, whether for warmth or self-protection, you couldn’t say for sure. Simon stood still, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable behind the mask. The air between you was thick with a kind of tension that was hard to place. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it wasn’t far from it either, making the space feel too small, too intimate.

As the seconds stretched out in that strange, suffocating silence, you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. Your palms were sweaty, a reminder that this was real—Simon Riley, here, at your door. In the middle of the night. You shifted on your feet, feeling the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your skin, and wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, as though that could ward off the growing sense of vulnerability creeping up your spine.

“Well… this is, you know, sudden,” you stated softly, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, almost lost to the tension hanging in the air.

Simon shrugged, his gaze flicking away before meeting your eyes again. “Told you I’d visit,” he replied, his tone casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You snorted, your nerves bubbling to the surface.

“Yeah, well, could’ve picked a better time, mate,” the sarcasm in your voice felt like armour, something to protect yourself from the whirlwind of emotions crashing against your ribs.

Simon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me gone, then?”

“No!”

The word flew out of your mouth far too quickly and with far too much force. It hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. You cringed at how desperate you sounded, biting the inside of your cheek as you quickly looked away, your gaze falling to the floor.

God, why did you always manage to make a fool of yourself in front of him? You were always like this around Simon—your emotions too close to the surface, your heart too vulnerable. It was like he had this power over you, and no matter how much time passed, you couldn’t shake it.

The familiar feeling of embarrassment crept up your neck, heating your cheeks and making your skin prickle with discomfort. Huffing softly, you dug your nails into your upper arms, grounding yourself in the sting of it.

“Do you... want to come in?”

Your voice was quieter this time, trying to hold onto whatever scrap of dignity you had left. But it felt clumsy and out of place, like they didn’t quite fit the gravity of the moment.

For a split second, Simon hesitated.

You could see it in the way his broad shoulders tensed, the slight shift in his stance, as though he hadn’t really thought through what would happen if he came here. Somehow, he seemed just as uncomfortable as you were, which surprised you. For a man who seemed to navigate life with such confidence and discipline, the idea of stepping into your flat, into your personal space, seemed to give him pause. You couldn’t quite understand why, but the longer the quiet stretched, the more you realised that maybe he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe showing up at your door in the middle of the night was more impulsive than calculated. And maybe he didn’t know what to do, just as much as you didn’t.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

You immediately felt lighter as you stepped aside, awkwardly motioning for him to come in. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expectin’ company. I mean, not that you’re company, well, you are, but… you know what I mean.”

He stepped past you, his frame taking up more space in the small flat than you’d anticipated. His presence seemed to dominate the room, making the icy air feel thicker, more charged. He glanced around briefly, his eyes scanning the room with the same quiet intensity you’d come to associate with him. Your tiny apartment felt even smaller with him inside it, his towering figure somehow making the room feel claustrophobic.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest scent of something familiar—the earthy scent of leather and steel, mingling with tobacco. It was subtle but unmistakable, a reminder of the life he led, the world he inhabited now. A world so far removed from yours, yet here he was, standing in your flat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You closed the door behind him, your fingers trembling slightly as you locked it.

You murmured something about making tea, your voice barely audible as you rushed into the kitchen, turning on the cheap neon bars over the sink. It was easier to focus on something as mundane as boiling water than on the knot of nerves tightening in your chest. You could feel Simon’s presence behind you, a silent weight of his intimidating aura pressing into the room. As you busied yourself with the kettle, your hands shaking just enough to make you scowl at your own weakness, you stole a glance at him.

He was still standing near the door, watching you intently.

His eyes tracked every movement, and it made your skin tingle under the scrutiny. He still wore his usual guarded expression, as though he hadn’t quite decided whether he belonged here or not. Plus, there was something unnerving about being the focus of his attention—Simon Riley had a way of making you feel exposed, as if he could see through every weak attempt you tried to hide behind.

Frowning slightly, you asked, “Why the mask?”

Your question seemed to jolt him from whatever thoughts were running through his head. He blinked once, twice, then slowly began to peel away the layers.

The cap came off first, revealing the familiar mess of sandy blond hair underneath. His boots followed, then his jacket, each item discarded neatly by the door with military precision. But it wasn’t until he tugged off the mask and placed it carefully on top of the neat pile that you realised how much tension you’d been holding in your chest.

It felt strange to see him wearing a mask indoors.

However, as usual, Simon didn’t bother answering your question.

He just continued as if you hadn’t said anything, leaving you to piece together the puzzle on your own. That was how it had always been with him, wasn’t it? The kettle’s shrill whistle startled you back to reality, pulling you out of the trance his presence always seemed to cast over you.

You cleared your throat and asked, “How d’you take your tea?”

“Plain.”

Of course.

His familiar, deep tone that rumbled in the small space between you. You nodded and made the tea, handing him a mug with a cartoon character plastered on the front. Simon glanced at it briefly but, to his credit, didn’t say anything. He leaned against the counter, holding the mug with one large hand, his gaze once again sweeping over your small, cluttered flat. You watched him silently, mimicking his posture, leaning against the other side of the furniture.

The distance between you somehow felt too wide and too close at the same time. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly rolled up, revealing the edge of a tattoo that snaked its way along his muscular arm. Odd. You hadn’t noticed it before. The bold, black lines etched into his skin told you that this was something new, something he hadn’t had back then. You wondered what kind of significance it held.

There was a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, something unsettling about the way your mind lingered on his tattooed skin.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, Simon broke the silence.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You quickly averted your gaze as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Had he caught you staring? God, how embarrassing. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing your fingers through it in a futile attempt to detangle the mess.

“I wasn’t asleep,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the living room where your laptop sat abandoned on the sofa. “Was workin’, actually.”

You ran your fingers through your hair again, an unconscious attempt to make yourself look more presentable. It was absurd, really. You hadn’t exactly dressed to impress. The last time he’d seen you, you’d been more put together, more presentable, wearing makeup and decent clothes. But now, in the privacy of your apartment, you felt exposed, like he was seeing a side of you you hadn’t meant to show. You felt like a mess.

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea.

If Simon noticed your dishevelled look, or if he even cared, he didn’t say a single thing. The quiet stretched out again, the weight of his presence filling every corner of the room. You could feel your poor nerves fraying at the edges, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, whether he was already regretting seeing you again.

“You know… I didn’t expect you to actually visit.”

Simon shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “Told you I would.”

There it was again.

That simplicity in his words, like everything with him was black and white. Promises made, promises kept. It was as though, with Simon, the world was reduced to the simplest, starkest truths. There were no shades of grey, no second-guessing. You almost envied that about him, the way he seemed to live without being tangled up in the anxieties and doubts that seemed to haunt you.

You stared at your hands wrapped around your mug, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, grounding you, as you let out a small huff of disbelief. You weren’t really used to someone following through so directly, so earnestly, and it unnerved you.

You shifted, “But… how did you even find me?”

Simon’s response was immediate—a sharp look that made your already timid stomach twist in embarrassment. The kind of look that seemed to say, Are you serious?

“I didn’t give you my address, did I? I mean, I didn’t think—”

Simon interrupted you with a heavy sigh, one of those annoyed sighs that made you feel like you were the one missing something obvious. It was the same tired sound you remembered from years ago, when he had little patience for things he considered trivial.

“Your dad,” he said simply, as if that answered everything.

You blinked, confused. “My dad?”

He gave a small nod. “I asked him for it. At the funeral.”

His words struck you like a direct punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, all you could do was stare, mouth parted in silent shock, your mind reeling.

Slowly, you pressed your lips into a thin, resolute line, eyes dropping to the floor as your bare foot nudged the kitchen furniture, seeking distraction in the quiet chaos.

“And you remembered.”

Simon, ever the pragmatic, gave a faint frown as if confused by your surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His response made your heart clench. Of course, only Simon Riley would remember something like that. He remembered everything, didn’t he? It wasn’t just a detail to him, it was a promise fulfilled, a matter of duty. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight as you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, the weight of his words hanging between you like an anchor pulling you both down into the murky depths of the past.

You had no words.

What could you say? That you were touched by his effort? That it meant something more to you than you could articulate?

Suddenly, the memory of the day after you met him came flooding back. The drive home from Manchester that felt endless, the silence inside the car thick with questions that swirled in your mind, never letting you rest. Those thoughts haunted you ever since, clinging to you in the days that followed like shadows, never letting you move on.

The questions that swirled through your mind like ghosts you couldn’t outrun, questions that felt urgent, vital.

And now, standing here in this moment, face to face with him again after everything that had happened, it felt as though the universe had conspired to bring you both back together. Every moment you’d spent wondering, waiting, longing, felt orchestrated by something greater than chance, as if God himself had pulled the strings, aligning the stars to give you this one moment.

This second chance.

But the questions you once agonised over, the ones that kept you awake at night, suddenly felt insignificant, small against the weight of this moment. What you thought you needed to ask him paled in comparison to the one question that now consumed you, burning through your thoughts like wildfire.

Nothing else mattered—only this.

“Did you… read my letter?” 

Your quiet words hung in the air, fragile and exposed.

It felt like a moment of reckoning, as if everything that had passed between you, the years of silence, the unspoken feelings, the grief, and the regret, had all led to this point, this moment. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear his answer, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. You had to know.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the flicker of something in his eyes, a flash of impatience, perhaps, or maybe just weariness. He let out a small grunt, his tolerance clearly fraying at the edges.

“Fuckin’ hell. You gonna keep askin’ daft questions all night?” His tone was sharp, but not unkind, and you could tell that, despite the frustration, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. It was just Simon—blunt, honest, unflinchingly direct.

The letter. He had read it.

Every word you had poured onto those pages, every emotion you had bared without ever expecting him to see it—he had seen it all. And not only that, but here he was, standing in your flat, at your door in the dead of night, as though he had been drawn back to you by the very things you had written down. It made you feel exposed, like you had laid your soul bare without realising it.

“And…?”

Simon’s beautiful hazel eyes flicked toward you, sharp and searching, as though weighing the unspoken between you both, carefully deciding how much to reveal. The silence stretched, thick with uncertainty, and for a heartbeat, you wondered if he would say anything at all. His expression remained unreadable, the hesitation palpable, until at last, he spoke—his voice low, gravelly, and frayed at the edges, like words worn down by years of being held back.

“Didn’t need the letter to know.”

You took a shaky breath, letting the reality of his words wash over you like a gentle wave.

Simon remained still, leaning against the counter, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. But that quiet intensity—the way he simply waited for you, like he was giving you the space to process everything, it was almost too much to bear. It was like he was standing on the edge of something, waiting for you to join him, but he wouldn’t force you to make the leap.

You placed the mug down on the counter, the ceramic clinking softly against the surface.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay at bay, but the dam broke, and before you could stop it, you buried your face in your hands. Because for the first time in a long time, maybe since birth, you felt like you could start to let go of the past.

Not entirely, not yet, but enough to stop letting it define you.

The sobs tore through you before you could catch them, erupting from deep inside, the kind of crying that you’d never really allowed yourself to do. It wasn’t the silent, dignified kind of tears that you’d always kept private, tucked away in the safety of solitude. No, this was raw, unrestrained. The kind that made your chest ache with the sheer force of emotion behind it. You were crying like a child again, vulnerable and scared, as if every moment of hurt you’d ever felt had been stored away for this exact instant. Your whole body shook with the release, as you gasped for breath between the words that tumbled from your lips.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of the apology. “I’m sorry for everythin’. For never bein’ there. For not doin’ enough. For not sayin’ enough. I’m so sorry, Simon, I’m so sorry…”

The words spilled out like a flood, each one soaked with years of guilt and regret.

“I’m sorry you had to go through it alone,” you gasped for breath, clutching the edge of the counter for support as your legs threatened to give way under the weight of it all. “About… about all of it. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

You apologised for every moment of his pain that you weren’t there to stop. For his father, for the abuse. For his losses, his suffering, the unimaginable hurt he had endured. You apologised for not protecting him, for leaving him alone, for not being enough. You apologised for all the ways the world had failed him, as if you somehow could have prevented it.

The tears were relentless, burning hot as they streaked down your face as you hunched over, your hands covering your face as if to hide from the enormity of what you were feeling. You were just a child yourself back then, powerless and naive, but still, the guilt was suffocating. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let him down. That you hadn’t done enough to save him from that life. It was everything—everything you had buried, everything you had held onto for far too long, coming to the surface at once.

And it hurt. God, it hurt so much.

But amidst the pain, there was a strange sense of relief.

Like the weight you’d carried for so long, the heavy stone in your chest that had been there for years, was finally being lifted. You cried like the rain had finally broken through the clouds, years of pent-up emotion falling in a flood. For the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe. The air filled your lungs, crisp and cold, and even though you were a mess of tears and shaking limbs, you felt lighter. Free, in a way you hadn’t felt since birth.

Your hands shook as they covered your face, trying to stifle the torrent of apologies that kept pouring out, unstoppable. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve known… I should’ve—”

But Simon didn’t let you finish. 

It was his voice, even after all those years, after a decade of longing, that cut through the storm inside you.

It was Simon—always Simon.

His words were simple, but they hit you with the force of something much greater.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

And you believed him.

Where We Part Chapters

[usedpidemo]

Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth. 

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them. 

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them. 

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam. 

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing. 

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head. 

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else. 

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.   

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her. 

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door. 

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face. 

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again. 

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking. 

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty.  Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way. 

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked. 

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say. 

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to. 

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart. 

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning. 

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do. 

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection. 

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support. 

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw. 

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works. 

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down. 

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle. 

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin. 

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning. 

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits.  If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.” 

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it. 

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little. 

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we’ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless. 

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt. 

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.” 

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.” 

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out. 

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”  

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied. 

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall. 

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy. 

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely. 

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants. 

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.” 

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness. 

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom. 

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene. 

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking. 

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right. 

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her. 

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by. 

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers. 

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue. 

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body. 

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes. 

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’ 

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

[roxoxoxoxy]

Hi, can you pls do a fic or head canon of ex bf anton who misses reader ex?

Includes:- pathetic Anton kind of, open ended, mild angst? Very mild angst.

I don't know if you wanted them to get back together or not so I left it open ended, tysm for requesting <333

Many much typo, no much Grammer, I very dumb dumb

"Oh and there's this really good ramen place right around the corner, I remember going there and...blah blah blah blah"

Anton can practically feel his brain leaking out of his ears from boredom, he feels like an asshole thinking this but he really wishes he never agreed to go on this date. He tried to argue against the idea but after watching him mope around their house like a kicked puppy sungchan insisted he at least try to have some fun and forget about you. The problem is that, being on a date, he can't think of anything but you and how he wants you to be here instead of her.

There isn't anything wrong with her, the girl he's on a date with, she's pretty and seems nice. They both have a lot in common, at least on paper, but he just can't do this right now. She isn't you, and you're the only one he wants. He isn't sure when it happened, when he got so comfortable that you would never leave him that he let himself get carried away. Being an Idol is a taxing job with little free time and slowly he started loosing focus, spending his free time playing games or sleeping instead of trying to spend his time with you.

It's not like he didn't know it upset you, you were getting increasingly agitated at his lack of effort but....he just assumed you'd never leave. Life felt so whole and good with you that he forgot there was a time before you, that you could leave if you ever wished. So when you told him you both needed to talk he was as dismissive as ever, that was until you said you were ending things for good. Antons world shattered that day.

He's been walking around like a ghost for the past month, it's like a part of him is gone and he can't get it back. He wishes he had begged you to take him back that day, he was too prideful to do anything but accept it at the time but now all he wants to do is go back in time and promise he'll change, that he'll love you like you deserve. He feels like a fool, loosing the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"Are you even listening?" Her voice snaps him out of his trance. He looks around, a bit embarrassed.

"uh....I'm...I'm sorry." Is all he can muster up to say, because he really is sorry for wasting her time like this. She just sighs, poking around at her food, looking annoyed. He doesn't say anything to make her feel better, eating his food in silence till the bill comes.

He sighs when he finally leaves the restaurant, sitting down on his car and sinking into his seat. He's miserable without you, up until this point he'd been hesitant to accept it but it's true. His life isn't the same without you in it.

He opens up his phone, scrolling through his contacts till he finds yours. 'Future wife (🤞🏻)' he thought the contact name was sweet at the time, especially since he was so sure you would be his future wife but now it just hurts to look at. He contemplates back and forth between calling you, it's pathetic, he thinks to himself, you've probably moved on and he'd just be making a fool out of himself, he just needs to move on and give it time. He calls anyway.

The phone seems to ring forever, it's only rung twice but it sure feels like eternity, his heart is beating out of his chest and he's immediately regretting his actions. What if you don't pick up? What if you do pick up? What's worse? If he cuts the call now you'll still get the notification, god be probably seems so desperate-

"...Anton?" he lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding when he hears your voice. Surely you care about him at least a little bit if you picked up.

"...Can we talk?.... please just hear me out, I love you, I'm so sorry"

If you guys have any ideas future fics, my ask box is open :3

[instinctualdesires]

✸ we. are. venom [1.]

✸ You were going to completely give up on dating when your friend Anne sets you up with her ex-fiance. Hesitant, you accept and ready to leave if it goes sideways. However, Eddie has a secret that you weren't put off by in the slightest- instead it can fulfill desires you only thought to be pure fantasy.

✸ Eddie/Venom x afab!gn!reader

✸ 18+, rough sex, tentacle sex, cunilingus, aftercare (part 2)

✸ Reader is AFAB but is not gendered in any way. Originally posted on my Ao3. Finally put it here! Had to finally get this blog set up for my general 18+ fics but didn't want a billion Ao3 psueds lol

✸ Ao3 Link | Part 2

You knew Anne well, despite only being her friend for five months, you would consider her a close friend. Despite this- you two had very different social circles. She had told you a lot about her ex-fiance, all in a positive light of course since they were still very good friends. You knew what she was doing though, she was trying to set you two up.

You would have been more on board with the idea, but dating has not been kind to you in the past few months. You honestly wanted to just stop dating all together and “focus on yourself” as they say when men are just too much (or not enough). However, you've noticed that she's been getting bolder in her plans to get you two together as she, without your permission, set you up on a date with him in his apartment. Like really? What was she thinking?

“Come on! He's a really nice guy and I think you both would go well together!” She gently slapped her hands on the wheel as you both sat in her car in front of his apartment. You refused to get out.

“Anne please, I love you, but please. This is too much! I don't really date anymore and you know this!” Groaning, you tried to plead with her, you just wanted to go home and relax.

“No. As your friend I am doing this for your own good. That's why you need to get out! I know you're just gonna sit on your ass all day watching Netflix by yourself. Trust me, Eddie is a good guy. He'll take care of you” Sighing, you weighed the options in your mind again (also that callout was extremely unnecessary) before biting the bullet and doing something you might regret.

“Ugh- fine Anne. You win” She exclaimed ‘Yes!’ as she pumped a fist in excitement before clearing her throat and setting her arm on your shoulder. “But! You owe me one if this goes sideways”

“Ok, ok, I do. But I just want to warn you-”

“Warn me? You couldn't have mentioned this earlier before I agreed?” You raised an eyebrow, was it too late to say no?

“It's nothing bad! Trust me! But if he can seem..off at times and like he's talking to himself just…don't bail…ok? He may seem “crazy” but if he trusts you enough, he'll tell you. And if he does. Please don't freak out. He's been through more than you will ever know, but he isn't bad” You're already freaking out. Off at times, talking to himself? You were quick to judge when you haven't even met him yet, but the last part really caught your attention. ‘Been through a lot more than you will ever know’. Plus, Anne isn't the type to keep bad company around. She will drop anyone who isn't a good person and isn't afraid of standing up for herself or others.

“Ok…I trust you a lot Anne. But again, if this goes sideways-”

“I owe you yes, yes. I got it. Now go meet your future husband!” Before you could properly respond to her stupid comment, she kept pushing you against the door until you opened it and stood outside. Making sure you had everything, you shut the door and she rolled the window down, wanting to say one last thing to you.

“Call me if you need anything. Have fun!” She blew you a kiss and a wink as she zoomed off, more than happy to leave you at a man's apartment whom you've never met before. Taking a deep breath, you turned around and stared at the apartment building, looking towards the higher floors as Eddie has one facing the street. Could he be watching you right now?

Now or never.

Heading to the street level door, you unlocked it with the spare key Anne gave you and noticed that the apartment building seemed decently middle class. Not too fancy to look like a five-star hotel, but nice enough to not have roaches running around and daily maintenance is kept up on.

“B-39” You muttered as you headed to the stairs and walked up them. He was only on the second floor so taking the elevator seemed useless to you, the stairs is a lot faster. It wasn't long before you landed on his floor and hunted for his number. You quickly found it via directions given to by Anne, which made you realize just how much she used to come here. Staring at the number plate, then at the door, then at your phone tempted to text her “I can't do it”, you finally decided to face your fears.

You knocked. It was as if he was standing right next to the door as it quickly opened, revealing your date for the night. Anne showed you many pictures of him (no doubt to get you foaming at the mouth) so his appearance wasn't a huge shock. You would never admit it- but he was hot. Even though he cleaned up really nice, he still had this rugged look to him. In the pictures you saw, he typically wore sweatpants and a graphic tee shirt. But right now, he was wearing a nice pair of jeans with a plain white tee shirt. His hair wasn't ruffled or all over the place, but instead fixed up. Your anxiety was going a bit haywire, you could feel your heart beating fast as you really took in just what you're doing here.

“Hello! I uh- I'm sorry about Anne really. She can be a bit much with trying to get me with someone new. But welcome! Come in!” He laughed awkwardly as he opened the door wider and stepped aside to let you come in. He honestly was kind of adorable, Anne must be getting desperate if she was doing for this for a while and you were her latest target.

“Oh its ok! Trust me, I know how she can be with these kind of things. She's very stubborn” You chuckled as you took in the space. It was lived in for sure, but you could tell he tried to tidy up before your arrival. The smell immediately caught your attention, however, as Eddie was cooking dinner for you both.

“This is a nice place. And you're not too bad looking yourself” Smirking, your anxiety was still present, but you felt like being bold.

“You're pretty hot too, I mean uh- you're cool! You're uh, not too bad yourself” He coughed as if it would save the moment of him calling you hot. It made you chuckle and felt a bit of tension leaving your body as mutual attraction was present already. Eddie was staring at you when something beeped in the kitchen, causing him to spring into action.

“Oh shoot, I almost forgot about that! Ha ha…making your favorite because Anne told me this was your favorite…so…” Your heart melted as he rushed over there, making sure not to burn anything. He remembered your favorite dish after Anne told him about you- or he asked her what he should cook and she said that. Either way it felt sweet he decided to try to make it himself instead of ordering from some random restaurant.

Since he was now busy finishing it, you decided to set your bag on the couch and sit at the dining table. As you scrolled through your phone, you overheard Eddie talking to…himself? Anne did warn you about that, but he seemed like a good guy.

“No we are not doing that! At least not right now!” If he was trying to be quiet, it wasn't working, but you wouldn't dare him about it unless he brings it up first. You tried to act normal as you waited for him to finish, resisting all urges to get closer.

“Venom- no” Venom? Who was that? It wasn't long before he had everything plated and with a smile, came over with two plates. One for you and one for himself. He set yours down before sitting down himself.

“And dinner is served. I don't cook too often for myself, so I hope it's good” You chuckled and took a bite, immediately loving it.

“This is really good!” You took another bite, and another, and soon the entire dish was devoured. Right after you realized how that must have looked and cleared your throat, wiping your face.

“Sorry I guess I was really hungry…” You laughed awkwardly as he looked shocked at how fast you ate it all. You swore you could see a blush form on his face before he cleared his throat.

“No, no! Don't apologize! I'm really glad you like it! I really don't cook like this often so…I'm glad!” He smiled before his body suddenly jerked in a weird way, causing him to swear. You raised an eyebrow as he apologized and stood up abruptly before seemingly being pulled by…something you couldn't see into the bathroom and shutting the door.

What was this dude's deal? You heard Eddie talking but couldn't make out what he was saying, it sounded like he was having a conversation with someone despite it only being him. The other voice was hard to make out too, but sounded deeper. Suddenly, the bathroom door rattled, like someone was thrown against it. Both voices were getting louder, like they were having an argument. You looked at the time on your phone and realized that Eddie had been in the bathroom for at least three minutes. As you looked up from your phone, he finally opened the door and walked out, looking flustered and a bit frustrated.

“Sorry about that uh…so! I heard a lot about you from Anne but uh…tell me about yourself from well…you” Laughing awkwardly, he ushered you to the couch, not having you worry about cleaning up. You sat down and he sat down with a healthy distance between you both, mentally thanking him for not invading your personal state so soon. He definitely was awkward- that much was apparent, that didn't take away from his attractiveness to you though. You honestly thought it was endearing, but you still wondered what his deal was.

You told him all about yourself, all the basics: what you did for work, the general area where you lived, that kind of stuff. In turn, he told you stuff about himself. You learned that he was an investigative reporter who had something…big happen to him after he accidentally ruined the reputation of another reporter in NYC. That's when it hit you- you remember that story! You were never big in the reporter sphere, but you remember that story. You also remembered when he was fired from his second job- something to do with the Life Foundation that was kept under wraps.

“Oh! I remember you now!” You exclaimed, causing him to sigh and rub his temple.

“Yeah that uh- wasn't my proudest moment- or many moments. But I'm a different man now” He definitely wasn't proud at that moment, but you had to give it to him to change. You're glad that he was able to get his old job back and return to normal.

“Hey, we all make mistakes Eddie” You set a hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft smile, he gave one back. “What matters is how we handle that mistake and what we can do moving forward to change for the better” With your free hand, you grasped one of his to give him comfort. All of the sudden, he tensed up.

“No, Venom” He whispered, which made you feel frustrated that he wasn't telling the truth. You went back and forth in your head about it, and decided that you needed him to be honest. You wanted to get to know him more, and it was obvious that he wanted to get to know you more too.

“Eddie, if we want this to work, you need to be honest with me, ok? I keep hearing you talk to this…Venom person and really need you to tell me the truth here. I won't tell anyone else. I think you’re adorable and hot and…I want this to work. So trust me, be honest” Your heart was beating out of your chest, hoping this didn’t go south and he kicked you out for asking. You moved your hand from his shoulder and grabbed his other hand, making sure you held both of them and looked at his eyes with a pleading yet gentle look. He sighed and looked away before looking back.

“Ok, I trust you. I really like you too, but it’s better if I show you…” You could tell he was very nervous as he stood up and gave you a worried look. Then, what looked like black goop started to consume his body, giving him a buff appearance, and his body was fully covered in the stuff when his head was replaced with one with a sharp grin and white eyes.

“Hello. We are Venom”

[lady-of-blossoms]

「 ✦ whispers of heartbreak ✦ 」

Warning: angst, infertility, mistress

PART 2

___________________________

The nightmare Y/N experiences throughout her life is having to accept the fact that her husband is careless, remarried and has two wives.

This is because you were unable to get pregnant and in the end were forced to agree to gojo remarrying.

His second wife's pregnancy made the whole family excited and all of gojo’s attention was focused on his second wife—Rebecca.

at dinner and the three of them gathered,gojo , Y/N and Rebecca.

He stroked Rebecca's stomach, who had been pregnant for 6 months. He turned to you who was eating while daydreaming

"Y/N , today I can't accompany you to sleep because I have to look after Rebecca, is that okay?" asked gojo who didn't make an expression when he saw you.

Youre eyes widened slightly at his request, a pang of hurt and disappointment shooting through your chest. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check as you met his gaze.

"Of course, gojo," you replied softly, forcing a smile onto your face. "I understand. Congratulations again on your pregnancy, Rebecca." You offered a genuine smile towards his new wife, youre heart aching at the sight of him so enamored with someone else.

"I'll just go to bed early then," you continued, standing up from the table and gathering your plate. "Have a good night taking care of Rebecca." You gave a small nod before turning to leave, your steps heavy with unshed tears as you retreated to youre bedroom alone once more.

Gojo watched her leave, feeling a twinge of guilt for causing her pain. But he quickly pushed it aside, focusing back on Rebecca. He leaned down to kiss her forehead gently, his hand still resting on her growing belly.

"Thank you, darling," he murmured fondly, before turning his attention back to his meal. "How about we take a nap together after dinner? It might be nice to rest before the baby comes."

He glanced over at Y/N’s empty seat one last time, feeling a pang of regret for how things had turned out between them. But he knew there was nothing he could do to change it now.

In the privacy of their shared bedroom, Y/N allowed herself to crumble. Tears streamed down yourr face as you sank onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking with silent sobs. The sting of rejection cut deep, amplified by the constant reminder of your own infertility.

You curled into herself, hugging your knees tightly to your chest as if to hold yourself together. Your mind raced with painful thoughts - memories of happier times with gojo, dreams of a future that would never come to pass, and the bitter realization that your had lost the man she loved to another woman.

"Why couldn't I give him what he wanted?" You whispered brokenly to yourself, your voice muffled against your knees. "Why wasn't I enough?"

The ache in your heart felt suffocating, like a physical weight pressing against your chest.

Gojo finished his meal and excused himself from the table shortly afterward. As promised, he joined Rebecca in their bedroom for some rest.

He held her close, his arm draped protectively around her waist as they lay down together under the covers. His mind wandered back to Y/n briefly, but he quickly shook off those thoughts, choosing instead to focus on the warmth of Rebecca's body pressed against his own.

"We're going to be parents soon," he thought contentedly, and everything will finally fall into place."

But even amidst this happiness, a nagging sense of guilt lingered at the back of his mind – a guilt he refused to acknowledge fully.

A FEW MONTHS LATER

It was a bittersweet morning for Y/N. Today marked both her birthday and the day she had to share the spotlight with Rebecca giving birth. You awoke to the sound of commotion outside your room, nurses rushing past and gojo’s panicked voice echoing down the hallway.

"Y/N! Y/N!"

He burst into her room, his face flushed and eyes wild with excitement. "It's happening! Rebecca's in labor!"

Y/N sat up slowly, your heart sinking at the news. Of all days... you managed a weak smile, pushing down the swell of emotion threatening to overwhelm you.

"That's wonderful, gojo. Go be with her. I'm sure she needs you right now."

Feeling the weight of your loneliness press down on you, you got dressed quietly and slipped out of the house unnoticed. You needed space to process everything that was happening, away from prying eyes and judgemental gazes.

Walking aimlessly through the city streets, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of her footsteps and the comforting buzz of the bustling crowd around you. Each step further from home served as a reminder of your freedom - a freedom you cherished despite its bitter sweetness.

"Today should've been about me," you thought bitterly, "but instead, everyone's only talking about Rebecca."

Lost in your thoughts, You found herself at a local café where you ordered a cup of hot chocolate to warm yourself from within. You took a seat by the window overlooking the street below, watching people go about their lives without a care in the world.

Sipping slowly on your drink, you tried to push away feelings of resentment and sadness that threatened to consume you. Instead, you chose to remember happier times with gojo - birthdays spent together laughing until your sides hurt, simple dinners shared under twinkling lights.

"Maybe this is my punishment for not being able to bear children," you pondered silently. "Or maybe it's just part of life's cruel irony."

Next chapter

TAGLIST🤍❄️🫐🩵

@kuro-chi69 @aishies-stuff @kalopsia-flaneur @luns-exlipse @anonnieghost @aqxllo @chatoicboy @sashisuslover @labelt-san

Dont steal

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

🧚🏽‍♀️𝒫𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒶 𝒫𝒾𝓁ℯ: 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ ℱ𝓇ℴ𝓂 ℳℴ𝓉𝒽ℯℛ 𝒢ℴ𝒹𝒹ℯ𝓈𝓈 🧚🏽‍♀️

Welcome to 10 Days, 10 Posts from The Cosmic Cauldron! Over the next ten days, I’ll be sharing a blend of astrology and tarot posts, each designed to spark your curiosity and guide your journey. If you find my content interesting, fascinating, or engaging, be sure to click the follow button for more! Ready to dive deeper into your personal journey? Head to my homepage and book a reading — you won’t regret it.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 1

Here, I am your Mother Goddess, offering you some advice for your healing journey and your current stage of life. First, I want you to focus on positive things. Sometimes we lose track of the good, but it’s important to recognize the positives each day. I encourage you to write down or verbally affirm three positive things each day, even if it’s just speaking them to yourself in the mirror. One of those positive things should be about you—how you look, how you act, and appreciating yourself. You need to learn to appreciate and affirm yourself. This will help you stay positive and, more importantly, build confidence. Self-acceptance is essential for you right now.

I also want you to stop being so impulsive and spontaneous. While those traits can be exciting, I believe this is a time for you to slow down and create a plan of action. Rather than acting on a whim, take your time and be patient. Life will unfold in its own time, and you have many years to do everything you want to do. Focus on what you can do right now—establish that in the present. Accept where you are in your journey, including the pain, your past, and even the parts of yourself that you might not like. Even if something doesn’t feel wholesome or it makes you feel less confident, accept it. Acceptance is a crucial part of your life right now.

Instead of seeking validation from others or focusing on what others think of you, focus on self-acceptance. This will be freeing for you. By focusing inward, you can cultivate patience with where you are right now. Instead of rushing to move forward, allow yourself to embrace your present reality. Accept where you are, what you have, and what you can do with the tools and resources available to you right now.

You need to be more intentional. Take your time, plan, and stop rushing. Don’t expect things to happen randomly. Accept your reality and use what you have in this moment. Focus on yourself—your work, your effort, and your development. This phase of your life is about self-acceptance, and it’s time to put in the work. Lay down the groundwork, pay attention to the details, and don’t skip over them. Set goals, make plans, and be intentional. This requires inner work, not trying to gain approval from others. Start liking yourself and put the effort into developing your true self during this time.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 2

Here I am, your Mother Goddess, offering you advice for the healing stage you are currently in. One thing you need to focus on is that not everyone is going to agree with you, resonate with you, or be on the same page as you. Don’t try to force your way or get people to see your perspective. Some people are only interested in asserting their own views instead of understanding yours. Not everyone will be understanding, and it’s important to accept that. If someone is not receptive to what you’re saying, accept them for who they are. Trying to change their perspective or improving yourself to fit their expectations is only exhausting your energy. It’s causing you to become frustrated, aggressive, and out of alignment with your true character. You’re investing your energy into people who aren’t reciprocating the positivity you deserve.

Right now, your focus should be on self-protection. Protect your energy and find ways to shield yourself from external influences. Outside pressures are strong, but this is a sign that you need a stronger core. Start journaling and reflect on who you are, your opinions, values, and beliefs. Stand firm in them. 2025 is the year to stand strong in who you truly are. Be clear when communicating with others, and let them know that while you are emotional, you won’t allow your emotions to dictate how you communicate. A clear mind is essential for you right now.

This period calls for you to step away from the crowd and reconnect with yourself. Take time to meditate, journal, and channel your thoughts and words in a way that isn’t excessive or full of resentment, bitterness, or anger. Aim for balance and communicate from a place of confidence and clarity. Accept that there are situations in your life you may not feel good about, but to protect yourself, you need to understand how you ended up in those situations. Self-protection involves understanding the root cause of your circumstances.

If you’re grieving, frustrated, or sad about something, ask yourself: What is the core of this emotion? Did you put yourself in this situation? Did you lack boundaries or intention? Did you lack clarity? These are the necessary questions you must ask to start honoring your happiness, joy, and peace. Self-protection is about honoring these aspects of yourself. By understanding the experiences that led you astray from your true self, you can set new intentions to focus on your happiness, joy, and peace moving forward.

Let go of the idea that everyone needs to agree with your life or respect your decisions. Not everyone will approach you in a respectful way. Now is the time for you to take space for yourself, to re-establish your sense of self-protection. This will help you avoid falling into the same cycles of hurt and pain. Let go of your defensiveness, anger, hostility, frustration, and animosity. Shift your focus inward so you can protect yourself from negative situations and move closer to happiness, joy, peace, and love.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 3

Hi, here I am, your Mother Goddess, offering advice for the healing stage you’re currently in. This period is all about honesty and truth. You need to tap into both. The thing is, you’ve been seeing things through colored glasses, perhaps a bit of delusion. And that’s okay—sometimes delusion helps us manifest things, but it can also hinder our authenticity and clarity when it comes to facing the honest truth in our lives, which is necessary to heal wounds.

It seems like you’re going through a lot emotionally and mentally. There’s a lot happening in your life that you simply don’t enjoy, and it feels overwhelming. It’s important now to be honest with yourself about where you’re at. Don’t sugarcoat it—take the time to sit down and have an honest conversation with yourself. Write in your journal, make a video, or even record voice notes on your phone. The key is to be clear and honest with yourself. I sense there’s some self-deception going on, perhaps because you’re repressing emotions or avoiding dealing with them. But these emotions are affecting the way you think, clouding your mind, making it chaotic and hectic.

We need to get you out of this chaotic place, and the way to do that is through clarity and honesty. This period in your life demands this. You need to confront those truths, even though they will be hard. It may feel like you’re being tossed around in a blender, shaken to your core, but guess what? It will lead to something great. You must explore your own truth and authenticity now.

Your mind is cloudy, and when you start confronting these truths—when you acknowledge that your life is not where you want it to be—you’ll start to understand the root of the problems and where they came from. Look at the past for what it truly was, not what you wish it had been. Accept that certain things happened in the past, and no longer view them through rose-colored glasses.

Once you can see how your emotions were affected by those situations, you’ll begin to understand how those emotions have clouded your mind. Your mind has become unclear, scrambled, and chaotic. Now, you need to figure out how to release these thoughts and emotions. Journaling is a great tool for this. Whatever method works for you—writing, recording, or speaking—use it to clear your mind. Brain dump everything so that you can think and communicate more clearly. This will help you start engaging with the world more authentically, without your mind holding you back.

Trust me, facing the truth and being honest with yourself will cause some upheaval in your life, but over time, it will smooth things out. It will lead you to live a beautiful life, rooted in authenticity. You’ll be able to show up as yourself, and the old wounds will begin to heal because you will be living in your truth.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 4

Hello, here I am, your Mother Goddess, offering guidance for the healing period you’re in. This time calls for you to let go. The theme right now is simply to release—the anxiety, the overthinking, the self-doubt. I know it’s not easy, but I’m here to guide you through it.

The first thing I want you to realize is that things you think are personal are often not as personal as you believe. People act based on their own thoughts, not yours. And while they may interfere with what you want, you cannot allow their actions to become a reflection of who you are. Instead, allow people to just be. Let them be, and choose how you want them in your life. You hold the power, not to control their actions, but to decide how you respond and what role they play in your life based on their actions.

Instead of constantly getting caught up in your feelings, always feeling the need to defend yourself or speak up, and getting into altercations with people who don’t think like you—let it go. This is the time to release so much: old habits that no longer serve you, outdated beliefs about what success is, and what you believe is good for you. It’s time to adopt new, positive beliefs rooted in femininity, love, nurturance, art, and creativity. You need to become more fluid, allowing yourself to enjoy life more and embrace the fruits of your labor.

Take your self-care to the next level. Really invest in a solid routine that focuses on nurturing yourself. Change your environment if necessary. If your room or house feels stale, change it. If you’re wearing the same clothes, switch it up. You need change. Let go of all the things you’ve been holding on to, believing you needed them. A key area is your self-care routine. If you don’t have one, it’s time to establish one. If you already do, then re-establish it for 2025. Let go of last year’s habits and create new ones to care for yourself. What will you do for yourself this year?

It’s time to let go of the past. Let go of what you thought you had to be, and choose who you want to be in this moment. Focus on filling your cup and prioritizing your emotional well-being. If you’ve been focusing outwardly on others, it’s time to shift inward. Start small—maybe it’s watching a movie with a tub of ice cream, or going to your favorite restaurant, but begin somewhere. Shift from giving to others all the time and start giving to yourself. It’s time to look up and nurture yourself.

Stop twiddling your thumbs—make decisions for yourself. It’s time to let go of the old. Apologize to others, accept your own shortcomings, forgive, but most importantly—move on. You need to release and let go. Write things down and then burn the paper as a symbol of release. Record a video expressing all your feelings and thoughts, then lock it away. In a year, look back and see how far you’ve come.

Letting go is essential now. Let go of old possessions, material items, emotions, lack of forgiveness, neglecting self-care, focusing too much on others, defensiveness, anger, animosity, frustration, anxiety, self-doubt, and worry. Free yourself to move forward and focus on being present. Ground yourself in the now, not in the old version of you. Focus on who you are becoming, and begin building this version of yourself from the ground up.

[2aceofspades]

Update

Hi hello 🙌✨

~Little rant-y update incoming~

I debated whether to make a post about this or not, but I’ve ultimately decided to do so. I’ve been in the Rise fandom for two years now and I’ve thoroughly loved and enjoyed being a part of it. I am so grateful for this time and space I’ve had, and I have no regrets sharing my love and art for this fandom throughout these past two years.

I’ve also been making some positive changes in my personal life. At the same time, I have been/am experiencing a loss of motivation to draw any Rise content. That isn’t to say that I have lost total interest in Rise or TMNT or even art in general. My attention has shifted towards more personal artwork and projects, such as illustrating and experimenting with my own ideas and style. There was a time where this was very much my process and I was not a part of any fandom, and I think I am shifting my focus back to that, if that makes sense.

I have been sitting with this for a while now and decided that I wanted to say something about my potential lack of posting and interacting on Tumblr instead of just ghosting completely. To be so honest, I’m not entirely sure where to go with this blog, whether I’ll post and reblog things occasionally or not. I’m still very much adjusting and balancing things. That is to say that I am currently prioritizing other things in my life instead of really keeping up with updating my Tumblr page.

Additionally, I also want to thank you all for your support, your love, and for your acceptance of me into this fandom. I truly cherish being a part of a community of people where we can share art, writing, experiences, and stories with one another. I have learned and grown from this time, and I am most grateful ❤️

My ask box was also closed for a brief period, but I have decided to leave it open for now. I will answer asks when I find the time and I feel inspired, but it may be more sporadic. I appreciate y'all's patience and thank you again so very much for your understanding and support.

[obsessionatthemoment]

Byler quote of the day to make up for not doing it this past week (also not really a quote because I'm a cheater this has been in my drafts, unfinished, for several months):

Buckle in, folks (I'm sorry this is so long, but I tried to keep it as brief as possible. Also bolding the important bits, if you want to skim).

Okay, so I'm not usually big on music analysis, but I noticed this as I was listening to songs from Stranger Things while falling asleep, and I couldn't not comment on it.

I know people have analyzed the "every breath you take" part of the snowball dance many a times, but I feel like I don't hear people talking about the song prior to it, "time after time" enough. They're both great separately, but when you look at them together, it becomes nearly undeniable Byler evidence.

I will almost entirely be focusing on Byler, and Mileven, so please don't be surprised when half the song is skipped.

When "time after time" begins playing, the caption reads "slow romantic song playing." Lucas asks Max to dance, and she agrees. As they walk off, Dustin watches forlornly, and the lyrics "almost left behind" play almost perfectly in time. This establishes that the lyrics matter.

Next, a girl walks over to them, and asks Will to dance. Will is unsure, but after Mike does what Will reads as a "accept it" gesture, he says "yes." As this happens, the lyrics "Sometimes you picture me, I'm walking too far ahead." Play, and as Will walks off to dance with the girl, it shows Mike watching, with an upset, regretful facial expression, while this lyric plays: "You're calling to me, I can't hear what you've said."

A few moments later, slightly overshadowed, by the focus on Dustin deciding to go ask a girl to dance, Mike is shown still staring at Will and the girl, and for the first time, the chorus plays "If you're lost, you can look and you will find me. Time after time."

Though we don't get to see Mike again until "every breath you take," this scene heavily implies that Mike continued to stare at Will and the girl until El arrived.

And, they very specifically waited for El to walk in at "every breath you take," instead (which's captions do not read "slow romantic song," by the way) , even though directly after "time after time" ends, Hopper and Joyce are together. El was already there. She could have entered the scene during the song, but she very purposefully didn't. You know why? They can't count on each other in the way the song portrays. El wasn't there when Mike needed her, and vise versa. When they "fall" (struggle) the other doesn't "catch them" (support them).

Instead, they waited for El to walk in at "every breath you take," in theory, both songs have a similar idea, of being there romantically, however one song is saying "I'm going to be there and support you during the hard moments. You can always fall back on me." And the other song is saying "I'm going to watch your every move, because when I'm without you, I start to go crazy. This is happening even if you don't want to date me, by the way."

Basically, what I'm trying to point out here is that El and Mike's song is creepy, codependent, and invasive. Then, the song that features that wonderful gay panic on both Will and Mike's part, is about being there for someone no matter what. Mike and El can be "obsessed" with each other (or the idea of each other) all they want, but when it comes down to it, Mike is always going to lean on Will, and Will is always going to lean on Mike. They're there for each other, no matter what. Time after time.

*Mic drop (almost accidentally spelled "mic" "mike" which would have been funny).*

[sabotsen]

In This Moment

Pairing: ‘Noan’ x (gn!) ‘Commandant’/Reader

Notes: Single quotes used to refer to the originals bc I didn’t want to fill the entire fic with quotations. Cross posted to ao3; Word count 3.3k

Inspired by: Azure_mei02’s comic on twitter

Warnings: Major Ch26 spoilers! Also major (canon) character death, mild blood & (brief) implied gore

You find him first. 

Or maybe he is the one to find you — to pull you from the muck and the red, to wrap himself a blanket around your battered form and shield your ears from the cacophony. 

It’s hard to say, harder still to focus when ‘Mother’ still claws at the back of your mind. Her presence lingers at the base of your skull, carving out a place for herself so she may strip away what cannot — will not — be accepted. 

He is here, though, and in this moment that is all that matters. 

You feel him curved around you, his presence discernible only by absence — of yourself, of ‘Mother’ and her children. An extension, both a part of yet separate from yourself — near but not close enough to blur the edge of him and you into a stitched mess of blood and regrets. He is simply there, curved carefully around you like a gargoyle over the arched entrance of a church — reverent, forlorn. 

You feel him before you see him. The pressure of his arm draped over the curve of your hip, the gentle touch of his fingers against your back. The faint brush of his hair against the crown of your head as he bows his near you. The momentary press of his chest against yours when he pulls you close, large hands firm on your hips as he shifts the two of you up, propping you just enough to keep your head and chest above the red waters before he peels himself away like bloodied gauze from a weeping wound.

It takes longer than it should to open your eyes — or maybe it takes just long enough. It’s difficult to think when dreams bleed into one another, memories and pasts that never could have been seeping into your mind like a toxin as ‘Mother’ swaddles you in an embrace too suffocating to be called loving. When you open your eyes, the world is much too blurry for you to immediately discern anything but the black that curls and brushes against your forehead. Soft. It is only as your vision shifts and swims, shuddering into proper shapes, that the memories bubble to the surface.

Hair. ‘His’ hair.

‘Your’ hands combing through dark strands, plucking bits of confetti as Simeon fretted and plucked the mess hanging off your shoulders and back — his constant apologies and worries drowning out ‘your’ soft chuckle. ‘Your’ hands tucking ‘his’ bangs away from ‘his’ eyes whenever ‘he’ bowed ‘his’ head to avoid a question. ‘Your’ hands ruffling ‘his’ hair when ‘he’ buried ‘his’ head in ‘his’ arms on the cafe counter, exasperated by ‘your’ antics. 

Instinctively, your fingers twitch — itching to reach up and relive those moments. 

But those memories are not ‘yours’ and the man before you is not ‘him’. 

Close. Almost. 

But not quite. Not enough — and you two are left here, beneath the sea to rot. 

That single thought is enough of a distraction for ‘Mother’ to sink her claws into you once more. The world shifts and shudders, bleeds and weeps, as it changes. For a moment — or maybe even longer — you do not feel him curled beside you. 

Instead, you feel ‘Mother’ as she holds your hand and guides you through black waters. Her voice is distant, despite how close she stands, and it resounds with every voice — feminine, masculine, young, old — and yet none at all. Her hand digs into your wrist, tightening like a hunter’s trap upon the fragile bones as your blood slips between her fingers and drips into the waters below. It doesn’t matter how much you dig your heels into the muddy banks or claw at her hand upon your wrist to break free; she leads you on out to sea. The black water rises from your shins to your thighs and then up to your waist. Still she pulls you along, her voice garbled yet comforting — strange yet familiar. Even as the water rises to your chest and your hands are hidden beneath the waters, she pulls you forward. 

A wave crests, gaping like an ill-begotten beast’s maw. 

It swallows her. 

It swallows you. 

All you can feel is the crushing weight of something other — 

It burns away at your skin, burrows into your bones, and buzzes like a hornet’s nest in your ears. The pressure steals your breath away and you drown in those black waters, far from ‘Mother’ — farther still from any friend or help. Emotions and memories jumble together, digging knives into the back of your skull and you can’t help but splinter apart. It all floods in — the relenting pressure of a waterfall squeezing into the fragile crack of a dam, gradually and painfully clawing a larger opening. Hopes, dreams, first loves, last regrets, bitter nostalgia, nursed grudges — people you never were and could never be press against the very fabric that makes you and rip at the seams to see if they might fit in your place. Or you in theirs. 

It’s wrong. 

But their cries echo in the blackness and scream even louder in your mind. They are all you hear without ‘Mother’ to guide you and you are the only one they see. To live again. To die again. Birth and rebirth. Hope and despair. The cycle of ouroboros. 

It’s all you can do to cling to the shreds of yourself as they pour themselves into you. 

You feel it suddenly, amidst the noise and chaos — between the agony of your flesh peeling away and forming again, too much and too small all at once. Where all the ‘children’ and the remnants of the ‘materials’ clamor and claw at every molecule of your being, there lingers something at the very far edge of perception. Separate, connected only by the thinnest of strands to a place the ‘children’ have yet to reach. Desperately, with the agony of a sailor grasping at the lighthouse’s shadow, you cling to that strand — that feeling — and trace it. A piano wire you wind around your fingers and wrist, you pull yourself away from the ‘children’ clawing at you, screaming for you, begging for you. 

It is only when the black waters recede, peeling away from your flesh like tar — thick and molten — that you feel it. A faint prickle of emotion — too jumbled and knotted to be your own — and a buzz just beneath the skin that you could not notice when surrounded by others. But it’s there, familiar and gentle in the measured distance it keeps.  The more you focus on it and trace its source, the quieter the ‘children’ become. 

So you follow it, back to the source — a moth trembling towards the warmth of the fire. 

And when you open your eyes again, you feel his hand on your waist and his other gently cupping the back of your head to his shoulder. He’s moving you again. Red water laps at your chest and an odd numbing sensation gnaws away at your lower extremities. Carefully, his hand at the back of your head falls away, his arm serving as a cushion. A small part of you is grateful for his kindness, because if you spare enough thought to focus, you can feel what it is the two of you lay upon. 

There’s a warmth to it — clammy and ill. 

There’s a pulse to it — unsteady and too quick. 

There’s a texture to it — soft yet firm, rough in the way of something stretched too tight. 

You don’t have the strength or time left to worry if it is a piece of ‘Mother,’ one of her children, or the unused remains of people who never escaped this cradle at the bottom of the sea. In the end, it doesn’t matter. When the red tide rises far enough — when ‘Mother’ claws her way deep enough into your mind — none of it will matter anymore. 

Instead you focus on this moment — fragile though it is. 

You still feel it, that gentle string you’ve wrapped around your soul as a shield and comfort. It leads right where you knew it would — the only place it could. 

It is an effort to keep your eyes open, especially as the voice of ‘Mother’ echoes in your ears — muffled like a whale song underwater. But you do, you have to. Because his eye is on you, crimson and tired. Shadows curve beneath his left eye, and the bandages that cover his right are stained crimson — perhaps by the red tide, or perhaps by blood. Knowing ‘his’ ill luck, it is probably both. There’s a familiarity to his expression now as he watches you, his gaze seeing through you more than anything else. While there are subtle differences between them — Noan and ‘Noan’ — right there, like an ingrained habit, is the barely noticeable furrow in his brow on his otherwise carefully neutral expression. 

Weary though it is, the smile the spreads that across your lips is soft and delicate. Warmth blooms in your chest at the sight. It’s such a small thing, but it’s there. It’s there and it’s still him. And you’re still you. Despite it all. Because of it all. 

A weight lingers in your limbs, it takes more energy than it should to recognize your arm as your own as you pull it from the red tide. There’s a numbness that you can’t shake in your fingertips, a sensation that the limb is not entirely your own even if it still appears as such. But slowly, just shy of clumsy from the pain that still gnaws on your nerves, your hand lands on his bicep. A gentle tap. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” your voice is a small thing, laced with a chuckle and as fragile as a dandelion. 

But he hears you all the same and you feel his arms around you tense, bewilderment bleeding through his mask as he blinks at you. That expression, too, is so achingly familiar.

Even without a beacon connection, the red tide and ‘Mother’ both are erasing what little remains separating you from him. 

You’d rather him pour himself into you than all the nameless, faceless strangers who have long since lost themselves in the red waters. So you gently and slowly wind that string around yourself and feel the subtle shift of his emotions. He feels safe, familiar — foreign only in the way a companion’s reflection is after a long lapse of time. 

Your hand curls up over his shoulder as you try to shift closer — a comrade, a friend, a lover curling close to share a secret. There is hardly space between you to begin with, and you have so little strength left. But still you seek that comforting closeness — because it’s him. Because it’s you. Because in this moment, it is all that remains in the cradle. 

Noan is quiet as you settle once more, your face tilted up to catch his gaze. It’s still there, that furrow in his brow, but now a frown hangs upon his lips. Confusion still paints his features, and while his attention is focused solely on you, there is something just beneath the surface pulling at his thoughts. You feel it through the thin thread connecting you like a trembling vibration — subtle noise easily overlooked. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

For a moment, he does not answer you, but you know ‘him’ well enough to know the way he presses his lips into a tight line when he chews over his words before speaking. Careful, ‘he’ is always so careful with the words he chooses. If only there was more time, if only things had played out differently — perhaps you could sit in quiet company with him just like this and learn where ‘he’ ends and this man begins. 

Touch, gentle and nearly missed due to the numbness that has set in, his hand that had idly rested near your hip glides over your side and settles upon your back, just beneath where the red tide rises. Only when the lazy ripples in the water vanish does his lips part and break the silence. “You.” 

Oh.

A feeling flutters in your chest, warm and comforting — light and freeing, the flutter of a butterfly in the summer. 

But still you feel that emotion from him, knotted and wounded, bleeding through your connection. 

Noan bows his head towards, you his voice dropping as that knotted feeling within him seems to bristle and shudder, writhing like a dying beast. “I’m here because I made the wrong choice. But you…” 

A pause, only as brief as a heartbeat, but you see the emotion that flickers across his face — the way shadows collapse in the crimson of his eye and something almost akin to grief shimmers like a comet. His arm cushioning your head shifts and you feel the ghost of his touch as his fingers hover just shy of brushing your hair. 

“You of all people shouldn’t be here.” 

Oh…

Of course. He would worry about that, despite everything — because of everything — wouldn’t he? Even here, at the bottom of the sea, in the depths of hell even the devil forgot about, he worried for you. The measured distance, the bandages, the way he bit his lips when you stumbled from pain and blood loss and struggled to stand. He has always been like this. 

“Noan.”

His name is warmth on your lips. As gentle as April showers upon flower petals and as open as the dandelion seeds dancing in the wind. 

The smile that comes to you is genuine and effortless, the only brightness in a sea of crimson and loss. Your hand, which had curled over his shoulder, glides over it. No pain blossoms in the wake of your touch, though it is only by tracing the shape of him can you even move your hand despite the trembling and numbness. Over his shoulder and along the tattered folds of his scarf — you really wish you could have gifted him a new one, a warm one that smelled of flowers and springtime — your fingers finally find their home cradling his cheek. Gently, kindly, your thumb brushes against his skin, just beneath his crimson eye — wiping away the tears he never allowed himself to shed. 

“Was the last choice you made a wrong one?” 

A light flickers in the depths of his crimson eye, blooming to life like countless fireflies in the night. You catch sight of his lips trembling before he bows his head and presses it against your shoulder, his arms pulling you close against him and erasing the crimson space between. 

Your laughter fills the cradle, your hand that was on his cheek now lightly ruffling his hair, mindful of the bandages. The sensation feels like you remember — yet it feels entirely new, because it’s him, because it’s you. 

It would have been enough to remain like that, curved into the broken pieces of each other like mismatched puzzle pieces fitting together. But ‘Mother’ still calls at the edge of your hearing, still claws at the base of your skull. She pulls at you like a string of yarn, unraveling you bit by bit. If she pulls you under again, you fear you won’t have the strength — or time — to resurface, to see him again. 

Just a little longer. Just like this. 

If only, if only, if only… 

It takes more effort than it should to force sound past your lips, to form the shape of his name upon your tongue past the taste of blood that settles in. 

“Noan?”

He does not speak, but you feel his arms around you tighten. Clinging, desperate almost. 

Idly, you brush your cheek against his head, an unspoken request for his attention. When he does not move, you swallow past the building taste of copper in your mouth. A prickling sensation is needling through the numbness where the red tide has swallowed you and it takes a breath to realize what it is. Pain. It’s pain — twisting and winding and shredding through portions of your body you had given up to ‘Mother’. 

You feel her peeling away a piece of you — memories, hopes, emotions, thoughts — it’s hard to say what it was she took. You only know it from the void left in her wake. 

You swallow around the blood in your mouth and try again to speak and it is not merely to gain his attention that your head tilts to lean against his. “I don’t know much about magical girls…”

There’s a tremble you fight to keep out of your voice, but by the tension that coils in his arms and shoulders, he hears it. “Can you tell me a few stories?” 

A sound breaks upon his lips.

It sounds like a laugh.

It sounds like a sob. 

He tilts his head just a fraction, his breath ghosting over your neck. “Now?” 

“Yeah.” There’s a wetness to your breath that you can’t hide, and although he can’t see it with his head pressed to your shoulder, you smile. “I like the sound of your voice. It’s comforting.” 

He must hear your unspoken preference, though you do not know if he hears her as you do — feels her tearing and prying away pieces so that she may fit. If you could choose a sound to be the last one to echo in the cradle, it should be his. His voice, his stories. 

The sound of hopeful spring. 

The sound of fireflies gathering. 

Noan pulls you closer, nuzzling against the curve of your neck and shoulder. Although it is just a graze, a passing brush, you could swear you feel the thin line his lips are pressed into. 

Ah, you think, he’s biting his lips again… 

An ache blooms in your heart, a longing to run your fingers through his hair. But the pain has bled through your numbness entirely, and your arms no longer respond to your whims. You can feel ‘Mother’ burrowing deeper in your mind, peeling away memories you recall only for a glimpse before they slip between your fingers like blood — the stain of their absence the only proof they were there at all. 

There’s a brush, a faint sensation and you almost think you feel him slide his legs against yours — but the red tide has long since crawled up to your chest as you lie in the muck and grime. What lay beneath the waters is not your own anymore, but even so you’d like to think he did curl himself even closer — a shield, a comfort, a sunflower turning to its companion to entwine roots and pray in the darkest hours. 

He is closer, that is all you know, and when he speaks, you feel the soft rumble of his chest against yours and the warm brush of his breath against your neck. His voice is steady and even, a soothing note wrapping around you like a cloak. 

Your eyes close to the sound. Darkness swallows you, but it is comforting this time — the black shelter of a shield in the shape of the man curved against you. 

Noan speaks of normal origins. Of a home nestled in a bustling city. Of an everyday family and an everyday life. Of common worries like school and friends. 

He speaks of the dream you’ve been fighting ‘your’ whole life for. 

Blood is all you can taste. It slips past the seal of your lips and trickles like tears down your chin. 

He speaks of magical origins. Of fated destinies and legendary weapons. Of powerful allies and friendships forged through battle. Of prophecies and heroes. 

He speaks of hope that paves a path through the darkest of times and saves the world. 

He is all you can hear, his voice the single firefly in the blackness. 

And as ‘Mother’ reaches out, her claws finally sink into the deepest part of you —

Against the delicate skin of your neck — trembling lips pressed against a slowing pulse — Noan whispers three words…

They are the last you hear, and the light of that single firefly shudders alone for a lonely heartbeat before it, too, vanishes beneath the waters. 

[juliemolinaz]

Aside from the theme of finding yourself again and the importance of remembering where you come from, I really appreciated how well the show explored all the positive and negative consequences of letting go.

Through Sang-tae, we got to see how not letting go of your grief can blind you to the grief of others to the point that you get so focused on what you're experiencing that you hurt the people that you love. And then we got to see what happened when Sang-tae finally let go of his anger. He was finally able to see that other people were grieving for his wife. And by letting go of that anger, Sang-tae was finally able to talk about his wife in ways that weren't painful. He was able to gain back the friendships and happiness in his life that we lost.

Through Sang-do, we got to see how not letting go can cause you to get stuck and miss out on a lot of opportunities. By refusing to let go of his crush on Sam-dal, Sang-do was stuck in the past and didn't get to make a meaningful romantic relationship of his own. When he finally was able to accept the fact that his crush on Sam-dal wasn't going to be reciprocated, he seemed a lot more free. So, both Sang-tae and Sang-do were similar in the fact that letting go of something that is painful can be freeing.

Through Sam-dal, we got to see how letting go can actually be harmful and isolating. Sam-dal didn't want her relationship with Yong-pil to get in between Yong-pil and his dad, so she let go of her connection to Samdal-ri. She stopped talking to her mutual friends and she stayed in Seoul even though she had the right to spend time in her hometown just as much as Yong-pil and his dad. When she came back to Samdal-ri and let herself acknowledge that she was allowed to have her friendships and connections to her hometown, she seemed a lot happier with herself.

Through Yong-pil, we got to see that sometimes it's okay to not let go and instead hold onto things. Even though he was a part from Sam-dal, Yong-pil didn't let go of his feelings towards Sam-dal. He waited and waited and waited and eventually, he was able to be with her again. We also got to see that through Dae-yeong. He didn't let go of his feelings towards Jin-dal and they ended up back together too.

Through Yong-pil, we also got to see that it can be bad to always let go of your dreams to focus on helping others. Sam-dal was right to tell Yong-pil that he needed to go to Switzerland because he would have regrets if he didn't.

There's obviously a lot of other examples around letting go in the show, but I really did like how we got to see all the ways it can be painful to not let go, how freeing it can be to let go, how it can be okay to hold on instead of letting go, and how letting go all the time can be bad too.

[silentmagi]

Murder Drones AU where J after the death of the Absolute Solver goes mildly insane and decides to use the leftover solver code in her code to attempt to use necromancy to bring Tessa back because she misses her a lot and is very lonely.

It works… in a way.

What she did was bringing the soul of Tessa right when she was being killed by her, N and V and implanted it into a replica of Tessa’s body made with drone parts. Now Tessa is confused, terrified of what just happened and straight up not having a good time and J is regretting this choice but is too stubborn to ask for help to her friends those backstabbers and their gremlin friends because she’s afraid that they would take Tessa away.

Also J might have caused the soul of everyone killed by the Absolute Solver to possess drones and take over them completely and one of the victims of possession was Khan, who was taken over by Tessa’s father.

This is a curious one as I can see some good bits here, but it's not exactly what I'd work with. Some of this feels forced in order to be angsty.

Series: Murder Drones AU Criteria: J does not accept Tessa's death, and uses some of the necromancy that Tessa had used on her and the others to bring her back. AU title (optional): Necromancer's Apprentice

After the consumption and presumed death of the Solver, J isolates herself far from the others, and begins studying her code, and thinks about the past. If Tessa could use those powers to bring them back, why couldn't she do that for Tessa?

It works, Tessa is in the blank body of a worker drone made of spare parts from storage, it remembers the night of the gala, and barely anything after it. Everything is a blur, she is panicking, and J is there.

What J doesn't realize is she didn't finish the binding of souls, and has left the gateway to the spirit realm open for others to come through.

Tessa is confused and wants to go to the others, but J is very afraid that they won't understand, won't accept her.

None of this applies to the story above. I'm thinking that the last paragraph doesn't work that well. While I dislike Khan, he is still in possession of his body and working to improve. (Nori needs to smack him at least once.) James Elliot taking over his body doesn't work since Khan is there, and isn't going to let him take over.

I would also not focus on the trauma of what happened to Tessa, and instead focus on the exploration of the new life, and dealing with her new body. Like I said, you have some good stuff, but it's not what I'm about. I hope you take your story and build it.

[theeccentricraven]

Writer Questionnaire

Thank you @willtheweaver for the tag! Tricky but interesting questions!

What is your absolute all time favorite idea you’d ever had?

I’m so passionate about all of my ideas, it’s too hard to pick a favorite!

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about?

When I first shared my writing on an online writer’s workshop - the first few pages of Voice of Shadows - someone asked, “Is Myralyna supposed to be a brat?” It summed up several issues with my writing: 1) I didn’t understand what’s socially acceptable (comes with my Asperger’s) 2) My characters were not likable. 3) My characters weren’t proactive. They were reactive. 4) I really needed to work on my character development.

What is your favorite part of being a writer? What parts can you take or leave?

I love being a storyteller. I love reading, but it’s another thing to be the crafter behind the craft. I love to pull the strings of the story. I love to just let my imagination flow. 

What is your greatest motivation to write/ create?

To avoid the regret of never bringing my ideas to life.

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Write from the heart.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out writing?

If I had realized when I was fifteen that I needed to make time to read and to write, I would be in a much better state now. It’s worth sacrificing the unimportant things like Facebook and fan forums to focus on reading books in genres you love. Going along with this, I wish I had known that you’re not a hotshot if you decide to self-learn instead of studying the craft. Last of all, I wish I’d known I needed therapy. Taking care of my mental health in my later life helped improve my writing.

What is your favorite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you like and can!

So far, The Blood Cleaners. It’s the best first draft I’ve written so far. Sorry, not ready to share yet. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor. 

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

I would say the title character of my space revenge story Raven Nemesis. She has unconventional beliefs that shake the galaxy around her. She finds ways to get justice for herself and others by bending the rules. I myself question her moral grayness, but I can’t question her results.  

If you, when you first started writing, meet you now, what would younger you think?

Younger me would be disappointed at how I’m this age and still not yet a good enough writer to be published. Hopefully in the next five years, younger me will be proud of me.

Tagging: @pluppsauthor @poethill @jay-avian @winterandwords @kitkins13 @wyked-ao3 @happypup-kitcat24 @somethingclevermahogony @fairy-tales-of-yesterday @kbwritesstuff and OPEN

[one-true-houselight]

Part next ish of Psych fic! Feat. Scared Aro Shawn my poor sweet boy. I might take some of the school stuff from the middle and make another vignette more focused on his ADHD/dad stuff, but I wanted to get this portion done lol.

Gus was feeling antsy as he sat in Calculus, checking the clock every two minutes. There was still 17 minutes left in class; in practice, luckily, there was maybe ten minutes of actual class left. The teacher had long since learned the futility that was trying to keep a couple dozen seniors focused until the end of the last period of the day.

This was especially true given that many of the students had received college acceptances through the past week, and most kids lost all semblance of academic rigor. Gus thought he was one of those kids, making the decision to not finish every assignment in the same class (just most of them), and was ready to be out into the warm spring afternoon.

Despite himself, he was drawn into the last of the lesson, and was surprised when the end of day announcements started playing. He packed up, mind wandering, and his subconscious managed to guide him through dismissal, only brought back to reality when he saw a familiar figure slouched against his locker.

"Hey, buddy," said Shawn, flashing a grin that only Gus could tell was forced. "Can I walk home with you?"

"Like I could ever stop you," Gus joked, then immediately regretted it as Shawn flinched just a little. "Hey, I was kidding. Are you ok, man?" Gus realized that this was the first time he'd seen Shawn in almost a week. The last time he'd seen Shawn was-

Ah. It was when college letters came out. Shawn had been there when Gus had opened his, of course. To Shawn's eternal credit, both his smile and his tight hug had been nothing but genuine when he saw that Gus had been accepted. As much as he might tease Gus for his accomplishments, as much as he could seem flaky and aloof and all the reasons people were always giving Gus about why he should leave Shawn behind, Shawn was always in Gus' corner, no matter what.

Which is why Gus' stomach flipped when Shawn quietly opened his letter, flicked his eyes over the letter, sighed, and started making a paper airplane out of it. Shawn hadn't even wanted to apply, but had acquiesced when Gus had promised to help. Gus thought Shawn's essays were surprisingly salient, but there was nothing either of them could do about his grades.

Shawn had never been a spectacular student, but high school had been a difficult transition. There came a point where perfect memory couldn't save him, especially when he had dozens of half finished essays, posters, and other projects strewn around his room. Gus tried to help when he could, but Shawn more and more told Gus to not worry about it, that 'it wasn't worth it'. Gus started getting a queasy feeling their senior year that Shawn thought he himself wasn't worth it, but once the Spencer's relationship started falling apart, well. Even Gus' mighty intellect couldn't get Shawn to focus on academia.

So Shawn had fidgeted with his denial letter as they celebrated Gus, and at the end of the night, Shawn had given Gus another, tighter hug, and left. Left and, judging from his appearance, went on a jaunt through a desert or something. He looked exhausted, and his hair, which was normally firmly in the 'cool messy' category, had crossed the line into 'just a mess'.

Shawn shrugged as they walked, running his fingers through said hair, helping to solidify said mess. "Oh, you know, doing a little of this, a little of that."

"Did your dad get on you about the college thing?" Shawn looked at Gus and laughed, and it sounded rusty, almost, as if he hadn't made that sound in a while.

"I didn't even tell him I applied. I'm not giving him another reason-" He sighed instead of finishing. "Anyway, I've just had some trouble sleeping."

"What do you mean by 'trouble'?"

Shawn thought a moment. "It's day 3."

"Day 3 of what?"

"Of no sleep."

"Shawn, that's...that's really bad."

Shawn brushed him off, lightly saying, "I've been too busy Footloose-ing it up. It helps, you should try it."

"Playing chicken with a bunch of tractors?"

"Gus, don't be a wombat riding a unicycle-"

"That's not a thing."

Shawn sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. I've been wandering the mean streets of Santa Barbara, occasionally breaking out some sick dance moves, because I've been pondering a...personal quandary, I guess."

"And not sleeping?"

"You seem extremely hung up on that fact. You know, humans can go a whole month without sleep."

"That's without food, Shawn. I can't believe you're even standing here right now."

Shawn flicked his eyes away from Gus and said quietly, "I know, bud, I didn't want to bother you with this, but-"

"Again, not what I meant. You're never a bother." Shawn really laughed at that, stopping in place and leaning over until his arms were braced on his knees.

"Wow, you must be worried about me. Never? I'm almost offended." Gus couldn't help the chuckle, and soon they were both standing on the sidewalk, laughing hysterically, and things were ok again, for a second.

But then they calmed down, and Gus saw the deep, dark bags under Shawn's eyes, and his worry crept back in. They started walking, and Gus asked Shawn what he needed to talk about.

"Yes. Ok. Yes. You know Abigail?"

"Lytar? The girl you've been low key harassing since the start of the school year?"

"I've not been...ok, maybe just a little. Look...ok. You know when you see someone, and you're like, 'oh yeah, that's a hot bod', and your oats get all bothered?"

"I hated every word of that description, but...I guess?"

"Ok, so then, you know how sometimes, rarely, you also get a...desire to like...settle down with them? Write awkward poems and all that stuff people are always confessing in the rain in movies?"

Gus stared at Shawn, confused. "I mean, yeah, of course. Romance and stuff."

"Yes! That stuff!"

"I don't think that's rare, though."

"I mean, not being romantic, sure. It's part of the dance, person, queen, goddess, person again. Perfectly reasonable. But you don't...it's not..." Shawn groaned, aggressively rubbing his eyes before continuing, "When I look at her, when I talk to Abigail, there's this vertigo in my stomach, and all the sweet gestures feel like a need instead of a want, and it's terrifying."

Gus didn't know what to say for a while. "I mean, I get that with all the girls I've liked, I think? Like butterflies in your stomach."

"All of them? All of them, you've felt like the world was ending if you didn't get to hold their hand, or whatever?" Gus nodded. "And you can function? Feeling like that, all the time?"

"I mean, I guess you...get used to it?" Shawn laughed, but the mirth was gone. Gus countered, "Shawn, I think you're stressed. You've liked loads of people before."

"Ok, yes, but those were all the hot oats! I would remember...whatever cereal this is."

"Have you not been eating either?"

"Unimportant."

It was Gus' turn to sigh. "Alright Shawn, let's get you some food, get you some sleep. Maybe you'll feel better." Shawn gave a noncommittal shrug. "And for the romance thing? Why not try telling Abigail how you feel, instead of just cycling through niche movie references and your usual self-aggrandizing schtick?"

Shawn looked at Gus, eyes slightly wild. "Do what now?"

"Tell her all the nice, sweet stuff, instead of me."

"You're saying you don't like my sweet stuff, Gus?" Before Gus could smack Shawn, a low hanging branch did it for him, and Shawn almost fell over. "Ok, yeah, maybe I need some sleep."

"You know that's right."

A few months later, Gus was lying in bed when he heard a sound from his window. It rang out two more times before Gus managed to make it over and see Shawn standing in his backyard, his nice outfit (relative to Shawn, at least) crumpled. Gus snuck outside, and was finally close enough to see the tear tracks on Shawn's face.

"I couldn't do it, Gus," he said, voice raspy. "I saw her on the pier, and she was so beautiful, and I thought...I was so scared. And I couldn't stop wondering, what was wrong with me, that I felt like this? Or didn't feel like this?" He swiped at his eyes. "She deserves better than me. Everyone does."

Before Gus could speak, could reach out and say anything to calm his friend, Shawn muttered apologies and ran from the yard. The next day he was back on Gus' porch, cocky smile firmly in place. And Gus couldn't find the words, so he didn't, and the two spent their last few months together before Gus had to go off to school, leaving Shawn...

Gus knew Shawn would figure it out. He always did.

[pantachorei]

@kushtibokt : There is an overwhelming feeling of want nagging him, strong enough to prompt this sudden approach, though he knows this time not to indulge in his impulsive need to touch—it is bad enough that what he wants is already plenty bold, so even without his unwanted contact, he couldn't guarantee yet to have the scholar agree to indulge him.

So he can only stare, even though his hand is itching to grasp his fingers and drag the other towards him, with him, away from all. He directs his focus to his eyes, instead. Warm, beautiful, just like the whole man.

"Doc." He begins, and then pauses for a moment as he digs between excuses for a justification. Nothing feels suitable, that he could tell the other would accept without getting suspicious or upset.

His gaze ultimately turns away in defeat, as if dodging the embarrassment of pushing himself to admit, at last. "—I want your attention today. It doesn't matter whether you just hang out with me, or lecture me, or teach me something, anything. I just want your focus on me entirely."

With another pause, he blinks, and peeks over his face before adding. "If you're not busy today, of course. I'm done with my workload." It had left him strangely empty and wanting.

almost   every   encounter   with   the   stoneheart   had   left   the   scholar   feeling   empty   and   wanting.   exchanges   of   little   value   were   vexing   enough,   but   aventurine   had   a   tendency   of   offering   glimpses,   mere   sparks   of   what   ratio   wished   to   submerse   himself   in   entirely.

their   shared   kisses   and   touches   never   seemed   enough,   their   conversations   intriguing,   if   often   frustrating,   but   never   touching   on   the   topics   he   truly   wished   to   discuss.   being   with   him   seemed   a   downright   impossibility,   albeit   not   for   a   lack   of   desire;   the   gambler   was   guarded   fiercely   by   what   the   doctor   rightly   assumed   to   be   past   suffering.   knowing   parts   and   deducing   others   left   him   aware   that   he   had   endured   much,   and   he   understood   that   it   likely   did   not   ease   the   strain   showing   any   vulnerability   might   bring.

still   he   seemed   brazen,   seemed   to   boldly   request,   to   want,   when   ratio   felt,   more   and   more,   as   though   he   was   tolerating   behaviour   that   only   truly   had   the   power   to   leave   him   dissatisfied,   irritated   and   regretful.

he   didn't   even   seem   to   address   him   by   name,   what   hope   was   there   that   their   encounters   would   ever   truly   bear   any   more   fulfilling   qualities   than   fleeting   pleasure   ?

ratio   held   his   gaze,   a   soft   prickle   beneath   his   skin   lingering,   defying   his   unwillingness   to   eternally   entertain   the   executive's   whims,   and   those   brilliant   eyes   of   his   only   seemed   to   assist   in   that   endeavour.   that   averted   gaze   of   his   saw   him   lift   a   brow,   a   temptation   to   uncover   the   reason   for   what   seemed   to   be   sheepishness   flaring   briefly.   it   was   promptly   snuffed   out   with   his   request.

eyes   narrowed   lightly,   his   expression   promptly   became   considerably   more   displeased.   it   seemed   obvious   that   his   request   was   not   fuelled   by   hubris   but   rather   by   simple   want;   seldom   did   aventurine   seem   so   hesitant   to   state   his   desires.   still,   to   that   day   he   had   not   been   given   any   reason   to   believe   that   there   was   lingering   meaning   behind   his   affections,   that   they   would   ever   be   anything   but   non-committal.

it   did   not   help   that   hearing   him   say   he   wanted   his   attention   solely   on   himself   did   tug   ever   so   gently   on   his   heartstrings.

❛    why,   exactly,   should   i   heed   that   request   of   yours   ?   ❜   he   questioned,   head   canting   lightly.   while   spending   time   with   him   did   sound   pleasant,   a   mere   demand   like   that   was,   admittedly,   quite   out   of   line.   ❛    unfortunately   for   you,   i   am   not   at   your   beck   and   call   to   be   toyed   with.   ❜

[mythologyfolklore]

Liù'ěr Míhóu joins the jttw gang, or: How to redeem an all-hearing celestial monkey with a superiority complex and a seriously bad attitude

(A/N: TW: mentions of past SA, forced pregnancy, miscarriage and infanticide, mention of dissociation)

Chapter Thirteen: Heart to heart

.

It was night time.

Wùkōng was on watch duty, overlooking the clearing, where they were staying for this night.

The others were sleeping, except for one.

Liù'ěr Míhóu was settled atop the head of Bái Lóng Mă (who for some reason had curled around the group in his dragon form, like the world's most protective serpent), watching Wùkōng with guarded curiosity and swaying his head from side to side (Wùkōng hated, when the other monkey did that!).

“Whatcha want?”, Wùkōng grumbled.

The Six-Eared Macaque just gave him an unimpressed look. “You've been staring into the air the whole time. Are you actually paying attention to your surroundings?”

“Of course I-!” He stopped himself and lowered his voice. “Of course I am! Don't you know I can keep watch and contemplate stuff at the same time?”

“Riiiight. So you haven't been wondering, why I didn't tell any of you anything about myself for almost two months? Come on, I can't hear what you're thinking, but I can tell you're wrecking your head. Are you trying to find an explanation for why I never told you the reason why I'm so deranged?”

Wùkōng tried to dodge: “Eh, I think 'deranged' is in the eye of the beholder …”

“Sūn Wùkōng, if you want to ask me something, get it over with now, or let me try to actually get some sleep tonight.”

Welp. Dodge failed. Apparently the “comprehension of all things” part of Buddha's explanation about Liù'ěr Míhóu hadn't been exaggerated.

Wùkōng sighed and landed beside the other, taking great care not to disturb Bái Lóng Mă.

“I'm having a bit of a hard time digesting it”, he admitted. “What we've learned about you today, I mean. Not the part about your temperament, that was no problem.”

Liù'ěr Míhóu smiled tiredly. “Well, I'm having a hard time letting it sink in, that … that none of you ridiculed me. That you all accepted me and didn't blame me. Thank you for that.”

Absentmindedly, he scratched Bái Lóng Mă behind the ears. The sleeping dragon responded with a deep rumble, that almost sounded like a purr.

Well, if that's not some cute shit right there- no! Focus!

As casually as he could, Wùkōng replied: “Eh, it's nothi-”

“Don't you dare say it's nothing!”, snarled Liù'ěr Míhóu. “It's everything to me.”

The Monkey King coughed awkwardly.

“Uh … right. Damn, I'm not good at this. Anyway, your behaviour and attitude makes a lot more sense now. There's just one more thing I gotta know.”

“Make it short.”

“What happened to the children?”

Wùkōng regretted the question instantly, as the Macaque glowered at him, clearly upset by the question.

But instead of lashing out, Liù'ěr Míhóu whispered: “Dead.”

Oh.

“Did you kill them?”

“…”

“I'm not judging you, I just want to know-”

“Yes.”

That answer wasn't as disturbing as it probably should have been.

The Six-Eared Macaque went on: “Some were miscarriages, some I aborted. But once my mind was in an especially dark place and I killed the paras- the newborn baby. And ate the dead thing. The scariest part is, I didn't even realise what I had done, until weeks later. I was in this weird state, where everything my senses perceived didn't reach my brain and everything was blurred and muffled. Like I was in some weird, distant dream zone and whatever was going on in reality didn't reach me. I was … empty. Just … not me.”

“Dissociation.”

“Pardon?”

“It's called dissociation”, Wùkōng explained. “Guān Yīn told me about that, when I was with her. Sometimes a situation is so fucked, that your mind can't take it any more and shuts down as a self-defence mechanism. It's like fainting, only mental. She explained it all to me, when I told her that I go into that state sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I was cooked alive in Laozi's furnace for forty-nine years, imprisoned under a mountain and fed molten copper and iron pellets for another five-hundred years and for the last eight years I had to put up with my master mistreating and hurting me. He frowns, I expect imminent pain. After all that shit, I'm fucked up too. So … I understand how you feel. At least a bit.”

Liù'ěr Míhóu offered him a smile.

Now that shocked Wùkōng; the other Spiritual Monkey had never smiled at him before.

They fell into surprisingly comfortable silence for a while.

Eventually, the Six-Eared Macaque said something even more surprising.

“There is one child, that I kept”, he confided in the Monkey King. “As in, I birthed it and let it live. After it had been … forced on me, I was found by the crow demon I told you about. She nursed me back to health. Was there for me the whole time. And she didn't ask for anything in return. No one had ever done that for me before, so at first I was convinced she had some weird ulterior motives.” He chuckled. “When I confronted her, she bonked me on the head and called me a dumbass.”

Wùkōng grinned: “That does sound like a demon after my heart. And she helped you with the infant?”

“Yeah. But I still couldn't stand being around it. Luckily, Tiě Yū had raised chicks before, so she agreed to take the boy. Once I had weaned him, that is.”

Yep. Definitely sounded like a cool lady.

“Good to know she supported you.”

“Yeah. Listen, uhm, can you not tell all that to the others? I'm not ready for …”

Wùkōng smiled. “Sure. I mean, they wouldn't have room to talk, but I can see the problem.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Hey, do you wanna hear about the story, where Master and Zhū Bājiè got pregnant?”

The Macaque stared at him. “No way!”

“Yes way!”

“Well, spill the tea! Give me all the juicy details!”

“Okay, so we were travelling through the Kingdom of Women, when Master decided that drinking water from a random river would be a good idea …”

.

---

.

Little do the two monkeys know, Bai Long Ma has been awake the entire time.