#and when I wrote that line I literally paused for a moment

[itsgrimeytime]

@imaginemyfavoritefics

Magnolia in May (Part Six) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: kinda anti-Lori, angsty as hell (sorry), misunderstandings, hopelessness, settling, and crying.

[[A/N: Actually so fucked up over this. I thank What Was I Made For by Billie Eilish for this sudden sprint of new inspiration. Thanks for reading :)) ]]

"Lori," she added in, a wonderfully beautiful smile smoothing across her face, "-Mrs. Lori Grimes."

Suddenly, it wasn't raining around you. Or at least you couldn't feel it, despite the visual onslaught of the rain around you. You couldn't feel it-

"Mrs-" you cleared your throat -voice unsteady and scary, "-Mrs. Grimes?"

"Right, yes," she hummed, "-do you want to come inside? The rain is dreadful, I'd hate for you to get a cold. He should be down soon-"

"No," you answered, quickly -almost too quickly, "-no, I... It's not urgent enough to bother him."

"But it's urgent enough to walk in the rain?" She laughed -slightly, tilting her head, "-Really, he'll only be a few moments-"

"That's..." you paused, trying to keep your heart which was searing in your chest at bay, "-That's very kind of you, but I must be going."

"May I fetch you an umbrella, at least?"

You pursed your lips, squeezing your eyes shut and letting out a heavy breath -trying to will the urge of your heart, and be rational, "Yes, if it's not a bother."

"None at all," she spoke, holding the door open for you to enter, "-should only take a moment."

You flinched, but stepped forward, entering the entryway -the beauty of the paintings as stunning as when you first saw them. Paint rather layered and color varied, as you took a few timid steps -leading down the entry hall, and you would've gone back. Truly, not eager to spend more time here, but your eyes caught on something.

The shine of gold glimmered in the corner of your eye, and you'd only wanted to see a glance-

It was a family portrait, intricately painted with beautiful smiling faces. Lori was rather still, a rather practiced smile across her face, something rather off in it. Mr. Grimes was just to her right -face rather solemn, it didn't seem to fit him. You were so used to his smile, the crinkle by his eyes, seeing him happy -it didn't seem so in the painting. And in the middle stood a young boy, dark brown hair styled and blue eyes familiar -they were the same as his father's.

Your eyes skimmed over his figure, eyes as blue as the day you met him and curls pushed back rather harshly. His suit is a dark gray, a delicate thing with many layers -more sort of formal business look that you hadn't seen of the man yet. Still quite handsome, despite it all.

Something slipped down your cheek, unrestrained, vulnerable-

"Ms. Greene?"

You cleared your throat, scrubbing away at your eyes -the harsh red there surely leaving a mark. Even despite that, you tried to school your face into a more gentle expression -something to hide the pain. It was rather ungraceful.

"I seemed to be able to find one in the closet nearby," she continued, toying with the umbrella in her hand -until her eyes splashed up, resting startlingly still on your form.

Her eyes flickered to the painting, and back to you with a thoughtful sort of glance, "If you don't mind me asking, how do you know him?"

"Mr. Grimes?" you composed yourself, certainly wishing the tears away or the shake of your voice. Anything that gave you away.

"Well," you started, eyes unwillingly settling on him in the portrait (despite your better judgment) as you fidgeted with your skirt -mud caked upon it so thoroughly that you found it rather stiff, "-I met him in the market, really- more acquaintances than anything. Helped him find-"

"Judith," she answered -a little clipped, but you couldn't tell if it was because of you or mentioning Judith, "-I know. He's spoke of you."

You swallowed the cry in your throat -something stirring in you that he talked of you, but it felt numb. It felt so far than it had just the other day -tracing the inked letters repeatedly, hopeful. You knew you shouldn't have been hopeful, you told yourself-

"You danced," she added, approaching you with hesitant steps, eyes locked onto the portrait -detailing the figures in her own head, you assumed, "-all night at the ball, did you not?"

"Oh," you hugged your coat to your arms, the fabric growing stiff as it dried, "-that wasn't... Mrs. Grimes, you have nothing to-"

"It was," she interrupted, "-I know it was, Ms. Greene. I could see it in him."

"See it?"

She laughed, a little bittersweet -hand moving to rest upon your shoulder, "Richard Grimes is an easy man to read, I'm sure you've learned. As I showed up on his doorstep, his feelings for me had changed. I knew it, just didn't know who."

"And yet, he let you in?"

Lori didn't respond, a sort of silence developed in the entryway as you peered upon the painting -eyes caught on every curve of his face, everything you could recognize. He was rather solemn in the painting, sure, but it was still him. And a part of you wished to commit him to memory if you never saw him again, you wanted to remember.

"Could you," she paused, clearing her throat and dabbing at her eyes, "-Could you fall in love with him?"

"Mrs. Grimes-" you urged -you didn't want to come in between them, it was truly the last thing you'd want on your conscience.

"Ms. Greene, it is of no offense to me. Answer freely."

"You're his wife-" you echoed -tone in a sort of disbelief, "-how will another woman admitting she could love your husband not offend you?"

"I'm a wife who loves another man," she answered -voice shaky and echoing through the air, "-I can hardly judge."

You paused, eyes surfing over him in the painting -eyes lighting up with the familiar memories of crinkle smiles and berry baskets. You weren't there yet, sure, but could you be?

"I could," you answered with finality, tears rising up from your throat, "-I am. I am falling in love with him, isn't that just dreadful?"

Mrs. Grimes smiled lightly -a bittersweet feeling smoothing over his lips, "No, it truly isn't. But-"

You spun to her attention, heart heavy in your chest -a sort of dread clawing up your throat. It could never end well, could it?

"He loves his children," she started, hand moving from your shoulder down to the two of your clasped hands, "-and if my reconciling with him makes their lives easier, I know he will try to do it. And I..."

"You can't promise to say no," you finished, eyes a little bleary and heart cracked open, "-I wouldn't wish you to."

Lori flattened her mouth into a thin line, a deep sort of sorrow setting in her eyes -heartbroken, just like you, "It's a comfortable life, I'd be incompetent to turn it down, and for that, I'm... sorry."

You swallowed, tears washing down your face -steadfast, as your eyes settled on hers (a sort of mutual pain suffered there), "I'm sorry for you too, Mrs. Grimes."

She smiled a tight one that was barely upon her features -yet, you appreciated the little warmth that it garnered. It helped, that a family could be rebuilt from your broken heart, but it hadn't healed it.

You wondered briefly if it ever would.

And then, you heard it -the heavy fall of footsteps, tapping on the tile, and the voice. A voice you thought may stay in your head, despite the hurt that twisted in your gut.

"Lori?" he echoed down the hallways -tone rather straightforward, "-I finally got them to sleep if-"

You locked eyes with her, desperate, pleading as you took the umbrella from her hands, "Don't tell him I was ever here. You must understand this-"

She stared at you -a bit incredulously, "I mustn't lie, and he deserves to know-"

"I will not," you started, but the crack in your voice stopped you, "-I will not break up a family for something so... so trivial."

"It's not trivial," she spoke on instinct, "-I know that you know that-"

"Don't-" you echoed, faltering in place -heart only sinking lower, further, "-please, Mrs. Grimes. I can't- I can't hold onto this. I must, I must move on. You have to understand that-"

She looked at you, heavy and you could almost find solace in her pain -even just for a moment. A moment too long.

"Ms. Greene?" he spoke into the entryway, bouncing around the tiles and you couldn't find it in yourself to respond, to even turn around, "-Did you... Did ya travel 'ere in the rain?"

You coached yourself -years of practiced poise made it somewhat easy but in this moment, it was rather difficult. As your eyes matched his blue ones, a sort of wilt filtered through his face (he'd probably seen your crying, despite your work to hide it, it was always obvious), and almost on instinct, you saw his hand extend to you. To soothe.

"I... I was just going, Mr. Grimes," you spoke, lifeless compared to your previous words to the man, "-don't trouble yourself for me, I only wished for some shelter from the rain."

He paused, before flickering to the window -where the rain still held heavy, "It's still quite bad, Ms. Greene, I'm not sure-"

"Mr. Grimes, don't... don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Make what harder?" he asked -a flash between concern and confusion rippling across his face (You couldn't focus on it, it only hurt. All it could do was hurt.), "-I seem to be confused."

His eyes laid gently onto Lori then, as you felt your heart crush in your stomach -puzzle pieces falling to the floor with no match. And you willed yourself to step towards him, straightening his vest ever so slightly. Fingertips yearning for something so harshly, you couldn't help it.

"Mr. Grimes, you're a wonderful man-" you spoke -watery and bittersweet, "-but you're not mine."

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🕳️ What to Write When You Have No Idea What Happens Next

aka: you’re staring into the creative abyss and the abyss is not only staring back, it’s asking for a rough draft

hi writer. welcome to that fun little liminal space in your project where ✨absolutely nothing✨ makes sense. you wrote the last scene. you know you’re not at the end. but suddenly your characters are just standing there like NPCs waiting for a quest marker and your brain is doing the spinning beachball of death.

so. what now?

let’s break down some actually useful strategies for when you hit That Point™️. not vibes. not ✨manifest your way out✨ energy. not the “just keep writing” slog. here’s what to do when your story is refusing to tell you what happens next:

———————————————

zoom out: do a “scene audit” ———————————————

you don’t need a full outline to do this. take five minutes and sketch a bullet list of every scene that’s happened so far. not just what happened, but why it mattered.

like this:

MC lied to their boss (sets up stakes re: trust/power)

antagonist shows up at cafe (establishes tension + location crossover)

best friend gets suspicious (emotional complication, adds pressure)

this gives you a birds-eye view of what you’ve set in motion. often you’re stuck because you’ve lost sight of the threads you were pulling, your own story has momentum, you just need to feel it again.

—————————————————————

try “ghost drafting” (aka fake writing) —————————————————————

open a doc. start typing what would happen, if you were writing. super casual. something like:

“okay i think the next scene is maybe them at the train station?? or wait--maybe we need to see the fallout of the argument. i don’t really know what x character wants rn but i think y might be planning something…”

this trick works bc it removes pressure. no fancy prose, no perfect structure. it’s literally you telling yourself what might happen. and weirdly? your brain will often finish the scene for you without asking. (the number of times I’ve ghost drafted myself into 800 usable words… witchcraft.)

——————————————————————————

pin your characters to a corkboard and interrogate them ——————————————————————————

not literally. (unless you're into that. i don’t judge.)

but seriously: when you’re stuck, it’s often because your character has no immediate goal or emotion. pause and ask:

what does this character want right now? like, in this moment?

what are they trying to avoid?

what’s keeping them from getting either?

character-driven scenes are rarely static. even if it’s just an awkward dinner or walking to the store, someone’s always trying to do or hide something. if everyone in the scene is just reacting or waiting, you’ve got fog. bring in the fire.

—————————————————

don’t skip the “boring” stuff--weaponize it —————————————————

sometimes we’re stuck because we think the next scene is dull. like “ugh i guess they just… travel to the manor” or “they regroup at the safe house.” but these slow beats are GOLD if you embed purpose.

try giving the “boring” scene:

a time limit or interruption (they’re hiding but someone knocks)

a secret (someone is lying about something small but important)

a reversal (what they expected is the opposite of what happens)

even if it’s a quiet scene, layer it. conflict isn’t just yelling or action. it’s discomfort. it’s misalignment. tension between what’s said and unsaid.

—————————————————————

when all else fails: write the next emotional beat —————————————————————

strip it back. forget plot. forget pacing. ask yourself:

then write that. a monologue. a journal entry. an outburst. a line of whispered dialogue.

sometimes it’s not that you don’t know what happens next. it’s that your character hasn’t processed what just happened, and until they do, the story can’t move forward.

✨✨✨

the void is normal. getting stuck doesn’t mean you failed or picked the wrong idea or that the muse packed up and left for a better writer’s house. it just means your brain needs space to regroup.

writing isn’t linear. stories aren’t built in perfect lines. they loop. they stall. they circle back. and that’s okay.

if you’re in the middle of nowhere, here’s your sign to sit on the side of the metaphorical road, open your weird little notebook, and write anyway. write wrong. write messy. write ghost drafts. the path shows up when you start walking.

🕳️ you got this, writer.

tag me if you end up crawling out of your stuck scene with a little victory paragraph. i’ll bring snacks for the next one 🧃✨

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[three-semicolons]

I wrote a post a while back about the fun that could be had with Dick’s canonical tendency to hallucinate. This is not directly expanding on that prompt, but does something similar.

This is a classic “Dick sees Jason and quite literally does not believe his eyes” short. It’s my first. Enjoy?

Dick strided towards the front door of his apartment, already shrugging off the top layers of his police uniform.

The day had been exhausting in the most mundane of ways. A pile of paperwork, larger than average but still within a standard deviation of the normal load. There were three separate repeat calls from the same bar a few miles from the BPD office — a regular had become incensed after a bad encounter with hallucinogens, leading him to seek comfort in a place he was familiar with and inadvertently harassing the other customers. Knowing Bludhaven, the man was probably much more likely to become another member of the overcrowded incarcerated population than receive the care he needed (not that the neighboring Arkham Asylum would be a better fit). Dick had assisted in de-escalation, his talent in that field far surpassing the other available officers on duty.

The encounter made Dick uncomfortable, if for a reason far different than his co-workers. The deepest recesses of his mind couldn’t help but notice the similarities between himself and the man he had talked down. Dick struggled with his own delusions at times; never enough to lose himself in them, always cognizant of their nature as hallucinations and managing to work around them, but he was nonetheless a victim of his mind’s creations more frequently than he’d care to admit.

Some days he wondered when the blurred lines would smudge into nothingness. He wondered when he would try to defend a victim of a crime who wasn’t there, or render himself vulnerable by attacking a phantom assailant instead of the real criminal behind him. He wondered if one day he’d laugh at a comment Tim never made and be unable to explain himself out of it. He wondered if one day he’d yell at Bruce over a conflict that never occurred. He wondered if he would be able to handle the concern, the disappointment, that he could already envision painted on the older man. He wondered when he would be the next reason for the BPD to be contacted for a public disturbance, and whether they’d be just as eager to lock him away for the crime of mental instability.

But things were getting better, Dick thought. He’d sought professional counseling under a pseudonym after a particularly convincing apparition of his dead brother almost managed to throw him off patrol. He could handle the anguish he felt at seeing his brother’s swollen, limp corpse, but he drew the line at threatening the lives of civilians. After some counseling, the psychologist had recommended a small list of prescriptions and grounding techniques, and from there he’d marched over to Leslie for long-term management of his medicine.

Things were alright. Never great — sometimes the static of his police-issued radio turned into the whispers of the dead, and sometimes he felt the soles of his boots squelch under phantom coagulating blood — but it was alright.

Everything was fine.

He pushed in the door, and on the other end was the unmistakable face of his brother wearing the costume of the Red Hood, helmet wedged between his armpit and his ribs, hand frozen midway into a bag of Lays Barbecue chips that Dick had left in the pantry for whenever Tim came to visit. Dick watched in awe as Red-Hood-Jason loudly chewed for half a second, paused, and then slowly resumed his chewing.

Dick blinked. Jason blinked back.

And then all at once, his eyebrows furrowed and his green (green?) eyes flashed.

“Are you going to say anything?” Another moment of silence. Jason snarled. “Are you that fucking pathetic? Am I that worthless to you? Do you have any idea how much you fucking failed me? Do you have anything to say for yourself, you piece of shit?”

Another blink.

“…did I really mean that little to you? Was I too worthless for a reaction? Did you care at all?”

Really, hours could have passed, or seconds. Dick had no idea. He felt the careful poker face crafted from a decade of fighting crime struggling to keep itself from shattering. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and waited casually as it rang. He gazed onwards, looking at the adult visage of his brother, his eyes glassy enough to suggest he may have been seeing nothing at all.

The phone finally connected. “Hey Leslie?” He began, with a stoic nonchalance that couldn’t be anything but fake, “I think I might need to raise that dosage again.”

The Jason in his mind somehow managed to furrow his eyebrows further. Numbly, Dick thought it was unrealistic to imagine a man with his eyes that narrowed. They didn’t even look open anymore.

Leslie responded. Dick put her on speaker, so her sympathetic voice echoed through the cramped entry of his home. “How come?”

“I’m seeing Jason again. The hallucination is extending to other elements of the world. He’s eating my chips.” Dick swallowed. “I don’t… it’s not- I don’t think it’s safe for me to be patrolling if I’m beginning to lose a grip on the state of my surroundings.”

Leslie audibly hummed. “I can’t argue with that. We’ll put you on a higher dose, give it a few days, and see where-“

And then, once again, the hallucination of his dead brother erupted. “What the fuck are you talking about? What the fuck is going on? Why the fuck are you ignoring me?”

The other end of Dick’s phone stayed silent. Finally, the tentative voice on the other line spoke. “Who was that?”

“Wait, you heard that?”

Both Dick and Jason were now staring wide-eyed at the phone in his hand. Leslie sounded unsure of herself when she responded with a “yes”.

The glassy haze disappeared in an instant. Suddenly, Dick’s eyes were dilated, flicking back and forth between the phone in his palm and the figure leaning stiffly on his sink.

“You know what, Leslie? Never mind. Can I call you back later?”

And, without waiting for a response, Dick hung up.

[odileeclipse]

You’ve Been Edited Out. Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader | GN Reader | Angst |

You used to know exactly how the lights would hit your face when the curtain rose. Now they don’t touch you at all.

You sit in the front row, no longer part of the act. Not the stagehand. Not the muse. Not the star. Just a witness.

You know what’s coming before the spotlight shifts. You know the way he moves, how he takes the stage like it’s his second skin, how the air bends a little around him when he’s ready to begin.

You used to stand there.

 Now someone else does.

They’re good.

It makes it worse.

They know their cues. Their posture. They mirror the angle of his smirk like they’ve practiced it in the mirror. And he looks at them the way he used to look at you, with that glint of mirth that made you forget he was ever capable of cruelty.

He calls them “Dove.”

You were “Starlight.”

Backstage, you pretend you’re just visiting. That you’re not here to bleed.

He finds you anyway.

Of course he does.

“Well,” he says, tilting his head, “if it isn’t my favorite ghost.”

You force a smile. “Didn’t know I’d become one.”

“Oh, but you did,” he hums. “That’s why you disappeared without fanfare. No final bow. Just... exit, stage left.”

You glance toward the stage.

“They’re good,” you say.

“Mm,” he hums. “But are they you?”

That pause between you hurts. Long. Waiting.

You don’t answer.

Neither does he.

“So,” you ask, voice low. “Did I get replaced?”

He scoffs. “Replaced? No, no, no, don't be dramatic. You faded.”

“I was tired.”

“You grew quiet.”

“I was grieving.”

He leans in, smile sharp as ever. “And I was still performing. The world doesn’t wait for the soft-hearted, you know.”

You hold your ground, but barely.

“Did I matter?” you ask.

His eyes flicker. Just once.

Then he laughs like it’s part of the show.

“You made a good first act.”

That’s when you finally understand: You weren’t part of the story. You were a subplot.

You take a step back, words raw in your throat.

He watches you like you’re still an audience to please.

 Like this is all still part of the script.

“Well?” he asks, mock bowing. “Aren’t you going to wish me luck?”

You blink once. “I hope the stage collapses.”

He grins wide. “Now that’s the spirit.”

Later, during the next act, you hear your laugh on someone else’s lips. See your old costume, refitted. Watch him twirl someone else under the spotlight, using lines he wrote for you.

You stay through the whole performance. You don’t clap.

You just stand.

And for a moment just a moment he looks your way.

His smile falters.

Then the spotlight shifts, and he bows.

And you disappear without a bow, again.

A/N Chat, we are in a brooding mood tonight, let's make the most of it <3 I'm trying to practice as much as possible for my writing portfolio so that they deem me "literate" enough I suppose I'm not really sure what the point of making a writing portfolio is for?....

Anyways....

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

[koyagifs]

juno

pairing: hongjoong x reader au: 9th member | idol genre: angst with comfort word count: 2.4k synopsis: you release a song for every member on their birthday while they are away in the military warning(s): everyone say thank you @crimsonbubble (bubbly) for hyping up the idea

You were burning up under the stage lights, your fur coat trapping the heat against your skin—but none of that mattered. Not when the crowd was alive with anticipation. You glanced over the sea of faces, a grin tugging at your lips as you pulled out one of your earpieces.

"Atiny, how are we feeling tonight?" you called into the mic, voice light and teasing.

The crowd answered with a deafening scream, your smile only growing bigger.

"We all know it’s Hongjoong’s birthday tonight," you said, laughing softly as the mention of his name drew another wave of cheers. You paused, letting the energy build.

"And he’s actually here… in the crowd right now." Your voice dropped slightly, more intimate. "I have a surprise—for both you and him."

The lights followed as you stepped gracefully onto the extended stage, each step in time with the slow beat that pulsed through the speakers. Sliding your earpiece back in, you looked out at the crowd—and then down, where you knew Hongjoong was watching.

"This one’s called Juno," you said gently, eyes scanning the darkness until they found his.

"And I wrote it for you."

The crowd screamed, the lights dimming slightly to cast a soft glow around you. From the wings, your backup dancers emerged with perfect timing—one of them holding up a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs like they were part of a crown jewel display. The crowd caught sight of them and immediately lost it.

You took the cuffs with a smirk, slowly beginning your walk down the catwalk, each step deliberate and laced with purpose. The spotlight trailed you, fans reaching out as you passed, their cheers swelling around the slow, sultry intro of Juno pulsing through the speakers.

Your gaze landed on him.

Hongjoong.

He was seated just behind the barrier, next to a clearly amused security guard. And he was a mess—hands over his mouth, eyes wide, ears flaming red as he realized exactly what was happening.

You sauntered toward the guard with a wink and a whisper that made him laugh, then gently placed the handcuffs in his palm. “Hold these for me,” you said into the mic, eyes never leaving Hongjoong’s. “I’ll need them later.”

The crowd screamed.

Hongjoong buried his face in his hands, laughing even as his shoulders hunched in embarrassment.

You turned back toward center stage, the music building behind you, your voice melting seamlessly into the first verse of Juno—each lyric gliding out like a love letter with a teasing smirk.

Then came the line: "One of me is cute, but two though?"

On cue, you reached up and unfastened your fur coat, letting it slip from your shoulders and fall behind you. The moment hung in the air like electricity. Gasps rippled through the arena, quickly followed by a tidal wave of screams.

Underneath, you were glowing—figuratively and literally. The soft lights caught the shimmer of your outfit, but all eyes were on what you gently cradled with one hand: a small but unmistakable baby bump.

Your laugh came soft, breathless with nerves and joy, as your palm rested protectively over it. The music never missed a beat, and neither did you—your voice steady as ever, weaving through the chorus like it was second nature.

The crowd was roaring, some cheering, others visibly emotional. Fans held their hands to their mouths, phones trembling as they captured the moment. But your eyes searched for only one face.

Hongjoong.

And when you found him—he was frozen.

Eyes wide. Mouth parted. A hand pressed hard to his lips.

He looked like he couldn’t breathe.

You saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his body leaned forward as if to ground himself, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Not the surprise appearance, not the crowd screaming, and definitely not you—glowing on stage, one hand cradling a baby bump, singing words meant just for him.

He hadn’t seen you in months. Letters and short phone calls weren’t enough. And now, standing in the crowd on his rare break from military duty, surrounded by thousands of people, he was watching the love of his life announce the next chapter of your story.

His.

Yours.

Theirs.

You caught the way his chin trembled as he blinked furiously, trying to hold it in. But you knew him—fuck, did you know him. This wasn’t just surprise. This was everything he'd buried under discipline and duty. Every moment he'd missed. Every touch he’d craved. Every silent hope he hadn’t dared voice yet.

The tears hit fast.

He dropped his hand from his mouth as if surrendering to the moment, his lips trembling with a smile he couldn’t hold back anymore.

You waved at the crowd, breathless and glowing. “Thank you, Glendale!” you called out, voice still buzzing with adrenaline. Cheers echoed behind you as you blew a few more kisses, the stage lights dimming just as the platform lowered you beneath the stage.

The second your heels hit solid ground, staff swarmed you with congratulations, grins, and high-fives. Your makeup team was already fanning you, carefully dabbing sweat and adjusting the glow on your cheeks, but none of it quite registered—not with your heart still pounding for a different reason entirely.

You were still coming down from the high of it all—the reveal, the performance, the way he looked at you—when your manager approached, phone in hand, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“Hongjoong’s heading to your hotel now,” she said, lowering her voice a bit as she reached out to steady your arm. “Let’s get you ready to see him, mama.”

Your breath caught. That one word—mama—sank in, warm and soft and real. Laughing under your breath, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s go.”

-

When you entered your hotel room, your heart was already racing. You barely registered the door clicking shut behind you as you made your way down the small hallway.

And then—you saw him.

Hongjoong was sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed slightly like he’d been trying to calm himself down. His jacket was draped neatly over the nearby chair, leaving him in his black undershirt, sleeves rolled just high enough to show the tension in his arms.

He looked up—and the second his eyes met yours, everything else disappeared.

You dropped your bags without a second thought, feet moving before your brain even caught up. “Joong—” you breathed out, running straight for him.

He stood just in time to catch you—but instead of pulling you into a hug, he spun you around, making you gasp. His arms wrapped around you from behind, locking you gently against his chest, hands settling low over your baby bump.

Your hands flew up to his, fingers threading through his as you let your head fall back against his shoulder. His warmth enveloped you, steady and grounding, even as you felt the slight tremble in his breath against your neck. His lips ghosted along your temple, your cheek, then down to your jaw, each kiss a silent promise.

“Does anyone know?” he asked quietly, voice rough like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

You turned slightly in his arms, your fingers still linked with his. “If you mean the other boys,” you said gently, “then no.”

At that, he sank to his knees in front of you, his hands moving instinctively to your bump—tender, reverent. His thumbs rubbed slow, absent circles over the soft curve as if committing every inch of it to memory.

“They’re gonna freak out,” he murmured, eyes flickering up to yours with a soft, stunned smile. “San’s going to cry. Mingi’s gonna try to name the baby something chaotic.”

You laughed softly, brushing your fingers through his hair as his lips curled into a teasing smile. “I wanted you to be the first. You deserved that.”

He hummed thoughtfully, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “What about the timeline? I mean, whose baby is it…?”

You sighed dramatically, sinking down onto the bed, settling comfortably. "Hm... not sure, honestly. I can only remember sleeping with you," you said, giving him a playful smile. "It can't be Seonghwa's or Yunho's, since I would've been bigger by now. Yeosang, Mingi, and San just took me out to have fun..."

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow at you, his gaze intense. “Just took you out?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Okay, maybe Mingi and I did more when he came and visited.”

His eyes widened comically, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Mingi, huh?"

“Hey!” you protested, laughing harder. “You know how he gets when he’s around, Mr. ‘Let’s break all the rules.’”

He chuckled, nodding his head. "Yeah, but I did visit you sometime in august after Mingi."

You nodded in agreement, a teasing grin still on your face. "Yeah, I took a small break after atlanta," you said, sitting up slightly and resting your hands on your knees. "You were... very convincing."

Hongjoong smirked, leaning in closer. “Convincing? I think I was pretty irresistible.” His voice lowered in a playful, almost cocky tone.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your lips. “You sure were.” You paused, then added, “You know, I did spend some extra time in the hotel room with you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, I’m implying a lot more than that.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the playful tension between you two easing into something more relaxed and comforting. Hongjoong stayed in front of you, his head resting gently against your bump, arms wrapped loosely around your waist. You carded your fingers through his hair in soft, steady motions, the kind that always managed to calm him.

His voice came out muffled, low against your skin. “Does…”

You didn’t wait for him to finish.

“KQ know?” you asked softly. “Yeah. They were the first ones to know.”

He didn’t move, but you felt the way his body stiffened slightly beneath your touch.

“And I’m sorry for keeping it from you, baby,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper. “It killed me not to tell you right away. But they needed to know first, for planning and safety and… all the chaos that would follow.”

He nodded slowly, pressing a kiss to your belly before turning his head to the side, cheek resting on you like he couldn’t bear to be even a few inches further away.

“I get it,” he murmured. “I hate it… but I get it.”

You leaned down, kissing the top of his head. “If I could’ve told you first, I would’ve. You’re always the one I want to run to.”

He finally looked up at you, eyes glassy but full of something warm—understanding, love, and the faintest spark of pride.

“I’m just glad I know now,” he whispered. “And that I’m here.”

You smiled, thumb brushing gently across his cheek. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

He nodded slowly, his brows furrowing with the weight of something deeper. “And it’s going to kill me,” he murmured, voice cracking slightly. “Knowing you’re going to be alone through your whole pregnancy. One of us should’ve been with you.”

You reached for his hands, lacing your fingers together. “Joong… I’m not alone.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, eyes dropping to your bump again. “I should be rubbing your back when it starts to ache. Running to get you whatever weird food combo you’re craving at 2 a.m. Watching you fall asleep, feeling the baby move.” He let out a bitter laugh, pressing your joined hands to his lips. “Instead I’m stuck in a dorm with four-minute showers and training drills.”

Your chest tightened. “I know it’s not fair,” you whispered. “But I promise, I’m okay. I’ve got support. And I’ve got you—every message, every letter, every second you get to call me. That matters. You matter.”

He looked up at you, his jaw working like he was trying to bite back emotion. “I want to be a good dad.”

You smiled through the sting in your eyes. “You already are.”

He looked away for a second, eyes glistening, then back down at the small bump between you. His hand moved to rest there again, warm and steady. “I’m going to miss your ultrasounds,” he said quietly, the words catching in his throat. “And baby shopping. God… the others are going to feel horrible as well.”

You let out a soft sigh, nodding. “Yeah. They will. But tour is almost over as well—just a couple more weeks. Then I’ll be back in Korea, and I’ll visit you and the others more often. I’ll send you guys links for our private baby registry. I’ll send the ultrasounds, maybe even FaceTime you guys during the next appointment.”

He nodded his head slowly, absorbing your words, but you could still see the guilt lingering in his eyes—etched deep in the furrow of his brows, the slight tremble in his bottom lip.

You reached out, cupping his cheek with your hand. “Baby,” you said softly, “you and the others are going to be great dads.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, glassy but listening.

“And we’ll have so many more chances to experience me pregnant,” you added with a small smile. “We’re going to get through this one, and one day, you’ll be the one holding my hand at every appointment. You’ll be the one running to the store at midnight for peach ice cream and pickles.”

He let out a breathy laugh, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. “So you’re saying you’re doing this again?”

You gave him a look and pushed him back playfully, shaking your head with a grin. “Let me get through this pregnancy before we even think about another child, Hongjoong.”

He laughed, hands raised in mock surrender as he stumbled back onto the bed. “Okay, okay! Noted. No baby number two talks until the current one is out and has a name.”

You climbed into bed beside him, stretching out as he immediately reached for you again, his arm settling protectively over your stomach.

“And diapers,” you added, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. “We’re not talking about a second one until you’vechanged your fair share of diapers, mister.”

“That’s fair,” he said, voice soft and close to your ear. “I’ll change all the diapers if it means I get to come home and be with you. With our baby.”

You looked at him then, heart full, your fingers brushing against his. “You will come home,” you whispered. “And they’ll be waiting for you. We will.”

He leaned in, kissing your forehead with the kind of gentleness that made you ache. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmured. “Now shut up and hold me. Your baby’s tired.”

He chuckled again, pulling you tighter into his arms. “Yes, ma’am.”

taglist: @soso59love-blog | @misteez | @yeosionist | @bbokarismeow | @moonlitcelestial | @sunnysidesins

[corviiids]

"i suck at summaries": a dubiously helpful list of tips for how to do a summaries

by no means am i an expert. but in the hopes that this is helpful.

fic summaries have two main purposes:

tell a reader what the premise of your fic is in one glance, and

provide a 'hook' that convinces them to click on it.

based on those two purposes, here's what you should aim to do:

pack the key information into something that can be read while scrolling, and

make your fic stand out.

how do you do that. there are many different ways. ymmv. here are some starting points which may help if you are really, truly stuck.

details under the cut. in summary:

know your premise

keep it short and sharp

demonstrate your style

1: can you describe your premise in maximum three lines?

fewer is better. im not saying your summary has to BE fewer than three lines, you just need to be able to describe the premise as concisely as possible. not the whole fic. not everything that happens. just your premise.

being able to condense your ideas this way will improve your understanding of the work and make it easier to summarise.

sometimes it's a bit hard to isolate what exactly your premise is, especially if you were just writing into the void. so here are some questions you can ask yourself to figure it out:

what was the idea that spurred you to write the fic?

what is the climactic action in the fic?

if the fic is an au, canon divergence, what if, etc - what is the point of difference between this and canon?

if the fic is based around a trope, a genre, a particular device - how did you apply it, what makes the work familiar, and what makes it different?

this is important, because:

2: brevity is the soul of wit

now that you know your premise, it's time to jazz it up. turn it into a one-liner or similarly catchy pitch. give it a makeover.

it doesn't have to be literally one line. however, do not make your summary super long. do not make either your summary or your tags a massive block of text. the reader is scrolling. they have not yet decided to invest time in your fic.

the ideal summary is stylish and concise. your reader should be able to take it in without pausing for too long. it gives them a good impression of you: you know how to be economical with your sentences, which means your writing is probably easy and enjoyable to read.

and on that note:

3: including an excerpt is always an option

an optional option. but if you're stuck, it's a free card to play.

readers want to know that your writing style matches what they like to read. showing off your style can help you stand out to an interested reader.

try and find a few lines which are representative of the premise, representative of your style, and sufficiently intriguing. an excerpt is a try before you buy. you just wrote a whole fic. you want people to read the whole fic and enjoy your work. so show them what you have to offer.

what is an example, postmaker

look im not more qualified to give this advice than anyone else, but here's what i do if it helps. i typically pick out a short excerpt and include a short pitch underneath it. that way the reader knows what i sound like and what the fic is about.

here is a baldur's gate 3 fic summary

shadowheart says, “kill l–” “not lae’zel, darling, it’s too obvious. in fact, both of you are banned from killing each other.” astarion thinks for a moment. “in the game, at least.” -- the gang plays fuck, marry, kill.

this fic has a basic premise and hinges on dialogue, so i picked some sample dialogue to demonstrate what my grasp on the character dynamics looks like and then added one line to explain what the fic is about.

here is a death note fic summary (death note spoilers) (i guess)

The night Ryuzaki dies, L appears in Light's bed. -- (every night when light goes to sleep, his dreams place him in a romantic relationship with his newly-dead rival. it makes him sick.)

this fic has a more abstract premise, so i picked a short excerpt to demonstrate what the tone of the fic is (a bit mysterious). then i added two lines: just enough information to explain what the catalyst of the fic is, but no more than that, so that the reader will be intrigued.

here is a persona 5 fic summary

Ren grins. “You want me to date Goro?” “Pretend-date Goro,” Ann corrects. “And make his crush jealous.” “This is not going to work,” Goro says. “Sure, I’ll do it,” says Ren, still grinning. He does his own rendition of Ann’s eyelash bat. “Go out with me, Goro-kun?” “I’m older than you, so show me a little respect,” Goro says crossly. “Our relationship is off to a bad start, Ren-kun.” -- (or: what not to do when you're fake-dating your real crush.)

this fic is based on a premise everyone knows well (fake-dating trope), so i picked dialogue that samples the tone of the fic and of the key relationship so that readers can decide if i write the dynamic in a way they personally vibe with. then i added a line to tell them what the trope is, so that fake-dating trope enjoyers know that's what it is.

anyway. hope that helps

[astralcrtl]

canary. david blurb

18+

mentions of death, blood, vampire stuff, david debates on eating you, yk the usual

a/n. i wrote this as a warm-up for a longer david one-shot, but it has nothing to do with this at all. i was literally just word-vomiting all over this but i figured i'd post this to keep myself active while i work on something else lol. lowkey, i hate this.

David gazed up at you, behind the veil of the shadows he hid himself in. His maw was dripping with sticky, deep crimson lifeblood from his previous meal. You hadn’t any idea you were so close to a den of vampires, of cruel beasts of the night, but you often came up to watch the shore-line of Hudson’s Bluff under the illumination of the moon and stars. David wasn’t someone who was easily enamoured, but something about you allured him, something he couldn’t figure out. He swore the minute he knew what it was he would give the go-ahead to tear you to pieces, but it hadn’t come to that point yet. 

If he was being candid, he wasn’t sure if it ever would.

And so, under the guise of the dark he watched you. Your journal was red and worn leather, oftentimes he saw you write or doodle in the pages of whatever you were thinking about, little bursts of inspiration or just something you thought was note-worthy. He wondered how long it would be until you heard the echoes of the boom-box coming from the cave, how long it would be until you got curious– as all humans tend to do. Either way, here and now you were taking in the sickly-salty air and listening to the crash of the waves against the cliffside.

Stalking back, further into the mouth of the cave, David cleaned his face of any remnants of his dinner. Through his dexterous, gloved fingers he knew that his face had morphed back into one that was more man than beast again. Mulling things over in his head, he turned out the reckless cries of the rest of the boys and sauntered towards a blanket-clad wheelchair. It was his makeshift throne and as he draped himself over it, he looked to see Dwayne’s dark, chocolatey eyes staring at him. 

Feeling the weight of Dwayne’s gaze, he sat up, “What?” he all-but snarled. Dwayne’s face unscrewed for a moment, the lines between his thick eyebrows disappearing for a moment.

“She’s out there again isn’t she?”

The timber of Dwayne’s voice made Paul and Marko pause for a moment, and look toward David and Dwayne with a curious lilt in their eyes. Paul started, “She wasn’t there when we came back, man.”

David’s tongue ran across his teeth before he opened his mouth to speak, “Well, she’s there now.” His words hung in the air and the rest of the men could feel the indecisiveness behind David’s firm words.

It was weird to see David not know the answer yet, he was the first to act and typically the first one with an idea of how to move forward. The back-and-forth was usually left to Marko and Paul. Dwayne never really weighed in unless necessary and it wasn’t like anyone had a problem with David being their de facto leader, so to say. Out of their bunch, he had been turned the longest. Max put more pressure and responsibility on David anyway, it would feel wrong trying to take that away from him.

That’s why when David pushed himself out of his chair and began to walk up the rocky slopes to leave, no one questioned him. The girl in the moonlight had been a plague on David’s mind and they knew that he wanted to handle this affair on his own.

When David reemerged through the grated fences, he spied you, still sitting perilously close to the edge of the bluff. You were still lost in thought, like you were earlier. He thought the moonlight made you glow, it had been a long time since he had felt this way about someone, perhaps since he was a mortal man. It pulled at his heart a little and for the first time he allowed his mind to wander, thinking about how yellow eyes wouldn’t look too bad on your visage.

“So, you’re going to sit out here all night and not even say hi?” His voice was smooth and deep, yet it shocked you completely.

You gasped sharply, hands gripping at the loose rock and dirt beneath you as your head whipped around to meet a man standing in front of you. Snapping up, you were met with the iciest eyes you’d ever seen in your entire life.

“Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!” you heaved, standing up from your patch of the bluff.

David chuckled darkly, “My brothers and I live out here. Wondering why you were coming around. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Not yet, anyway.

You looked up at him quizzically, “You– you live around here?” Looking around, all you saw was the bluff and the condemned cave site. To be fair, you didn’t think anyone would live around here, with all the Keep Out! and Danger signs posted everywhere. It was also incredibly far from everything else in Santa Carla, hell, you chose this place because you thought no one else would be stupid enough to come all the way up here.

David didn’t answer you, he just laughed again and sauntered toward the padlocked gate. The stars reflected across your eyes, still confused as ever. Something tugged at your curiosity though, David could feel it– could smell it. He smirked to himself, looking like the cat who just caught the canary. In a sense, he was. You would make a perfect addition with the boys.

“You coming?” he asked. David didn’t need to look behind him to know you were following.

© astralcrtl 2025

[heroesrest64]

Succubus Reader Pt.2

(Honestly this has been consuming my brain. I was trying to work on literally any other project but I kept coming back to this AU idea so I gave in and wrote some more for it lol. Also Silver Lining by Laufey is all I hear when I think of this AU [also also the second half of this part was heavily inspired by A Night To Remember by Laufey and Beabadoobee]. Anyway. Thank you @doodle-with-rhy for requesting more, and let’s get into it!)

(Warnings: NSFW, minors dni. Scent kink (?) Somnophilia (??) idk tell me if I need to add anything else)

The camp is deathly quiet as you hold your hand out to Sky. He pauses, looking from your hand to your face, as if gauging if your earlier words were your truth- if you would truly bite through his hand, severing flesh, tendon and bone in order to sustain yourself.

Regardless of whatever worries might be filling the man’s mind, he places his palm against yours, and your smile ticks upwards before you pull the appendage towards your mouth.

He flinches at the first touch of your lips against his skin, but notably does not draw back, even as you pepper kisses to the back of his hand, dragging the affections down to the tips of his fingers.

He draws in a sharp breath when you pull his fingers into your mouth, and immediately you feel a rush of arousal building in the man. Funnily enough, a couple of your spectators are also feeling a little hot under the collar, but Sky was the only one who gave you permission to taste him.

Heat scalds the man’s cheeks as you move to grab his other hand, nails tracing shapes into the man’s skin as your tongue glides through the fingers in your mouth. A ward- a protection on his soul so that even if you wanted, you could not claim his soul as yours, at least in this moment.

The pleasures a succubus offers, even one as low leveled as you, are known to drive even the most steadfast men and women mad. Sky is a nice person, though, and is doing you a favor, and you will not squander his generosity for a simple meal ticket.

His breath becomes labored as your aphrodisiac laced spit sinks into his skin, and he shuffles in his seat, obviously trying to get some friction going even as you release his hands and lean forward to kiss him.

He tastes like something clean and fresh, minty in a way that burns your eyes and tingles at the tip of your nose. There’s something beneath the mint, soothing and floral. Is it chamomile?

Sky whines when you gently nibble at his lower lips, hands coming up and taking fistfuls of your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss. Once he runs out of breath and draws away, though, you know that you’ll need to take a step back. Already your lust is flickering inside your chest, and you can’t afford to go overboard with him.

It’s funny, though. Sky stays latched onto you far longer than you thought possible, carefully trailing his hands down your arms until you shiver from the ticklish feeling, tangling your tongues together skillfully and staring you down with storms brewing behind his sky blue eyes.

Eventually, he has to draw back, panting and wiping your pink tinted spit from his lips, only to lick the liquid off his fingers like it was an extra serving of honey he didn’t want to waste. Already you can see the effects of your lust rubbing off on him, hot pink pooling in his eyes, creating a sunset effect that’s hard to look away from. Of course, there’s also the bulge in his pants, and the way he leans to follow you even as you pull away.

“That was… enough?” He sounds disappointed, but you remind yourself he’s only acting like that because of your magic. He’ll be back to normal in a matter of minutes.

“Yes, thank you.” You turn away, cheeks flushed with your lust and embarrassment. Truth be told, that wasn’t even a whole meal, more like a quick snack, but it was enough. You need it to be enough. You can’t risk these people for your own never ending hunger, and already you’ve asked too much of Sky.

“I see…” Sky sighs, disappointed, and soon you hear his fork clinking against his bowl. Once you’re sure he’s moved on from your feeding, you find enough courage in your heart to take a look at your captors.

Most of them are in some state of arousal, carefully covering their nether regions and refusing to make eye contact with you. It’s comical, and you let out a huff of a laugh before going back to drawing runes on the ground.

~~

“Seeing as you don’t have a bedroll, and we wouldn’t want you sleeping alone in case you escape, we decided it would be easier if you shared a bedroll with someone. You can choose whoever you want, just know we are all equally capable of stopping any escape plans.” Time smiles innocently at you once dinner is done and some of the boys scurry off to clean up before going to bed. Immediately you decide that you won’t be sharing a bedroll with him.

You also don’t want to share a bed with Sky, on the off chance your magic hasn’t faded from his system and you end up sharing a night with him the two of you will regret.

Legend would be a safe bet if you wanted to avoid any romantic or sexual advances, but you also feel like he’d take you rolling over in your sleep as an escape attempt and immediately try to put you out of your misery.

That still leaves quite a few options, and your eyes flit across the camp before landing on Four. He’s about as good an option as any of them.

“I’ll sleep with Four, if it’s okay with him…” You mumble, and Time raises an eyebrow at you before looking at the shorter man. The two exchange a few words before Four wanders over, holding out his hand to help you to your feet.

The two of you flop into his bedroll with little ceremony, and Four turns to face you as soon as you’ve settled into a comfortable position, one arm propping your head up while the other hugs around your middle.

“Are you comfortable enough?” He asks once you let out a contented sigh, eyes glittering like gems in the dimming firelight. Sometimes, when an ember draws near enough, his eyes look like rubies and amethysts, and you try not to think about your old home decorated in the same precious gemstones.

“Yes, thank you.” You whisper, trying to be quiet seeing as most of the rest of the men are settling down or already snoring.

“I noticed you didn’t have a bag, were you just supposed to be out for a short while?” Four asks, sounding innocent enough, but his words cause a dull ache in your chest. Demons aren’t supposed to have ‘homes’, but you’ve never really been able to call yourself a true demon. As much as you were struggling to survive down in hell, At least you had a place to call your own. Now, you don’t even have that.

You don’t respond to Four's question for a long time, a million thoughts running through your head but none of them encompassing the hurt you truly feel in the moment. It’s like it’s all sinking in now. Getting kicked out of hell with nothing but the clothes on your back. Getting kidnapped by a bunch of people who practically scream ‘I Have The Protection Of Hylia On My Side’. Feeding on one of those men. Sharing a bed with a different one of them. Your throat feels like it’s closing up, but that’s a silly thought. Demons don’t need to breathe. But you’ve never been that good of a demon, now have you?

“Hey, it’s okay. Y-you don’t need to answer if you don’t want.” Four stutters, carefully reaching his hands out, but letting them hover in front of you. Something hot rolls down your cheek, and you realize that you’re crying. As soon as you process that fact, it’s like the floodgates open, and you begin sobbing in earnest, not even bothering to ask for permission before slumping into Four’s arms, wrapping yourself tightly around him as the tears continue to sear your cheeks and you hiccup out some garbled words into his shoulder.

It feels like the two of you lie like that for a while, your wails eventually calming to the occasional stuttered breath, and your tears becoming nothing more than sticky trails on your cheeks. You whisper a mumbled apology for staining the man’s tunic, hand trailing up in a futile effort to wipe off the watery mark. He doesn’t say anything about the stain, and for a second you think he might’ve fallen asleep like that, but his hands are still rubbing gently at your back, and eventually he whispers that it’s okay and that you should try to get some sleep.

~~

After your breathing slows, and your desperate hold on Four relaxes into something softer and less tense, Four lets out a long-winded sigh. It’s hard to believe you’re some kind of villain when you cried so readily into his shoulder. It could’ve been the stress of getting caught, but if that was the case, you would’ve broken down into a similar fit ages ago.

No, you’re probably not a villain. You’re scared and lost and you barely even have a set of clothes to your name.

Which is why Four finds himself riddled with guilt five minutes later, nose buried against your neck, cheeks flushed bright red, a tension in his pants that’s growing more and more uncomfortable.

Four shifts, trying to get comfortable, only to let out a low hiss when his erection brushes against your plush thighs. He really shouldn’t. He won’t, but he needs to do something to get rid of the throbbing between his legs, or he’s afraid he’ll be up for the rest of the night.

Carefully, Four turns in your hold, facing away from you and the cherry wood scent coming off of you. Something between a moan and a mumble leaves your lips at the motion, and Four feels a rush of arousal. He whispers a curse under his breath, feeling embarrassed and desperate as he shoves a hand down his pants, quickly taking his dick in his hand and beginning to rub it with as much patience as he can muster in the moment.

He can’t go too fast, isn’t willing to risk getting caught in such a compromising position, but the slow pace is maddening, especially when he feels you pull him closer like he’s some sort of teddy bear, sighing gently next to his too-sensitive ears.

Four has only just met you today, but he finds himself thinking about what you’d do if you were awake. He saw how you treated Sky earlier, dangerously clawed hands tracing, feather-soft lips kissing, sharp teeth nibbling. He can imagine each intimate touch burning into his skin, then dipping dangerously lower, fishing his cock out of his pants and pumping him, licking up his shaft. He imagines you taking him down easily, pictures you choking on it. Cherrywood wafts past his nose, and he feels himself twitch. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to smell cherrywood again without being overcome with thoughts of you.

A quiet curse slips past Four’s lips when your hand splays against his stomach, pulling him ever closer to you, and he can feel each muscle in his stomach tensing under your hold. He needs to finish this, soon.

Four picks up his pace, trying to be as quiet as possible as he rubs his dick until it feels raw. A desperate keen slips from the back of his throat before he can stop it, and Four gasps as your nails dig into the soft skin on his stomach, sharp tips dangerously close to his vital organs, and something about the fear and thrill of it all has him coming undone.

[strljaem]

“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?”

an adaptation from Gossip Girl 1x10

Na Jaemin as Nate Archibald

Y/N as Blair Waldorf

(slight angst, slow burn, fluff, happy ending)

💿 : video games, lana del rey.

From the very beginning, our lives had been intricately entwined—two kids from the Upper East Side, growing up in the same orbit of glittering expectations and whispered destinies. We met on the steps of the Met, knees brushing as we shared Ladurée macarons our nannies had handed us. I was seven, wearing a velvet headband, already practicing the posture of a girl born to rule, pretending I belonged to a world that I secretly feared might reject me. And there he was—Na Jaemin. Scraped-kneed, dimpled smile, and beautiful in the kind of way that made strangers pause. He didn’t try. He just was.

That night, under pink fairy lights and the canopy of my canopy bed, I scribbled in my diary: “Na Jaemin will be my prince. One day. I know it.” I dotted the ‘i’ with a heart and underlined his name three times. Even then, I wasn’t one to hope passively. I planned. I manifested. I believed.

We became inseparable. Not in the loud, attention-seeking way some Upper East Side friendships announce themselves, but in quiet rituals and glances that said more than words ever could. Jaemin was my confidant, my safe place, the keeper of all my secrets. He saw the me behind the perfectly pleated skirts and practiced smiles. He knew I hated bees but adored the first snowfall. That I pretended to like caviar but secretly preferred Nutella on toast. And I knew him too—how he double-knotted his shoes, how he hummed softly when tired, the way his voice dropped whenever he talked about his mother.

As we got older, the lines between friendship and something more began to blur. Subtly, slowly. A lingering look here. A touch that lasted a second too long. The moment I remember most was in the back of a limousine after a winter charity gala. The city glowed outside the tinted windows. My hand was resting on the leather seat. His hand brushed mine. And this time, he didn’t move away. My breath caught. I turned to look at him, and for a heartbeat, the whole world fell away. That night, I wrote just one word in my diary, underlined ten times: “Finally.”

Senior year was supposed to be the crescendo of everything we’d been building toward. I had my eyes set on the crown, not just the literal tiara they handed out at prom, but the metaphorical one too—prom queen, early engagement, college as a power couple. We were legacy kids from legacy families. The pressure to perform wasn’t new. But for once, the pressure aligned with what I genuinely wanted. When our parents started tossing around the idea of an early engagement—lightheartedly at first, like something out of a Jane Austen novel—I didn’t flinch. I smiled through the entire dinner, my fingers trembling under the tablecloth, because I believed with my whole heart that Jaemin and I were inevitable.

But he didn’t smile like I did. He was kind. He was gracious. But there was distance in his eyes, like he was watching a version of his life play out that he hadn’t agreed to.

My eighteenth birthday was supposed to change everything. I had spent months planning the masquerade ball. Candlelight dripped from golden chandeliers. Silk draped every table. The prize of the night was whispered among guests—whoever found me before midnight would win a kiss. It was theatrical and romantic and oh-so-Upper-East-Side. And I already knew who I wanted to find me.

But midnight struck.

And he wasn’t there.

I blew out the candles alone.

Later that night, I waited in my bedroom, swathed in jasmine and silk. I wore the satin nightgown I had chosen for this moment—the one moment I thought would make everything finally fall into place. I sat perched on the edge of my bed, heart racing. And finally, there was a knock.

He walked in slowly. My eyes locked on the door before I saw him, standing at the door. I smiled faintly.

“What took you so long?” I asked, trying to hide the quake in my voice.

He looked hesitant, shifting on his feet. “I ran into Jeno. I forgot the time. I’m sorry.”

That word—sorry—echoed in my chest like a shattering glass.

I rose and walked to him, slowly. Jaemin closed the door behind him, eyes still locking in mine. Then I kissed him. Softly. Longingly. I poured everything I had into that moment—years of devotion, of patience, of dreams. Unfortunately, he didn’t kiss me back. A burning flame just ignited in me.

I pulled away, barely breathing. “Why?” My eyes teared up.

He looked down. “I don’t know.”

“Why won’t you let yourself love me? Why does it feel like I’m the only one fighting for this?”, this time I just let my voice tremble in front of him, letting him know that he really hurt my feelings by making me waiting for him.

Jaemin looked up to me, and the moment his eyes found mine—glassy, red-rimmed, and wild from crying—something in him shifted. The tension in his shoulders dissolved, his jaw unclenched, and that impassive wall he so often wore cracked open just enough to let softness bleed through. His gaze moved slowly across my face, taking in the quiver of my lips, the flushed blotches on my cheeks, the way my chest rose and fell too fast, too shallow. And then, so gently it almost broke me, he reached out. His fingers brushed against mine like a whisper, then clasped them fully, grounding me with their warmth. Without saying a word, he pulled me forward, guiding me down to sit beside him on the bed, our knees touching. The silence between us pulsed with everything unspoken—regret, confusion, longing—and still, he didn’t let go.

He turned slightly to face me, one hand still holding mine, the other moving with careful deliberation to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, like I was made of glass. “Hey,” he said softly, the word barely audible. “Just breathe.” His voice was low and steady, but there was a tremor beneath it, like he was holding back too much. I wanted to scream, to cry again, to demand why he was only showing me this tenderness now—but I couldn’t move. I just stared at him, dazed and exhausted, breathing in the scent of his cologne and the nearness of him, trying to memorize the way his brows furrowed in concern. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him, unsure if I was about to break apart or fall into him completely.

We sat on the bed in aching silence. My voice cracked when I asked, “Is there someone else?”

He hesitated. Just long enough.

“I knew it,” I whispered. “Get out.”

“Please don’t—”

“Get out, Jaemin!”

I shoved him. The slam of the door echoed like a gunshot in my chest. I collapsed against it, sobbing. And I made sure he could hear me. I couldn’t go to school the next day, I couldn’t bear looking at his face at all. I bet my swollen face from all the crying would’ve ended up in Gossip Girl!

That evening, when the house had settled into the quiet lull of night, I heard the soft murmur of voices below. Dorota came to my room with a careful knock. I was curling under my duvet, watching the golden morning turn gray.

“Jaemin is here to see you,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Waiting.”

I swallowed hard, heart pounding with a mix of dread and reluctant hope. I smoothed my dress and made my way down the grand staircase, the clicking of my high heels on the marble steps loud in the silence.

At the bottom, he stood in the living room. Arms crossed, leaning casually but with an undeniable tension. His eyes caught mine the moment the sound of my heels echoed, and he stood upright. Relief softened his features—but his hands clenched tightly, betraying nerves beneath his calm exterior.

“What are you doing here, Jaemin?” I asked, my voice low. I tried not to meet his eyes, but I knew him too well—he was the kind who never broke eye contact during moments like these.

“Well, I—” He hesitated, then squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “Look, you know, after the prom night rehearsal last week, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His words caught me off guard. My expression softened, the walls I’d raised beginning to crumble. I stared at him, disbelief mingling with something like hope, while his big brown eyes—framed by impossibly long lashes—locked with mine, searching, vulnerable.

“And yes,” he added after a pause, voice quiet but sure, “about the prom… the one we talked about since we were like ten years old… let’s make it come true.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed, trying to hold onto my anger. “Jaemin, after what you pulled on my birthday last night, how could you still keep thinking about me?”

His expression softened, his gaze lowering. “That’s why I came here to see you,” he murmured.

He looked back up, meeting my eyes again with earnest vulnerability. “But about last night… it wasn’t that I loved someone else. It never was. I’m just… not ready. Not for the engagement. I want to spend more time with you—not as a fiancé, but as your best friend. We’re still so young, right?”

His soft-spoken, persuasive tone softened the anger that had been burning in me. I just stared at him, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He reached out, taking my hand gently in his. His fingers caressed mine, warm and reassuring.

“I still want to go to the prom,” he whispered, eyes searching mine. “As your prom date. For old times’ sake?”

I gulped, the knot in my throat loosening. My voice was barely audible. “Okay,”

We smiled, a fragile but real connection rekindled between us.

He stepped closer and pulled me into a hug. His arms wrapped around me tenderly but possessively, as if claiming me without words. I melted into him, breathing in his familiar scent—soft cologne mixed with something uniquely Jaemin. His heartbeat pressed against my cheek, steady and grounding, and for a moment, the world righted itself.

The night of prom felt like stepping into a dream draped in shimmering silk and glittering lights. The grand ballroom glittered with chandeliers dripping crystals like captured stars, casting prismatic patterns across the polished floor. Guests swirled in gowns and tuxedos, laughter and music filling the air like a delicate melody that wrapped around us.

I wore a gown that seemed spun from moonlight—its fabric shimmering softly beneath the dazzling lights, delicate beadwork tracing patterns like constellations across the bodice and skirt. Every time I moved, the dress caught the light and flickered like a thousand tiny stars. My heart fluttered as Jaemin approached, looking utterly breathtaking in a tailored tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and warm smile.

We stood side by side as the announcer called our names.

“Prom King and Queen: Na Jaemin and y/n.”

The applause swelled, a wave of warmth and approval washing over us. I felt all eyes on me, but instead of nerves, I was wrapped in a cocoon of elation. Jaemin’s hand slid into mine, grounding me as we ascended the stage.

The crowd’s cheers swirled around us like a living thing. Jaemin lifted the delicate silver crown from its velvet cushion and gently placed it atop my head. His fingers lingered, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His smile was the kind that reached his eyes—endearing, full of promise and something tender I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I looked up at him, breath caught, and he whispered, “You look breathtaking.” I murmured, “Thanks, you too”.

The band shifted to a slow, haunting melody. We moved to the center of the dance floor, bodies pressed close beneath the sparkling chandeliers. Jaemin’s hand was warm on my waist, his other hand holding mine with gentle certainty. Our breaths mingled, hearts syncing to the rhythm of the music, every step drawing us closer together.

For that dance, the world melted away. There was only us—the years of friendship, heartbreak, and hope wrapped in one quiet, perfect moment.

As the slow melody wrapped around us like silk, I let my cheek rest against Jaemin’s shoulder, our bodies swaying in perfect rhythm beneath the glittering canopy of lights. The crowd faded into a dreamy blur—chiffon gowns, champagne laughter, clinking glasses—and all I could feel was the warmth of his hand pressed against my waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest under my palm. But even as I floated in the romance of it, a restlessness stirred inside me. I tilted my head just enough so my lips brushed the edge of his jaw and whispered, “This is getting boring.” Jaemin pulled back slightly, just enough to catch my eyes, and there it was—that smirk. The one that curled like a secret. Mischievous, boyish, irresistible. He didn’t even need to say a word. I grinned, grabbed his hand, and before anyone could notice, we slipped away like shadows, running down the marbled corridors, laughter bubbling from our lips as if we were teenagers again, escaping the weight of the world for just one stolen moment.

Upstairs, everything was quieter—dimmer, cloaked in the hush of late-night elegance. The chandeliers flickered like candlelight above our heads as we tiptoed through the hallway, hearts pounding in our throats. I paused at a door, turned the handle slowly, and peeked inside. Empty. My pulse fluttered. I looked back at Jaemin, his eyes locked on mine with a soft intensity that made my breath catch. I pulled him inside gently, and he followed without hesitation. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he reached back and turned the lock—click—the sound echoing in the stillness like a promise. And he never broke eye contact. Not for a second. That gaze, so open and burning, held me in place as if words weren’t enough anymore. The air felt electric, heavy with everything we’d never said, everything we’d always felt. And in that quiet, enclosed space, time stopped—for him and me alone.

Jaemin took a slow step toward me, his eyes flickering down to my lips before meeting my gaze again — soft, searching, and sure. Then, without a single word, he raised a hand to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering against my cheek. And just like that, with the softest breath between us, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine — tentative at first, like he was asking a question with his mouth, one I’d been waiting years to answer.

The kiss began like a sigh—soft, tentative, the kind of kiss that trembled with restraint and years of quiet longing. His lips brushed mine like a question, like he was asking, Is it really okay this time? Are you really mine again? And I answered with my mouth, tilting my head, kissing him back with everything I had. His hands framed my jaw, thumbs gently stroking the corners of my face as though he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold me close enough.

But then something shifted.

That quiet ache between us deepened, catching fire. Our lips moved in sync with a hunger we hadn’t allowed ourselves to feel before. The kiss grew fuller, deeper. My back arched as his hand slid to the nape of my neck, pulling me in until there was no space left between us. Our breaths quickened, mingling in the hush of the room, and the only sounds were the soft, wet presses of our kisses and the way our sighs filled the air like silk unraveling.

When I tried to pull back, just to look at him—to admire the softness in his eyes, the mess of dark hair falling over his brow—Jaemin chased after me, catching my bottom lip between his teeth before whispering hoarsely against my mouth, “I want more.” The words sent heat rushing through me, pooling in my chest and blooming in my cheeks. I blinked up at him, breathless.

“Jaemin…” I whispered, caught somewhere between blushing and melting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, over and over again, in between kisses that traced their way along my jaw, behind my ear, down the delicate slope of my neck. “So, so beautiful.” His voice was reverent, almost in awe, like he couldn’t believe I was real, that this moment was real. Each kiss he left was like a worship, a vow written in skin instead of ink.

His hands were gentle, exploring with care, his lips brushing across my collarbone, my shoulder, the curve of my waist—like he was memorizing every inch of me all over again. And all the while, our sighs mingled, low and intimate, rising and falling like waves lapping the shore. The air was thick with warmth and longing, and even as the world outside spun on, we stayed suspended in that moment—two hearts finally aligned again, speaking a language only we understood.

And as we tangled beneath the sheets, fingers laced and foreheads pressed close, the sounds of our kisses—soft, slow, then insistent again—echoed through the guestroom like a secret we were daring the world to keep. Every time I looked at him, he was already looking at me, like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted. And somehow, in between the hurried beats of our hearts and the quiet gasps that filled the room.

Minutes passed, and the air in the guestroom hung heavy with heat and breathless stillness. The room was dimly lit, cast in the soft glow of moonlight slipping through the half-drawn curtains, but it felt like it was burning from within—radiating with the remnants of everything we had just shared. Our bodies were wrapped in tangled sheets, limbs intertwined like ivy, the last sparks of our love-making still lingering on our flushed skin and parted lips. My heart was pounding, still echoing the rhythm we had created together, and our chests rose and fell in an unsteady harmony. Jaemin hovered above me for a moment longer, his hair damp with sweat, the sharp line of his jaw glistening, his eyes wide and soft as they took me in. It wasn’t lust that lingered in his gaze—it was reverence. Like he had just seen something sacred. Someone sacred.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips—now swollen and tender from all the kisses before—and whispered, “Thank you… for this.” His voice cracked just slightly, as though he was overwhelmed, not just by the night, but by the years, the history, everything that had led us here. I blinked back the heat behind my eyes and whispered back, “Thank you, too,” my fingers brushing along the slope of his shoulder, drawing him back to me. We stayed like that, chest to chest, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. Our skin was damp and warm, still tingling, and our fingers traced slow, invisible shapes against each other’s backs and arms, like we were trying to memorize every curve, every freckle, every inch. Jaemin kissed me again—this time sweet, lazy, like a secret he was only sharing with me—and we sighed into it, smiling softly. I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face into the crook of his neck as he pulled the sheets over us. And there, with our hearts finally full and our bodies utterly spent, we drifted into sleep—still tangled in each other, as though even in dreams, we couldn’t bear to let go.

[ghcstao3]

was??? going through old wips for inspiration and??? no clue when i wrote this, nor where i was going with it, Nor if i’ve ever shared any of it so. let me know if i should continue

‘09 ghoap AU — “one last job” / cw implied drug use

-

The world comes to in a series of sluggish blinks and hazy memories, and Simon already wants nothing more than to crawl back into the hole he’s just emerged from.

The sweat pooling at his temples isn’t exactly conducive to comfortably resting against the wall of the toilet cubicle, skin slick with perspiration keeping his head upright about as effectively as a newborn baby’s neck. But he has no choice so long as he wishes to keep the scant contents of his stomach intact, especially with every swoop and pulse of nausea that washes over him in rhythm with the muted thump of music from the club whose loo he’s been occupying for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s probably disgusting—is disgusting, getting so intimate with the sharpied cocks and vulgar words and stains of mysterious origin plastered all over the partition in such a way, but Simon is dizzy, the wall is solid, and this is hardly one of the worst positions he’s ever been in.

Simon’s leg bounces erratically, the curved edge of the toilet seat digging into his thigh as he struggles to blindly fish his phone from his pocket. His fingers are clammy, tremorous; a frustrated growl tears from his throat when the device slips from his grasp more than once before he’s able to pull it out and pry it open like it isn’t currently the most offensive thing to his senses.

But he pauses, then, not entirely certain why he needed the phone at all in the first place. There had to have been a reason, surely, but as Simon glares at the backlit numbers through a single squinted, bloodshot eye, he can’t find it in himself to be arsed to remember. If he’s honest, he can’t really recall much of anything at the moment, much less why he thought the old burner would serve as any kind of solace, any kind of cosmic saving grace. As it is, the phone is merely a foreign object, silver and scratched and impossible to comprehend the longer Simon stares at it.

An idea strikes him after many minutes have dragged by, whether or not it’d been the one he’d originally forgotten, and he begins dialling his brother—until about halfway through he thinks better of it, knowing that on the off chance Tom actually picks up at this ungodly hour, his voice and inevitable spiel would be more grating than it’d be reassuring, and Simon has already discovered enough new kinds of headaches in the past several minutes to last him more than a lifetime.

He sighs a raspy, crackly sort of exhale, then unceremoniously snaps the phone closed and shoves it back into the lint-filled depths of his trousers. His eyelids are leaden, his shoulders burdened, and he’s content to slump further against the wall and slip back into the embrace of that unconscious void if only because it’s the one thing he can manage without making things worse for himself.

A sudden, sharp rap on the stall door startles Simon just as he’s succumbing to that temporary relief, setting off the drum of his heartbeat like a jackhammer in his chest, a crescendoing panic unhelped by the intruder’s insistence, their continuous knocking on cheap metal. With strength previously entirely sapped from his body, Simon’s sitting up, alert, prepared to flee, even when his aching limbs and substance-addled mind are so adamant to keep him tethered to this, quite literally, shitty place.

“Oi, you right in there?” A Scottish brogue demands of him, booming, deafening; it rattles Simon’s bones, seizes his spine, worms beneath his skin. The words have Simon inexplicably ill all over again, and once he manages to wrench his mouth open to respond along the lines of either fuck off or fuck you, he discovers his mouth has been stuffed with cotton, his lips cracked and tongue stapled in place.

Another resounding beat of knuckles on the door, shoes shuffling on the dirty tile outside. Simon’s heavy gaze drifts downward to loafers far too pristine for an establishment such as this, too expensive and too polished and too out of place, and suddenly he’s even more terrified, more baffled by this individual so keen on seeking him out. Why should someone be so concerned of his rotting away on filthy porcelain, if not for some ulterior motive? If not to ruin him further, somehow more irreparably?

“I know you can hear me, Riley,” the voice says, low and gruff and teetering on the verge of threatening. It speaks a warning, Simon thinks, but he also thinks it could be a million other things he hasn’t the time nor capacity to consider. This warning means little to him, is no more significant than the sweat still beading on the nape of his neck, and he shoves it from his mind with the ease of swatting away a particularly bothersome fly.

He still can’t force himself to reply. Simon smacks his lips instead. He has second thoughts about not calling Tom.

[inkytoru]

make a wish

◜ PAIRING: ◞ gojo satoru x gender neutral!reader ◜ WORD COUNT: ◞ 1.1k ◜ A/N: ◞ needed to write some gojo fluff after that angsty ass drabble i wrote yesterday hshddifbsje so here enjoy some self-indulgent dorky gojo <3 this was written pretty quickly too so i might rewrite it sometime in the future. (probably should note that i have never done one of those star registration things and that this is all based off of some quick research) even though this is entirely sfw, i'd appreciate it if minors still did not interact as my blog is 18+!

satoru bought you a star for your birthday.

not quite in the entire literal sense; it wasn’t to be officially recognized by the international astronomical union or NASA, but hey, it came with a novelty certificate, star map, and a cute necklace that had your star’s coordinates!

you were over the moon when the gift package came in the mail; satoru had told you to be expecting it without telling you what it was.

“oh ‘toru, this is beautiful!” you gasp as your boyfriend watches your live reaction through a facetime call. he had his chin propped onto the palm of his hand and the widest grin on his face; he lived for moments like these where he can be the cause for your joy despite being miles away on work trips.

“i knew you’d like it,” he replies.

“did you see that it’s also a star from your zodiac sign’s constellation?”

you pause at hearing these news as you bring a hand to your mouth, tears beginning to bead around your lower lashline.

your beloved boyfriend could be so thoughtful sometimes, and it never failed to make you cry. normally, he’d be there to coo at you and brush those tears of joy away, but his demanding job as a jujutsu sorcerer and teacher had other plans.

as much as it saddened you that it felt like he was light years away, you knew there was no other choice when it comes to someone like him.

“my little starling,” he coos at you in a drawn out voice that oozed with nothing but unadulterated love, “i have one more surprise for you.”

you perk up, wondering what it could possibly be. “another surprise?”

he nods with a ‘mhm.’ “be right back,” satoru announces before ending the call, leaving you confused.

you wait a few minutes for a call back but instead get a text from him that read:

babe 💙🫦💙: look outside your window ;)

promptly you do so, only to see a certain tall dork wave at you from your backyard, and— what was that cloaked unidentifiable large object?

you waste no time in rushing down the stairs to meet the love of your life, throwing yourself at him the second you fling your screen door open. he catches you with a laugh suffused with warmth that was so undeniably him, twirling you around. when you get placed back on your feet, you immediately stand on your tip-toes to capture his lips in a kiss— a kiss as if you two hadn’t seen each other in centuries.

he kisses back while holding you flush against his chest.

“’toru, is that really you?” you incredulously ask before he slips his blindfold off to wink at you, snowy curtains of hair obeying gravity to frame that face you could never hate.

“in the flesh, baby.”

a squeal leaves your smaller frame. “god, i missed you so much you don’t even know— and, and— what is this big ass thing you just hauled across the city?”

satoru nods before stepping back to pull off the cloth with a dramatic flourish. “behold, the special gizmo which we shall use to see your star!”

“you mean… a telescope?” you snort, giggling at his silliness.

“sure, but just calling it that sounds more lame.” satoru says matter-of-factly. “anywho! let’s see where that bad boy’s at, yeah?”

you nod enthusiastically as you hand him the star map.

he holds it out, squinting at the printed lines and words.

“hm… uh huh…”

“babe?”

you have never seen him this focused before.

“babe, if you can’t read it that’s okay—“

“shhh, daddy’s trying to find that damn star.”

crossing your arms against your chest with a smile, you continue watching him struggle for the next two minutes before you finally decide you’d give the poor man’s brain a break.

“the documents said there’s a tracker app we can use.”

he freezes, before giving you the most betrayed and affronted look of all time. “and you just let me suffer trying to decipher this stupid map for three, whole, long minutes?”

you burst into a fit of giggles, wiping a tear from your eye as he sends you a glare devoid of any anger. “it’s funny seeing someone of your caliber struggle like the rest of us for once.”

“you won’t be laughing when i’ll send that star hurtling down here!”

you blink. “wait, you can do that?”

“dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe. anyways, pull up the app.”

twenty minutes later, satoru eventually sets the telescope up right so you two should be able to see the star he named after you.

keyword being should.

”huh. where the fuck is it?” he grumbles to himself, having had to crouch down due to his height to properly look through the viewfinder. he wouldn’t admit it to you, but his legs were starting to ache— but he wasn’t in the mood to be called old again.

“it’s alright, we can try another time?” you propose with a yawn. “it’s getting late.”

satoru steps back and subsequently stands up, a scowl of annoyance on his face. but then, as if a light bulb switches on, he brightens.

“be right back!”

you watch as he scampers into your house, puzzled once again. what could he be plotting this time?

“alright, go look through the viewfinder and stay there, ‘kay?” he calls out from somewhere in your kitchen.

you do as you’re told, waiting patiently as he eventually emerges from the door. you only hear the shuffling of his feet and his presence coming nearer.

“okay i know this won’t be the same as seeing your personal star, but–”

a beat passes before you hear him make a ‘wooooosh’ sound. a crudely sketched shooting star—with the artistic quality of a five year old—on some random piece of looseleaf then travels across the limited scope of what you can see through the device’s lenses.

“make a wish, baby!” satoru cheerily nudges you.

“…i wish my boyfriend never stops being the absolute dork that he is.”

“hey,” said dork of a boyfriend frowns. “you weren’t supposed to say it out loud. now it won’t come true.”

you can hear the pout on his face in his voice before you step back from the viewfinder to look at him fully. and just as you suspected, he was pouting.

with a smile, you boop him lightly on the nose. “i don’t believe for a second that even the universe could stop you and your goofy antics.”

in response, satoru returned the smile with the brilliance of a thousand supernovas, and it was then that you realized you didn’t need to see your star in the night sky.

your star was here all along.

[vagabond-umlaut]

beckoning you, slowly, subtly

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Absence makes the heart yearn stronger.

Or: Gojo grapples with himself in the wake of you preparing to leave Tokyo Jujutsu High– in the wake of you preparing to leave him.

▸ Gojo x Fem!Reader; Former Teacher x Former Student; Reader has graduated from high school and is moving overseas for college; Gojo is 24-ish while Reader is 18; He's such a sad pathetic boi here; You think Reader is better? She's worse; Angst and Fluff; Use of humor as a coping mechanism [until it fails]; Very soft character study

▸ I wrote this as a prequel set minimum 10 years before the fic 'ensnared' -> You need not read that to read this, though. This is a standalone fic, through and through! 😊

Gojo feels nothing towards you.

No, he doesn't. He really, truly bears no feelings, whatsoever their nature might be, for you.

But... if it indeed is so... then why the hell are his knuckles so hesitant to strike the wood of your door, eh?

Gojo stays in this position for a beat or two more, before dropping his fist back to his side. Exhaling a mute yet deep sigh as his gaze travels over the tiny flowers and trees painted on the door. Next moves to the shoe rack beside, filled with neat rows of sneakers and flats. And finally reaches the cheery yellow paper taped to the door, your name written on it in smooth letters–

Before he can even realise it, the sorcerer finds his fingers over it, so wary yet wanting as they traverse the lines and the loops of the letters, eliciting a very soft murmur of the same from within, the latter darting past a dry throat and a heavy tongue...

"Sensei!"

The door suddenly springs open. Of course, with no one but you behind it.

Were here anyone else except him, Gojo is certain, they would have jumped feet in the air in response. Good thing, he isn't just some 'anyone else'. The sorcerer quickly withdraws his outstretched hand to stuff it into his pocket. And grins, the way he always does when caught in contemplation.

Big. Bright. Happy. So much so that it will either puzzle, or better yet, piss the other person off, eventually making them leave him to his devices...

"Heyyy," he drawls, decidedly making a show of his infamous breezy image— jarringly contrasting the manner his Six Eyes study your once decorated–now empty room, "Packing and everything's done, wow. Thought I might visit you one last time before you leave for..." Australia, but he chooses not to say it. Breezy image, remember?

Borrowing a beat to think– to make you think he's thinking, that is– the man resumes with a noisy chuckle, "Before you leave for wherever you're headed. When's your flight, by the way? Tonight or tomorrow morning?"

Whatever reply he might have been expecting from you, two shiny eyes and one o-shaped mouth certainly weren't on the list... You're pretty swift to erase them, however. Wiping your sweater paws over your face, you mimic his posture and grin back.

Cheeky, obviously, but much too strained than the ones you've given him so far... Your amused voice intrudes on his quiet scrutiny of you. "Why, Sensei? Missing me from this moment itself, eh?"

"Nah," he shoots back with a dismissive wave of his hand. Noting then ignoring the stinging twinge in the middle of his chest— no matter the fractional fall in your features; no matter anything, everything. "I'm literally waiting for when you'll walk out the school's torii gates— even more for when your plane will take off the tarmac and leave Japan! I was stuck teaching you for the better part of the past four years. What makes you think I'll miss you, heh. I'll be incredibly relieved, if anything."

"Ah," you say, following a moment's pause, "I see."

Quite an unenthusiastic reaction, if he's being honest; Gojo doesn't mind it, though. Not in the slightest.

Not even when he watches you regard him, oddly intense and pensive for a while, before you return to clearing your desk. So neat and tidy and dead with no books nor pens nor stray sketches strewn over its surface. The same way the rest of the room now seems: dreadfully dreary and dull, now that you– you with your bubbly self, shining in this damned dark school, jujutsu world– is moving away–

Oh.

Oh no.

You're moving away.

Which is... okay. Yeah, it's okay. But, but, but– "When will you come back?" The question escapes the confines of his mind into the stillness of your room, soon joined by another– one he bites his tongue and draws blood for, the second it leaves his mouth.

The tiny quaver in the words betraying the steady front he has put on very well– Until now. Until you— Too bad [or maybe, good] you've always read him rather well– so much so that you whirl round the instant the sentence flies into the foot in between, your crumpled features meeting his crumbling mask.

"You will come back, right?"

"I–" you start, eyes brimming with the same tears you wiped away so insistently then; he never hears you finish your answer, however.

Two tiny hands fling themselves round his neck, and before he can realise it, the sorcerer finds himself bent at the waist, nose nudging your temple while your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, the collar of his jacket growing progressively wet with every passing second.

The man stops himself from returning your embrace— You were his student. He was your mentor. Your door is open. His Six Eyes sense Shoko and Utahime coming this way. He isn't meant for such empty shows of sentiment. He isn't sure if your gesture is as unfeeling as he hopes it is—

Screwing his eyes shut, he sighs. Yet offers no resistance when he feels your fingers unclasp from his shoulders then move to his hands, lifting them to keep them lightly on the small of your back.

Oh, well, whatever.

Gojo is still certain he feels nothing towards you.

Except, maybe, this steely resolve of his, engraving itself a cliff-like niche in his mind: To protect. To cherish this sweet feeling of you both in each other's grasp.

▸ Divider by @hitobaby. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

▸ masterlist

[heliads]

Lisa my love! I hope you don’t mind me sending another request (for none other than Jack Wilder again of course) — but how about a Jack x reader meet-cute situation, maybe she’s a barista at the coffee shop he likes to visit, and he definitely thinks she’s more than cute but reader is a little oblivious to that fact. But she doesn’t recognise him at first, (i can imagine a co-worker going “GIRL that was Jack Wilder!” and she’s like “who now?”). Jack ends up becoming a regular and the two get to know each other outside of the coffee shop setting (I’m also imagining he’d try to teach her card tricks and it’d just be so !!!!!! absolute fluff). Sorry, this request doesn’t have a SINGLE coherent thought in it, it’s literally so silly but I love this man bfhvdjhfvdn

anything for the boy

'wake me up' - jack wilder

masterlist

Nothing has ever made you want to drink coffee less than working in a coffee shop. Whether or not you’ll actually stop is purely up to your own moral strength, of course, but you’re reminded daily of why you would make such a choice whenever you clock in to your latest shift at your local coffee shop. The sight of so many exhausted people who seem to prefer snapping at you to actually taking accountability in their own lives is depressing, to say the least. 

Still, you keep working there. You always do. It’s satisfying in itself, as far as jobs go, and your coworkers are funny enough that the time always passes faster than expected. It’s not bad. And sometimes, on rare days like today, you end up meeting someone with the power to change your life forever.

The funny thing is, you almost missed him. The shop was crazy busy when he came in. You would find out later that the people were only crowding into the shop and lining up down the block because of him, but you hadn’t known that at the time. You had just chalked it up to word of mouth, maybe enough people had finally appreciated the expert level of care you and your coworkers put into their lattes and decided to show up and see what’s what. 

You certainly hadn’t counted on the cute boy who came bounding through the door of your shop, sending the bell fixed to the top into a commotion matching the hubbub surrounding the tables inside. Your first thought was that he seemed energetic enough that ordering coffee was unnecessary. Your second thought, as he breezed up to you, ready to order, was that you certainly didn’t mind your job anymore if it brought you faces as pretty as his. 

For a complete stranger, he seemed very sure of himself. He had paused for a moment before speaking, as if waiting for you to burst into applause at the sight of him. When it became clear you weren’t going to fall into raptures, he just shrugged and rattled off his order. The words were perfectly cadenced, probably memorized. You wrote it down like normal. Routines can be tedious on both ends, even if two perfect strangers are meeting for the first time. Sometimes, you don’t know that the course of your life has been irrevocably affected until much later. You certainly didn’t know it then.

You had guessed that something was strange, though. You had asked what name he wanted with the order and the young man had blinked at you in surprise, as if he couldn’t fathom the possibility that you wouldn’t know who he was. You’re familiar with the regulars of the coffee shop, so you knew he wasn’t one of them. Still, he seemed so stunned that you didn’t recognize him already. In a good way, though. With the way he smiled at you as he said, “Just Jack, thanks,” you got the feeling that he thought quite a lot about you was good.

Jack’s order wasn’t too complicated, so you were able to finish it quickly, which he seemed to appreciate. Even after he moved out of line to wait for his coffee, Jack had still hung around the counter, eyes nervously darting around the room as if he expected someone to jump out at him. From the few glances you were able to sneak as you poured and mixed ingredients, you almost thought he was right to worry. All these tables of girls kept whispering and giggling to each other, staring back at him with this outright, unusual intensity.

You had no idea why he was seemingly being stalked by so many people, but he was cute, so maybe that would do it. There’s a college campus across town, maybe he was on a varsity athletics team or something. You called his name and several people perked up. No one looked happier than Jack, though, and he eagerly slid over to you so he could pick up his drink.

You raised an eyebrow at his excitement, unable to hide a small smile. “Really looking forward to that coffee, huh?”

Jack had the presence of mind to blush a little. “I just want to hit the road as soon as I can.”

You took an obvious look past him. “I think I can understand that. What did you do, announce that you’d be giving away free kittens or something?”

Jack chuckled, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head. “Not quite. Do you– do you not know who I am?” He gave this pained half-laugh as he said it, like he could tell that saying something like that didn’t make him come off as the nicest.

He was cute enough that it worked, though. Cute and charming. He could get away with anything. Later, you’d learn that he usually did.

“No,” you said, and his entire face had lit up. Strange. “I’m not a mind reader,” you reminded him, “I won’t know your name unless you tell it to me.”

“Well,” he had said slowly, “I won’t mind saying it again. Maybe tomorrow morning?”

You had laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

Jack had all but beamed at you, turning around to smile at you one last time right before exiting the shop. You’d watched him go with a soft smile, shaking your head to yourself as you headed back to get the next customer’s order.

When you started mixing up the next drink, though, one of your coworkers turned to you, practically shrieking in your ear with the force of her excitement. “Am I dreaming, or was that Jack Wilder?”

You glanced at her, confused, as you reached for the oat milk. “Who?”

Your coworker’s eyes widened in horrified shock. “You must be joking. Jack Wilder? Of the Horsemen?”

You had frowned at her. “Like the four that bring about the apocalypse? He seemed nice enough to me, I doubt he’s going to bring pestilence or death upon our coffee shop.”

Your coworker had shaken her head, her eyes flickering briefly shut as if praying for strength. “No, Y/N, the Horsemen are a world famous group of magicians. They’re like, crazy good. During a show, they once robbed a bank on the opposite side of the globe.”

“So they’re criminals,” you muttered, eyebrows raised, “They sound like lovely people, then. Should I check the credit card he paid with? Maybe it was a playing card instead and I didn’t notice.”

She rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t do that, obviously. They’re like magical Robin Hoods, they only steal from banks and bad rich people and stuff like that. Jack Wilder is a celebrity, if that’s what it takes to get through to you. He’s like, the hottest one of all of them.”

“That I can agree with,” you had grinned to yourself. He was really good looking, and sweet at the same time. 

You found yourself sincerely hoping that he would come back the next morning, although the odds of that had to be low. If Jack really was a world-class celebrity, he’d probably jet across to a new country by the end of the day. He probably wouldn’t stay in one place that long, especially given the questionable legality of his day job. Coming back to the same small coffee shop was practically out of the question.

And yet, when you open up the next morning, you find yourself idly glancing outside the front window every few minutes, constantly checking to see if there’s a cute magician slipping inside your shop. Each peek down the street is rewarded with the sight of faces that aren’t his, though that doesn’t stop you from looking again.

Eventually, you decide that he’s not coming after all and there’s no point in continually craning your neck to see past the people huddled outside the main window, trying to talk themselves out of purchasing a pastry. It is only now, when you let down your guard, that you see someone approaching the counter out of the corner of your eye and announce, as if this were some great, life-changing thing:  “I’m back.”

For anyone else, this would be obnoxious. However, the cute boy beaming at you did make you a promise, so it is quite important that he would be here to honor his word. You end up smiling back at him in silence for a beat too long. It takes your coworker pointedly looking at the line growing behind Jack for you to remember yourself.

“Right, right. Coffee. What can I get you this morning?”

He looks bashfully behind him, as if only realizing that it’s not just the two of you in here, too. “Um, maybe a double shot vanilla latte? Oh, and can you draw something on the top?”

You hum as you write down the order. “Any ideas, or is the art my choice?”

Jack winks at you. “I’d love your number, but that might be too long. How about a heart, since you’ve already got mine?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but you do your best to keep your cool. “That’s sweet. Do you flirt with all your baristas like this?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he promises. Maybe Jack’s magic isn’t just in card tricks, but in his smooth moves as well. 

As he turns around to find someplace out of the way to wait for his drink, your coworker openly stares at you, jaw dropped. “What was that?” She asks under her breath, grinning.

You just shrug, although you can’t seem to stop your lips from curling up into a poorly hidden smile. “No idea.”

Jack thanks you for his drink when it’s ready. You weren’t brave enough to give him your number, assuming he was just joking around. He’s a celebrity, you remind yourself. He could probably conjure up Margot Robbie’s number if he really wanted it. He’s not going to go for you if he could have anyone on the planet.

However, when you slide over his coffee and he immediately checks the design in the foam, pretending to pout when he sees no identifying string of digits, you start to wonder if he wasn’t kidding after all. It certainly seems that way when he shows up the next morning, and the next morning, and the next. Jack is turning into a regular, which you didn’t expect. You figured he would sweep from city to city like the rest of the Horsemen, but for some reason Jack seems inclined to stay.

He insists on getting your number about a week later, and says he won’t leave the shop until he gets it. He pretends to handcuff himself to the chair of his favorite spot, pulling the metal cuffs out of thin air and grinning at your surprised reaction. You make him stay there, locked in place, for a few more minutes just to mess with him, but in the end he walks out with your number, and when you leave that night, you find a card tucked into the pocket of your apron. 

It’s the queen of hearts, although the image is less entrancing than the phone number scrawled across the front. Just in case I lost yours by accident, says the note on the back. You press it to your heart, trying to stop yourself from audibly squealing. You had promised that you wouldn’t fall for him, but it’s getting increasingly difficult to keep your word. 

Especially not when you get a text some time later that night:  Get home safe? Then:  This is Jack. Although I hope you wouldn’t be confusing my number with other handsome men who also wanted to see you.

In the safety of your room, you’re free to lightly kick your heels back and forth like a kid with a schoolgirl crush. No other admirers. Just you.

Just the way I like it, is the answer, practically only a few heartbeats after your text. You might actually end up loving him if he’s not careful.

Jack comes in the next morning looking far too pleased with himself. In fact, he even goes so far as to ask when you get off work that day. He says he wants to see you without other customers getting in the way. You remind him that he, too, is a customer, and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, asking if you want him to be something else. You don’t deign to respond to that, but you think your self-conscious smile does enough talking. He certainly laughs like it does.

Jack ends up taking you out to lunch. He makes you laugh the whole time, looking proud of himself every time he manages to elicit so much as a smile from you. He tells you stories about all the fantastic jobs he’s taken as a Horseman, even attempts to teach you a card trick or two. Several dropped decks later, both of you can freely admit that he’s got more of a knack for sleight of hand than you, but his hands have been over yours in the name of teaching his trade often enough that neither of you much mind.

It’s getting harder and harder to pretend that this is just a game to him. You do ask him once, as he’s dropping you off at your door, if he really does want this. You. Everything. Jack looks softly at you once, eyes containing all the secrets he couldn’t possibly put into words if he tried, and then he kisses you sweetly, slowly, and you know. Jack Wilder could have the whole world in his hands, but as it turns out, the only thing he wants from it is you. He’ll convince you of that as often as it takes. You can’t wait to watch him try.

requested by @hiya-itsamber, i hope you enjoy!

now you see me tag list: @mayfieldss

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[sinsxo]

dreamed delusion. —nagi seishiro

based on this request.

notes. inspired by the song — 梦臆 by 邹沛沛. i had this in my drafts for so long since i wrote this when i just started writing (even before i created this blog) 😭 i wasn’t going to post it because it’s literally fubar but since i’m not working on anything nagi rn here you go 😅

synopsis. a relationship that feels more than friends, but not quite lovers.

cw. ambiguity, angst, emotional turmoil, yearning, self-denial.

wc. 0.6k words, not proofread.

you’ve been looking at nagi seishiro a little differently lately.

but he doesn’t know that.

you’re not sure when it started — maybe when you began to feel nervous around him, or when the anxiety kicked in when he wasn’t there. maybe it was when your friendship stopped feeling like ‘just friends’ and started shifting into something else.

something confusing, more ambiguous, and just a little more affectionate than usual — enough to blur the lines that separated being friends and lovers.

you could never tell what he was thinking — and lately, everything he does feels like a mixed signal.

he holds your hand in crowded places, only to let go the moment it’s safe. he tells you goodnight every night and good morning, every day. he gives you the kind of care that feels like love — but hidden under the guise and safety of being close friends.

they felt too intentional to be meaningless. too soft to be platonic. too vague to be real.

you tried to brush it off. really, you did. but it got harder.

especially when your late-night talks turned into something heavier — filled with pauses that stretched too long, laughter that felt too intimate, words that lingered hours after.

your thoughts began to spiral.

some nights, the ache of it all — the hope, the confusion, the wanting — became too much.

but the moment he got close, everything became calmer. he made it easier to breathe. safer to feel.

even if he was the very reason for your inner turmoil.

you realised what it was when your thoughts started turning into hopes and dreams — when your fantasies started overlapping with reality, and you were left wandering blindly in the space in between it all. you were already dreaming of a love that didn’t exist — but somehow, it felt like it did.

because the way he looked at you felt real. the way he lingered felt real. how could it be fake when everything felt so real?

probably because it also felt too good to be true.

and so, you were stuck in the in-between again.

if ambiguity is a blurry, wordless kind of affection, then being in love with nagi seishiro felt like a dreamed delusion. if this ache was comforting and painful all at once, then maybe your love was exactly that — a fantasy you’d projected onto him.

you tried to suppress the longing. you really did. but he kept showing you something that looked like love. and selfishly, you didn’t want him to stop. you hoped — quietly and foolishly — that maybe, one day, he might do something more.

sometimes you were sure it wasn’t just in your head — that it wasn’t just a hallucination. but you couldn’t ever be certain. because love was like unripe plums — bittersweet and tempting, but not quite ready.

“what’s wrong?” he asked one evening, tugging lightly at your hand. you stood beside him, feet sinking into warm sand, the golden light of the setting sun casting soft shadows across his face.

he wasn’t watching the sunset, he was watching you.

and in his eyes — there was something. a quiet knowing. maybe even sadness — like he understood what you were thinking, but wouldn’t say a word.

you almost confessed, instinctively.

but you didn’t, and maybe you never would.

you wondered if he felt the same way too, but you wouldn’t ask.

because sometimes, not knowing felt safer than losing him. sometimes, the illusion was just easier to live with than the truth. and even if this thing between you was fragile and fleeting, you’d take whatever this was, as long as he stayed. as long as you could protect that smile on his face. as long as you could keep what you had.

so you convinced yourself that all of this — all of your dreams, your hopes, and your fantasies — were just your dreamed delusions, even when you knew it was going to hurt.

because you were going to hold onto them anyway.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[noisyquokka]

Try Again

PAIRING - Hyunjin x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - After a short-lived relationship ends, Hyunjin struggles with the idea of “just friends”. Three years later, it seems you haven’t lost interest either.

WORDCOUNT - 2.9k

WARNINGS - lovers to friends to …., mutual pining, jealous!Hyunjin, a lil playful banter/angst that turns kinda steamy, kinda left open-ended... part 2 perhaps? 🤨

A/N - Literal WEEKS late, but uhhh… that’s never stopped me before! 🤭 My little addition for Hyune Day! Enjoy, Darlings! 💛

(Based loosely on Try Again - PRETTYMUCH cause I've been listening to it on repeat and it feels like a Hyunjin song to me, personally. I also wrote this to satisfy my insatiable love for watching him practice, cause let's be honest... choreographer!Hyunjin just hits different iykyk)

“Would you at least take some videos if you’re gonna bury your head in your phone?”

Your eyes sweep up to the shadow of the man who pauses his movement in the middle of the studio. Hyunjin straightens up, his fingers reaching for the brim of his hat. He pulls it off and runs his fingers through his dampened tresses, already sweaty from the past hour of practice.

“Well, excuse me, Hwang,” you mutter, resting your hand on your thigh. “I didn’t know I was summoned here to be your videographer.”

“You’re supposed to be critiquing my choreo so far.”

He’s been working on this choreo for his new solo, and while he didn’t expect you to drop in, he knows Minho has some part in you ending up here. Why? Because he was stupid enough to spill his feelings to him in full confidence that Minho would keep his mouth shut. One could say he kept his word, but still, he plays with fire in his process.

“Ah, right…” God, is it fun to ponder your next remark. You smirk as you watch him reach for the open water bottle near him. “Not enough sneaker squeaks.”

His hand pauses mid-drink, bourbon eyes cutting to your proud little grin. Your eyes are already back on the phone in your grip, tapping away like you’re texting someone. For a moment, Hyunjin is itching to know who it could be. But then he reminds himself that you’re not together anymore. He tilts his head slightly, tries not to let it bother him.

“You’re so unserious, my god,” Hyunjin mutters, and swipes at his forehead with a huff.

Your grin turns into a playful lip bite, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“I’m being completely serious.” Your eyes find him again, and he exhales heavily. “The sneaker squeaks are an essential part of the performance. How will anyone memorize your routine if they can’t count the squeaks?”

“Okay.” He scoffs, pushing his hair back and putting his hat back on, swiftly turning back to his Bluetooth. You mock him with your typical Hwang Hyunjin voice, not noticing the way he shakes his head and smirks to himself.

Hyunjin taps the play button on his phone, taking a deep breath as he readies himself for another run-through.

It’s been hours since he started working on this specific number, and while the comeback wasn’t for a couple of months, he thought getting ahead of schedule would be nice. However, your being around brought on a difficulty to slip into the choreographer head space. Ever since his conversation with Minho, and Minho's comment about how you quote-unquote very well feel the same, I mean, have you seen the way they look at you?!, he’s been the embodiment of a goldfish in a bowl. He wishes things would’ve started off better because apparently, this lovers-to-friends plot line was only digging his early grave. Hyunjin’s fairly certain that after you two broke up, you only agreed to stay friends because you made good connections with the rest of the boys.

The rational side of him knows that’s not the truth.

Fucking less than five months and the metaphorical flames fizzle like a defective sparkler.

The only problem is that those feelings never fizzled for him. Even now, his heart stutters in his chest when you lock eyes with him. When you give him one of your little grins and cock your head as if to say you’ve won in the various dumb debates that you love to drag each other into.

Like right now.

“Seungmin agrees with me,” you say, standing up and shoving your phone at him right as he begins the dance. Hyunjin’s brows raise, blinking and tilting his head in a non-verbal question to get you to move.

“Seungmin agrees with you because it’s a dumb argument… and it’s you versus me.” he mutters the last part, watching you roll your eyes and backtracking to your spot.

“If you’re so confident in this, why am I still here?”

“You could leave,” Hyunjin says, his exertion making his comment sound harsher than he meant it to be. He locks eyes with yours in the mirror, his dark tresses falling in his line of sight. The smirk that threatens to quirk his lips sneaks in when you seemingly freeze on the spot, your eyes wider than usual. “I know you’ve got work in the morning.”

You’re mulling it over in your head now — a glimmer in your eye that Hyunjin pinpoints as he attempts to keep track of where he is in the choreography. He watches your eyes sweep to the phone, most likely checking the time. It’s roughly 1:00 am. You lock eyes again, the answer clear before you speak.

“Well, now I’m not leaving since you want me to.”

He gives a sardonic laugh, rolls his eyes as his foot slips and he misses a beat. Distractions…

“I didn’t say that,” he replies lowly, snatching the towel off the top of the stereo.

“You’re mumbling…”

“I said I didn’t say that,” Hyunjin speaks up, his hand bringing the fabric to his face to pat the sweat from his skin. You watch the drops of sweat as they drip off the ends of his hair when he pulls his hat off, and you feel the need to clear your throat. And then the towel is thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. All it has you doing is a double-take on the black tee shirt he’s wearing. The way it hugs his shoulders and chest should be outlawed, you think.

But then he reaches for the open bottle of water again, and you purse your lips. It’s another short swig, a singular drop of water escaping from the corner of his mouth. It travels down his chin, slowly slipping down the length of his neck, your eyes trained on the path it follows. It stops just before the collar of his black tee and you question why it’s suddenly hotter in the studio.

You swallow, forcing your gaze away and back to your phone before Hyunjin can witness any more of your blatant ogling. As you return your gaze to your phone, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You’re not embarrassed, not really, but the idea of getting caught sends your brain into overdrive.

“Still waiting on some critique I can work with~” he sing-songs, placing the bottle and towel back beside his phone.

“Maybe I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, and he chuckles.

“You?! With nothing to say? That’s a first.” He walks over, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.

With the wave of feelings you’re dealing with, Hyunjin’s comment has you bristling. You glare up at him as he arches a brow at you as if challenging you to say something. That stupid smirk quirks his lips. Butterflies swarm in your gut.

“Fine, then.” You lean forward, propping your forearm on your knee as the two of you stare each other down. “You’ve been favoring your right leg through the entire first verse of the song, your hip rolls aren’t deep enough during the chorus, you seem undecided on whether the overall choreo should be slower or faster—” You list off each critique on your fingers, and while Hyunjin wanted your genuine criticism to work toward a better overall performance, he’s clocked out to what you’re saying. His eyes sweep over your face as you continue listing the things he could improve, and he grins at the way your eyes seem to glow in the studio lighting. A fire. Passion for the things he’s passionate about.

“—And another… thing…” Your voice drops to a surprised whisper almost instantly when you feel Hyunjin’s fingers curl under your chin, feather-light against your skin. You blink, realizing just how close he’s gotten, having bent down so his elbows rest on his knees. His head cocks slightly, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips. Brown eyes flicker down to yours a moment later.

“Another thing?” Hyunjin repeats, his tone a low murmur. His breaths mingle with yours, your heart beating erratically in such close proximity. His index finger runs the span of your jaw as he stares, a tangible connection that still feels natural and electric to him. A reminder of the silent tension that has always lingered.

The familiar scent of his cologne clouds your senses. It brings you back to the nights he used to spend at your apartment, with the two of you watching K-dramas until 3:00 am. Your bodies a mess of limbs in your bed, his distracting kisses up your neck until you’d try to playfully shove him away. He’d reach for your jaw to pull you in for soft kisses that would evolve into slow and lazy make-outs in his arms. Your eyes dart down at the reminder, and you mentally curse yourself.

“I, Uh.” you stammer out a few words before falling silent, your eyes fixated on his. The moment hangs in the air, the tension between you thick and palpable.

Something, something, boundaries… Something, something, self-control…

Hyunjin can’t help the sly grin, feeling the skin under his touch move when you swallow. All logic has left you in favor of longing for those familiar caresses you had years ago. It sure hasn’t changed, every subtle brush of his fingers ushers forth shivers down your spine. You are teetering on the edge of a cliff, the question being do you jump? You want to. Hell, with the way Hyunjin’s gaze keeps darting down, you can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same way.

You attempt to regain control of yourself, but it’s futile — your focus is lost, distracted by the proximity of his lips. Fuck, is he leaning in…

“Your expressions.” You finally manage, the only lingering critique swirling around in your head. “They, uh, could be sharper…” You say, watching Hyunjin sharpen his gaze like a conniving fox. And like a trickster, his fingers drag from your jaw to your neck, dark eyes following its path until the steady thrum of your pulse halts his journey. Your eyes drink him in, lips parted as Hyunjin’s brow twitches in a knowing gesture.

We can’t do this, not after all this time.

The silence crackles with anticipation. You’re fairly certain that Hyunjin knows some part of this is dangerous cause he hesitates for a moment. But then he’s leaning in, his thumb tracing circles against your neck. You mirror his movements, so close that this sliver of distance feels like a challenge. Unspoken desire hums between you two, a heat that has always lingered, just waiting for the right moment to reignite.

Just friends…

The soft brush of Hyunjin’s lips against yours slams the factory reset on your thoughts, mental gymnastics be damned. The tension snaps like a rubber band. You finally give in, capturing his mouth in a meaningful liplock. It feels like no time has passed - he still kisses you with the same careful tenderness that he always has. That familiar heat runs through your body as you sink into him, chasing his lips when he pulls away for a split second only to recapture yours with a fervor.

Your phone is forgotten in your lap, hands sliding up his chest in a new wave of confidence. You pull him closer and Hyunjin groans softly, his free hand coming up to brace his weight against the wall behind you. Your mouths move together in a seamless rhythm, your kisses growing hungrier and more desperate. The brim of his hat grazes your forehead and you slip one of your hands higher into his hair, hooking your finger around the strap. It falls to the floor with a dull thud, allowing your fingers to rake freely through his dark tresses. A subtle pull that has him smirking against your mouth.

Hyunjin pulls back slightly, his fingers sliding from your neck to your jaw. Your lips part in a sigh as you both sit there on the floor of the dance studio, panting against each other’s mouths. Eyes closed, you feel his forehead rest against yours, your noses brushing. You bite your lip, savoring the warmth of his skin on yours.

“I’ve missed this,” he tells you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too.” You murmur, lashes fluttering. God, what an understatement. You’ve been close even after you ended things, with friendly shoves and your usual back-and-forth banter. But the feel of his warm hands against your skin, the comfort of his close presence, his plush lips. This is what you’ve truly been craving.

His scent lingers in your lungs, his heart beating steady beneath your palm. You feel Hyunjin’s fingers knead the skin of your jaw, tilting your head up so he can come back for another chaste kiss that soothes the ache in your chest. He pulls back, pressing his lips to your forehead as he shifts to sit beside you on the studio floor, his back to the wall. You lean back, resting your head against the wall, your eyes locked on the ceiling.

Silence… as comfortable as it’s always been with the man beside you, you despise it right now. It only has you in your head after both of your confessions. What does it mean for you two?

Your gaze wanders back to his. Only those browns are already looking back, a softness in them that has always been there when they’re looking at you. Hyunjin gives you a half grin, reaching out for your nearest hand and slipping his fingers between your own. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as you both sit there, minutes passing by.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you?” Hyunjin’s voice shatters the silence, staring up at the ceiling.

“We should be running through what not to do when you stay friends with your ex right about now,” You’re half joking, but your tone is more tense than nonchalant. Hyunjin laughs under his breath, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You don’t look at him, but you feel him squeeze your hand lightly.

“You should know how difficult it is to stay friends with an ex.”

“Oh, is it?” A small huff escapes your mouth, and you steal another glance, licking your lips.

“You don’t need me to tell you why, do you?” Hyunjin replies, his voice a low murmur. His head turns to you, his gaze fixed on your lips as you bite at them nervously. “You could have cut all contact with me. You could have moved on and we would have gone our separate ways…”

“I didn’t want to do that.” You admit. Your fingers twitch in his palm, pads running over small callouses and lines as you try to distract yourself with something. Anything. His hand wraps around yours again, squeezing firmer this time. A gesture of reassurance.

“I didn’t either.”

You swallow, picking your gaze off your entwined hands, and your heart skips a beat when you meet his eyes.

“We’re gonna have to decide what this is, aren’t we?” You say, the words sounding more serious than intended. Hyunjin does respond immediately. He just stares, his eyes awash in a mix of emotions you can’t quite decipher. He breathes in, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah…” He says, his voice low and steady. The weight of that realization settles on his chest, but Hyunjin shakes his head and offers you a genuine grin. “Maybe after a good night’s rest.”

“And a shower.” You smirk, pulling away from him in a joking fashion. But he pulls you back into him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You screw your face up and he rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t hear you complaining with my lips on yours just a moment ago.” He teases, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. You huff a laugh, leaning back against him.

“Hard to complain when you’re a good kisser.” you counter, bringing a hand up to his shoulder.

“Ah, couldn’t forget that over the years?” Hyunjin mutters, a hint of playfulness in his tone. His lips connect to the junction of your jaw, slowly trailing kisses down the hollow of your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blade, your lashes fluttering over your cheeks.

“I don’t think I ever could.”

Your words send a rush of satisfaction through him and he nips at the sensitive skin just behind your ear. This closeness and playful back and forth is what he’s missed. A comfort that he never wanted to let go of. Even now, as the clock nears 2:00 am.

You capture his face in your hands and pull him back up with little argument, your thumb tracing the corner of his lips.

You don’t realize he’s leaning in again until you feel his lips on yours. It’s a slow and tender kiss this time, but the passion behind it burns hot. You revel in the subtle way he pulls you in, his hand falling off your shoulder to find purchase at your lower back.

Hyunjin eases up, and you’re left breathless yet again, your heart thumping in your chest.

“You gonna be able to sleep after this?” He asks, a sly grin curling his lips.

“Old habits die hard…” You breathe, pulling him in once again.

Psst!! If you've made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[st4rc4t]

everything about you eddie munson x reader

wc: 700

cw: fluff, bomb mention but its a metaphor, kinda rockstar!eddie but the band still isnt super popular yet

a/n: you might recognise this i wrote it for . someone else . a long time ago but i rewrote it for eddie :3

As soon as he was away from the crowd, you were all over him. Quite literally. An arm wrapped tightly around his, his hand gently holding yours. He was always gentle, said he didn’t wanna “crush your chicken bones.” Whatever that meant. Still, it was sweet.

You just couldn’t stop staring at him. His huge proud smile as he talked to friends, flushed face and long sweaty hair stuck to his skin. You admired him the whole walk to the bar. A couple times while walking, he’d turn from conversing with a bandmate, or someone else, you weren’t really paying attention. He'd stop talking just to ask how you were doing.

Besides the copious amounts of praises you shouted at the band as soon as they came off stage, you were shockingly silent for having just watched them play. You had always felt the need to compliment him and the group for days afterwards, so your silence slightly worried him. Each time he asked, you’d just give him the most love sick smile he's even seen, and respond with something along the lines of, “absolutely perfect, my love.'' When you finally get to the dingy bar and have the chance to sit down, he turns his full body towards you to have a proper conversation. Sat in the middle of a round booth, one arm above you and the other on the table, effectively caging you in. Upon making undivided eye contact with him, you make a strangled squeal sound. slapping your hand over your mouth, you’re embarrassed of your unbridled want.

“What is going on with you,” he questions with an amused smirk, reaching to remove your hand from your face, “barely said a word since we left the venue.”

“You did so, so good,” you responded with big doe eyes. It definitely wasn't an answer to his question.

“You've said that already, my darling, thank you very much,” if he hadn’t known any better he would think you were already drunk, “but really, i’d like an answer to the question.”

you huff through your nose, and look at him for a moment longer, trying to collect your thoughts. Trying to explain that nothing is wrong, he is just so incredibly sexy that you feel like you’re a ticking time bomb. The anxiety of waiting for something to happen but he’s already right there, so, so close to you. It's almost too much. You’re afraid if you let your body do what it wants, you will get so affectionate, it appears violent to outside eyes. He can see the gears turning behind your eyes, and gives you another moment longer to collect yourself.

“you are,” you pause to take a breath in, speaking slowly, “so, incredibly special to me. I can not even believe how looking at you makes me feel. I don't even think I could...point out individual things, it is everything about you. I love you so much,” you release an exhale, as though the time bomb inside finally exploded, and you were finally able to release at least some of the pent up emotion.

He stares back at you, almost in shock. He knew you loved him. You say it to each other at least once a day, but he had never seen you in such a love-drunken state. A huge smile spreads on his pretty face, cheeks sore. Already riding the high of an incredible show, his insides were on fire. He was so warm, so grateful to have you on top of his already wonderful life. He didn't think it could get any better until he fell in love with you.

He cradles your face in his warm hands, radiating as much sweetness and need as you are. Kisses quickly cover every centimeter of your face. You’re laughing instantly, so beautiful and light, like down feathers dancing around his heart. Small incomplete mumbles of “I love you” and “So happy to have you” escape as he dotes on you.

The other members of Corroded Coffin are gagging playfully amongst themselves. Steve and Robin just awe silently at the display, reminiscing on younger days, appreciating how far everyone has come.