#do I still count if I’ve actively been practicing for a year now?

[searenbound]

I am so easily won over now that I think about it.

If you want my affections, simply give me yarn and knitting/crocheting tools, pretty gem stones, herbs and spices I can make tea out of.

[wasitforrevenge]

new romantics

pairing: MODERN AU!college azriel x female reader

warnings: may be some triggering content including tampon is a douchbag at a party, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of sexual activity but nothing major, smut books mentioned (hehehe) a fight occurs but can you blame him? he’s just defending your honor ugh, two idiots in love who want nothing but each other and can’t admit it, no use of y/n, imagine her as you, because it is YOU! half editted… ill get to it later i promise

word count: 4.5k

summary: your new study partner is better than you first realize… and now you can’t stop thinking about him, but he can’t stop thinking of you either.

authors note: hi first time writing for acotor! been a fan of these books for a while and my baby azriel does something to me!!! so here’s something i spent the night writing it was 10 different things before it was this lol! pls like, reblog and comment! thank you everyone for reading! photo credit to pinterest, and please i strive to do better so any thoughts pls free feel to let me know! thank you for the support! this is the first time i’ve had the energy to write in months so pls dont go too hard

you met azriel in a greek mythology lecture that you both ended up in during the second semester of your sophomore year. getting partnered with an incredibly built and handsome man for a history report your teacher assigned was the least of your problems when you realized how fucking kind and beautiful azriel is on the inside and out.

the real problem came when you realized how hard you were falling for this man when you started hanging out casually, hitting the coffee stand before class or getting food after a long day. you learned so much about him in a matter of months and couldn’t get him out of your head.

you never spoke existence to your feelings for him, mainly because you didn’t want to ruin a very good potential friendship but partly because you didn’t think you were good enough for someone like him. you’ve heard little whispers about his other… activities and you couldn’t help the way it made you feel.

at the start of your junior year, you and azriel were practically best friends and it just felt so natural. the way you two were together. the way your conversations flowed and the way the silence was never deafening when you were together. you spent time cuddling on the couch in your living room watching movies and rating tv shows and going to visit parks around town and getting high as fuck. once time you had even gone crazy and took some acid and spent hours at the aquarium watching all the fish. you studied for classes together, the one you shared and the ones you both took on your own.

you and azriel were always testing out new recipes in his large kitchen. its wonderful that he lives alone. alone as in by himself but you cannot glance over the fact that the rhysand and feyre along with cassian and nesta live on the same floor of this apartment building close to campus. you luckly only live 2 floors down, a thing you realized when you managed to see him in the elevator about a week or two after you first started studying together.

you were debating all summer about confessing your feelings to him but could not gather the courage to bring yourself to admit it to him and face rejection. you couldn’t mess up the relationship between you already. he was your best friend and you really didn’t have too many besides him. you’ve met his family and have spend a lot of time with them, they’re all practically adopted you at the point, they welcomed you with smiles and open arms (besides amren but they told you she’s always like that.)

but a couple weeks into the semester, you and nesta were standing in a kitchen of a person you don’t know debating on what shitty cheap alcohol you’ll be indulging in tonight. it was the first big back to school party and it was still hot as hell out so you were dressed in dark denim shorts and nice tank top along with your black converse.

you and nesta instantly clicked when you met. bonding over smutty books and all the tv shows you managed to watch. she’s felt like your first real girl-friend ever, you guys got some comfortable together and every time you guys hung out, it felt like no time had passed. it was refreshing to have someone to talk to. she also happens to be the only one who knows about the feelings you harbor for your other best friend.

as you’re about to pour the tequila into your red solo cup, you hear someone call nesta’s name and she tells you she’ll be right back before scurrying off to whichever of her friends was calling her. leaving you there alone not knowing anyone at the party, nesta told you the rest of the group was going to meet you there but you have yet to see any of them as you turn your head around the room.

as you fill your cup and turn to put the bottle back down on the counter, you feel a hand glide around your waist and are suddenly aware of a man extremely too close your liking. “hey baby” he said as he slurred his words, clearly intoxicated, by the way he looked and smelled. it sent more warnings through your head even after he grabbed you like that. you had to leave, this couldn’t happen. thoughts are rushing through your head. you move your hand to push his arm off you as you turn around to be face to face with a tall blonde with long hair.

“what was that for?” he drags out as he tried to put his hand back on you. you instantly tried to move towards the way nesta went and told him, “please get off!” but he was too fast and held your upper arm in a death grip before he tugged you closer to his chest, his other hand back on your waist like the first time he did it. your eyes close in fear as he leans down to whisper something in your ear, but he’s gone in an instant.

it all happened so fast. all you see is a large, muscular, tattooed arm flying in front of you, hitting the man who was on you just seconds ago. you watched shocked as you finally lock in to the situation before you.

azriel beating the shit out of the man who had just laid his hands on you.

azriel swung his fist again towards him, hitting him square in the jaw, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he screamed at him, having another punch already landing with his other fist.

the man doesn’t respond before he swings back at azriel and managed to get a decent swing in, the hit landed to his lip but azriel doesn’t move at all. he’s standing still in the spot, continuing to tower over him.

azriel shoved the man back into the counter and landed a powerful hook right to his nose simultaneously. he cried out as it made contact, “fuck dude c’mon,” he reached up to grab it, blood pouring from his broken nose and busted lip. he steps closer as he removes his hand looking at the red liquid that has held onto his skin, ready to defend himself against the beautiful man that your eyes cannot stray from.

but azriel is faster and before he could even blink, managed to grab a hold of his shirt and pull him up to where his toes barely touched the floor. his hands fall at his sides and his eyes widen in fear as azriel gets closer to his face, leaning down to whisper something in his ear that you can’t hear over the loud music, people partying and the screaming and crying in your heart as you watched this all unfold.

suddenly azriel is tossing the man back into the counter and he barely managed to grab it and hold on, azriel suddenly grows larger, as if he could get any bigger, and leans to spit out the blood that had collected in his mouth behind him. and suddenly your attention is focused on the warmth now englufing your wrist. your eyes immediately register the sight of him standing in front of you, this was warm and right, his hands on you. it just felt so right.

his other hand reached out and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. the way the sense of safety coursed through you with his simple touch just confirmed, yet again, that this was going to be so hard for you to tell him.

“hey baby…” he spoke softly, his eyes darted between both yours. his attention solely on you. he let his finger rub against your cheek as he finished, “are you okay?” you can’t help the feeling the shoots through you at the use of the pet name and the look of shock that painted your face. not knowing if it came from, whether it was from what unfolded in front of you at this party or the fact he still holding your face and talking to you like this, so sweetly.

you blinked a couple times and the realization hit you that you’ve just been standing there, staring into his beautiful eyes. not paying attention to the group of people that crowded around as the fight was happening or the looks you guys are getting from other party goers that still surrounded you. the only thing you can stand to focus on his gaze.

azriel.

“i don’t know,” you almost whisper towards him, feeling his warmth covering you both. before you can talk again, he moves his scarred hand from your wrist, you feel almost… empty at the loss of contact but that doesn’t last long as he slipped his hand into yours and intertwined his fingers with yours as he guided you towards the front door.

you passed by so many people, you tried not to pay attention to all the looks you were getting. girls stared as they realized it wasn’t themselves in azriel’s grasp, but you. it was your hand he was holding. your heart beat at just the thought of it, your nerves were already shot as the events unfolded not even 10 minutes ago and this did not help one bit.

your eyes manage to catch nesta’s in the crowd, her eyes widen as she takes in the sight before her, azriel holding your hand and leading you out of the party. oblivious to what actually happened to cause this, she gave you a huge smile and two thumbs up. you cant help but silently chuckle at your friend despite the other overwhelming feelings you have. you’ll explain the situation later when you text her but you were sure eventually she’d hear what happened.

he leads you out the front door and looks back at you with a small smile as you trail behind him. he walked you over, without a word and hands still intertwined and you finally notice your next to his old beat up mustang on the side of the street, the one that smells like him and the faint smell of weed that always lingers regardless of the last time he smoked in there.

he opened the car door for you and you released your hand from his and got into the passengers seat. once you were in, he reached over and buckled your seatbelt for you, giving it a tug to make sure it was connected before smiling down at you from outside the car. he shut the door satisfied and walked around the back of the car to open his own door and sat inside.

the silence is comfortable. it always has been, you pray that sometimes it’s awkward or uncomfortable but it never is. you sit in your seat, eyes staring down towards the hand he had been holding, almost in disbelief, that he defended you like that. you’ve never seen azriel angry like that either. he turns to face you, wanting you to meet his eyes.

azriel walked in the front door of the party, after having a pretty day. the customers at the restaurant he works truly sucked today. small tips and even shittier people. all he wanted to do was smoke off some steam and get drunk with cassian and rhys. he knew you were going to be here. cassian mentioned it in passing while talking about nesta so he was also on the look out for you. the girl who managed to catch his heart after having been partnered together. azriel couldn’t help the way he felt about you even though it almost felt wrong to him.

he didn’t want to take advantage of you, he knew you were shy and never really been in a relationship. he found that out when he walked into the kitchen of cassian and nesta’s apartment, and overheard nesta telling cass all about you after her and you hung out for the first time outside the group. so he just tried to ignore his feelings but regardless of that fact you were his bestfriend. he just couldn’t escape you.

and when he walked into that kitchen to see tamlin standing over you, your arm tight in his grip, the way your eyes were slammed shut trying to back away from him. he didn’t even think. he was there pulling him off you before he could even recognize what he was doing. throwing punches left and right towards the man who dared touched you. he barely even registered the hit he managed on no one but him can put his hands on you. he’s had that thought before but never brought life to it, but here? now?

all thoughts of guilt for feeling that way vanished. there was no way he was letting anyone touch you. but him. that’s all he wanted. he wanted you in a way he didn’t think was reciprocated. love was a funny thing to him, something he was never accustomed to until after he met rhysand and cassian.

his family never showed it, he lives with the constant knowledge of that every time he looks down at his hands. he thought about the way you never judged him of them, like it was nothing at all to you but that was everything to him.

the one sided crush he harbored on mor for a couple years was nothing in comparison to the way he felt about you. his few flings he had over the past couple years (after he realized it was pointless liking mor, also… because she slept with cassian) were mildly of convince and of urge but once he met you, he knew he was a goner.

he stopped the girls. the stopped the meaningless flirting and hooks up and took to just pleasuring himself to the thought as you, as shitty as it made him felt after. sometimes he just couldn’t look you in the eye the next time he saw you but you never said anything. you never commented on it and he silently thanked you in his head.

but right now, after he pulled you out of the party, scarred hand in yours, he needed you to look him in the eyes. but you still hadn’t and he couldn’t just keep staring at the face of the beautiful woman in front of him while it was coated with anxiety and exhaustion.

azriel lifted his distorted hand to your face meeting the soft warm skin that was your own. he gently brought your face to meet his gaze and as you locked eyes, the spark hit you yet again.

gods he was breathtaking. dark hair that covered to above his ears, the eyes that seemed to stare into yours every single time they met, the tattoos that covered him and his golden brown skin that you swore shined outright during different points in the day. your heart cannot handle this man.

“please,” he practically whispered you barely even registered that he said it before he continued, “are you okay, what can i do?” the sound in his voice felt desperate as his eyes bore into yours, the feel of his hand on her face, you couldn’t help but lean into his grasp and close your eyes, taking in the feel of him. you responded a moment later after letting out a sigh and looking at him again.

“can we just go home? i just want to sleep” you asked him with a pleading tone as you feel his thumb rub against your cheek for the second time that night. ugh the things this man does to you. all you wanted was for him to hold you, to feel the press of his body against yours. anything to get the feeling of someone else off you. “yeah baby, we can.” he said gently before he moved his hand down to yours and gave you a light squeeze before he turned the car on and shifted into gear, pulling off in the direction of home.

once you arrived back to the apartment building, he parked in the lot next to the front door and moved around the car to open your door, he gave you his hand as you stepped out. he went to put his hand at your lower back as he opened the door for you but decided against just in case that was a lot for you right now. he did not want to make it worse. he could see the fear in your eyes back there, no way would he subject you to that if you weren’t comfortable with it. so instead he just followed behind you, hitting the button to the elevator to take you up to your floor.

the elevator luckily isn’t taking forever today so when it opens, you and azriel step in and he goes to hit the floor for your apartment but your hand reaches out and stops him. “can we go to yours please?” your head moves up to meet his gaze but his eyes are focused on where your hand is on his wrist. a second later his eyes meet yours and he gives you a small nod and hits the button for the fifth floor. you remove your hand and lean against the wall right next to him, his hand reaches out and entangles his bumpy fingers with yours.

“is this okay?” he asks you. you can barely hold it in after that, the tears finally fall. he feels the sudden change in your body as he moves closer to you but removing his hand from yours in fear that you didn’t want to touch him. but in reality that’s all you want. you want him to touch you. you want him to love you. you want everything with him. its all just so overwhelming, everything that has happened.

he goes to speak but before he can get a word out, your body is on his engulfing him in a hug around his long torso, he instantly wraps his arms around your smaller frame. he can feel your body shake with tears and all he wants to do is make sure that no one ever makes you feel like this again. you deserve so much better, he only wishes he could be better for you too. you squeeze him tighter and he just holds you until the elevator door opens and you pull away from him. mascara and tears running down your face, you can see it on his shirt. he smiles at you before he pulls his hands to your face and wipes your cheeks off with his rough yet soft hands.

you cant help the laugh that escapes you as he wipes his hands on the t-shirt staining it even more with the leftover residue on your face. he gives you a chuckle before connected your hands yet again, walking with you out of the elevator to his one bedroom apartment. he fishes in his pocket with his other hand and pulls out his keys. he unlocked the door and held it open for you to walk in.

your senses are taken over by the smell of him. the smell of his candle lingered from the coffee table covered with textbooks in the large living room, he has a basket of blankets he keeps in the corner because he knows you get cold watching tv. he has a big L shaped couch which had a 60 inch tv across the room, with a boatload of dvds underneath. something you both agreed was a dying art. you and azriel swear physical media will make a comeback one day but you guys will never forget how they ruined it!

his space was a lot bigger since you have a two bedroom apartment. but it was perfect for him. azriel had loved the way he made his space his own, his bass guitars set up in the corner next to his collection of vinyl records and a record player that rhys and cassian got him when he turned 21… as well as a shit ton of booze. he had a bookshelf that held his favorites, as well as your own.

he bought a copy of almost every book you talked about so that he was in the loop with what you were reading. even the ones you didn’t talk about that he caught on your nightstand or in your reading nook. when he bought one of those and read it, his jaw dropped. he immediately thought of nesta and her smutty books but this sent something else though his body. he couldn’t help but keep reading… he wondered if you thought about him while reading these scenes of them ravishing each other, in every way imaginable. he sure did! his right hand hates him!

and you definitely did to… thought about him in ways that you shouldn’t. thinking about him doing all those things to you. the way you knew he would take care of you. the way you knew you could take care of him, despite how inexperienced you are. the thoughts drove you crazy. it was practically all day and every day at this point. thinking about the way his hands would feel running up your thighs or the way his lips would feel on yours.

now here you are, standing in his living room, just wanting all that and little did you know… he did too.

“hey az…” you uttered towards him. he was already next to you as you spoke, “can we lay down please?” your voice was barely a whisper.

he didn’t even need to speak, he just brought you to his room. he lead you to sit on the corner of the bed as he turned and riffled through his dresser, pulling out a large dark green shirt and handing it to you with a smile, “change into this, i’ll be right back.”

“can i take a shower?” you asked azriel shyly. “yes of course, one sec.” you watched as he walked out the room and shut the door behind him. you took your shoes off and placed them by the bedroom door next to azriel’s shoes. he came back in a second later with a fresh towel and a water bottle.

“here you go, you already know where the shower is,” he says with a small chuckle. you give him a grateful smile and a thank you as you took the items from his hands and gave him one last look before heading into his connecting bathroom.

you turned on the hot water and you stripped out of your clothes and threw them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the bathroom. you got in the shower and felt instantly better. the way the water followed hot you could feel the touch of the man from the party washing away, only to be replaced with thoughts of azriel touching you instead. you reviled in it.

you washed your hair and body with his shampoo, conditioner and body wash. silently thanking him for not using 3-in-1 (nesta found out that’s what cassian used and flipped shit) you finished your shower and dried off with the towel he gave you.

you put on his t-shirt that made its way down to your mid thigh when it was on completely. you loved when you were covered in him. you walked back out into the room and didn’t see azriel so you took your seat at the edge of the bed and waiting for him to come back. you sat there and picked at your nails, feeling so wore out you didn’t even want to cry anymore.

azriel came in two minutes later, dressed him long flannel pajama pants and you can see the band of his underwear peeking out as he gets closer to you. he changed after you went into the bathroom, and then went to the kitchen to make sure he was stocked up on the tea you liked and the snacks you guys enjoy together, just in case you got hungry.

he ran around his living room and cleaned random odds and ends. putting dishes in the sink, folding the blankets thrown on the couch and organizing his cd collection. anything to busy himself instead of thinking of you in his shower. anything to get his mind off the amazing woman just in the other room. he hears the shower turn off and waited a few more moments before heading back into the room.

he moved the covers down to make room for you as he said, “after you princess,” with a smile on his face. you returned it and stood up to make your way to the bed but not before turning to hug him again. his arms wrapped around you as you mumbled “thank you azriel,” into his chest. you hold on for a few moments before releasing him. he looks at you before motioning to the bed, “i would do anything for you, you know that.” you felt your cheeks grow red at the thought, at the knowledge that he would.

you climb into the bed and laid your head on the pillow, turning to look at azriel, you wondered why he was still standing. “az are you coming?” you said bashfully. he blinked and bent down to the bed to be eye level with you. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight.” you could feel the way your face dropped in disappointment as you registered what he said. he saw it too and felt it deep in his chest.

he stood up and was about to say goodnight but you beat him to it, “azriel please i need you.”

you could feel how desperate you sounded but you didn’t care. you just needed him. next to you right now. he said nothing else as he moved the blankets again, but this time he was under them. he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his chest, your hand found it’s way over his fast beating heart and his tattooed arm wrapping around you. the warmth and scent of him took over everything in your body. you finally felt safe. your legs tangled together as you eventually fell asleep to the rise and fall of his chest.

“i need you too.” he said to a room with no one awake but him to hear.

part 2??? i would love to write one! let me know what you think! i’d love to keep writing for acotor so yay! pls enjoy :) i’m on the edge of my seat writing this hehe

[sydnikov]

Jersey || J. Hughes

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Jack Hughes/fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: You and Jack got into a fight before he left for a game. To get back at him, you showed up at the bar you knew the Devils frequented after they won a game wearing the other team’s jersey. Only, a fan of said-team’s jersey gets a little too handsy, and even when fighting, Jack won’t stand for another man touching his girl.

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption, touching w/out consent, mild and/or potential assault, kissing, mild angst, lots of fluff at the end

A/N: This is purely self-indulgent… Though I am a little nervous because I’ve never been a Jack Hughes girlie until recently, plus before my beloved hurricanes eliminated the devils I was battling my growing hatred for him LMAO but, anyways, I still have never written for him before, so lemme know what y’all think about this one... Happy reading <3

“Are you done yet?” Jack Hughes said as he raced around the apartment looking for his bag, briefly casting you a look of irritation as he rushed by.

Scowling, you merely spun around to follow his movements. “Did you even hear a word I just said?”

Jack released a sound of triumph as he found his bag by the couch and threw it over his shoulder. “About what?” he asked, purposefully dodging the topic you were trying to hint at. “You bitching about my ‘nighttime activities’ again?” he muttered, intending to just push back your problem with him for another day.

“I heard that,” you hissed, taking brief satisfaction in the way his neck flushed red at being caught. “So, what, I’m just some nagging girlfriend to you, then? Is that it?”

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he tied the last lace on his shoe. “I don’t know, babe,” he said. “Can we just do this later?” Finally, he met your eyes for the first time that evening and found stubbornness and frustration staring back at him.

“So you can stay out until four in the morning again doing God knows what?” You scoffed, crossing your arms.

Jack, fed up, stood up and merely shook his head. He said your name through gritted teeth, a spark of genuine anger showing for the first time since starting this conversation. “I have a game to get to. I don’t know what your problem is but you’re really getting on my nerves right now and I really don’t want to hear it.”

Jack, feeling slightly guilty at the way he just spoke to you but not wanting to be the first to apologize, deliberately avoided looking at your face before grabbing his phone and marching out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, tugging at his hair once before releasing a strained breath. Not able to stop himself, Jack looked back at your shared apartment and debated being late to his game just to talk to you, but his stubbornness ultimately won out and with one shake of his head, he tried to cast you and your fight out of his mind until after he came home.

You’d still be there, waiting for him like always, after all, right?

You, meanwhile, stared at the door your boyfriend had just walked through in shock. Anger, frustration, confusion, and the strongest of them all: hurt, rolled through you in waves as you processed the conversation that just happened.

And the ‘problem’ you had with Jack, exactly?

It started out small—nothing huge, or anything. Jack didn’t have many red flags, if any at all – unless you counted him being a professional hockey player – so the fact that you’d been having so many problems recently was a mystery to you, as well.

Well, your relationship had just reached the 1-year milestone, and you only moved in together about a month ago… That’s when you started having problems, you supposed.

Jack’s season playing for the New Jersey Devils had started out strong immediately, and it was clear this was going to be one of his best seasons yet if not the best. The NHL was booking interviews with him, the Devils’ social media had practically turned into a Jack fan page, and the city had just fallen in love with him.

He absorbed the attention like a sponge, of course, like he couldn’t get enough of it. While he was clearly riding the high of being such a hot player right now, he hadn’t ever let it get to his head. His teammates, family, you, would never let him hear the end of it if his ego got too big.

So, here begs the question: why was Jack coming home later and later, texting you when away less, coming up with excuses on why he had to bail on weekly date nights?

Your insecurities had been eating you up lately, and the fact that Jack didn’t even see the problem made it worse. Was he cheating on you? You couldn’t help but ask yourself during many late nights, curled up in the bed you shared, alone, staring at the digital clock on the bedside table as the hours crept by.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you wiped at your eyes before finally tearing them away from the front door after accepting he wasn’t coming back. Making your way to the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water to cool your heated body when the vibration of your phone from your pocket interrupted you.

Feeling your heart swell with the hope that maybe it was Jack, you quickly pulled it out only to be disappointed when it was just one of your friends—then you felt bad for feeling disappointed because you loved your friends, as pushy as they could be, sometimes.

Want to hit up a bar? Is what one of them texted in a group chat with you and a few others. Normally, on a night like this where you were wallowing in the emptiness felt by Jack’s continued absence, you’d deny such an offer and merely drown yourself in the cheap wine you kept stashed, but…

A notification from a Devils news site interrupted your thoughts, and that’s where a devious idea struck your mind. Your boyfriend’s team was playing the Philadelphia Flyers tonight, a division rival, and you just so happened to have a close friend who was from the area.

I’m in, you responded to the group chat and couldn’t help but laugh at the string of fire emojis that followed. Wiping the remaining tears from your eyes, you texted said-Philly friend separately and asked if she had any jerseys she’d be willing to spare.

The text bubble that showed she was typing appeared, and then her response came. I have a Konecny jersey. Why?

Perfect.

Two hours later, you were in an Uber on your way to the designated club for the night which just so happened to be a bar that your boyfriend and his teammates frequented after a win. You sported black flared jeans and stilettos, and the star piece of your whole look: a Philadelphia Flyers jersey stamped with Travis Konecny’s name.

You wholeheartedly intended for Jack to see it to rile him up; he had a vicious jealousy streak, and a time like this was the perfect time to ignite it, especially after the 7-0 shutout win they took tonight.

Once you arrived, you tipped the Uber driver and walked in, a happy sway to your step because you felt like you were finally gaining the upper hand in your little feud with your boyfriend. As you walked into the club you were immediately bombarded with the sounds of booming music and flashing lights—the red-to-orange jersey ratio was almost comical, for the amount of ecstatic Devils fans far beat the few Flyers fans scattered throughout the room.

Drunken cheers of your name made you giggle as you found the table your friends had claimed. Like almost every patron in the bar, they were all sporting New Jersey Devils' colors or merch in some way—except for you and the friend who lent you the jersey you were currently wearing, of course.

“Never took you for a Philly fan,” said one of the girls, followed by several agreements. “What’s Jack gonna say when he sees you?”

So he was here, then, you hummed to yourself, briefly scanning the room for any sign of the team. “He’s here already?” you casually asked, leaning back against the booth and sipping on the drink one of your friends handed you.

“Yeah, they’re over in the booth across from us,” they pointed, helping you locate a large group of men and women who you, sure enough, identified as New Jersey Devils players and fan girls hanging off their arms. Feeling your heart seize up because what if Jack had someone hanging off of him, you only released the breath you’d been holding when you saw him near the back of the group talking to Nico.

Your friends saw the brief look of trepidation on your face and didn’t take long to fit the puzzle pieces together. “Are you and Jack still having problems?”

Smiling bitterly, you only shrugged. “Nothing too bad, really. I just want to get back at him for taking me for granted, y’know?”

Immediately, more shots were ordered and you couldn’t help but grin as you tossed the alcohol down your throat, feeling immensely better with the slight buzz that came after.

More confident, too.

Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you announced you were going to the bathroom but merely used it as an excuse to walk by the Devils group, intent on catching your boyfriend’s eye.

Feeling an arm brush against you, you were momentarily distracted when you turned around to find a man about your age looking down at you with a grin that told you he was already several shots ahead of you. He was sporting a Flyers jersey, too.

“You from Philly?” you think the man asked, but it was hard to understand the slur of his words over the loud boom of the music.

You gave him a tightlipped smile before giving your response. Despite the fact you were on a mission to make your boyfriend jealous, you weren’t actually wanting nor intending to cross a line. “No,” you shrugged, taking a small step back. “But I can still be a fan, right?”

As the man laughed, you turned your head back towards where you last saw Jack and sucked in a breath when you saw the look on his face.

Jack had seen you the moment you walked into the bar. He was just drawn to you like that, noticed every little detail about you—including the bright orange Flyers jersey you were currently wearing that made him clench his hand around his drink so hard the glass almost shattered.

What the fuck? He practically growled as he watched you walk up to your friends without sparing him a glance. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel relieved or guilty, because what were you even doing here? You normally always stayed in.

Then Jack had the realization that oh, yeah, you did always stay in—because of him, his schedule, his late nights, and he couldn’t even be bothered to come home to you until the early hours of the morning.

Well then, he thought. That solved the mystery of why you’d been so pissed off at him lately.

The forward anxiously ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t blame you, either.

“Why do you look like you just fucked up?” Nico’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Jack only cast him a quick glance before relocating you just as you stood up from your booth.

“Because I did,” he said, not taking his eyes off of you as some idiot wearing a Flyers jersey grabbed your attention. “Badly. Very badly.”

Nico followed his teammate’s gaze, furrowing his brow in confusion until he saw you, wearing a—

“Oh,”

Jack had the face of one who couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you or the guy next to you who still hadn’t taken the hint that you weren’t nearly as interested in him as he was in you. The centerman’s eyes were abnormally dark in the club’s dim lighting, simmering with jealousy and protectiveness.

But that was the entire point of coming here tonight, wasn’t it?

Plastering on a wide, fake smile, you met your boyfriend’s searing gaze and merely shot him a pointed look before attempting to make conversation with the inadvertently talkative man still blabbering on beside you.

He was handsome in a rugged kind of way if you were into that sort of thing, and towered over you in both height and weight much like Jack, but whereas with your boyfriend the size difference made you feel safe and protected, this guy just made you feel smothered and uncomfortable.

He was well past drunk, though, so you figured he couldn’t do that much harm. You hadn’t let him come very close to you either and were trying to maintain a respectful distance knowing Jack was probably having a very hard time restraining himself from marching over and making a scene.

You were just trying to get back at him, as petty as it may be…

The man whose name you later found out to be Todd managed to keep a fifteen-minute conversation going on about himself – which you found mildly impressive – so when he finally started to trail off, you began to make your escape.

“Nice talking with you, but my friends are probably looking for me,” you said, dodging Todd’s attempts at trying to touch you.

“Awe, c’mon, babe, I’m sure they don’t care,” Todd tried to wink, but it looked like he was having some type of muscle spasm instead. You nervously laughed, trying to back away, but then he suddenly stepped in front of you and got so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Don’t be a tease, now,” he slurred, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark. You tried backing away, but quickly hit the counter of the bar where you were now caged in. Fuck, you gulped, feeling very uncomfortable as he crept his hands up your waist. “Get off me, please,” you said, trying to sound stern, but even you could hear the shakiness in your words.

Panicked, your eyes darted around the room looking for any of your friends you came with or even any of the guys you passed earlier, but in the darkness of the club, you came up empty. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling helpless and regretting all of your life choices leading up to this moment, and tried to get away from the face that was steadily creeping closer until you heard a voice all too familiar.

A thunderous voice suddenly boomed over the music, and your eyes shot open in shock at the sight in front of you.

“Get the fuck off of her,” Jack's voice was livid, the edges of a growl erupting from his chest as you watched his hand clamp down on Todd’s shoulder to forcefully yank him away. “Ever heard of consent, asshole?”

You watched, stunned, as your boyfriend’s dark eyes glared daggers into Todd’s whose collar was currently in his grasp. Jack might have been a few inches shorter, but he was stronger and clearly more sober as Todd stumbled in his grasp.

“Dude, chill,” you sucked in a breath as he tried pleading with your murderous-looking boyfriend. “I didn't know she was your girl,” trying to get away from a potential brawl, you stumbled back and in your confusion ran right into someone.

Having just been practically assaulted, you jumped as a hand came to rest on your shoulder. You were sure you resembled something of a startled animal and felt almost embarrassed at the situation you found yourself in.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just me!” Nico’s reassuring voice immediately had you relaxing, and you released a breath as you spun around to face him. Gladly taking the arm the captain offered, you smiled shakily.

“You okay?” He asked once you were safely next to him. You nodded slowly, blinking past the slight pounding of your head. “Yeah,” you replied, your eyes finding Jack and Todd still exchanging heated words a few feet away.

They had won your attention back just in time for you to watch the centerman shove your drunken pursuer to the floor and then step away immediately before doing something worse.

Jack’s eyes quickly found yours as he brushed his hair away from his face, scanning up and down your body for any sign of injury. You knew he was furious with you, but even pissed beyond belief, he was still the most attractive man in the world to you because of how he put your safety and well-being first.

He walked up to you then, nodding his thanks to his teammate for keeping you safe before pulling you into his chest. “Are you okay?” He murmured into the top of your hair, one of his hands squeezing your hip reassuringly.

You inhaled your boyfriend’s scent, burying your face in his shirt and reveling in the comfort his mere presence brought you. “I’m okay,” you whispered, feeling tired now that the night’s events had started to catch up to you. “I love you,”

You felt him murmur the exact words back, the tension slowly leaving his body the longer he held you in his arms and away from the idiot who had his hands on you.

Jack stepped back after a moment, keeping you tucked into his side with a protective arm wrapped around your waist. You kept your face pressed into his side, not yet willing to face reality.

All you wanted right now was him. And your bed, too.

“We’re going to head home for the night,” the centerman said to the rest of the group, hearing no disagreements as they spoke their goodbyes. You lifted your head only slightly to say your own goodbye, giving an extra thankful smile to Nico who merely waved you off.

As you finished talking to the rest of his teammates, you tapped Jack's shoulder and spoke into his ear over the loud music. “I’m going to say bye to my friends real quick,”

Jack had a look of apprehension and even worry on his face, so you stood up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll be fast, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “But nothing more than that. I’ll be by the door.”

You cast him a grateful smile before slipping away, locating two of your friends still sitting at the booth looking far more inebriated than before. “Jack and I are heading home,” you told them.

“Oh! You guys worked it out?”

You bit your lip, fiddling with one of your sleeves. Huh, orange wasn’t really your color.  “Not exactly,” quickly glancing back towards your boyfriend waiting by the club doors, you winced when you saw his darkened expression. “He’s a little angry with me…”

“Because of the jersey?” they asked, curious. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

You decided you were going to blame the hideous Flyers jersey you were wearing for the series of unfortunate events that happened tonight.

Speaking of, you needed to give it back to the friend who lent it to you, at some point.

“I’ll see you guys,” you muttered, purposefully dodging their questions as you waved goodbye. Luckily, they were too drunk to argue.

You made your way back through the crowd, Jack meeting you halfway to lace your fingers together before leading you to the exit. His pace was quick, and determined, making you wonder just what exactly he had planned.

The cold Jersey air sobered you immensely once you were outside, ridding you of the effects the alcohol had left on you earlier. You finally got a clear look at your boyfriend then, admiring the sharp cut of his jawline and the way he was still fuming even as you walked to his car.

“Jack?” you tried, watching as he pulled open the passenger door for you. “Get in,” he said, avoiding your imploring eyes. “And take that off. You know it looks awful,” he added the last part as an afterthought, scowling at the sight of you wearing a jersey sans his name.

You thought about making a joke but decided against it when you saw the look on his face. He didn't look like he was in the mood for games right now, and something told you you didn't want to test him.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath,” you responded meekly. You heard Jack sigh, and you briefly looked up to find him pulling out a hoodie he had in his backseat.

It was red, of course, a Devils hoodie with his surname printed on the back. The hockey player stared at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised and that's when you realized he was waiting.

“What, you mean change now?” you squeaked, feeling your eyes widen at the seriousness in his eyes. “Jack, we’re in a public parking lot,”

“And?” he asked, almost sassy considering the situation. “You really think I’ll let anyone look at you?” his muscled arms tensed out of reflex, further cementing his point.

You clenched your jaw, opening your mouth to argue, but then Jack took two quick strides towards you until you were standing chest-to-chest.

He said your name once, placing his hands on your waist to pull you closer. “I almost beat that guy back in the bar to death for placing his hands on you. I would have, actually, if it weren’t for seeing you look so scared next to Nico,” he murmured, staring into your eyes so deeply you couldn’t look away.

“It’s bad enough having to see you wear our rival’s jersey, which I deserve, by the way, because I’ve been an ass to you—but if I have to see you wearing someone’s name that isn’t my own for the rest of the night any longer, I might commit a crime.

“Please,” he breathed, tilting his head downwards to brush your lips together. “Take off the damn jersey.”

All you could do was nod. Yes sir. You maintained eye contact all while you slipped the jersey from your shoulders, feeling immensely better without the scratchy fabric on your skin. Jack wordlessly handed you his hoodie, and you slid it on without complaint.

It was several sizes too big for you; it was loose around your waist and hips and the sleeves were too long for your arms, but you didn’t care one bit because it smelled just like him and made you feel safe and warm and most importantly:

Home.

Jack raked his eyes up and down your body in approval, but he was still tense even as he opened the passenger door for you and shut it once you were in without a word.

You had a feeling you were going to be in for it when you got home, and even with his anger – whether it was directed at you or himself – you didn’t quite blame him.

The only thing you weren’t quite sure of is if he was angry because you semi-flirted with another man or wore a jersey that wasn’t his… Both are completely plausible possibilities.

Jack, meanwhile, had to stop himself from looking your way because he knew he was going to snap, and that wasn’t fair on you. Yes, he had to sit back and watch another guy blatantly hit on you while wearing the opposing team’s jersey, but… You didn’t reciprocate any advances, and he would never fault you for the actions of another.

Just the mere thought of the jackass who had his hands on you made his knuckles turn white on the grip he had on the steering wheel. If not for the terrified look on your face to snap him out of it, he had no doubt he would have pummeled the guy to the ground.

And at the same time, he knew he wasn’t angry with you but angry with himself instead because you had done nothing to warrant his behavior towards you and could even go as far as to say he deserved it, too.

He just wished he hadn’t walked out on you before—you wouldn’t have been almost assaulted if he hadn’t.

Alas, his anger – no matter who it was directed at – radiating off of him in waves was palpable and kept you tense and unsure of what to say or do the entire ride home.

When you finally arrived back at the apartment, the two of you remained silent as you worked around each other in getting ready for bed. For the first time in months he was going to fall asleep in the same bed as you, at the same time, you noted.

The brooding centerman muttered something aloud from the other side of the room, and you looked at him questionably. Jack met your eyes, an emotion unknown brewing in his own that made you curious.

“Orange is such an ugly color,” he said. “What convinced you to even wear that?”

A teasing mood he was in, then. “To make you jealous. Did it work?”

Jack scoffed, taking a few steps forward to playfully grab at your hips causing you to grip his biceps for stability. “It worked, alright,” he murmured, and then his eyes turned dark as he remembered the night’s end result before the two of you left. “I would’ve pummeled him if it weren’t for the guys.”

You bit your lip at the sight of his protectiveness for you written all over his face, hating that you were having a serious conversation now and all you could think about was how attractive he is.

“Then you would have gotten arrested, and probably suspended from the team,” you replied, bringing his attention back to you. Jack cracked a small smile, hair falling over his eyes as his gaze dropped.

“Worth it.” your boyfriend then brought you in close to wrap his arms around you, burying his head in his favorite spot where your neck met your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment, his grip on you tightening.

You had no complaints at his sudden burst of physical affection and happily burrowed your head in his chest, breathing in his comforting scent. “For what?”

You might have accepted the fact he was trying to make up for all the fighting over the last few months, but you weren’t just going to let it go, either.

After all, it was only due to you going out of your way to invoke such a strong reaction that got him to pull his head out of his ass.

“For everything,” his mind raced over all the ways he had been treating you wrongly, and had a hard time forming his words in such a way that covered it all. “For never coming home to you, and acting like you were ridiculous for feeling insecure,” he quickly clarified.

You made a noncommittal noise, muffled by the fabric of his shirt your face was pressed against. “I felt crazy—still do feel kind of crazy,” the tears came back then, the emotions – anger, frustration, sadness, fear – of the night catching up to you. “Did I… Was I doing something wrong?”

Jack felt his heart break at the sheer amount of emotion in your voice, and while knowing that the alcohol in your system was partly to blame for your unfiltered honesty, he knew the words you were speaking were still true.

He had to approach this conversation delicately.

He whispered your name, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek and sliding it under your chin so you’d meet his eyes. “Hey, hey, don’t cry, okay? I hear you. You’re valid, how you’re feeling is valid.

“I’m the stupid one, okay? You did nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing. Well—except for wearing that jersey. But, hey, I don’t even blame you for that, either. I deserved it, yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, not willing to accept his apology because you still felt like he was being too forgiving.

Jack, not being able to stand you hiding from him, gently brought both his hands to your face so he could bring you closer and press a kiss to your lips. “Stop demeaning yourself. You’re better than that—certainly better than me.”

Your laugh was shaky, remnants of tears in your voice undeniable. “I don’t know. I wore that stupid jersey, after all. To make you mad. Deliberately.”

“And it worked,” he replied, refusing to let you shy away from him when you tried ducking your head again. “Very well, in fact. It was really smart, actually; I’m almost proud of you for thinking of it.”

Jack was already making you feel miles better compared to how you were feeling before, and you knew he was using his humor on purpose. His corny jokes were what drew you to him in the first place, after all.

“Almost proud?” you couldn’t help but tease back. “Maybe I should wear a Hurricanes jersey next time. Ooh, or the Rangers,”

The centerman had enough then, and with a wicked grin threw you over his shoulder to bring you into the bathroom. You weren’t drunk, but you were a bit tipsy, and he just wanted to use it as an excuse to really take care of you.

He also just felt really bad, like a shitty boyfriend, too. He had a lot of making up to do and knew this was only the first step.

“There will be no jerseys owned by you unless they are Devils’ red and have my name on the back, yeah?” you pouted as he set you down on the counter next to the sink.

“Fine. Orange is an ugly color, anyways.”

Jack hummed in agreement as he wet a washcloth with warm water and then began to gently wipe down your face. He worked in silence, concentrated on the task at hand while you just admired his face.

Okay, yeah, you were still a little tipsy. Your boyfriend always looked good, but maybe it was just about what happened tonight that had you really appreciating his looks.

“What’re you staring at?” Jack said, biting his lip to hide the grin threatening to break through. He loved that you couldn’t keep your eyes off him.

“You,” you replied with no hesitation, giggling when he proceeded to wipe directly over your eye at your witty comment. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty. Why do you like me, again?”

Your boyfriend scoffed, tossing the washcloth somewhere on the sink before pulling you closer to him. “Pretty? What if I lose a tooth, would you still like me then?” he briefly washed his hands, and then turned back to you. “And why do I love you, you mean? That’s easy. Let me show you.”

“Show me?” you muttered, your brain still running slow. “What do you mean, ‘show me’—”

That’s when he interrupted you by picking you up, moving your legs to wrap around his waist before carrying you to the bed.

Jack kicked off his shoes before falling on his back first while taking you with him. You ended up sprawled on his chest, his arms holding you close as you tilted your head up to meet his eyes.

“Being able to manhandle me is why you love me?” you said teasingly. “Noted,”

The centerman groaned dramatically. Knowing you were about to speak, he interrupted your next sentence by kissing you and grinned into your lips when you sighed with pleasure and brought your hands up to tangle in his hair.

“Done being sassy now?” your boyfriend hummed as he slowly pulled back, looking every bit the mischievous devil as the team he played for.

“Hmm,” you blinked lazily, stretching as if you were a satisfied cat, and wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him close. “As long as you stay here with me,”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

A few minutes later of the two of you making up for lost time, you had eventually moved to be cuddling under the bed sheets as the little spoon, just how you liked it.

“Don’t wear that jersey again,” Jack grumbled into your neck, pressing a few butterfly kisses to the skin exposed to the air.

“Seriously?” you giggled, attempting to turn around in his arms but being stopped due to the strength of his hold.

“Dead serious. It almost killed me.”

You were used to his dramatics by now but knew he was speaking from his heart because jerseys really did mean a lot to sports players, hockey players especially. Wearing Jack’s name might have just been superficial, but it was still a sure thing and a testament to the seriousness of your relationship.

Wearing someone else’s name, especially someone from an opposing team, was an insult to that even though it was just a piece of clothing at the end of the day.

“Better stay on my good side, then,” you teased, but knew you wouldn’t ever wear any other jersey but Jack’s again. He learned his lesson, as did you.

Teasingly nipping at your neck, your boyfriend merely laughed before burying his head in your shoulder and closing his eyes.

You snuggled closer to the warm wall of muscle behind you, reveling in the comfort of knowing your relationship was stronger than ever.

“I love you,” you said, quietly, staring out the window as the stars looked down upon you.

“Love you, too,” Jack whined at the sharp pain he felt from your arm as it swatted at him, and then quickly clarified. “I mean, I love you—I love you, too!”

You grinned, and you knew he could practically feel it which made the small victory even more satisfactory.

Jack muttered something else under his breath, one word suspiciously sounding like ‘jersey’, and then he was out like a light.

Exasperatedly, you sighed. Hockey players.

You wouldn’t wear a jersey that didn’t have the name ‘Hughes’ and his number printed on it ever again.

A/N: Did you guys like the missing tooth reference? One of my favorite lines in this tbh, I just love poking fun at situations like those lol. Anyways, please please please reblog and comment because it means the world to me and makes writing so much more worth it. I hope y’all enjoyed :))

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[dandelions-143]

Exile

Changbin Masterlist

All member Masterlist

AN: Sorry I’ve been MIA! I’ve had horrible writers block. Also sorry if this isn’t up to my usual standards. I’m slowly clawing my way out of this damned block. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing:Non-idol,bad boy Changbinxidol/Celebrity Y/n

Word Count: 3,250k

Warnings: this one’s pretty tame (for now) MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Emotional manipulation, Heartbreak and relationship struggles, Implied violence, Alcohol consumption (setting in a bar), Unwanted advances/harassment, Mild physical violence, Intense emotions and confrontations, References to criminal activities

Summary: Y/n decided to end things with Changbin years ago to pursue her dreams. But what happens when she comes face to face with the man she left behind but could never forget?

You sat on the worn wooden steps of your childhood home's front porch, the familiar creaks beneath you a comforting reminder of countless summers past. The warm evening air caressed your skin, carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming jasmine from your mother's garden. As the sun dipped below the horizon, it painted the sky in a breathtaking array of colors - deep oranges melting into soft pinks and vibrant purples. You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, savoring this moment of tranquility.

The peaceful scene was suddenly shattered by the distant roar of a motorcycle engine, growing louder with each passing second. Your eyes flew open, heart already beginning to race as you recognized the familiar sound. The old black Harley-Davidson - the very one you'd clung to Changbin on during countless midnight rides - came into view, its chrome accents glinting in the fading light.

Changbin smoothly brought the bike to a stop just a few feet away, the engine's rumble fading to a low purr before he cut it off completely. With practiced ease, he swung his leg over the seat and removed his helmet. Your breath caught in your throat as he shook out his dark hair, mussed from the ride. His eyes, deep and intense, found yours immediately. A smirk played on his lips as he approached, and you couldn't help but notice how his leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders, how his faded jeans clung to his muscular thighs.

"Hey, you," Changbin said, his voice warm and rich like honey. He reached for your hands, pulling you up from the steps and into his strong arms. The familiar scent of his cologne - a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him - enveloped you. Your heart raced, squeezing tightly in your chest as he leaned in for a kiss. Despite every fiber of your being screaming to give in, to melt into his warm embrace, you turned your head at the last second, his lips grazing your cheek instead.

Confusion flickered across Changbin's handsome features as he pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your arms. "What's wrong, Y/n?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, knowing that if you did, your resolve might crumble entirely. Instead, you focused on a point just past his shoulder, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat.

"I'm leaving," you said quietly, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "The company I auditioned for... they called. They want me as a trainee." You risked a glance at Changbin's face, watching as understanding dawned in his dark eyes. He knew how much this meant to you, how long you'd dreamed of becoming a singer. You'd spent countless nights talking about your aspirations, Changbin always your most ardent supporter.

For a moment, Changbin was silent, his eyes searching your face. You could almost see the gears turning in his mind, processing this new information. Then, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, his expression softened into that easy smile you loved so much. "You got it?!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. "Y/n, that's incredible!"

Unable to contain your own smile despite the heaviness in your heart, you nodded. Changbin pulled you into a tight hug, his strong arms enveloping you completely. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent as he whispered, "I'm so proud of you, Y/n. I always knew you could do it."

"Thank you," you murmured softly, your lips brushing against the warm skin of his neck. The moment was bittersweet, joy and sorrow intertwining in your chest. When Changbin moved to kiss you again, swept up in the excitement, you reluctantly stepped back. The hurt and confusion that flashed across his face made your heart ache.

"What's going on, Y/n?" Changbin asked, his voice soft but laced with growing concern. "Talk to me." You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the words you knew you had to say, even though they threatened to tear you apart.

"I think... I think it's best if we take a break, Changbin," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers unconsciously went to the promise ring on your left hand - the one he'd given you on your 16th birthday. The metal felt cold against your skin as you twisted it nervously. "Just for a while..."

Changbin's face fell, the joy from moments ago replaced by a look of utter devastation. "A break?" he repeated, as if saying the words aloud might change their meaning. "Y/n, we've been best friends since we were kids. We've been together for years. I don't understand..."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you struggled to explain. "I can't ask you to wait for me, Changbin. To put your life on hold while I'm off chasing my dreams. It's not fair to either of us." Your voice cracked on the last word, betraying the emotions you were desperately trying to keep in check.

The silence that followed was deafening. You watched as Changbin's jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with a storm of emotions - hurt, anger, confusion, and something that looked dangerously close to heartbreak. The tension between you grew thick, suffocating, as you waited for him to say something, anything.

Finally, Changbin spoke, his voice low and strained. "Is this really what you want?" His eyes bore into yours, a mixture of pain and resignation evident in their depths. You felt your resolve wavering under the intensity of his gaze, but you knew you had to stay strong - for both your sakes.

"No," you admitted, shaking your head. "It's not what I want at all. But sometimes... sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do. For the greater good." The words sounded hollow even to your own ears, but you pressed on. "We both need to focus on our dreams right now, Changbin. Without distractions."

Changbin's head dropped, his gaze fixed on the ground between you. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "What if my dream is you?" The raw vulnerability in his words made your heart clench painfully. You reached out, gently lifting his chin so his eyes met yours once more.

"Changbin, I..." you started, but the words caught in your throat as you saw the depth of emotion in his gaze. How could you explain that your dreams had always included him, that the thought of a future without him by your side felt incomplete? But you also knew that this opportunity was one you couldn't pass up, even if it meant sacrificing what you held most dear.

He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. The tenderness of the gesture nearly broke you. "Please," Changbin said, his voice rough with emotion. "You know I don't beg, Y/n, but I love you so much. We can make this work. Long-distance, whatever it takes. I'll wait for you, I'll-“

The intensity of his words, the depth of his love, stirred something within you - a mixture of longing and frustration. You pulled your hand away, taking a step back to create some distance between you. "Changbin, please," you said, your voice cracking. "Please don't make this harder than it already is. We both know long-distance relationships rarely work, especially with the demands of being a trainee. I can't ask you to put your life on hold for me."

Changbin ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up in that way that always made him look irresistibly handsome. His face was a canvas of conflicting emotions - hurt, anger, and love all warring for dominance. He took a step towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. The air between you crackled with tension, a potent mixture of longing and the painful reality of your impending separation.

"But this isn't what you want," Changbin argued, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "You just said-"

"Changbin!" You cut him off, your own emotions finally bubbling to the surface. "I want you, but I want my dream more!" The words left your mouth before you could fully consider their impact, hanging in the air like a physical blow.

You watched as Changbin's expression hardened, his loving gaze turning cold as your words hit him. He stood there for a long moment, just watching you, his face becoming an unreadable mask. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and controlled, but you could hear the hurt and anger simmering beneath the surface.

"I hope your dream ends up being exactly what you wanted, Y/n," he said, each word carefully measured. His jaw clenched, and you could see the storm of emotions raging in his eyes. Without another word, Changbin turned on his heel, striding back to his motorcycle with purposeful steps.

The roar of the engine starting up felt like a physical blow. You wanted to call out to him, to take back your words and beg him to stay. But you remained rooted to the spot, watching as Changbin sped away, leaving you alone on the porch with nothing but the fading sound of his motorcycle and the weight of your words.

As his silhouette disappeared into the distance, the finality of the moment crashed over you. Tears that you had been holding back finally spilled over, running hot down your cheeks. You sank back onto the porch steps, your body shaking with silent sobs as the reality of what you had just done began to sink in. The promise ring on your finger felt impossibly heavy, a constant reminder of the love you were leaving behind in pursuit of your dreams.

🥀

SEVEN YEARS LATER

The neon lights of Seoul's bustling streets reflected off the gleaming chrome of Changbin's motorcycle as he weaved through the late-night traffic. The cool night air whipped against his face, a stark contrast to the heat of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had a job to do, a task given to him by Chan's father - to teach a lesson to someone who had dared to cross their organization.

Changbin's mind raced as he navigated the city, his thoughts a mix of anticipation for the job ahead and memories of how he'd ended up in this life. The years since you'd left had hardened him, transforming the once carefree teenager into a man accustomed to violence and danger. Being the muscle for Chan's father's organization had become second nature to him, each job a reminder of the path he'd chosen after his heart was broken.

As he approached the upscale hotel, its towering structure a beacon of luxury in the night, Changbin's expression settled into one of grim determination. He parked his motorcycle in a secluded corner of the lot, his eyes scanning the area with the practiced vigilance of someone who lived on the edge of the law. The weight of his leather jacket, a second skin after all these years, felt comforting as he adjusted it and ran a hand through his hair, mentally preparing for what lay ahead.

The hotel's opulent lobby was a stark contrast to the gritty world Changbin now inhabited. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over marble floors, and the air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfumes and polished wood. He moved with purpose, his presence drawing curious glances from the well-heeled patrons, unaware of the storm that was about to break in their midst.

The bar, tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the lower level, was Changbin's destination. The muted sounds of clinking glasses and hushed conversations grew louder as he descended the stairs. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the room, quickly identifying his target - a man whose hands were wandering too freely over an clearly uncomfortable young woman at the bar.

Changbin's jaw clenched, a mix of disgust at the man's behavior and a flicker of something else - a memory of a time when he would have defended you with the same fierce protectiveness. He strode forward, his presence commanding attention even before he reached the pair. Without hesitation, he gripped the back of the man's neck, his voice low and dangerous as he growled, "I believe she's not interested."

The man's eyes widened in recognition and fear, realizing too late the gravity of his situation. "Hey man," he stammered, hands raised in a futile gesture of innocence, "I just wanted to talk to her, I'm a huge fan of Y/n's."

At the mention of your name, Changbin's world tilted on its axis. His head snapped to the right, eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, time stood still. The years melted away, and he was once again the boy who had loved you with every fiber of his being. Recognition dawned on both your faces, a maelstrom of emotions - surprise, nostalgia, and unresolved feelings - crackling in the air between you.

The moment was shattered as quickly as it had formed. Changbin's anger, fueled by the shock of seeing you and the audacity of the man who had dared to touch you, surged back with renewed intensity. His grip on the man's neck tightened, eyes blazing with a fury that made even hardened criminals cower. "Wait, wait!" the man begged, his voice rising in panic, "Tell the boss I'm sorry, yeah?! I'll have his mo-"

Changbin's fist connected with the man's face before he could finish his plea, the sickening crack of bone echoing through the bar. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious, as Changbin stood over him, chest heaving with exertion and barely contained rage. Every instinct screamed at him to continue, to unleash years of pent-up frustration and pain on this unfortunate soul, but he reined himself in, acutely aware of your presence and the line he couldn't afford to cross.

Slowly, he turned back to you, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. The years had changed him, sculpting the boy you once knew into a man of dangerous allure. His face, once soft with youth, was now chiseled and sharp, a hint of stubble adding to his rugged appeal. The lean teenager had been replaced by a man of solid muscle, his presence commanding and undeniably magnetic.

For a moment, you both stood frozen, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions. Changbin's intense gaze softened almost imperceptibly as he took in your appearance, noting how you'd changed yet remained achingly familiar. The silence stretched between you, filled with a potent mixture of tension and an undeniable spark of the connection you once shared.

“Changbin..” is all you could get past your lips. It’s like all the things you had ever wanted to say to him over the years just disappeared the moment you locked eyes with him. He looked as if he was going to say something but the moment was broken by the sound of security guards rushing into the bar. Changbin's eyes darted towards the entrance, his body tensing as he assessed the situation.

You instinctively stepped between Changbin and the guy lying passed out on the floor. “It took you guys long enough.” Your tone as spoiled and condescending as you could make it. “That guys assaulted me. If it wasn’t for this man here, god knows what would have happened!” you placed a soft hand on Chanbgins shoulder. The security guards looked taken aback by your sudden outburst, their eyes darting between you, Changbin, and the unconscious man on the floor. Changbin's expression remained impassive, but you could sense the tension radiating from him as he stood silently by your side. The head of security stepped forward, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Well?” You said with a bit of annoyance, “take him away!” The security guards exchanged glances before nodding and moving towards the unconscious man. As they hoisted him up and began to drag him away, you felt Changbin's muscles tense beneath your hand. You turned to face him, your heart racing as you realized the gravity of the situation you both found yourselves in.

“Uh, thanks.” Changbin mumbled before heading towards the exit. His stride were wide and rushed. You watched him leave with a mixture of longing and frustration. Your mind raced, trying to decide whether to follow him or let him go. Before you could make a decision, you felt a hand on your arm. Turning, you saw your manager, her face a mask of concern and confusion. “You okay? Let’s get you back up to your room. You have a shoot tomorrow.”

You sighed softly and turned back towards the exit, your heart racing as you caught a glimpse of Changbin's retreating figure. Without thinking, you brushed off your manager's hand and took a step forward. "I'm sorry, I need to do something," you said hurriedly, your voice barely above a whisper. Before your manager could protest, you were already moving, your feet carrying you swiftly towards the bar's entrance.

“Changbin!” You called as you tried to catch up, pushing through the double doors out into the parking lot where you saw Changbin getting onto his motorcycle. “Binnie!! Hey!” Changbin paused, his hand on the motorcycle's handlebar, and turned to face you. His expression was a mix of surprise and something unreadable as you approached, slightly out of breath. The parking lot lights cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles that time had carved into his features.

"Y/n, don't call me that. You lost that privilege years ago." His words cut through the air, sharp and cold. You flinched, feeling the weight of time and unresolved emotions between you. Changbin's eyes, once so warm and full of love, now held a guarded look that made your heart ache.

It took you a moment to get the words out but you pushed through, “I know.. I just wanted to give you this.” You took a few short steps towards him. Grabbing his hand that rested on the handlebar and dug in your small bag for a pen. You wrote your number on his palm. Your fingers lingered for a moment, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you both. "I... I'd like to talk, if you're willing," you said softly, your voice barely audible over the rumble of his motorcycle. Changbin's expression remained unreadable, but you noticed a flicker of something - curiosity, perhaps, or longing - in his eyes.

“And I'll be in town for a week, doing some press and things. Text me or call sometime.. I know we have a lot to catch up on, and... I'd like to clear the air between us if possible." You paused, searching Changbin's face for any sign of receptiveness. His jaw clenched, but he didn't immediately reject the idea. Taking a deep breath, you added softly, "I've missed you. More than you know."

Changbin looked down at the number messily scrawled onto his hand and without another word he revved his bike to life. The engine roared, drowning out any response he might have given. With one last lingering glance in your direction, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions, he kicked the stand and peeled out of the parking lot. You watched his retreating form disappear into the night, the red glow of his taillights fading into the distance, leaving you alone with the weight of unspoken words and the faint hope of reconciliation.

🥀

The next day you had suffered through three boring and mundane interviews and now you were getting your make up and hair done for a Versace photo shoot. It was an honor of course but, you still felt so caged. Not to mention your mind kept drifting back to Changbin. Your thoughts swirled with memories of his intense gaze, the familiar rumble of his motorcycle, and the electricity that had sparked between you when your fingers touched. As you sat in the makeup chair, you found yourself wondering if he would call or text. The anticipation was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, making it difficult to focus on the glamorous world around you.

🥀

A few hours later the shoot had come to an end. Just as you were changing out of the gorgeous clothes you got to wear your phone buzzed. You fumbled with your bag trying to get it out as fast as you could. An unknown number popped up. You clicked on the message: You want to talk? I’ll be at the hotel around 10 to pick you up.” You automatically knew it was Changbin. Your finger hovered over the keys unsure of what to say so you just settled on: Okay, see you then.

Your manager burst into the dressing room, startling you and nearly causing you to drop your cell phone. "You did an amazing job, Y/n," she praised. "There's a party you need to attend tonight, so we've got to get going." SHe motioned for you to follow her out. As you settled into the black SUV that would take you back to your hotel, your mind raced with anticipation. You weren't just getting ready for a party—you were preparing to meet your long-lost love.

🥀

A couple of hours later, you stood in ripped jeans, a dark red lacy bralette, and your favorite baggy jean jacket. Your eyes lingered on the deep blue sequined dress you were supposed to wear to the party tonight. Your manager would be pissed... your company would be furious... but who cares? You deserved a little fun—a little adventure. Glancing at your phone, you saw it was ten minutes until Changbin's arrival. Your heart raced with anticipation.

You snatched your bag and cast a final glance in the mirror, your stomach aflutter with a cocktail of excitement and nerves. As you strode towards the door, a smile played on your lips at the thought of reuniting with Changbin. The familiar rush of defiance surged through you as you stepped into the hallway, ready to embrace whatever adventures the night held.

You took the stairwell to avoid any potential run ins with the staff or your manger. You let out a heavy sigh of relief once you were outside. The night air was warm and heavy with the sent of rain. You scanned the parking lot, your eyes searching for any sign of Changbin's motorcycle. Your heart skipped a beat when you finally spotted it, parked near the edge of the lot. As you approached, you saw him leaning against the bike, his dark silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of a streetlight.

Changbin's eyes met yours as you drew closer, his gaze intense and unreadable. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. As you reached him, he wordlessly handed you a helmet, the gesture both familiar and strange after all these years apart. “You’re not going to put it on me? Like old times?” You were only half joking but, a part of you hoped he would do it again. It’s something you had always missed.

Changbins eyebrows drew together in an annoyed scowl, "Pretty sure you can do that on your own. You're a smart girl." He said gruffly as he put his own helmet on and straddled his bike. You felt a pang of disappointment at his cold response, but quickly pushed it aside. Swallowing your pride, you slipped the helmet on and climbed onto the back of the motorcycle, your arms hesitantly wrapping around Changbin's waist. The familiar warmth of his body against yours brought back a flood of memories, both sweet and painful.

As the engine roared to life, you tightened your grip instinctively, feeling the familiar thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins. Changbin kicked off, and the world around you blurred into a tapestry of lights and shadows. The wind whipped against your body, carrying with it the scent of leather and gasoline, a nostalgic reminder of countless nights spent racing through the city streets together.

His body had changed, more muscular and taut than you remembered, yet the way he leaned into the curves of the road was achingly familiar. You found yourself unconsciously matching his movements, your bodies in sync as you navigated the city streets. The contradiction of new and old, strange and familiar, sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

All too quickly his bike slowed down, coming to a stop outside what looked like a dilapidated hotel. As Changbin killed the engine, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The building loomed before you, its weathered facade a stark contrast to the sleek modernity of your hotel. You hesitated for a moment, wondering what secrets this place held and why Changbin had brought you here.

Once his bike was turned off you you both were on your feet again you could hear the faint thump of loud music coming from somewhere inside the building. "Why are we here?" You asked more curious than you should be. Changbin's lips curled into a hint of a smile, the first you'd seen all night. "You wanted to talk, didn't you? Well, this is where I do my talking." He jerked his head towards the entrance, his eyes challenging you to follow. The pulsing beat grew louder as you approached, and you felt a familiar thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension.

The place was packed with people dancing, talking as they leaned up against the walls. There were people sitting in the stairwells making out, some were snorting some kind of white substance. You smelled alcohol and weed in the air as well. The scene was a sensory overload, a pulsating mass of bodies and vices that both thrilled and unnerved you. As you followed Changbin deeper into the crowd, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. This was clearly his world now, raw and uninhibited, so different from the polished veneer of your current life.

You grabbed onto Changbins thick arm, worried you may get lost in the sea of people. “What is this place?!” You yelled over the music. “I love it!” Changbin glanced back at you, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "It's called The Underground," he shouted back, his voice barely audible over the pounding bass. "It's where people come to forget about the world outside." He led you through the writhing crowd, his hand finding yours in the chaos, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

There was a room towards the back, there was no door but a dark crimson curtain separating this room from the crowd. He held the curtain open for you and you stepped inside, your eyes adjusting to the dimmer lighting. The room was smaller, more intimate, with plush velvet couches lining the walls and a few low tables scattered about. A handful of people lounged on the sofas, engaged in hushed conversations or lost in their own worlds. Changbin guided you to an empty couch in the corner, his hand on the small of your back sending shivers up your spine.

Just as you settled down on the couch a few people came up greeting Changbin with handshakes and slaps on the back. “Who’s your friend?” A very pretty blond guy with a scattering of freckles across his face asked. His eyes dancing with curiosity as he looked down at you. “Uh, this is Y/n. Y/n, this is Felix.” Changbin half heartedly introduced you to him. As Felix shook your hand his eyes grew wide with recognition. “Wait! Y/n?! The Y/n?!” Felix deep voice grew louder causing other curious eyes to look over at the commotion he was causing.

You blushed and nodded with a soft smile. "Hey Chan, Minho! Come here!" You glanced over at Changbin who was rolling his eyes and turning away. Two more guys approached, their eyes widening as they recognized you. Chan, a handsome man with curly hair, extended his hand with a warm smile. "It's an honor to meet you, Y/n. We've heard so much about you." Minho, standing beside him, nodded in agreement, his cat-like eyes sparkling with interest.

You cocked your head to the side and glanced over at Changbin again.. he talked about me? Or do they just know me from being a public figure? The question burned in your mind as you caught Changbin's eye, noticing a flicker of discomfort cross his face. Before you could dwell on it further, Felix's enthusiastic voice cut through your thoughts.

"Oh man, Changbin used to talk about you all the time! He'd go on and on about—" Felix's words were abruptly cut off as Changbin elbowed him sharply in the ribs, shooting him a warning glare. Chan seemed to notice Changbins discomfort and tugged on Felix’s shirt. “Come on, we have work to do. See you later Bin. Nice to meet you, again.” He nodded in your direction. Changbin's eyes narrowed as he watched his friends leave, a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment evident on his face. As silence fell between you two, the air grew thick with unspoken words and lingering questions. You couldn't help but wonder what exactly Changbin had said about you to his friends, and why he seemed so uncomfortable about it now.

"So… you wanted to talk?" Changbins harsh eyes turned their full attention to you, his gaze intense and unwavering. You felt your heart rate quicken under his scrutiny, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through your veins. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the conversation you'd been both longing for and dreading since you first saw him again.

“I..” you began but then closed your mouth trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry. I know the way I ended things was unfair to you. I was young and scared, and I didn't handle it well. I've regretted it ever since." You paused, searching Changbin's face for any reaction. His expression remained unreadable, but you could see a flicker of something - pain, perhaps? - in his eyes. "I've missed you," you admitted softly, your voice barely audible over the muffled music from outside.

You didn't expect Changbin to except your apology right away but, you didn't expect the words the came out of his mouth. "You're not fucking sorry." His voice was low and harsh, laced with a bitterness that made you flinch. "You left me without a second thought, and now you think you can just waltz back into my life with a half-assed apology?" Changbin's eyes burned with an intensity that both frightened and captivated you, his words cutting through the air like shards of glass.

You tore your eyes from his, “No.. I don’t think I’ll ever see you again after tonight. I just know I needed to say that to you. And to say.. I never stopped loving you.” You kept your eyes on the ground in front of you for a while longer. Unable to look him in the eyes as you said those words. “It looks like you’re doing… well for yourself.” You finally looked up at his handsome face. “Although.. you’re very different than the boy I once knew.”

Changbin's jaw clenched at your words, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else? He leaned in closer, his voice low and intense. "You don't know anything about me anymore, Y/n. The boy you knew? He's long gone." His words hung heavy in the air between you, charged with unspoken emotions and years of unresolved feelings.

You couldn't help it.. one thing that hadn't changed between you two. Is when he pushed, you pushed back harder. "Then show me who you are now." Your eyes locked with his, a challenge burning in your gaze. Changbin's expression shifted, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. Without warning, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to him. His grip was firm but not painful, his lips only a whisper from yours. “I don’t think you could handle who I am now.. I don’t fit into your perfect world, Y/n.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the tension between you palpable. Despite your better judgment, you found yourself leaning into him, drawn by the magnetic pull of his intensity. "Maybe I don't want to fit into that perfect world anymore," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the muffled bass from the other room. Changbin's eyes darkened, a mix of surprise and desire flickering across his face.

Changbins hand let go of your wrist, his dark brown eyes still locked on yours as his hands gripped onto your waist nearly pulling you into his lap. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean, little girl. My world is no joke.” His grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you even closer. The heat of his body radiated through your clothes, igniting a fire within you that you thought had long since been extinguished. "You have no idea what you're asking for," Changbin growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Your eyes drifted from his intense stare to his plump lips, “I think I can handle it.” Your voice came out hushed and breathy. Your heart raced as you felt the tension between you reach a fever pitch. Without warning, Changbin closed the remaining distance, his lips crashing against yours in a searing kiss. The world around you faded away as you melted into his embrace, your fingers tangling in his hair as years of pent-up longing and desire poured out between you.

The kiss depended as he moved to push you back on the couch, his large body covering yours. His narrow hips settling easily between yours and you could feel is very hard cock beneath his clothes. His hands roamed your body, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever they touched. You arched into him, desperate for more contact, more friction. The rational part of your mind screamed that this was dangerous, that you were in a public place, but the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins drowned out all reason.

Changbin's lips traced a fiery path down your neck, his hot breath sending shivers cascading down your spine. You gasped as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The world around you melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of his touch and the thunderous pounding of your heart. As he lavished attention on your neck, your eyes fluttered open, suddenly remembering your surroundings. Some people were watching, their gazes a mixture of curiosity and desire. A rush of excitement mingled with embarrassment flooded through you. The thrill of being observed only intensified your desire, making your body respond even more fervently to Changbin's touch. You couldn't help but wonder if this was part of his world now—this raw, uninhibited display of passion that both exhilarated and terrified you.

Just as Changbin's hands found their way under your shirt, slowly lifting it up and over your bare chest, you suddenly came to your senses. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your breast, sending shivers down your spine. But as the reality of the situation hit you, a wave of uncertainty washed over you. You gently placed your hand on Changbin's chest, pushing him back slightly as you caught your breath. "Changbin, let's stop."

Changbin pulled back, his eyes searching yours with a mix of confusion and frustration. The sudden shift in atmosphere was palpable, the heat between you cooling rapidly. You sat up, adjusting your clothes and trying to catch your breath. The reality of where you were and what you were doing came crashing down, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Changbin ran his tongue over his lips, savoring your lingering taste. He was breathless, his eyes still dark with desire. "I knew you couldn't handle it," he said, his voice husky and challenging.

Changbin's words stung, but you couldn't deny their truth. You weren't ready for his world—not yet. The realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, smothering the last embers of desire that had burned so brightly moments ago. You stood up, smoothing down your clothes and trying to regain your composure. His eyes followed your every movement. "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

His voice was low, almost challenging. You turned to face him, your heart still racing from the intensity of what had just transpired. "I'm going to find someone I can handle," you said, your tone sharp with defiance. As you moved towards the curtain, you felt the weight of Changbin's gaze on your back—a mix of disappointment and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

As you slipped through the curtain, the club's pulsing music crashed over you like a tidal wave, drowning out the echoes of your encounter with Changbin. The vibrant lights and writhing bodies stood in stark contrast to the intimate darkness you'd just left behind. Your eyes swept across the crowd, searching for a distraction—someone, anyone, who could help you forget the lingering taste of Changbin's lips and the inferno he'd ignited within you.

There, you spotted a striking man with dark hair streaked with white-blonde. He swayed to the music, his infectious smile lighting up his face. A taller, baby-faced guy stood beside him. Your eyes lingered on the handsome dancer, drawn to his carefree energy. Without hesitation, you made your way through the crowd towards them, determined to lose yourself in the pulsing rhythm and the company of someone new.

As you approached, you noticed his deep dimples as he smiled widely. "Hey! Wanna dance?" you asked without hesitation, hoping Changbin was watching. You weren't trying to make him jealous, but you were determined to show him you weren't some pathetic little girl. The handsome man turned to you, his dimples deepening as his smile widened. "Sure thing!" he shouted over the music, already moving to the rhythm. A rush of excitement coursed through you as he took your hand, leading you further onto the dance floor.

"What's your name?" you shouted, leaning closer to him. The scent of cologne and cigarettes wafted from him—an intoxicating combination that drew you in. "I'm Jeongin!" he yelled back, his warm breath tickling your ear. His eyes sparkled with curiosity and a hint of mischief as he asked, "And you are?" "Y/n!" you responded. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, but he didn't comment further.

You and Jeongin danced for a while, gradually moving closer without quite touching until he placed his hands low on your hips. His touch was warm, but you felt little in response. As you swayed to the music, your mind drifted back to Changbin—the intensity of his touch still lingering on your skin. You tried to focus on Jeongin's friendly smile, but the comparison was inevitable.

Just as Jeongin began pulling you closer, his lean body pressing firmly against yours, someone suddenly yanked you out of his hold. In an instant, Changbin materialized between you and Jeongin, his muscular frame taut with anger. His dark eyes blazed with possessive fury as he glared at Jeongin, one hand gripping your arm tightly. "She's with me," Changbin snarled, his voice low and dangerous, brooking no argument.

"No—" you began, but were cut off as Changbin hoisted you over his shoulder. "I thought friends shared!" Jeongin called out, his tone playful and clearly not serious. "Not this one," Changbin growled before turning and carrying you off. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to break free. "What the hell? Where are we going?" you shouted over the pulsing music.

Changbin's grip only tightened on your body. "To teach your bratty ass a lesson," he growled.

Tagging all the tags I have because I lost my separate lists. So idk who wanted to be tagged in what… I’m sorry!! But please comment if you were someone who only wanted to be tagged in only one members posts! Thank you!

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[eevees-hobbies]

Predator - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Kyojuro Rengoku)

Synopsis: What’s hotter than making your boyfriend chase you in the woods while dressed in a spooky costume? Nothing.

Author’s Note: It has been a while since I’ve written for the love of my life, so here we are. This is 100% self-indulgent and OOC for Kyojuro and is also not an accurate portrayal of the time period, but I am aware. Let a girl lust, yeah? This is for the "No, You Hang Up" Kinktober Ghostface Collab event. Reblogs & comments always appreciated.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Kyojuro Rengoku. Degradation, dirty talk, cat-and-mouse, roleplaying, mention of claiming and marking, chasing in the woods, threatening to kill you, but pookie doesn’t mean it, choking/breath play, and ghost-face costume loosely implied but not explicitly mentioned. Tis Smut. Minors Do Not Interact. || Word Count: 2.2K

Banner by me. Divider by @sister-lucifer

“This is not an activity befitting of a Hashira,” Kyojuro grumbles, his voice uncharacteristically gruff and displeased, as he holds a plastic mask and black ankle-length cloak before him. He’s trying his damnest to appeal to your sense of sympathy and reasoning, but as he looks into your bright, lust-filled eyes, he knows your unwavering ability to reason is gone.

“Kyo! It’s fine. This is fine. Nothing you can do can hurt me, and I promise I can handle it.” 

Your voice drips with reassurance, but you’re practically salivating at the sight of the cloak he’s pulling over his head and now adhering to his muscular figure–the garment might be a tight fit, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Out of all of the Hashira, it wouldn’t hurt for Kyojuro to be a little less modest, you think, as the fabric strains against his muscles.

And even as you claim he can’t hurt you, you both mentally think about how that isn’t true. You, almost with reverence, and him with disheartenment of your fragility at the top of mind. 

Kyojuro can’t even begin to fathom who has been corrupting you in such a way that you get aroused at the idea of being chased through the woods by someone who wants to harm you. Don’t you get that enough in your profession as a Hashira with the ever-present threat that demons provide? But he can’t deny that he’s always ready to fulfill any request you may have, no matter how outrageous. He simply adores you far too much to disappoint you–some would call it love, but Tengen calls it being whipped.

“Ok, but we should have a safe word.” His remarks are muffled now that the mask is securely in place. It already annoys him how it tunnels his vision, but he can still see you clearly enough–so clearly that he’s watching you turn your back and dart into the woods. 

“No safe word then,” Kyojuro mutters, resigned yet still watching you with interest.

As he leans against a tree, he can’t help but admire your retreating form. The way your hips sway with each measured stomp of your foot, your thighs flexing as you maneuver around fallen tree branches. It all stirs something in him, some base instinct to claim and mark you, something he would never admit aloud to anyone.

And as he watches you, he kind of understands why you’re into this cat-and-mouse thing. It’s a way for you to live out this base desire to be chased in a no-pressure, non-life-threatening way he can provide. 

He figures he’ll give you a few more seconds before he catches you. You’re fast, but he’s much, much faster. Nonetheless, he wants to reward your apparent effort by allowing you to think you have a chance. But you’re naive if you think you can outrun, outmaneuver or outpower him.

He has to shake his head in disbelief—this mask makes him sound–and feel–like a predator. 

If you weren’t a Hashira, there’s no way you’d be as far out into the forest as you are right now. Years of training allow you to feel the expansion and deflation of your lungs as they move oxygen in and out of your body. You’re moving so fast that you feel like you’re soaring—you’re not even sure if your feet are touching the ground at this point.

Fuck.

But then you see it. You see a flicker of light subtly bouncing off the trees–if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, and you know when your other half is approaching, so quick on your heels that you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. 

But then it becomes so bright that it’s almost like the sun is starting to rise behind you. Despite that, you know better than to look over your shoulder. Looking behind you would mean getting caught. You’ve made that mistake before during sparring sessions, and each time, it resulted in him on top of you, breathing in your ear from behind and asking if you want to yield in a husky voice that never failed to make you shiver.

As you feel the unmistakable sensation of heat on your clothed back, you make a sudden turn. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a hand shooting past your face.

For an instant, you think you might have tricked him, and you let out a barely restrained, triumphant laugh, but then the upright trees are not upright anymore, and neither are you.

As Kyojuro’s body collides with yours, his hands reflexively moving under you to break your fall, you can’t help but be excited that you’ve lost because, truthfully, you’re about to win in all the ways that matter.

“Is this what you wanted, my flame? To feel like you’re in danger? Do you feel like your life is on the line?” He’s hovering over you, mask muffling his usual booming voice, but you can hear him quite clearly despite the sound of your heavy breathing and blood rushing in your ears.

You’d answer him honestly—tell him it’s impossible to ever feel genuinely in danger with him—but you’re too busy trying to recoup all that oxygen from running for your–theoretical–life,  so give him a head shake instead.

Under the mask, Kyojuro chews his lip, wondering what you need to feel or hear to make this experience worthwhile. But deep down, he knows, and he’s willing to give in to yours and his base desires, even if that means he has to act less like a Hashira and more like someone he would and could never be. 

He moves his hand to your neck, his fingers pressing against the pulse point that’s drumming erratically. He watches the corner of your lip twitch upward into an almost smirk that he all but wipes away when the entirety of his fingers wrap around your throat with the pressure that elicits a gasp from you. 

“I don’t have to do much to snuff out your life,” he informs you, his voice low and gravely, which is a far cry from his usual jovial tone. The way he says snuff is punctuated with the tightening of his grip as it threatens the air you just worked hard to recuperate.

Yet you somehow manage a “you’d snuff a cute girl like me out?” 

“You? I think I’d keep you around for a bit. You look like you might be good for something—scratching an itch, perhaps.”

Use me!

Let me scratch your itch, Kyo, your brain all but screams as he presses himself between your thighs. He doesn’t need much to convince you to spread yourself for him; the motion is almost automatic for you as his hands push up your skirt and pull the seat of your panties to the side.

“No foreplay?” You inquire with a purr as he moves the cloak out of the way enough to grab his hardening cock and press it against your heated cunt. He can feel how desperate you are with the way your sex is clenching in anticipation and the heat radiating from your core; it makes him smirk as he teases the entrance by dragging the fat head of his cock against her that only makes her weep your arousal and coat the forest floor. 

You reach up and snatch the mask off his face, and your breath catches in your throat at the sheer intensity of his gaze–it’s dark and hungry, which is a far cry from the usual reverent look he holds when he looks upon you. But this dark and hungry look? It makes you ache.

He looks down at you, eyes cold—a look you’ve only seen him wear a handful of times for the most troublesome of demons. As you stare up at him with bated breath, you can’t help that his look is appropriate because surely you’re haunting him with your little fucked up fantasy.

“Are you the type of girl who likes to be fucked on the dirty forest floor with leaves in her hair and her cunt exposed to the elements?”

Before you can answer, he’s bottoming out inside of you, and you didn’t need foreplay, but the lack of checking in from him–something you’ve certainly grown accustomed to–is jarring. 

You arch your back, expecting him to wait and allow you the chance to breathe, but his hand finds purchase on the column of your neck once again as he holds you down while starting the quick propelling of his hips, stretching you out as his pelvis connects with yours but then pulling out until the tip so much so that your cunt barely has time to grip him.

But Kyojuro can feel how she desperately tries to squeeze him like a vice, how she flutters and tries to embrace his cock in warm and wet blanket of velvet flesh. You feel like heaven and sin all in the same filthy stroke.

You reach up, your hands wrapping around his wrists in an attempt to get a grip on the situation, him, anything because you’re not used to this side of him, and he can see the shock and disbelief in your eyes. 

Fuck, he likes it. 

He leans down, lips brushing against yours, words coming out sickly sweet as he taunts you.

“Don’t tell me you bit off more than you can chew, my flame. You thought you’d be in control here? You thought I wouldn’t savor the opportunity to split you open on my cock right here when you’re offering yourself up to me so nicely?”

As he speaks, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off airflow to the point that you can feel yourself growing lightheaded; the only sensation that becomes apparent to you is the way his cock feels plundering into your cunt.

His lips remain skimming yours, occasionally opening as he lets out gasps–because even though Kyojuro is committed to the bit, he’s still so deeply affected by you and how you feel wrapped around his cock.

“So wet for me, pretty girl. Well, if you want to act like a bitch in heat offering yourself up to me until I mount you on the ground and sheathe myself inside of you, I’m going to act like a dog and take it,” he grunts with another exaggerated jut of his hips.

Kyojuro’s half-lidded eyes meet yours as he looks down at you. The leaves that have turned a rusty brown during the Fall season create a halo around your head, framing your magnificence in a way that feels justified to Kyojuro.

Fuck, you look so beautiful, especially when you’re taking his cock.

Tears are starting to prick at the corner of your eyes as he bullies your g-spot unrelentingly. Your mouth is opening and closing with only shattered moans and whimpers escaping from your parted lips as his hand squeezes the life out of you. 

You look so perfect like this, but, fuck, he realizes, you might pass out. He loosens his grip around your throat, and the way you gasp for air makes his cock throb because, honestly, the power he could hold over you is intoxicating.

“Thank me for not snapping your neck,” he whispers in your ear through gritted teeth. Oh, he’s close, so fucking close that he can feel his balls clench where they smack the curve of your ass. 

He’s not usually very comfortable with dirty talk, often fumbling the words as he speaks, his cheeks heating up as you reassure him that he’s doing just fine, but at this moment? In this moment, it feels right.

“Thank me for taking your cunt and not your life.”

“T-thank you, K-kyo!” A harshly punctuated thrust of his hips, thick-cock head driving into the sensitive ridges of your pussy serves as an unspoken warning for you to get it fucking right.

So you correct yourself, tilting your head back and practically screaming it for the entire forest to hear, “T-thank you, Kyojuro, for not snapping my neck and taking my cunt!”

Quicker than the last syllable can leave your lips, he’s crashing his mouth down onto yours, swallowing your moans and gasps, drinking them up like wine in an open-mouthed, messy kiss. He’s pouring into you as much as you’re pouring into him with a kiss that speaks to your deep connection and intimacy.

His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as he holds it over above your head and rolls his hips deeper. The only sounds you’re privy to are the sounds of the leaves crushing under your bodies, your muffled moans as you exchange them mouth-to-mouth, and the obscene squelches coming for your cunt as he pushes deeper into you.

You’re so deliciously close–until you aren't, because you’re falling into a torrent of intense orgasmic waves, Kyojuro quickly following after you with a guttural moan released into your mouth.

After the ripples of your pleasure pass, he rolls off of you, the mask forgotten along with the roleplay as you both attempt to catch your breath again.

“Was that good, my flame? I’m sorry for the filthy things I said.” He looks at you with bright eyes, like he did all of this simply to please you, but you know better.

“Nah, you liked it.”

“I liked it.” he concedes with a chuckle as he brings your knuckles to his lips to place kisses laced with another unspoken apology for committing to the bit far too well.

@hayatoseyepatch @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn

[oliwrites]

Needy

relationship: loki x fem!reader

summary: you and loki are celebrating your 100th year of, and you’re feeling quite needy

warnings: 18+ (minors and pearl clutcher please leave), piv sex (not for very long), pet names, loki just being a good husband

word count: 670

You and Loki were a tangled mess. Skin on skin, breath on breath. Today is the day that marks the 100th year anniversary of you and Loki being wedded. The passion was still clearly there, and the connection was still strong.

“That feels so good” you moaned out, raking your nails down the alabaster skin on his back. He grunted at the pain and jerked his hips harder into yours. You both let out a moan of pure pleasure. You leaned up toward Loki’s neck, trailing love bites down to his collarbone, “Loki… Please…” you moaned in a plea, not entirely sure what you were begging for, but all you knew is that you wanted more.

“I know, my love, I’m right here,” Loki cooed, brushing the loose hair out of your face, before moaning at you clenching around him, “Shit, darling…” He moaned into your neck as he felt himself spasm inside of your tight cunt. You threw your head back as you began to feel a coil build up in your stomach causing you to buck against his hips, in order to get just enough friction.

“Loki.. I—” You started out in a warning moan

“Me too, my love, just wait a second for me, okay, baby? Can you do that for me?” Loki asked, panting for air, his free hand lowering down to your clit, circling it rapidly, making it harder and harder to hold your orgasm.

“Loki… I— I can’t hold it anymore!” You wept out in pleasure. Loki connected his lips to yours, tangling your tongues together in a messy kiss.

“Let go for me, beloved, I’ve got you,” Loki whispered into your mouth, in between your kisses. That was all you needed to release all over him. Waves of pleasure hit you as you bucked against Loki as he released his seed into you. A deep moan left his lips as he threw his head back. Holding his hips to yours, ensuring every drop of him remains inside.

After a few moments, Loki practically collapsed onto you. He breathed into the crook of your neck, inhaling the natural scent of you, now accompanied by the smell of your guys’ strenuous activities. Meanwhile, you laid below him, playing with his hair, twirling it around your finger, and drawing small shapes on his back.

“I love you, Loki” You sighed out in relaxation as you felt the soft patter of his heartbeat against your rib cage.

“I love you more, darling,” Loki replied. The two of you continued to lay there for a little while before Loki spoke up again, “I should run you a bath,” Loki said, attempting to get up, which was quickly stopped by you wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Don’t go.” You murmured into his neck, pressing kisses onto his collarbone. You heard Loki chuckle above you, but he listened and stayed laying down

“My love, I’m not going anywhere. I was just going to run you a bath, that was it, I swear,” Loki replied with a cheeky smile.

“Then take me with you,” You quipped, kissing him.

“My needy, needy girl” Loki chuckled, standing up, grabbing on your hips, to keep you in his arms. You tightened the grip of your legs on his waist as he got up.

He led you into the en-suite bathroom, placing you down on the sink. When he tried to tear away from you, you whined in protest. Loki cocked an eyebrow at your neediness.

“I like it when you’re nearby” you confessed, kissing his lips. Loki laughed, but accepted your kiss.

“We’ve been together for over 100 years, and you can’t let me walk 3 feet to start the bathtub?” Loki mused, caressing your cheek.

“Nope” You replied, popping the ‘p’ in “nope” before giggling and nuzzling into his neck.

“You make things very difficult,” Loki started, before flicking his wrist, magicking the bathtub to start filling up with water at the perfect temperature, “perhaps that’s the reason why I married you,”

***

i have no idea where i got these ideas from but i’m rocking with them. i also wrote that when it was like midnight soooo

[skzhocomments]

The Rising Empress (Bang Chan) - Chapter 3 - Mistreatment and the Loss of Self

General Masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

---

Chapter 3 - Mistreatment and the Loss of Self

Chapter word count: 3.3k words

The next morning, Aristia wakes up to soft sun rays on her bed that contrast the throbbing pain in her temples. She’s still dressed in the ripped-up lingerie, the recollection of last night’s events making her heart throb as much as her head.

The Emperor loathes me. She thinks and turns the thought in her head a couple of times in hopes that she’ll find a solution, a way to combat his vexation. Then, she remembers some of his words:

“Just stay somewhere, quietly and out of my sight, and I’ll leave you be as well.”

That’s not too bad, she realises. If she were to just stay out of his sight, he wouldn’t ask for her either. She could live the rest of her days quietly in the Palace without having to see him, and just lead a peaceful day-to-day life reading books in the Royal Library. There certainly must be a ton of books she wouldn’t find in the Kingdom, especially medicine books, since the Empire is most known for their advances in remedies.

Nothing would be different from the Kingdom, except for the abuse she had to endure. She’s safe here, she hopes. The Emperor doesn’t want to touch her, so she’s safe. For the first time in years, she’s safe. Her back won’t be bloodied anymore; the soles of her feet won’t be sore for days on end; the back of her knees won’t hurt.

She is safe.

She is safe.

This thought brings a large smile on Aristia’s face, and she almost forgets about the headache. She gets out of bed and notices her crown on a table nearby the door, next to a vase of withered flowers. She puts it on her head and opens her door after hugging the fur coat tight around her body, and she sees an unfamiliar guard and a maid who bow respectfully.

“Hello.” She starts.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness.” The maid and the guard speak at the same time.

“You may rise. What time is it?”

“It’s past 12 o’clock, Your Highness.”

“Oh my, I slept for some time. What are your names?”

“My name is Mari, and I’ve been appointed by His Highness to assist you.” The maid starts. 

The guard also introduces himself, and Aristia wonders what happened to Changbin or Lee Know. She notices their uniforms are different, so the guards she met must’ve been of higher rank than the one standing in front of her. However, she doesn’t inquire about it.

She asks Mari to draw her a bath and prepare some clothes for her, and ignores the guard, as his duty is to stay at her door and protect her from any intruders. Mari follows the orders, but to Aristia’s dismay, the bath water is cold once again, and the clothes the maid prepared are shabby.

She doesn’t say a thing, though. It’s clear that she’s disliked, so she expected some mistreatment. The withered flowers were her first hint. She’s not even sure if she should retaliate anyway, since she doesn’t have the Emperor’s support.

Feeling like a doormat is something she’s used to; it’s the treatment she’s received her whole life. However, sinking her body into the freezing cold bathtub, she can’t help but think of how harshly her mother’s maid would’ve scolded her if she knew what Aristia is willing to brush over.

Her head is now underwater, and she has the urge to scream, but instead, she just keeps her eyes closed and tries to ignore how much her body is shaking in the cold water. She has no desire to come back to the surface.

This is peaceful. She thinks, holding a strong grip on the edges of the tub, just to ensure she’s keeping herself underwater.

After about one minute, she feels a strong urge to breathe, so she reluctantly lets herself come up in a sitting position, taking a couple of hurried breaths. She read in a book a while ago that you can actively practice holding your breath in order to be able to do so for a longer time, so she decides that this would be a good thing to focus on for the time being.

Holding her breath.

She lets herself go underwater again, but to her dismay, she’s only able to stay there for about 100 seconds before she needs to breathe. Her breaths come out more hurried than before, and she internally curses. She decides a better course of action as of now would be actually washing herself, as she must prepare for lunch.

~

Once she is dry and dressed, she is escorted by her guard to another room where she would have her meal. She wanted to protest at first, considering that she’s eaten in the bedroom until now, and tell the guard to keep watch at her door instead, but decides against it when she notices she’s yet again going to eat on her own.

The Emperor doesn’t come to have lunch with her, not that she expected it, but if he did, then maybe…

Maybe she would’ve gotten more to eat than dried salad leaves and a salad dressing with a faint rancid smell. The tea she is served also tastes off, so she guesses that whoever brewed it is not too fond of her, letting the teapot on top of the flame for long enough to get this bitter taste.

~

With every passing week, the mistreatment keeps going far beyond. The ladies of the court talk behind her back about the lack of affection – or rather, interest – from the Emperor. It’s already widely known throughout the court that their marriage has yet to be consummated, that Chris kicked her out in the middle of the night, and that she didn’t object, she simply walked barefoot to her room with little dignity. All the ladies adore this subject, it hasn’t died off even months after, especially since the Emperor hasn’t spent any nights with Aristia since.

Loafer

Thief

Fake Empress

Dirty wench

And even whore, for whoever is brave enough to call Aristia that. The names she’s famous for are never ending, and the worst part of it all? There’s nothing she can do about it.

Nothing.

She can’t address any of the names she’s been called, she can’t counter the poison-tongued court ladies, for she has no achievements and no chance to prove herself worthy of the title of Empress. She is purposely kept away from all the Empire’s business by Chris and his advisors, so she can’t do any of her duties.

She’s been compared time and time again to Arabella, the young woman she started paying attention to since the wedding, and she’s found out some interesting things.

Arabella is a member of one of the most powerful aristocratic families in the Empire, who has supported the previous Emperor in ascending the throne. They’ve offered unconditional support to Chris as well, so everyone expected Arabella to become Empress, until talks of the negotiations between the Kingdom of the South and the Empire of the Sun started taking place.

This has apparently been a blow in the face for Arabella, who not only had enough power and support from her family and the aristocracy to get on the throne as Chan’s bride, but who was also blindly in love with him, to the point where she openly claimed how heartbroken she was to the news of his marriage to someone else.

In fact, she made so much fuss about it, it was all over the papers for several weeks prior to the actual wedding, and for some more after.

If she were a simple aristocratic woman with a shallow personality and nothing to her name but her family’s power, Aristia wouldn’t have paid her any mind. But she was far from superficial. Arabella’s family owned multiple businesses, she’s been involved in lots of charities, and has actively done a lot for the people.

Compared to the Empress, who’s done absolutely nothing ever since she came in power, Arabella shines like an expensive jewel indeed. The comparisons between them always end in a bad note for Aristia, and since she doesn’t have any support from her husband, the court ladies just get more and more brutal in their words and behaviour towards her.

Even the maids are having a field day with all the gossiping going around the Palace. So much so, that they’ve become brave. They sometimes even make Aristia trip in the hallways when she’s headed outside without her guard – for the man asked to monitor her no longer accompanies her everywhere – which resulted in more than one bruise on her forearms and chin.

However, these things don’t phase Aristia. She couldn’t care less about Chris or Arabella, about the court ladies and the maids’ mean words or ill behaviour, or the name-calling, or even about the fact that she’s not allowed to do any of her duties. She doesn’t care about any of that.

The only thing that truly cuts her heart open is her under-stimulated mind, due to the lack of access to the Royal Library. Even if she is Empress, a permit stamped by the Emperor Himself is needed to access the library, and so far, no matter how many times she’s tried submitting official requests, she hasn’t gotten any response. Her requests get denied over and over again.

This is what’s truly harsh on her. Ever since her younger brother was born, the only thing that helped her survive and keep her sanity was the access to books from all sorts of fields. Even when her father decided that she no longer needed any teachers, since now there was an actual Heir to their throne, and that her tutors’ efforts are better spent elsewhere, she still had books. Enough of them to study day and night, to get educated in geography, politics, history, biology, medicine, physics, mathematics, the continent’s languages, customs and so on. She read, read and read until her eyes were tired and her fingertips hurt from changing the pages; until her nose was runny from the dust on the books on the highest shelves, that people barely touched; until her back hurt from hunching.

She had books. Her only friends, companions, and lovers during her lonely teenage years.

And now she has nothing. Chris made sure of that.

The only words she can read are found in the newspapers, if Mari feels particularly kind during the day to bring her one. Even that is not too often, as Mari, just like everyone else, still hates Aristia’s guts, even months after serving her. Her baths are still cold, and her food is still a few days old, which more often than not results in Aristia skipping mealtimes entirely, and it shows: she’s lost weight and looks frail now, her cheeks a bit hollow, her appearance gaunt, her body weak.

And no one cares.

No one cares about her health, for she’s not needed. The Emperor doesn’t want to have a child with her, it seems, so even her medical check-ups have been neglected.

No one cares.

And neither does Aristia, if not for the lack of books.

She feels like she’s going insane. Her brain is rotting away. The first two months or so weren’t that difficult; she recited book after book in her head, remembering all sorts of information that’s unlikely to be useful in any situation. But still, it helped keep her sane.

Now, however, it’s getting harder and harder to remember any interesting information or recall anything of significance that she hasn’t thought over hundreds of times already. The Emperor is still ignoring her requests, or denying them immediately.

~

Enough is enough.

After pondering for a while, she eventually decides to simply head to Chan’s office and confront him about it. Ask him for a valid reason why he’s not paying any mind to her requests, why he’s denying her the only source of entertainment she needs to survive, for books are as vital as air to her.

She’s nervous, as she hasn’t seen him since their wedding night, but her resolve is absolute.

“Take me to the Emperor’s office.” She commands her guard, who looks shocked for a few seconds.

“But, Your Highness, in order to meet his Emperor, you might have to request an audience and-” He says hurriedly and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“You seem to have forgotten, but I am the Empress.” She cuts him off with a fake smile, her millionth ever since coming to the Empire.

It was getting tiring.

“So, what audience exactly do you suggest I should request?” She continues in a challenging manner with a tilt of her head.

The guard stumbles on his words and quickly bows and decides to show her the way.

In front of Chan’s office, a guard she doesn’t know bows respectfully as he sees the Empress approaching.

“Hello.” She smiles sweetly.

“Good day, Moon of the Empire.”

“Is my husband inside?” She asks, side-eying her personal guard, making sure he remembers she is still Empress.

She wonders why Lee Know and Changbin aren’t guarding the Emperor’s door this time, and at the thought of Changbin, she can’t help but compare him and her current guard; how much better he would be at taking care of her instead of the guard assigned to her.

More respectful, more obedient, more attentive. Perhaps she should request Chris to replace this guard with him as well, since she came here making demands anyway.

“Yes, Your Highness. The Emperor is indeed in his office, but there is an important meeting taking place.”

“Will you open the doors, or will you keep me waiting?” Aristia smiles again, but noticing the guard’s puzzled, unsure look, she decides to make life easier for him, and brushes past, placing her hands on the handles of the large doors herself.

She’s taking full advantage of the fact that she’s Empress, for no one but Chris can touch her without her permission, nor stop her in any way.

“Let me, Your Majesty.” The guard speaks, to her surprise, so she moves away and allows him to open the doors.

~

In Chan’s office, Seungmin, Han and the Emperor are discussing important matters, when they are rudely interrupted by the opening of the door.

“What?” The Emperor asks annoyed, raising his gaze from his papers, viciously eying the guard as if he were on a battlefield.

“Your Highness, my deepest apologies for disturbing you during such a busy time. I am aware you mentioned you shouldn’t be disturbed under any circumstances, however-”

“If you know, why come here?” Chris asks sharply, making the guard cower in fear.

“Her Highness the Empress is here to see you.”

Upon hearing these words, Chris raises his eyebrows in surprise and puts down the papers in his hands on the desk.

“Why?” He asks, the surprise in his voice barely audible. 

Before the guard has enough time to respond, Aristia enters the room with her head held high, the Empire’s crown laid beautifully on top of her hair. Her clothes are still shabby, though, and she wears no jewels, nor an intricate hairstyle, but her status is visible just through her immaculate posture and elegance.

She is of noble blood and Empress through and through, no matter how many people deny it.

“Hello, husband.” She smiles cunningly. “What a nice office you have.”

“Why are you here?” He replies instead, annoyed by her presence. The fact that she dared to speak first is a telltale sign of her position on the throne next to him, and he loathes it.

However, he can’t help but notice the burning in her eyes. He’s seen it before, and even though he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s something he truly admires about her.

“Just thought I’d pass by and see my dear husband, why else?” She smiles, then glances at Seungmin and Han who, despite the reluctance on their faces, bow respectfully.

“Well, you did. As you can see, I’m busy. See yourself out.” Chris answers coldly, then grabs the papers on his desk again and starts going through them, not paying any more attention to Aristia.

“I need to talk to you about a pressing matter.” She looks one more time at the two men standing next to Chan’s desk, who quickly look between each other and bow again, before excusing themselves.

Once they are out of the room, Chris sighs and looks at her again.

“Let’s hear it. What’s so important?”

“My library permit.”

“What about it?”

“You declined it. Again.” Aristia says and Chris just nods. This tells her he’s done it on purpose. “Why?”

“What do you need it for? Can you even read?” He mocks.

“No. I just enjoy looking at pretty books and their illustrations, and oh, the smell! Can’t forget the smell!” She exclaims dramatically, which makes Chan laugh briefly, before his face turns serious once more.

“There’s no need for you to get access to the library, since you don’t need to do any duties.”

“I don’t get it.” She crosses her arms, and he raises an eyebrow. “You brought me here, you married me. I didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t want me to do any of my duties? Fine, I won’t. But this is the only thing I’ve ever requested of you. Is it that difficult for you to grant me this one thing?”

“Yes.”

To that, Aristia no longer knows what to say. Her shoulders fall in defeat as she realises there is no way to change his mind. She’s tried communicating, but he, just like everyone else in this Empire, couldn’t care less about her.

“You try to act like an Empress, but look at you. What’s with your dress? Did you roll in mud before coming to see me?” He points to the slightly dirty hems, and Aristia can barely contain her bitter laugh.

“You tell me. This is what your servants dress me in.”

The Emperor falls silent for a moment, then returns to his papers.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Yes. I need you to reconsider.”

He sighs.

“If there’s nothing else, I’m quite busy.” He points towards the door without taking his eyes out of his papers, and Aristia feels defeated.

She turns around, disappointment weighing heavily on her heart.

It hurts.

She’s never asked for his love, not even for his approval. She doesn’t care that he wouldn’t accept her as an Empress, nor that no one else in the Empire does. All she wanted was access to some books, to keep her mind occupied, just as she’s always done.

But he won’t even grant her that.

~

It’s hard to contain her disappointment on the way back to her rooms, but she figures she can’t simply let this go. Living with no source of entertainment to stimulate her brain is the only thing she can’t do.

She thinks long and hard, and once she gets to her bedroom, she plops herself on the bed and thinks some more.

She is not allowed in the library, and her maid won’t bring her any books. She’s tried before. There is nothing to read but the newspaper that comes every few days, which she’s been collecting in a small pile on her desk.

That’s right. The desk.

Aristia suddenly stands up and runs towards her desk, rummaging through the few drawers. She finds a pen, but no ink or paper.

“Mari!” She calls to her maid, who enters the room seconds after with a respectful bow.

“Have you called, your Highness?”

“Bring me paper and some ink.”

“Would you like to write a letter? Should I also bring some envelopes and a wax seal?”

“There’s no need. Paper and ink will suffice.”

The maid nods once more and leaves the room annoyingly slow. Can’t she see that Aristia is in a rush?

She returns moments later with everything the Empress requested. Aristia wastes no time in asking her to get out and begins pouring out all her thoughts on the papers.

She writes, and writes, and writes, making up stories and inventing worlds. She creates characters, she lets them face all sorts of difficulties, but all of them come up successful in the end. Having knowledge of a wide range of subjects comes in handy when writing, she notices, as she is able to give that knowledge to her characters as well.

It turns out that writing is quite entertaining, and it takes up the whole day. It’s already dinner time when she reluctantly puts the pen down. To be honest, she’d much rather keep writing than eat dried salad leaves for the umpteenth time.

~

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

[highgoon69]

Confessions

♥Pairing╰┈➤ Levi Ackerman x Reader

♥Content/Warnings╰┈➤ Really it's just fluff, maybe a little bit of hurt/comfort?? Fuck if I know

♥Word Count╰┈➤ 1.6k

♥Author's Note╰┈➤ First of all, the divider I'm using is from @cafekitsune and they have plenty of other really cute ones! And also this is literally the first thing I've written in like,,,,,,, six years?? I'm not sure and I can't Remember. If it sucks tell me and I'll leave it up because I simply do not care. Thank u one and all who actually read it!

“So,” Hange began, their tone light as they dragged you into their office. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”  

You shrunk backwards a bit, lowering your gaze to the (disgusting) floor. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Hange wasn’t dumb, you knew that. They were far from it. So why was blatantly lying your go-to response? It didn’t help that Hange was clearly trying to hold in a laugh at your response.

They placed a hand on your shoulder. It was meant to be comforting but it made you feel nothing but dread. Your name fell from their lips. “I know you. I know when your mind is elsewhere. You fell flat on your ass during training today, so just tell me what’s wrong.” Seeing Hange so strangely serious was remarkably nerve wracking. 

A moment of silence passed between you. You felt like a complete mess; a complete jumble of incomplete thoughts shrouding your head. Would telling the truth even help? Hange was your best friend, so surely they’d give you sound advice… right? You sighed, deep and heavy, before lifting your eyes to theirs. “If I’m being honest…” you took a breath, “I’m not sure what’s wrong.” 

Hange tilted their head to the side. Glasses gleaming under the dull light of their office, they moved a bit closer to you. “You’re not sure? Then what were you being so cagey about?” 

“I wasn’t being cagey.” 

They cackled. How annoying. “You were and you know it,” they said. “Elaborate on whatever you’re not sure about.” 

You sighed again before turning around to face the door. Grime coated the surface. When was the last time Hange cleaned it? “Lately, I’ve been feeling sort of… shy?” It shouldn’t have been a question, but it was nonetheless. The word you truly wanted to use eluded you. Honestly, you almost felt sick. 

“You’ve been feeling shy?” Hange repeated. You nodded once and a snort came from behind you. “Shy about what? How badass you are all the time?” You whirled around and slapped them on the shoulder. They grinned and rubbed at their arm. “What?” 

“You’re so annoying!” you groaned out, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m trying to open up here and you make a joke out of it?” Hange nodded. Another sigh came out before you could stop it.

Hange laughed again and put their hands on their hips. “Seriously, what do you have to be shy about? The only people you’re actively around is me, Erwin and  Le…” they trailed off and suddenly your face felt warm. Their mouth dropped open and they descended upon you, gripping the life out of your shoulders. “Is it finally happening?”

“What?” you asked. “Is what finally happening?” 

“Are you finally realizing you like Levi?!” 

If you thought you felt warm before, now it felt like you were being burned alive. “Hange!” you scolded, voice probably a little too loud. “Absolutely not! You know how he is! And why are you saying ‘finally’?” You could hardly believe them! Why would they even think that, much less say it? 

They pulled you into their chest, roughly patting the back of your head. “Oh, sweetie, how can you still not see it?” Despite practically whispering, it was loud and clear in your ears. Fear rolled down your spine. “You guys always sit together for meals, you’re always in his office helping with paperwork, the two of you actively seek each other out throughout the day, you even learned how to clean to his standards even though you hate cleaning. You still don’t realize your own feelings for him?” 

Every word was like a bucket of freezing cold water hitting you. Was Hange right? No, they couldn’t be. Though… they weren’t necessarily wrong. But so what if you and Levi were friends? You were friends with Hange and Erwin, with the kids from the 104th. Hell, you were practically friends with everyone. So why did Hange seem to make so much damn sense right now? 

Slowly, you put your forehead to their shoulder. Your chest grew tighter and tighter with every passing second until a tear dribbled downwards. “Hange…” you whispered. “What am I supposed to do?” 

They let out a soft sigh before pulling away. Your head stayed down and you watched as tears hit the floorboards. “You tell him.” You shot up, neck cracking at the motion. “Don’t look so shocked. What else is there to do?” 

“I don’t know! Cry, wallow in my own self pity, maybe?” you shrieked, Hange grinned. “Anything but that! He’d call me an idiot then either pretend it never happened or just not speak to me again.” 

“Hah!” Hange’s outburst startled you, making you jump a bit. “Like Levi would ever do that. Though, I really do think you’re an idiot!” They began to cackle again. Why were you friends with someone who found so much joy in your misery?

Before you could begin to say anything, a knock jostled the two of you into silence. A beat passed before Hange asked who was there. The last voice you ever wanted to hear in that moment responded, already sounding pissed off. “Levi,” he said. 

You dropped your face into your hands as Hange bounded to the door. They practically ripped the door off their hinges in their excitement to let Levi into the embarrassing conversation you were having. “Levi!” they exclaimed, hopping from foot to foot. “Fancy seeing you here, what can I help you with?” 

“You told me to stop by when I had the chance. Want me to clean your disgusting fucking room again?” he asked before peering inside. He noticed you, head still in your hands, before his expression softened. He called your name and shoved past Hange, whose smile was so wide it beat a titan’s. “Are you okay? What did this freak do to you?” Levi put his hands on your shoulders and spun you around to face him. You obliged and let your hands fall to your sides. 

“Levi, hi.” You couldn’t think of anything more to say. Seeing him was a shock and while you weren’t surprised to hear that Hange had told him to come, you were still confused nonetheless. 

He glanced across your face then turned back to Hange. “Were they crying?” he asked. You weren’t sure how Hange didn’t cower away from him; you definitely would’ve. His voice was filled with venom. Your friend merely nodded before slinking out of the door. 

Levi watched them go and waited until the door was shut before turning back to you. “Are you okay?” It took you a second to answer before giving him a simple nod. “What happened?” 

You looked away from him. “Hange was just… being Hange.” Levi clearly didn’t believe that was it, because he clicked his tongue in a remarkably disapproving way. “I’m serious.” 

“Yeah? Then what were they being so ‘Hange’ about?” As soon as the words left his lips you felt your head begin to ache. Maybe Hange was right. Maybe telling him wasn’t as difficult as you were making it seem. Maybe, just maybe, he’d reciprocate. Or you’d let it slip and he really wouldn’t ever talk to you again. The longer you stayed silent, though, the more irritated Levi seemed to get. “Well?” 

So you decided to not overthink it. “They were telling me that I obviously have feelings for you,” you said. “I didn’t agree with it at first but the more I thought about it, the more I realized they were right! I mean, I absolutely hate cleaning! But I do it all the time because I know how you are and I’m always on everyone else’s ass to keep things neat and orderly. You deserve to be happy and if something as stupid as shit being to your standards can make you happy then I’ll make sure it’s done. And I love sitting next to you, and I love when you kick my ass when we spar but I love it even more when we’re on our own and you pretend to let me win. And I know I”m, like, rambling at this point but the more I talk the more I realize I’m completely in love with you, Levi.”

Quickly, you clamped your hands over your mouth. You were totally, totally in love with him. And you just said it, like a fucking idiot. Levi stayed silent, eyes wide. The quiet was deafening and you vaguely heard laughter just beyond the door. 

Finally Levi seemed to come out of his stupor. “What did you just say?” he muttered. You cringed. 

“Are you really going to make me say it again?” Levi nodded and you let out a sigh. “Levi, I’m in love with you.” 

Uncharacteristically, he smiled. It was barely there and maybe nobody else would’ve been able to tell, but you could. At that moment, he looked so beautiful and soft. His grip on your shoulders tightened before his smile grew just a bit more. And, before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft and tender, and your stomach felt like it was about to fall out. You smiled into it, your teeth hitting his for just a moment. Slowly, your hands reached up to tangle in his hair. You tugged at the short strands before pulling away. Levi put his forehead against yours before letting out a content sigh. 

He pressed a kiss to your head. “I’m in love with you, too.”

[oldiesstationlover11607]

HIII BFFF!!!🤗🤗 i hope u are well!!!

sorry for not being active 😣😣 a gal has been booked and BUSY. but hopefully i’ll have some more free time soon 🙏🙏

i was going to write something like this… howeverrrr i have a lot of ideas already & i think you can do a really good job with this!!!

but basically you can pick either josh or tyler & the reader is a pop rock kinda artist & tyler/josh have always admired her from afar. so they invite the reader to open for them on tour. there’s some romantic tension & reader plays a song dedicated to tyler/josh & the fans r all 😮😮😮

something like that!!!! you can do whatever with it, i think there’s a lot of directions you can take this:3

p.s how are you feeling abt getting a LIVE ALBUM… still in shock.

Smithereens - Tyler Joseph x Singer!Reader

Warnings: Nothing hehe

Word Count: 3648 - pretty sure this is officially the longest fic I've written and posted on here :)

A/N: OH MA GAWD THIS WAS FUN AF FREN... this is so freaking cute I can't even deal with it! I'm in massive shock at the fact we're getting a live album btw my show isn't even until November and things just keep getting better and better with the tour lol I can't believe we're getting some of the transitions like natn to hds like WHAT THE WOW oh and the possibility of hometown x slowtown (um slowtown on streaming???? Tyler the man u ur–and josh bc ily). I cannot wait. oh and heathens into next semester... I'm so excited bc the setlist is so good it's gonna rock and be on repeat forever. Anyways, enough rambling onto the amazing fic I am incredibly proud of! 😁

“What!” I barked into my phone, rubbing my eyes until my vision went from blurry to clear. It had been a crazy night before, staying up late partying with my friends before falling to sleep at 3am. What had woken me up was a series of buzzing noises from my phone, buzz after buzz after buzz until it started ringing. 

“Y/N? It’s Mary.” Shit. My manager. 

“Oh! Sorry! It was a hectic night,” I laughed, running a hand through my hair. 

Her laugh echoed through the speakers of my phone. “So I’ve heard. It’s all over social media.” I shook my head, knowing exactly who had posted what to their thousands of followers. 

“What’s up?” I asked, flopping down onto my perfectly plump pillows. 

“I’ve booked you a tour!” I could tell she was ecstatic, even more so that I was. We’d been hoping to book a tour for the last year and a half and finally we’d done it. It was hard trying to find bands or musicians who were open to having newer and alternative artists open for them–especially someone whose genre is somewhat all over the place. 

“What?” I shot up in bed, wide awake now, the sleepiness immediately replaced by a rush of excitement and nerves. “With who?”

Mary hesitated for a moment, letting the anticipation build. “Well... how do you feel about opening for Twenty One Pilots?”

My heart practically leapt out of my chest. Twenty One Pilots? As in Josh Dun and Tyler Joseph? I’d always admired them, like... from afar. Sure, we’d crossed paths a few times at festivals and award shows, but nothing like this. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if they’d heard of me before.

“You’re kidding,” I breathed out, my voice barely a whisper.

“Not at all,” she replied, her tone giddy with excitement for me. “They specifically asked for you. Apparently, Tyler’s been a big fan of your music for a while. This could be huge, Y/N.”

I could hardly process it. “Wait… they asked for me? Tyler listens to my music? Sorry WHAT?!” Tyler Joseph? A fan of my music? It felt unreal. “I—” I stammered, feeling overwhelmed. “When does it start?”

“Next month. But you’re going to need to rehearse like crazy to get ready.”

“I’ll be ready.” I hung up the phone and collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. I was going on tour with Twenty One Pilots. Tyler and Josh. The guys I had admired for years were now... going to be watching me from backstage? I felt a shiver of nervous energy run down my spine.

A few weeks later, rehearsals were in full swing, and I was gearing up for the first show. 

“Y/N! They’re here!” My friend Joseph had screeched running into the rehearsal space. “No way.” I covered my mouth to try and hide the growing psychotic smile on my face. I was going to pass out from excitement. This wasn’t happening. I turned to the entrance to see the two of them strutting in, shaking the hands and bumping the fists of crew members they both knew and didn’t know. My heart was pounding as I watched them walk in, every movement somehow both casual and magnetic. Josh, with his surprisingly natural brown hair and classic easy smile, waved at a few familiar faces, while Tyler, wearing his usual baseball cap and oversized hoodie, exuded that quiet intensity I’d always admired. They looked like they belonged, like they owned the room without even trying. And here I was, standing in the middle of the rehearsal space, trying not to lose my cool.

Joseph was practically vibrating with excitement beside me, nudging me with his elbow. “Dude, go say hi!” he whispered, eyes wide.

“I-I can’t. Look at them,” I replied, clenching my jaw through every world to hide my delusion.

I swallowed hard, my palms already sweaty. What was I supposed to say? Hey, I'm Y/N, a rando who's admired you from afar for years? Oh, and thanks for asking me to open for you on tour, no big deal.

Before I could overthink it any more, Tyler's eyes landed on me. My breath hitched as he gave me a nod and a small smile, his gaze lingering just long enough to make my pulse race. He elbowed Josh, who turned and followed his gaze.

“Oh man, it’s her!” Josh said, grinning as they walked over. Sorry, what? 

“Y/N, right?” Tyler said, his voice warm but somehow deeper in person.

I turned to look around the room as if trying to figure out if he was talking to me or not. “Uh… yeah?” I said, it came out more like a question than an answer. “Yeah, that's me,” I repeated, trying to sound casual even though my heart was doing backflips. “Thanks for, uh... asking me to open for you guys. It's an honor.”

Tyler exchanged a glance with Josh, something unspoken passing between them. “We’ve been following your music for a while now,” Tyler admitted, rubbing the back of his neck like he was just as unsure of what to say as I was. “You–You’re really talented.”

I blinked, trying to process the fact that Tyler Joseph just said that to me. “Thanks. That means a lot, really.”

“We’re stoked to have you on board,” Josh chimed in, flashing that friendly, easygoing smile. “I think the fans are gonna lose it when they see you perform.”

“Yeah,” Tyler added, his eyes meeting mine again. “It's gonna be a good tour.”

There was something in the way he said it, the weight behind his words, that made my skin tingle. I felt that spark again, the same one I’d felt from watching him in interviews and onstage, but this time it was real. Tangible. 

Over the next few days, I kept catching Tyler’s eyes during rehearsals, our conversations short but loaded with something unspoken. It was subtle—just the way his gaze lingered a little too long, or how his smile felt more personal when it was directed at me. I wasn’t sure if I was crazy–my immense crush on the multi-talented lead singer getting the best of me–or if he had noticed the same thing. The energy between us felt electric, charged with something we weren’t quite saying out loud.

One evening, after my home city show, I was sitting out on the stage–the venue completely empty. I was alone, staring out at the abandoned seats and floor, still able to feel the energy from less than a few hours ago. Letting out a deep sigh, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Tyler standing there, hands in his hoodie pockets, his expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked softly.

I shook my head, patting the spot beside me. “Not at all.”

He sat down, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, the proximity making my heart race. We sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the faint hum of the venue’s equipment the only sound. I could feel his eyes on me as I picked up my ukulele which was sitting next to me and started absentmindedly strumming a few chords.

“I didn’t get to say it earlier,” Tyler started, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal. “But… your performance today? It was incredible.”

I glanced over at him, biting back a smile. “I didn’t know you were watching.”

“I’m always watching,” he said, his gaze intense, sending a shiver down my spine.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at me. “I’m trying… I’m so worried that I’m gonna mess up and make a fool of myself in front of your fans.”

“You’re not and you won’t,” he said quickly, his eyes searching mine. “Far from it, actually. Last time I checked twitter they were talking about how much they love you.”

We fell into another heavy silence, the air between us thick with tension. My pulse was racing, and I felt like there were a million things I wanted to say, but none of them made sense in my head. Tyler shifted slightly, his knee brushing against mine, and even that small touch sent sparks through me.

“Is it weird,” I started slowly, my voice fragile, “that I feel like I’ve known you for longer than I have?” 

The question clearly caught him off guard. His breath hitched, but I forced myself to stay calm. “No, it’s not weird,” he said, glancing down at the floor. “I feel that way too.” Tyler smiled, a small, almost shy smile that made my heart flutter. 

“It’s just… I’ve been following your music for so long, and now that you’re here… I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, his eyes flicking to my lips for just a second before I answered. “Better. Way better than I imagined.”

The air between us felt charged, like something was about to happen, but neither of us made the next move. I could feel the weight of his words settling into the space between us, making everything feel more real, more intense.

I had to break the tension before it swallowed me whole.

“Speaking of better,” I said, trying to lighten the mood but failing to mask the shakiness in my voice. “I was thinking of doing something special for tomorrow’s show.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow, curious. “What’s that?”

I glanced at him, feeling a rush of boldness as the idea solidified in my mind. “I was thinking… I’d cover one of your songs.”

His eyes widened, clearly surprised. “You’d cover one of our songs?”

“Yeah,” I said, biting my lip nervously.

Tyler blinked, taken aback, and for a moment I wondered if I’d gone too far. But then his expression softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Which song?” he smirked, laying back on the stage.

“Something off Trench, it’s not on your setlist if that’s what you’re worried about,” I laughed, joining him. 

“Why?” he asked, his voice low, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of what I was about to admit. “Because it’s personal. And I’ve listened to your music for so long. It’s always been a dream of mine to get to perform one of your songs live.”

For a second, the world seemed to stop. Tyler’s smile faded, replaced by something deeper, something I couldn’t quite read. His eyes searched mine, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for his response.

“You… you’d really do that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady even though my nerves were all over the place. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept looking at me like he was trying to figure something out. Then, finally, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that made my breath catch.

“It’s more than okay,” he said softly. “I think it’s… perfect.”

The tension between us didn’t break; if anything, it intensified. But it was different now, like we’d crossed some invisible line, and there was no going back.

The next night, the arena was buzzing with energy. I could feel the excitement in the air as I took the stage, the fans screaming and cheering, completely unaware of the surprise I had in store.

After a few songs, I paused, taking a deep breath as I stepped up to the mic. The crowd quieted, waiting for what was next.

“How’re we doing tonight Seattle?” A roar of screams and cheers rang through the venue. “I’ve got a little surprise for you guys tonight," I said, my voice echoing through the speakers. “I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’m going to do a cover of a song that means so much to me. A song that a certain band didn’t put on their setlist this tour. Any guesses who I’m covering?” I laughed. 

The crowd erupted into cheers, and I smiled, glancing toward the side of the stage where Tyler stood, watching me. Our eyes met, and I felt that familiar spark, the unspoken connection between us stronger than ever. 

“You want to come up and play piano for this one Ty?” I asked, the crowd erupting in cheers. Tyler shook his head, hiding his face in his hands. “No? Oh come on, you know you want to. The sheet music’s up there…” I turned to the audience, “I haven’t told him what song I’m playing yet,” I laughed. “You sure you don’t wanna come play?” The fans started chanting for him to join me. 

“Tyler! Tyler! Tyler!” 

“Oh fine!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the crowd. He climbed on stage and jogged over to the piano, shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “You're really doing this, huh?” he teased as he adjusted the mic on the piano, sitting down with an exaggerated sigh. I walked over to him, turning the mic off for a second. 

I grinned lightly as the energy of the crowd buzzed in the air. “Oh, I am definitely doing this. And you’re gonna enjoy it.”

Tyler's hands hovered over the keys, clearly waiting for the cue. “Smithereens? Really?” he laughed and I nodded, proud of myself. Tyler turned the mic back on as I waltzed back to my spot. 

“Alright,” I said, glancing over at him. “This one’s for you Tyler.” 

The crowd went wild, their reaction so loud it almost drowned out my words. Tyler chuckled into the mic, shaking his head again in disbelief, but his fingers were already on the keys, playing the opening melody. The soft, familiar notes filled the arena, and my heart started racing again, but for a different reason this time. This was personal. Intimate. And Tyler was right there, playing along with me.

I began singing, my voice steady but carrying all the emotion I had for the moment. I looked over at Tyler as I sang the words, and he glanced up, meeting my gaze for just a heartbeat. There was something in his eyes—something deeper than just admiration, something almost vulnerable. My chest tightened as I sang the next line, the weight of the song suddenly feeling more significant, more real than ever. 

Tyler’s playing was flawless, but there was a hint of tension in his posture, like he was trying to keep something in check. I knew exactly how he felt; the energy between us was palpable, the tension from all those unspoken moments finally reaching a crescendo. The crowd sang along, but it was like they were in the background, as if this performance was happening in our own bubble. Just me and Tyler. 

Every word felt like it was meant for him, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him between the lyrics, feeling the connection spark every time our eyes met. When I hit the chorus, the crowd sang so loud I almost couldn’t hear myself. Tyler grinned, his fingers dancing over the keys, the music swelling around us, and for a second, I forgot we were even on stage. It was just him and me, sharing this raw, unfiltered moment. 

As the song came to a close, the final notes ringing out, I turned to face Tyler fully. His gaze was locked on mine, his expression unreadable but intense. The applause and cheers from the audience roared to life, but I barely heard them. Tyler stood up from the piano, slowly walking over to me, and without thinking, I pulled him into a tight hug. The crowd went wild again, their cheers reaching a fever pitch, but it was just background noise to the heartbeat pounding in my ears.

As Tyler wrapped his arms around me in a warm embrace, time seemed to stand still. The world outside faded into the background—the roar of the crowd turned into a distant hum as I buried my face in his shoulder, savoring the moment. His warmth enveloped me, grounding me in the excitement and emotion of what we had just shared.

When we finally pulled back, Tyler kept his hands on my shoulders, his gaze holding mine for just a moment longer than necessary. A shy, yet genuine smile played on his lips, and my heart fluttered. I could feel my cheeks heating up, but I couldn't look away from him.

“Thank you for that,” Tyler said, his voice low but filled with an intensity that made my heart race. “You were incredible.”

I nodded, still breathless. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I didn’t just like it Y/N, it means more than just liking it,” he whispered into my ear. 

The energy in the venue surged as I turned to the audience, their cheers echoing through the air. With a grin, I stepped back to the mic, trying to compose myself. “Wow, thank you, Seattle! You guys have been amazing tonight!” The crowd roared, and I took a deep breath, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“This is the end of my set, but stick around because the real show is about to start! Twenty One Pilots is up next!” I waved to the fans, their cheers drowning out my words. “Thank you all so much! I love you!”

As I stepped away from the mic, Tyler clapped a hand on my back, leading me off stage. The moment we were out of view from the audience, the energy shifted. Tyler turned to me, his expression more serious, and I could see a mix of admiration and something deeper in his eyes.

“You made that song come alive in a way I never expected. You’re something else aren’t you?” he said, stepping closer, the air thick with unspoken words. 

I chuckled, shrugging slightly and running a hand through my hair. “I just felt right to play,” I admitted, heart pounding. “It means a lot to me, Tyler.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate whisper. “You’re more than just a talented artist, Y/N. You’re something else entirely. That performance made me realize how lucky I am to have you on this tour. And honestly?” He paused, searching my eyes, the tension palpable. “It just further confirmed how I feel about you, not just as an artist, but as a person.”

My breath caught in my throat, a rush of warmth flooding through me at his words. “I admire you too, Tyler. You and Josh have been a huge inspiration to me.”

Tyler smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made my heart race. “No, really. That was more than just a performance to me. It felt personal. There’s something here, between us.”

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest as I took a step closer to him. “I feel it too. I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it.”

He brushed a thumb over my cheek, his gaze unwavering. “Then let’s not overthink it. I’m here, you’re here, we clearly both feel something for each other,” he brushed a strand of hair that had fallen into my face behind my ear. “Every time you look at me, it’s like you see straight through to my soul.”

I swallowed hard, his words washing over me. “I could say the same about you.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice deepening. “Because I want to explore whatever this is between us. I want to see where it leads.”

With the distance between us closing, I felt the thrill of the moment, the intensity of his words and the warmth of his presence enveloping me. I wanted to lean in, to let him know just how much I felt, but the excitement and nervousness tangled together in a way that made me hesitant.

Tyler stepped forward, closing the gap even further. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice soft, yet commanding. “You’ve got to know that every word of that song was a reflection of how I feel about you. It might not have been written with anyone in mind but it’s exactly how I feel about you. And I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you how much you mean to me.”

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, sending sparks of electricity through my entire being. The kiss was soft, yet filled with an undeniable passion, and in that moment, everything else faded away. All the worries, the nerves—everything was drowned out by the intensity of his kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless, he smiled down at me, his expression both playful and serious. “I think I’m going to enjoy this tour a lot more now.”

I laughed, the tension lifting as I felt lighter, happier than I had in a long time. “Me too, Tyler. Me too.” I held onto his hand, brushing my thumb over the back of his hand. “Now, you’re supposed to go on in 10 minutes so you should probably go find Josh.”

“Oh damn you’re right,” he looked up at the clock on the wall noticing the time. He started down the hall in the direction of their dressing room but stopped to turn back towards me. “I–We–We’re going out after the show, okay?” 

I nodded, letting out a quiet chuckle. “I’ll come find you. But you really need to go,” I smiled. 

“I really need to go,” he repeated, looking slightly sad that he had to leave. And with that, he walked back into his dressing room, the excitement of the night still crackling in the air. 

//

REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN TEAM!

[p0orbaby]

Hot Chocolate

a/n: something small for the start of the festive season

summary: what could be better than hot chocolate?

warnings: allusions to sex

word count: 512

-

Winter had officially arrived.

Frost covered the corners of the windows and a chill was set within your bones the moment you opened your eyes. It was the time of year when crunchy orange leaves littered the streets and the smell of cinnamon and chestnuts filled the senses.

With the promise of a cold month ahead there was only one thing that could thaw one's icy hands and shivering body. The sweet, rich liquid known only as hot chocolate.

Begrudgingly uncurling yourself from the loose grasp of your girlfriend, you got out of bed with a hurried search for warm socks and your robe you hadn’t needed so far this year.

The small movement from the bed told you Wanda's semi conscious body had started to rouse with your lack of presence. It also meant you had exactly five minutes before she fully woke and demanded the warmth of your body.

With several large strides you found yourself in the kitchen in front of the fridge in search of milk, chocolate and whipped cream. Every second that passed, the more you had to wrap your arms around yourself to shield the frigid mist of the refrigerator from your skin.

Once every item had been acquired it was just a quick swivel to the stove and a small stretch to grab a pot hanging above the gas rings. An action that has many times led to Wanda gaping at you in lust when she notices your clothes riding up revealing your naked legs and lacy panties. You chuckled lightly to yourself and the fond memories this kitchen holds.

The drink was practically done when Wanda came wandering through the apartment looking for you. Her arms instantly embraced you from behind and you suddenly realised how much you missed her warmth.

“Morning baby” her voice was still full of sleep. Husky from lack of use throughout the night. “You left me”

“I did, but it’ll be worth it when this is finished, I promise”

She leant her head over your shoulder, her messy bed head tickling your face gently as she breathed in the smell emitting from the pot.

“It’s not coffee, but it’ll do”

“Hey!” You exclaimed as you turned in her arms to swat at her shoulder. “I’ve slaved for minutes, nay seconds, to make this amazing hot chocolate for my equally amazing girlfriend and all I get is an ‘it’ll do’?”

“You know I’m only joking”

“Hmm. Well maybe next time you do something nice for me, I won’t reward you with the fun, naked activities you earned yourself last night”

“Now that’s not fair”

“Isn’t it? Grab a mug and drink up, then we can discuss terms. I’ll be in the bedroom awaiting your review” you slid out from between the kitchen counter and the soft plains of Wanda’s body. Turning around to walk backwards to revel in Wanda’s slack jawed expression. “Oh don’t look so shocked, you know you always get what you want”

Perhaps hot chocolate wasn’t the only thing to warm you on these cold winter mornings.

[identitty-dickruption]

recovered; present tense

I’m relearning how to be safe; how to be a person in a world where I don’t wake up in the middle of the night with a pounding heart, my hands don’t shake every time I leave the house, and my eyes don’t search for threats whenever something moves in my periphery. Nobody tells you that safety is something that requires practice. That is, nobody tells you until you end up spending the best part of your life in trauma recovery. 

After all this time, “trauma” still feels like too big of a word for what happened to me and around me and through me. Trauma feels like a word reserved for veterans. For people who have returned from war, or at the very least some kind of “real” violence. It doesn’t feel quite right to describe my experiences as traumatic, when so many others have been through so much worse. 

After all this time, “trauma” feels like too small of a word for how shattered I have become. It can’t even come close to describing the way that survival became my entire lifestyle. It’s such a little word for such a massive change in my world. Two syllables, six letters, and a lifetime of pressing my back against the wall so that nobody can come up behind me. It doesn’t feel quite right to describe my experiences as traumatic, when so many others have been so much more fortunate.

I’m relearning how to be safe. Now that many of the physical symptoms are gone, I almost feel a kind of post-trauma trauma. I almost need a new kind of therapist to teach me how to have a personality again. I can’t go back to being the pre-trauma version of myself. They’re long gone. It wouldn’t feel right to reimagine myself as the kind of person who never went through trauma in the first place. I’ve discarded everything from the hobbies I used to love to the music I used to listen to. They were discarded when my entire life became recovery, but even now that I’ve “recovered”, well… That skin doesn’t fit quite right anymore. 

The days seem to stretch out for kilometres. Every moment feels endless when you don’t know who you are anymore. In trauma recovery, I learnt to live a values-based life. But a list of values doesn’t bring me any closer to knowing who I am. I carefully type some words into Google.

How do I know who I am?

List of personality traits

Personality quiz

None of it seems to help. Every question on the personality quizzes seems to beg for a degree of insight that would solve the very conundrum that led me to the quiz. I don’t know if I prefer being around people or being alone, because that decision was informed by trauma for so long. I don’t know if I prefer to be organised because organisation keeps me safe, or because that’s just how I am. Every question opens up a million more questions that I don’t know if I’ll ever have the answers to. 

I’m back to sitting on the outside of my own body. Dissociation. I think through the list of activities I’m supposed to do when something like this happens. Deep breaths. Counting the number of things I can see of each colour of the rainbow. Squeezing my own arms to remind myself that I’m real. Nothing immediately returns my brain to my body, but everything helps a little. Maybe I’m not quite as recovered as I thought. Or maybe recovery means learning how to make my trauma a smaller piece of my mosaic. Maybe I’ll always feel it to some degree, just slightly less sharp with each passing year.

I respond to a meme one of my friends sent me.

I check my calendar to make sure there’s nothing I’m supposed to be doing right now.

I strap my dog into her harness.

We walk.

I’m relearning how to be a person again. Walking through my neighbourhood with my dog provides more lessons than I expect. The sun is bright. The wind is cold. I guess it must be just past three, because kids are hitting the streets from the direction of the local school. They smile at my dog, and I smile back. I let a small group of the kids pat my dog. They thank me, and I wish them a good afternoon. These kids have no reason to doubt that I’m a person. And maybe that’s all that matters right now. 

[autumnslance]

Writing To Yourself

(Mileage may vary, I'm not your mom nor your teacher--unless you're working for a specific state healthcare service, anyway.)

That's how you garden. Tend the plot. Plant a million seeds, reap a thousand blooms. The rest? Compost for the next crop. -@biot08 / @driftward

During a Discord convo, I thought about why so many fandom writers catch “writer’s block”, and some of it goes back to self-care and taking in new media, getting inspiration and knowledge, covered in this post. But much of it?

People think everything they create has to be publishable for others’ consumption. That is Not True. Too often we don't want to write things just for the sake of writing them, falling into the trap of thinking it needs to be perfectly polished and shared, but No It Really Doesn't.

Folks talk about “writing for oneself” but in terms of posting finished pieces of the kinds they want to see. If everything feels like it “has to be” publishable, it can start to put too much pressure on oneself. And then there’s your block, especially if the type to worry about how others Perceive you and your art.

Try simply writing anything and deciding later if it's something you want to share. I have pieces I wrote cuz my brain suddenly said it wanted to, but that writing isn't posted anywhere. Usually it’s random lines; out of context sentences, scenes, or bits of dialogue. Sometimes just incoherent character rambling. Ideas for situations and what ifs. Misspelled, typos, not grammatical, redundant wording, passive voice, bad POV, too many adverbs, not enough active verbs, not enough description, too much description, etc. All in notebooks or doc files. I’ve shared the (now out-dated) deep nests of my WIPs folders and the multiple, unfinished, unpolished pieces within them. Most will never be completed nor seen by the public. 

For instance, I've a random smut fic of a Highlander Warrior of Light and the popular antagonist of Shadowbringers. I'm not usually a villain liker, but one day it hit my brain, so I wrote it. I have notes and outlines for the rest of their story and how it plays out, though I'll probably never write more. I scratched the writing itch, stretched some skills, considered things from a different angle, and now it sits in drafts (I did post a couple decent-ish smut lines to my private Twitter once).

Mostly, it's practice. Even if it's junk and janky.

“But I have (professionally) published X or Y…”

Still gotta exercise the writing muscles! Still gotta scrawl off something utterly unusable now and again for the heck of it!

All those random lines, descriptions, scenes, rambles? Maybe I'll use them someday. I wrote them down to feel the pen in my hand or keys clacking under my fingers, to see the words pop onto the page or screen, to play with word choice, sentence structures, and “how would they say that?” For my own satisfaction, no one else’s.

When I get bored or stuck, or need a screenshot or writing prompt response, I might poke at those lines, pages, rambles, and see if they hit now or spin off to something else. They often don’t. But sometimes they help inform other things I do post to the public later. Even if that’s just a Question of the Day prompt response on Twitter.

(That also counts as writing and creating btw; you’re still coming up with something to share about your characters and I think that’s very creative of you.)

If the mood strikes, write. Even if it's just a vague idea--especially if it's any bits of dialogue or description, if it's something you think that you actually do want to write when off work or out of bed or whatever.

Even if you never post it anywhere public. Even if it never gets out of crummy first draft, unfinished pages form. It might feel like pulling teeth and look rough, especially if it’s been awhile.

But still write it. No one else has to know or see. Not until you want them to.

Maybe parts of it will inform something you do finish later. Maybe two years from now another prompt will hit just right and you’ll dig out that draft and finish it for posting. Maybe you’ll cannibalize aspects of it for an entirely different piece. Maybe you’ll even use it in a few more years to see how far you’ve come as a writer.

In many cases? That's how you actually keep writer's block away. Keeping ideas around to steal from yourself, letting yourself write nonsense, unpublishable bits and pieces, maybe even whole pages, just for the heck of it, if writing is something one enjoys and wants to stick with as a hobby (or professionally). If you don’t enjoy writing for fun? Don’t force it; do little character prompts and blurbs as they feel right, and find the ways to share creativity that work for you.

And seriously, don’t forget to take in new media, experiences, and information. This is How You Lose the Time War got me writing on an original story I shelved last autumn. The stories aren't at all alike! But seeing new words in new ways helped shake something loose in my brain. So try to make some time for that, too.

Write to yourself, not for others’ consumption. Public posting is great for validation and encouragement, for when we feel the urge to share due to pride or just wanting to gush about our faves. But also let yourself remember why you liked creating worlds, making up stuff about your characters, and writing at all to begin with, without the pressure of public posting. Give yourself some grace, and let it all be messy, unhinged, misspelled, ungrammatical, incomplete, and make no narrative sense.

Write to yourself, for yourself. Then let the rest follow.

[ladylooch]

Choose Me with Trevor Moore

A/N: TREVOR!!!!!!!!!! Love bringing these little, obscure babies to life. Originally from this request, with a separate request for some angst. Also, that GIF is stupid precious. K, sorry this took so many more weekends than I thought it would!

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, smutty if you squint

It’s raining in California this morning while I sip my morning coffee, looking out the deck door of mine and Trevor’s house in Manhattan Beach. The gray rain clouds meet the deeper gray of the Pacific Ocean, making it difficult to know where land and sky separate. It’s all around dreadful out and the forecast calls for more rain through the weekend. I don’t care though. Because after a grind of a NHL season, littered with scary injuries for Trevor, we are heading on a two week vacation to Maui. I am so excited. I’ve never been to the Hawaiian Islands and can barely wait. Two weeks of white beaches, poke, and coconut flavored drinks. Two weeks of reconnecting with my sweet soulmate.

That sweet soulmate is currently behind me, grabbing himself a cup of coffee as well.

“This weather sucks.” He says, groggily rubbing at his tired face. I walk over to him, going on my tip toes to give him a good morning smooch. He softens into my touch, feeling content with our arms wrapped around each other.

When the machine finishes his cup, we walk to the couch to drink our coffee together. We sit close to each other, hands easily resting on one another. Spotify plays soft country music through the house speakers as we spend some quiet time together.

“Do you have any plans for your first hockey free day?” I ask him, raking my fingers through the side of his brown hair. 

“Not much. Going to lift weights at the rink in a bit, then sit here on the couch the rest of the day.” His brown eyes slide closed, relaxing into my touch. I move forward, careful of my cup to trail kisses along his strong jaw. When I get close to his chin, he turns, capturing my lips with his. “Gotta make a decision about Worlds today though. They keep blowing up my phone.” He mutters a bit annoyed. I pause a millimeter away from his face, lips still puckered. Pre-worlds activities and practice begins right when we are supposed to be leaving for Hawaii. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, USA hockey has called and texted me every day since Saturday.” It’s now Tuesday. “Kinda sucks that I even have to be called about it… for the second year in a row.” I pull back, looking at his side profile. Did he forget?

“Babe, we are going to Hawaii.” I remind him.

“Yeah, I know that was the plan, but we could move our trip around. The tickets and hotel are refundable.” Anger shoots immediately through my whole body.

“Wow, when were you going to ask me my thoughts on this?” He senses the shift as I pull every part of my body away from his. I sit up straight, coffee mug set on the table in front of us.

“I mean… when I decided to go or not?” His tone is cautious and confused, like he isn’t understanding the sudden shift in my behavior.

“Trev, what the hell?”

“If I go, you don’t have to, babe.” He shrugs, reaching out for my thigh. He’s completely missing the point. I shove his hand off of me, standing up to pace in front of him. He’s completely alert now, sensing the fight brewing.

“What about our vacation? The one you told me to plan right after the team was eliminated. I just did all of this work and now you’re like.. well maybe I’ll go to Worlds! Without even asking me if that is okay?” Trevor is immediately put off by my raised voice and his nostrils flare.

“I don’t need to ask permission to go somewhere.” I baulk at him. 

“No, but you probably should check in with your long-term girlfriend, who you’ve been ring shopping with, to see if she’s cool with you moving your vacation.”

“Why is this such a big deal? It’s not like we can’t afford to change plans.”

“That is not the point, Trevor. Why is everything more important than me and what I want?” I wave my hands around in frustration. “I have sat here patiently next to you for three seasons now while you have lived your dream. I’ve cooked, cleaned, shopped, rubbed at your body and held you when you had insomnia because of your concussion. And this is the thanks I get? A moved vacation so you can go do more of what you love while I wait?”

His gaze drops from me. He says nothing. My chest rises and falls rapidly with my heavy breathing. I blink back tears, then look out at the different shades of California gray. I narrow my eyes. Fuck this.

“You know what, go to Worlds. I’ll go to Hawaii by myself. I could use a break from more than just this rain.” My tone is insinuating.

I reach for my coffee cup, walking it back to the kitchen sink and dumping it out. I set it aggressively in the dishwasher then slam the door shut. Trevor sighs heavily then stands, coming to block my path from leaving the room. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have asked if this was okay. I’ll tell them no if that’s what will make you happy.” I scowl. “What?” He responds.

“Why do I have to tell you to choose me? Why can’t you just do that?” He opens his mouth to respond as I step back from his grasp, holding my hands up. “I’m done with this conversation. I need space from you right now.”

“Okay.” He steps to the side, letting me pass without another touch or word.

I’m absolutely seething as I walk down to our bedroom. How does he not get it? Why do I have to lead him to the answer? How could he just assume this would be fine with me? I need to calm down and I know the answer is a long, hot shower.

I rip my clothes off when I get in the bathroom, still absolutely seething. Why does anything hockey related come before me? It’s like we have a third person in this relationship at all times. I’m asking for two fucking weeks of his time. Is that really too much to ask after sharing him with the world for the last 7 months?

“Asshole.” I mumble as I light my Sweater Weather candle. I grab a lavender shower steamer, tossing it onto the tile to give me some extra calming power. I take my time from there, trying to refocus my anxious energy into self-care. I do a hair mask. I exfoliate my skin. I stand under the scalding water hoping it will relax my neck muscles. I admittedly shed a few tears too.

After I dry off, I do my whole skin care routine with every oil, cream, and moisturizer I have in my drawers. I lather lotion on every inch of my skin and put in air drying hair cream to de-frizz my hair before it has a chance to poof with the rainy weather.

When I open the bathroom door, I see Trevor sitting on the edge of our bed. His doe eyes lifts to me in the doorway, fingers laced together in his lap.

“I asked for space.” I remind him, walking by his sluggish body to our large closet.

“I know. And I’m respecting that as much as I can. I had to physically restrain myself from getting into the shower with you.” I roll my eyes at him. He’s such people pleaser, it kills him when I’m angry with him.

“Should I get you a gold star?” I quip back. His jaw ticks as he grits his teeth together to avoid a similar retort.

I drop the towel, going to my dresser to grab a fresh set of bra and panties. They’re black and Trevor’s eyes watch longingly as they glide into place against my smooth skin. I reach for a pair of jeans folded in a different drawer. The sound of denim against my legs is the only noise in our large closet. Trevor leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. 

As I get dressed, my inner thoughts begin to swirl, telling myself a twisted victim story that brings tears to my eyes. I sniff as they form, turning my back to Trevor as I reach for a t-shirt. I’m so disappointed and hurt. I feel like he would rather go halfway across the world than spend time with me. When I turn back towards the door, two tears slip down my face. Trevor can’t hold back anymore. 

“I’m not going to go. I already told them no.” He wraps his arms around me, kissing my wet hair. His hands rub along my fresh shirt, pressing me as deep as I can go into his body. “And not because you asked me not to, but because I’m choosing you. I want you to know that it really isn’t a choice though. It’s always you, babe.” I collapse further into his body. “And, I’m so sorry I made you feel like just an option.” His words soothe my inner thoughts until the truth of his intentions are clear again.

“Trev, that’s enough.” I whisper, turning my face to catch his lips. “I know you’re choosing me and that’s everything.”

“I love you so much.” He says between kisses. “I appreciate everything you do for us. And me specifically. I’m so lucky. I’d be lost without you.” I smile against his shirt. “Couldn’t even make my morning smoothie.” He jokes. Last week, he almost turned the blender on without the top on.

“It would be a really sad life for you.” I agree “I’d be fine.” I purse my lips against the laugh.

“Thanks, babe.” He chuckles against my hair. “Keeping it real as always.” 

“It’s why you keep me around.” I pat his butt before stepping away from him. He pulls me back into his embrace.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He nips at my mouth. “You put those sexy panties on and think you’re leaving me?” 

“Thought you were going to the rink.” My heart skips a beat at the molten desire in his brown eyes.

This time, his choice is easy and obvious.

[distant-velleity]

Act of Benevolence

Summary: Santiago has a bit of a problem. Chrysos spawns a million more internal problems trying to solve the first one. Word count: 2.4k A/N: i don't know what to tell you guys i was just kind of possessed while writing this one. it's not that great but i had to get the idea down lol... two idiots trying their best at a friendship, what more can you ask for Tagging: @thehollowwriter (enjoy the sillies)

-

As of late, Chrysos has found himself waiting by the school gymnasium after club activities with increasing frequency.

Because both the Film Research Club and Basketball Club meet daily, his monotonous schedule remains the same before that every day—waking up in the morning, getting ready, eating breakfast then going through all of his classes and lunch. It’s mechanical and practically muscle memory at this point with how samey it is.

Arms crossed, he impatiently taps one finger against his bicep as he glares towards the locker room entrance. Again, for the second time in five minutes, he mentally makes sure that he remembered the meeting date correctly; no, of course he’s right, they’d talked about it before homeroom and during lunch—really, why is he worrying about this? He’s the one on time, the one being forced to wait!

Chrysos huffs angrily to himself and continues his glaring campaign against the poor door to the locker room.

Just when he’s about to pull out his phone and send a barrage of passive-aggressive text messages, the door struggles and groans open. Santiago steps out, muttering to himself while hoisting his duffel bag’s straps over his shoulder. He looks up, though, and plasters on his usual antagonistic smirk when he sees Chrysos.

“Good to see ya, Goldie,” he calls out, making his way over—weirdly, it lacks his usual amount of unwarranted swagger. “I see the study session is still on?”

—So, yes, everything else about his schedule has been the same, more or less. This, however? Meeting up with (very arguably) his least favorite classmate to study? This has been a considerable deviation from the norm recently, and Chrysos isn’t sure how to feel about it. But, it is what it is, and it’s not like he can go back in time to avoid it now.

…Not that he would avoid it now if he could, anyway, but that’s a thought to file away for later processing.

“Awfully confident, aren’t you,” Chrysos says in something resembling Jamil’s dry, unamused voice, before returning to his own. “You’re the one struggling in Crewel’s class, but you’re the late one…”

Santiago winces. “Listen, it’s not even my fault! Coach Vargas got on my case for something and held me back after practice was over.”

“...So it was your fault.”

“No, it wasn’t!”

Chrysos looks at him, unimpressed.

“Ugh…” Santiago reaches up to run a hand through his hair, the red-and-blue strands of it matted and sticky with sweat. “I mean, I guess it is…? But even then, that’s not really…” He stops mumbling to himself and sighs. “Basically, my bangs have gotten a lot longer since the start of the school year, and it’s started messing with my vision during practice. I’ve screwed up a lot in the past few days.”

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously. It sucked—well, it sucks, but especially during practice.”

Honestly, Chrysos almost wants to brush it off as nothing meaningful right away, but upon closer inspection the statement isn’t without truth. When Santiago’s bangs fall back over his face with elastic-like swinging, it’s obvious that they go past his eyes, and Chrysos only hadn’t noticed because of how they were usually parted. It’s already inconvenient underwater, trying to engage in athletic activity with long bangs—with the gravity on land, then, it must be something else entirely…

“Sucks to be you, then,” replies Chrysos, smugly smiling at the way Santiago’s face morphs into an expression of exasperation. As if I could do anything about your predicament, you goof. “We still need to go over those theory problems.”

Santiago lets out a long, overdramatic groan—indicative of a successful subject change. “I hate theory, dude… I’m so much better with the practical part of assignments.”

“That’s why you have a D right now.”

“Shut up! I’m still kind of passing!”

“That counts as passing?” Chrysos snickers silently.

“We can’t all be like you, Mr. Highest-Exam-Grades-In-The-Freshmen-Grade...”

As per usual, they bicker while walking side-by-side, all the way to the Hall of Mirrors. 

-

It should have ended there, really. Not just the study sessions, but also a certain train of thought Chrysos intended to forget about entirely after that conversation. 

He stares up at the pale purple ceiling of his dorm room.

…I still haven’t forgotten about it.

It’s already the Sunday morning after their conversation outside the gym. Maybe it’s because, while he was performing last night at the Lounge, he’d spotted Santiago in the audience—maybe that’s why he’s thinking about it again, having dreamt of a flurry of parrot feathers obscuring his vision…

Chrysos rubs furiously at his eyes and rolls over onto his side, his blanket winding around him in the process.

What a stupid dream, really. It didn’t have any relevance. Just like Santiago’s bangs had no relevance to their later studying, nor any relevance in general.

It’s irrelevant, Chrysos reminds himself, closing his eyes and hugging the edge of his blanket a little closer to himself—trying to fall back asleep despite having slept in an hour or two already. Today’s my off day: no club activities, no shifts at the Lounge. I shouldn’t be thinking about that stupid jock…

The creasing of Santiago’s eyebrows and the shifting of his eyes as he admitted he’d been struggling during basketball practice flash in his mind.

Chrysos’ eyes shoot open as he sits up, like a man possessed.

“...Dammit,” he curses aloud. 

Thank the Seven he doesn’t have a roommate, because that momentary slip-up would have been downright humiliating if anyone had been around to witness it. Not that they would have known why it happened, but he has an image to keep up. And thinking about someone else this much already goes against said image.

So, clearly, he needs to get a grip. Seriously. Desperately. This is not a reasonable thing to be thinking of. Really, if he’d known this would be the consequence of spending more time with Santiago…

Maybe some time away from school will help. I’ll go into town to clear my head.

As quickly as he can, Chrysos gets up and throws on some street clothes, haphazardly brushes his hair and slips on his shoes. He’s out the door not long after, passing only a handful of other students as he leaves the dorm—

And not two hours later, Chrysos is back in his dorm with his wallet several thaumarks emptier and now in possession of a pair of golden barrettes. Because clearly, even his self-control had been thrown for a loop.

In his (admittedly nonexistent) defense, he hadn’t meant to buy them. Well, technically he had, but that wasn’t the original plan. It’s just that he saw them by the cash register of a new clothing store he was perusing through and had—for a moment—been reminded of someone fond of gold, of accessories, someone in need of a way to keep their hair in check… 

And then he’d bought it as if his body were on autopilot.

Now, they sit on his vanity desk, glinting innocently in the light from his window. A reminder of his attempted-and-failed goal for that stroll in the village.

It’s fine, he thinks, or, rather, convinces himself. Since I’m an Octavinelle student, it can be considered an act of benevolence. He nods to himself hesitantly, trying to commit. That’s right. And I can just say he’ll owe me one for this. That it has nothing to do with actually wanting to help him.

…Of course, it’s not entirely true. There, begrudgingly, is a small part of Chrysos that does actually want to help Santiago out, but that’s definitely just the part of him that doesn’t want to hear any more complaints, right…? And not the part that swells with pride and thrill at the mental image of something he picked out being worn so openly.

Yeah. Definitely.

With that in mind, he reaches for his phone and pulls up his DMs on Magicam.

chry.pendant youcome to first period 10 minutes early tmrw

The response, for some reason, is immediate.

s_parro Wtfwhy

chry.pendant youll see

s_parro No explanation???ok thenif it’s a fight then I’m definitely winning tho

chry.pendant in your dreams

s_parro So does that or does that not confirm you wanna fightLike legit why do you want me to come earlydudeare you gonna answer

chry.pendant fuck around and find out

Chrysos hits send and then turns off his phone.

-

Come the next morning, Santiago is already in his usual spot by the time Chrysos reaches the classroom. He’s fiddling with his feather earring while gazing out the window, at the stunningly blue sky beyond the glass. 

“You’re not late,” Chrysos observes, sitting down backwards in his own seat to face the other. “For once.”

Santiago glances down at him (thanks a lot, tiered benches). “I didn’t need the reminder, thanks.”

“You could use it.”

“I’ll have you know that my attendance has been stellar as of late,” declares Santiago. He sounds a little eager when he asks, “Anyway, what are we even here for? You never told me.”

Oh. Right. 

Chrysos huffs and pulls his bag into his lap, unzipping the smaller front pocket. It only contains a little clear baggy with the barrettes inside, so it’s easy to take it out. “Open your palm,” he says, and drops the barrettes into Santiago’s hesitantly outstretched hand. “Since you complained about your hair getting in the way at practice.”

He almost says more, about to spill out more excuses including I just happened to find them and I don’t want to hear you whining anymore, but clams up after taking a good look at Santiago. 

The boy in question is staring at the barrettes with an indecipherable expression, eyes slightly wide and lips parted. It seems like disbelief with something else mixed in, and that something else is unclear.

A pang of anxiety strikes Chrysos’ insides. He realizes a little too quickly for his liking that it’s because he’s worried about this—worried that Santiago won’t like what he picked out, or that he’ll scorn the idea of the gift entirely. Which, rationally speaking, is ridiculous: why would this notorious lover of all things shiny turn down something both beautiful and practical? And why would that rejection feel personal—

“Is there a problem?” Chrysos asks, voice low and soft to avoid any trembling.

—why is he suddenly so unsure, so concerned about this, when it really should have no deeper meaning? He can just ask for repayment and then never think about this again…

“No,” Santiago insists quickly, holding the clips in his hand with a sort of reverent care, a feather-light gentleness one wouldn’t expect from him. “I mean, I didn’t think I’d ever like something you gave to me, but this is pretty cool. No—really cool. And… and I’ve never actually received anything from a friend before; much less a friend who cared enough,” he admits in a quieter, almost embarrassed tone.

Chrysos feels the words You owe me, the ones he’d intended to say, die in his throat at the double-layered admission. “You…” He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like a fish ungracefully thrust out of water, before he finds his voice again. “Then, you… you can just pay me back by actually using them,” is what he says finally, while his thoughts frantically try to untangle themselves.

He must have said something right, emotionally disoriented as he is, because Santiago’s expression immediately brightens. It feels like sunburn on Chrysos’ face, burning and weirdly pleasant. “Not gonna deny the ‘friend’ part, huh?” 

“You’re the one who called us ‘rivals’ to begin with, all those months ago!” Chrysos retorts, grabbing at his curls to hide his face. 

“Oops, did I hit a sore spot?” Santiago laughs, as if this entire exchange isn’t proving that he’s even more enthusiastic about having someone to call a ‘friend.’ “Well, it’s not like you can take it back now.”

Chrysos glares at him, half-heartedly jabbing him in the chest with his finger—annoyance covering his embarrassment. “Shut up already! Just—put those damn barrettes to use, got it?”

“Yessir,” is the sarcastic reply he receives. And then, as if to test his limits, Santiago asks teasingly: “Mind putting them on for me? You see, I can’t really use them as effectively if it’s just me…”

“You—!!” Chrysos grits his teeth and takes the clips. He uses his other hand to quickly grab Santiago by the shirt collar and pull, forcing him to lean down. The bird beastman makes noises of complaint, but shuts up as soon as Chrysos carefully brushes back his bangs and clips the barrettes into place. It’s with a bit of pride that he notes how they go perfectly with Santiago’s earrings. “Happy now?”

Santiago stares blankly, for a moment, an odd expression on his face (is it a trick of the light or are his cheeks darkening?). “Y…Yeah,” he manages, having momentarily lost his previously playful attitude. As if he wasn’t actually expecting Chrysos to do that. “For something you did, it’s pretty good. I’ll make sure to wear them during practice. Thanks.”

“Good,” Chrysos says approvingly. “Now take them out before other people arrive and start asking questions.”

“You don’t gotta order me around, jeez…”

The five-minute warning bell rings, so Santiago quickly gets to taking off the clips. Right before they’re removed and pocketed, though, Chrysos thinks to himself for just a moment:

I was right. He really does look good in those.

-

(BONUS:

Chrysos is sitting at his vanity that night, brushing his hair, when the door opens behind him. In the mirror, he can see it’s Floyd who’s decided to barge in with all the grace of a whale in the royal palace.

“Heya, Lionfishie,” sing-songs the eel, leaning on the doorframe. “I heard during practice that you gave Parrotfish some hairclips.”

For the Seven’s sake. Chrysos closes his eyes, inhales, and then exhales.

“He admitted it all innocent-like, too,” Floyd continues, unbearably smug about it. “Like, straight-up said it was a gift from you, but apparently it had no deeper meaning. Guess he just doesn’t know anything about mer culture.”

Chrysos continues to brush his hair with slow, purposeful strokes. From the corner of his eye, he spots Floyd moving closer in the mirror.

“So, did you ever even state what your intention was with the gift? I mean, for all we know, it could be because you wanna snog hi—”

The hairbrush flies towards where Floyd’s head just was and soars past, slamming into the doorframe with an exceptionally aggressive-sounding thwack.

“Get out,” Chrysos demands.)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

I just posted a tweet from a writer who had only two people show up to their reading. Tons of writers, some of them very well known, responded with similar stories. I've had my own experience of that as the writer with the tiny audience, but it reminded me of the time in 1990 when I was an audience of one and the amazing person gave the workshop anyway and it changed my life and generated books and a friendship that still flourishes, and thank you Bob Fulkerson, who was the giver that day. Here's an essay/chapter of Hope in the Dark about the impact of that first meeting with Bob, the faith of writers, the mystery of how it all unfolds, and other related things. Happily this chapter begins with another dear friend who I had no idea was going to become the great writer he is now recognized as.... ON THE INDIRECTNESS OF DIRECT ACTION A friend, Jaime Cortez, tells me I should consider the difference between hope and faith. Hope, he says, can be based on the evidence, on the track record of what might be possible—and in this book I’ve been trying to shift what the track record might be. But faith endures even when there’s no way to imagine winning in the foreseeable future; faith is more mystical. Jaime sees the American left as pretty devoid of faith and connects faith to what it takes to change things in the long term, beyond what you might live to see or benefit from. I argue that what was once the left is now so full of anomalies—of indigenous intellectuals and Catholic pacifists and the like—that maybe we have faith, some of us. Activism isn’t reliable. It isn’t fast. It isn’t direct either, most of the time, even though the term direct action is used for that confrontation in the streets, those encounters involving lawbreaking and civil disobedience. It may be because activists move like armies through the streets that people imagine effects as direct as armies, but an army assaults the physical world and takes physical possession of it; activists reclaim the streets and occasionally seize a Bastille or topple a Berlin Wall, but the terrain of their action is usually immaterial, the realm of the symbolic, political discourse, collective imagination. They enter the conversation forcefully, but it remains a conversation. Every act is an act of faith, because you don’t know what will happen. You just hope and employ whatever wisdom and experience seems most likely to get you there. I believe all this because I’ve lived it, and I’ve lived it because I’m a writer. For twenty years I have sat alone at a desk tinkering with sentences and then sending them out, and for most of my literary life the difference between throwing something in the trash and publishing it was imperceptible, but in the past several years the work has started coming back to me, or the readers have. Musicians and dancers face their audience and visual artists can spy on them, but reading is mostly as private as writing. Writing is lonely, it’s an intimate talk with the dead, with the unborn, with the absent, with strangers, with the readers who may never come to be and who even if they read you will do so weeks, years, decades later. An essay, a book, is one statement in a long conversation you could call culture or history; you are answering something or questioning something that may have fallen silent long ago, and the response to your words may come long after you’re gone and never reach your ears, if anyone hears you in the first place. After all, this is how it’s been for so many books that count, books that didn’t shake the world when they first appeared but blossomed later. This is a model for how indirect effect can be, how delayed, how invisible; no one is more hopeful than a writer, no one is a bigger gambler. Thoreau’s 1849 essay “Civil Disobedience” finally found its readers in the twentieth century when it was put into practice as part of the movements that changed the world (Thoreau’s voice was little heard in his time, but it echoed across the continent in the 1960s and has not left us since. Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Walter Benjamin, and Arthur Rimbaud, like Thoreau, achieved their greatest impact long after their deaths, long after weeds had grown over the graves of most of the bestsellers of their lifetimes.) You write your books. You scatter your seeds. Rats might eat them, or they might rot. In California, some seeds lie dormant for decades because they only germinate after fire, and sometimes the burned landscape blooms most lavishly. Thought becomes action becomes the order of things, but no straight road takes you there. Nobody can know the full consequences of their actions, and history is full of small acts that changed the world in surprising ways. I was one of thousands of activists at the Nevada Test Site in the late 1980s, an important, forgotten history still unfolding out there where the United States and Great Britain have exploded more than a thousand nuclear bombs with disastrous effects on the environment and human health (and where the Bush administration would like to resume testing, thereby tearing up the last shreds of the unratified Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty). Some of the largest acts of civil disobedience in American history were committed when we would walk into the place to be arrested as trespassers, thousands in a day. There too, as in peace marches, just walking became a form of political speech, one whose directness was a delight after all the usual avenues of politicking: sitting in front of computers, going to meetings, making phone calls, dealing with money. Among the throng arrested were Quakers, Buddhists, Shoshone, Mormons, pagans, anarchists, veterans, and physicists. We would barely make the news in the United States. But we were visible on the other side of the world. Our acts inspired the Kazakh poet Olzhas Suleimenov on February 27, 1989, to read a manifesto instead of poetry on live Kazakh TV, a manifesto demanding a shutdown of the Soviet test site in Semipalatinsk, Kazakhstan, and to call a meeting. Five thousand Kazakhs gathered at the writers’ union the next day and formed a movement that shut down the nuclear test site. They named themselves the Nevada-Semipalatinsk Antinuclear Movement, and they acted in concert with us. Us by that time included the Western Shoshone who had come to endorse our actions and point out that we and the United States government were on their land; the Kazakhs identified with these indigenous people. Anyway, the Soviet test site was shut down. The catalyst was Suleimenov, and though we in Nevada were his inspiration, what gave him his platform was his poetry in a country that loves poets. There’s a wonderful parable by Jorge Luis Borges. In the last years of the thirteenth century, God tells a leopard in a cage, “You live and will die in this prison so that a man I know of may see you a certain number of times and not forget you and place your figure and symbol in a poem which has its precise place in the scheme of the universe. You suffer captivity, but you will have given a word to the poem.” The poem is the Divine Comedy; the man who sees the leopard is Dante. Perhaps Suleimenov wrote all his poems so that one day he could stand up in front of a TV camera and deliver not a poem but a manifesto. And Arundhati Roy wrote a ravishing novel, The God of Small Things, that catapulted her to international stardom, perhaps so that when she stood up to oppose dams and corporations and corruption and the destruction of the local, people would notice. Or perhaps they opposed the ravaging of the earth so that poetry too would survive in the world. A couple of years ago, a friend wrote me to urge me to focus on the lyrical end of my writing rather than activism and I wrote back, “What is the purpose of resisting corporate globalization if not to protect the obscure, the ineffable, the unmarketable, the unmanageable, the local, the poetic, and the eccentric? So they need to be practiced, celebrated, and studied too, right now.” I could have added that these acts themselves become forms of resistance; the two are not necessarily separate practices. All those years that I went to the Nevada Test Site to oppose nuclear testing, the experience was also about camping in the desert, about the beauty of the light and the grandeur of the space, about friendship and discovery. The place gave me far more than I could ever give it. Resistance is usually portrayed as a duty, but it can be a pleasure, an education, a revelation. The year after the birth of the Nevada-Semipalatinsk Antinuclear Movement, when some of its members were already with us at the peace camp next to the Nevada Test Site, I was the only one who attended a workshop there on Nevada and the military. The man giving it was visibly disappointed but gave it splendidly for me alone. As we sat in the rocks and dust and creosote bush of the deep desert on a sunny day, the great Nevada organizer Bob Fulkerson taught me that the atrocities of nuclear testing were not unique in that state with a fifth of all the military land in the country and invited me to travel into its remote reaches. He is still a cherished friend of mine and still the executive director of a coalition he founded a few years later, the Progressive Leadership Alliance of Nevada (PLAN), the most potent statewide group of its kind, bringing together environmental, labor, and human rights groups. What came of Bob’s invitation changed my life and had much to do with my book Savage Dreams, the first half of which is about the Test Site and the strands of its history wrapped around the world, and before there was the book there was an essay version of what the Test Site and Bob taught me that appeared in a magazine with circulation of about half a million. A few years ago I went back to the Test Site for another spring action, and there I met several students from Evergreen College in Washington who had decided to come down because they had been reading Savage Dreams in class. If you’re lucky, you carry a torch into that dark of Virginia Woolf’s, and if you’re really lucky you’ll sometimes see to whom you’ve passed it, as I did on that day (and if you’re polite, you’ll remember who handed it to you). I don’t know if the Evergreen kids have become great activists or died in a car crash on the way home, but I know that for them I was a leopard prompting a word or two of the poem of their own lives, as Bob was for me. Borges’s parable continues. On his deathbed, Dante is told by God what the secret purpose of his life and work was. “Dante, in wonderment, knew at last who and what he was and blessed the bitterness of his life.” One day in Auschwitz, the writer Primo Levi recited a canto of Dante’s Inferno to a companion, and the poem about hell reached out from six hundred years before to roll back Levi’s despair and his dehumanization. It was the canto about Ulysses, and though it ends tragically, it contains the lines “You were not made to live like animals But to pursue virtue and know the world,” which he recited and translated to the man walking with him. Levi lived, and wrote marvelous books of his own, poetry after Auschwitz in the most literal sense. In 1940, in his last letter to a friend before his death, the incomparable, uncategorizable German-Jewish essayist and theorist Walter Benjamin wrote, “Every line we succeed in publishing today—no matter how uncertain the future to which we entrust it—is a victory wrenched from the powers of darkness.”

[many thanks to Rebecca Solnit]

[estrelladeishtar-archive]

Catch me resurfacing after 5000 years only to (maybe) slip back away & into the void of space like some kinda cryptid

Also I updated the desktop blog themes for here & my personal bc it’s about time I got off my ass & did that

Anyway

I guess we’ve been long overdue for an updates post yeah? Last one I made was legit Nov 2021... I think I should at least leave another update post before seeing if I’m still around or end up vanishing yet again, lmfao But regardless, getting to the point...

Tossing shit under a read more just so that in case of a lengthy ass post it doesn’t clog people’s dashboards (dashboards? timelines? ...I’ve been mostly on twitter lmao so). TL;DR, life’s come swinging hard at me so it’s kept all of my focus mostly on personal matters, less on art, even with still creating things in the distance despite taking a lengthy hiatus (that’s arguably still ongoing? a semi hiatus now perhaps) so.

So I mean, for starters its kinda. Obvious that I’ve been more active on other social media sites rather than here, & tbh whether I really stick around here for long or end up disappearing back into the depths once more for whatever unforeseen reason is yet to be seen, especially since I only really use this place on occasion (for my mental health’s sake, mostly, whether that’ll change over time or will always remain in this “appears only occasionally” cycle is something we’ve yet to see, but for now... just don’t count on me really being consistently active here)

But even with being more active on other places I’ve still taken a semi-hiatus/hiatus, with a major part of that being attributed to uh. Health issues coming back with a vengeance & tryna crush me lol. I mean that’s, kinda par for the course with chronic illness I guess? But it’s put a heavy emphasis on me having to look after myself even moreso than before, & this amidst still processing some really heavy shit I mentioned in my last update that I won’t get into (bc it’s both deeply personal & very trigger heavy), on top of other things life keeps throwing at me (because of course it would), well I’ve just taken priority on taking care of that & making sure I’m fine &... thus not really being too present on here or anywhere really. Sometimes showing up on occasions because I engage with astrology related communities (since I’m learning more on that & other personal practices I won’t bore y’all with), sometimes showing up to support other artists, but yeah.

I do admit tho I’ve still been creating stuff in the background. Be it practicing with stuff art wise or working on other personal OC stuff or projects, I’ve had that still, & its one of the things that helps keep me afloat whilst also navigating, well, life itself. It’s admittedly been difficult navigating shit also tho because due to my health situation, I can’t really do comms (& I’ve been on break from them due to burnout), so income’s been... troublesome to say the least considering medical bills & all that. So trying to find ways to get that & sometimes getting help from others has been another thing that’s kept me away, but yeah.

Ultimately tl;dr of it is that I’ve just had life itself as a priority above all other things. & it’s bound to stay that way for a while, so yeah. But I still do want to see if, on occasions I’m on here posting art, I can maybe share some stuff around the OCs I’ve worked on/created/etc, as well as maybe lore for personal worldbuilding stuff?

I mean I need to share it on my toyhouse eventually anyway LOL, & AT LEAST on here I can make posts about OCs without being constrained to a fucking 280 char limit per post if I opt to do so 💀 Or see what else I choose to share as well as the art I make from time to time? Especially since I’ve been majorly revamping my own OCs & even with my sona I’ll soon be showcasing their proper ref in full with all forms of them/versions of em, both in & out of fandom but. yeah. Things to come.

Also- do expect more of this acct to start turning more OC focused or, IF I share fancharacters, its more centered around them... It doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing fanart no, since I do enjoy doing that on my spare time too, BUT I want my focus shifted primarily on OC content more since that’s my own personal passion anyway (be it OCs, fancharacters, self ship stuff too, or other’s OCs also) & cause I usually have more to ramble on about when it comes to OCs? So yeah. I plan to also implement other changes later into this acct but I’m presently just figuring that mess out while still being on semi-hiatus so yeah.

I hope all of y’all have been doing well & I do appreciate those who’ve stuck around still despite my routine appearing & disappearing bs lmao, & I wish y’all well also

...This update turned a lot longer than I anticipated but hey, least it’s not me updating at some weird ass fucking hour bc of being wide awake at strange times (my sleep schedule’s still broken as hell) (no its not ever going to improve probably) (Its been this way since 2010) (so don’t count on it improving)