#get paid to curate content

[lmsintmedia]

Content Curation for Social Media: How to Turn Scrolling Into a Paycheck

Let’s keep it real — if you’re always the one in your group chat dropping fire memes, trending news, or those “must-see” videos, then you already have a skill that’s in demand: content curation. Brands want attention. You know how to get it. That’s where content curation for social media comes in — and yes, you can get paid for it. What Is Content Curation? Content curation means finding great…

[hamaonoverdrive]

when there's a R18 M/sub!fem!Reader insert fic BLAZED on my dash

[narwhalandchill]

also man i just hate how we-all-know-who destroyed twitter bc like. before. yes i didnt have an account for a good bit before shit truly went downhill. so when it comes to like any interesting childe lore (&just genshin lore in general) tidbits particularly when pertaining to like. translation things. (which were what i was mostly invested in way back when i did attempt following genshintwt happenings and had an account) yes i mightve already been highly ootl in terms of active discussions happening. But. at least If i saw an interesting thread or tweet linked or mentioned somewhere. i could actually see it for myself. and be like oh thats a cool thing thats neat lets save a link.

but now w the way twitter is its like. i literally Cannot access anything i can barely view like 1 singular tweet Once on desktop without an acc like its just unusable. so im just fucked if theres like oh shit this thing was missed in translation and has potential relevance that i would want to talk abt etc etc etc and it suckss 😭😭😭

[cressidagrey]

Family Traditions

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Lando finds out about a Piastri family tradition. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Lando had expected Miami to be loud. He hadn’t expected it to feel quiet beside Oscar Piastri.

The city was buzzing with race weekend electricity—neon signs blinking against glass, palm trees lit up from below, the distant pulse of music weaving through the air like static. Most of the drivers were either holed up with their engineers or attending overpriced sponsor dinners at rooftop bars.

They were supposed to be heading to one of those dinners.

Instead, Lando was standing outside a kitschy tourist gift shop, watching Oscar inspect a faded pink t-shirt that read I Survived the Miami Heat under a cartoon flamingo in sunglasses.

Lando blinked. “You’re not actually buying that.”

Oscar didn’t even flinch. He flipped the tag, checked the fabric like it mattered. “It’s 100% cotton. She’ll love it.”

“She—wait. Bee?”

Oscar nodded, already moving to grab a smaller size. “I get her a shirt in every city.”

Lando stared. “Every city? Like—since when?”

Oscar shrugged, distracted as he sifted through the kids’ section with the ease of habit. “Since last year.”

And suddenly, Lando saw it—how naturally Oscar moved past the mugs, magnets, and tourist bait. How he honed in on the children’s rack like his brain had filed the store layout by instinct. He paused at a glitter-print top, muttered something under his breath about how that’ll flake in the wash, and kept going.

Lando followed him, still stunned. “You never talk about this.”

“It’s not for talking,” Oscar said simply. “It’s for her. Just… something small so she knows I was thinking of her. Even when I’m far away.”

And something about the way he said it—so quiet, so matter-of-fact—settled behind Lando’s ribs like weight.

Oscar finally held up a pale blue shirt with a little beach scene and a smiling sun. “This one. She’ll like the dolphins.”

Lando watched as he paid, folded the shirt so precisely it could’ve come from a boutique, and tucked it into the bag like it was made of glass.

Outside, the Miami air hit them with a wall of heat. Traffic blurred past. Laughter floated down from a rooftop bar. But all Lando could think about was the bag in Oscar’s hand.

“How many does she have?” he asked.

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-eight, I think? I lost track when she started organizing them by fabric content.”

Lando huffed a laugh. “Of course she did.”

“She’s got a whole drawer just for them,” Oscar added, glancing down at the bag like it held a secret. “Felicity says we’ll need vacuum bags soon.”

They walked for a bit in silence. Lando kept sneaking glances—at the gift shop fading into the background, at the way Oscar cradled the handle of the paper bag like it was tethered to something deeper.

And suddenly, Lando didn’t see Oscar the way everyone else did.

Not just the reserved one. The quiet one. The sharp one who never cracked under pressure.

He saw it all differently now.

Oscar didn’t brag about being a dad. Didn’t post curated fatherhood moments on social media. But he carried Bee with him everywhere. In every tiny routine. In the care with which he picked out a souvenir shirt. In the way his voice softened when he talked about her. 

He didn’t talk about his love.

He wore it.

They walked in silence for a moment.

Lando cleared his throat. “You know… I always think of you as, like, the calm one. Logical. You do math mid-corner. You’re composed even when you’re about to throw up in your helmet.”

Oscar snorted. “Appreciate that image.”

“I’m serious,” Lando said, laughing. “You’re chill. Private. But I didn’t see it until now.”

Oscar slowed a little as they passed a gelato cart. His gaze flicked to the flavors—mango, strawberry—and Lando could almost hear him thinking, Bee would’ve picked both.

“You didn’t miss anything,” Oscar said after a pause. “I just never needed anyone else to see it.”

Lando frowned. “Don’t you want to share that, though? Show the world how much they mean to you?”

“I do,” Oscar said. “Just not loudly. I’m not trying to win points for being a good dad. I’m trying to be one. For them. Not for Instagram. Not for a sponsor highlight reel.”

He lifted the bag slightly. “This? It’s just for Bee. She’ll get it when I get home. She’ll squeal like it’s made of gold. And then she’ll wear it to kindergarten and tell everyone dolphins are her favorite animal. Even though last week it was frogs. Then she’ll fold it and put it in the drawer. Maybe one day, when she’s older, she’ll look at all of them and know—really know—that I was always thinking of her. Even when I wasn’t there.”

Lando swallowed past the lump in his throat. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger, huh?”

Oscar smiled, soft and certain. “She had me the second I heard her heartbeat.”

And Lando—who had known Oscar for years, who had raced with him, laughed with him, endured endless simulator hours and team debriefs—suddenly felt like he was seeing his teammate clearly for the very first time.

Not just as a driver.

But as a compass. A man who carried his love not like a burden, but like a map—guiding him back to the people he loved, no matter how far away he went.

“You’re gonna make me cry in the middle of Miami,” Lando muttered, sniffling. “It’s disgusting.”

Oscar chuckled, and they kept walking.

The city roared around them—bright, loud, alive—but between them, it was quiet. The bag with the tiny blue shirt swung between their strides like a soft echo of something much bigger.

And somewhere—half a world away, in a house filled with stars, frogs, and the warmth of soft-worn cotton—a drawer waited.

Ready for a new shirt.

Ready for another piece of proof that love doesn’t have to be loud to be unmistakably present.

***

The house was dark when Oscar got home.

It was nearly midnight, and Miami still clung to him—sand in the cuff of his jeans, humidity in his skin, the thrum of race day still humming through his bloodstream like a second heartbeat. His body was sore in the way that came from too much sitting and not enough rest. The flight had been long. The layover longer. But it didn’t matter.

Because he was here. He was home.

They had the win. Lando had his first win.

Oscar had stood back and watched the moment unfold—watched the confetti fall, the photos flash, the jokes fly in press conferences and interviews. He’d clapped Lando on the back and meant every bit of pride in it.

But now… now it was quiet. And Oscar had finally made it back to the only finish line that mattered.

He let himself in quietly, the soft click of the door unlocking sounding louder in the stillness of the hallway. He dropped his duffel by the entryway, shoulders slumping under the weight of the weekend and the travel and the emotional high of watching someone he’d grown up with claim a victory they’d both dreamed of.

The scent of lemon soap and vanilla laundry softener hit him the moment he stepped into the living room—familiar, comforting, home. There was a soft golden glow spilling from the corner lamp, left on like a lighthouse waiting for a sailor to return.

And there, on the kitchen counter, propped up neatly beside the fruit bowl, was a note in Felicity’s looping handwriting:

“She tried to wait up for you. Made it to 8:42. There’s banana bread in the kitchen. We love you.”

Oscar stood still for a moment, the kind of still that only came when your body stopped but your heart didn’t.

He reached for the paper bag next. The same one he’d carried through Miami like it held something delicate. The one Lando had teased him about in the gift shop while tourists took selfies with flamingo mugs and tank tops.

He pulled the tissue aside gently.

The tiny pale blue t-shirt was still folded perfectly inside. The smiling sun, the cheerful dolphins, the quiet promise stitched into every thread: Even when I’m far away, I’m thinking of you.

He set it down beside the note, as carefully as he would have placed a trophy.

Then he moved down the hallway, socked feet silent on the floorboards, the rhythm of his steps unconsciously slowing as he reached the door to Bee’s room.

He pushed it open just a crack.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the faint flicker of the star-shaped nightlight near her bed. She was curled up under her favorite blanket, the one with little constellations on it. Her pajamas glowed faintly—tiny stars twinkling against soft cotton. Button the Frog was tucked beneath her chin like a loyal soldier, and her curls had exploded in every direction, a wild halo of sleep and safety.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe and just watched.

Her chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of deep sleep. Her little hand twitched once, reaching for something in a dream. And his heart ached—not with sadness, but with fullness.

This. This was the part no one saw. Not the finish line. Not the press photos.

Just this: the quiet joy of coming home.

He stepped in and adjusted her blanket gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead and smoothing one rogue curl from her cheek.

She stirred, barely, but didn’t wake.

He whispered, “I brought your dolphins.”

Then slipped out of the room, closing the door with the care of someone who knew exactly how to keep the hinges from creaking.

Back in the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water and cut a slice of banana bread, leaning against the counter in silence. The house didn’t feel empty. It felt held. Full of all the little things that made a life.

The shirt sat there beside the note, ready for tomorrow.

Ready for Bee’s excited squeal. Ready for her to declare it her favorite, until the next one.

Oscar smiled to himself, soft and tired.

He didn’t need fireworks. Didn’t need a podium.

He had this. He had them. And that was everything.

***

The next morning was a blur of cereal, milk drips, and tiny sock negotiations.

Bee tore into the kitchen like a whirlwind, hair halfway brushed, dragging Button behind her by one leg and already mid-sentence about how she definitely didn’t need help squeezing her own orange juice.

Felicity was at the sink, mug in one hand, quietly laughing at the chaos while Oscar leaned against the counter, bleary-eyed and barefoot, watching his daughter with a sleepy sort of awe. She really was a force of nature, even at 6:18 a.m.

He slid into the seat beside her just as she climbed into her booster, and without a word, placed the folded paper bag in front of her plate.

Bee gasped—gasped—like he had just handed her the Holy Grail. Her little hands flew to her mouth. “Miami?” she whispered.

Oscar nodded, resting his chin in his hand, watching her with barely-contained amusement.

She opened the bag like it was made of velvet, slowly peeling back the tissue paper and pulling out the dolphin shirt like it might float if she let go.

“It’s perfect,” she breathed. Her voice had dropped to a whisper, full of reverence, as if the dolphins themselves might hear her. “They’re smiling at me again, Papa.”

Oscar felt his chest pull tight. Every mile, every race, every layover—it was all worth it just for that sentence.

“You like it?” he asked softly.

“I love it. Thank you, Papa,” Bee clutched the shirt to her chest like it was a treasure map. “I’m going to wear it forever.”

“Maybe not forever,” Felicity chimed in from the sink, though her voice was warm with laughter, and her phone was already in her hand, camera open. “But at least until you outgrow it and Papa adds it to the drawer.”

Bee’s eyes widened, another gasp escaping her like she’d remembered a sacred duty. “The drawer! I need to fold it and rank it!”

She slid off her chair with a speed that defied gravity, dolphin shirt in one hand, Button flapping in the other as she bolted down the hallway.

Oscar watched her go, shaking his head, a small laugh caught in his throat.

“Snuggle rating pending,” he muttered.

Felicity crossed the kitchen and nudged his knee gently with hers as she sat beside him. “She really likes it. She really loves you,” she added, and this time her voice was quieter. Her hand slipped onto his knee, thumb brushing a circle there like she knew exactly what he needed to hear. “You know, she told me yesterday that she never feels like you’re gone. Even when you are.”

Oscar blinked. “Because of the shirts?”

Felicity looked at him like he’d just missed the point entirely. “Because of you. But yeah—the shirts help.”

He swallowed, something tender and almost fragile in the way his hand covered hers.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the kitchen warm with sunlight and the background noise of Bee yelling from her room:  “THE NEW ONE IS SOFT LIKE A PILLOW BUT WITH BETTER VIBES!”

Oscar chuckled. “What does that mean?”

Felicity shook her head, grinning into her mug. “You’d have to ask the pillow.”

Then she looked back at him, smirking. “You know, Lando texted me after you bought that shirt. Said he cried in the middle of a tourist shop.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “He told me it was ‘disgusting.’”

“He said, quote: ‘Disgusting. I nearly cried in a tourist shop. I want to hug Bee and write a novel about fatherhood. I’m spiraling.’”

Oscar snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Felicity stood and reached for the dish towel, only for Oscar to wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

“Still think I should’ve bought the flamingo one,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she replied, leaning back into him with a smile.

“Lucky,” he echoed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He looked down the hallway where Bee’s voice had now reached a new level of excited shrieking.

“AND IT’S 100% COTTON!”

Oscar closed his eyes and smiled against her hair. “I think I’m the luckiest person alive.”

Felicity turned in his arms, looked up at him, and said simply, “We are.”

And somewhere, in a small bedroom lined with dreams, a frog prince plush, and the faint glow of plastic stars, a drawer clicked shut around a new memory—folded soft and pale blue, sunlit and sea-sweet, nestled right between “Baku: Fast Fast FAST” and “Melbourne: I Was Born Here.”

A drawer full of shirts. A drawer full of love.

Proof, once again, that some things don’t need to be loud to be absolutely everything.

[queerromancerecs]

Non Amazon book resources

Look, I know Amazon is a sensitive topic. It has been allowed to dominate the market, and for indie writers, it is a huge (if not their main) source of income. Personally, as an indie writer, I have tried to always keep my work available elsewhere (because you can't trust Amazon not to screw you over, I mean just look at Audible. For those who don't know, Audible royally fucks over authors, and the narrators don't do that great either). But even for me, the loss of Amazon sales would highly affect my ability to keep going without getting another job or three. So I get it. Nonetheless, they cannot be trusted not to drop queer writers and readers, so it's best to have alternatives now.

If you are a reader or an indie author looking for different platforms to buy and/or sell books, even if only to start branching out a little, here is a list.

I doubt it's comprehensive. Feel free to reblog with more.

Kobo and Kobo Plus -Kobo is the biggest online 'Zon alternative. Kobo Plus is sort of like KU. On either one, you get points for buying books and can use the points to get more books. Works for ebook and audiobooks. (And, if you have a non-Kindle ereader, it works for Kobo but it also works for like, fanfiction. I'm just saying. I got a refurbished Kobo a while ago and it's lovely.)

Bookshop.org -print as well as ebooks (authors, make sure you click "expanded distribution" on your bookselling platform of choice if you want your stuff for sale with Bookshop--which also benefits local bookstores!)

Smashwords/Draft2Digital - mostly ebooks but D2D does have a print option

Itch.io - ebook only (but gives a larger chunk of profits to authors than 'Zon does. Authors take note.)

Rainbow Crate -special edition print queer books. (I know there was some controversy with them but I am out of touch and don't know what it was, and most people who use them seem happy with them??? but if you know other queer/romance book crate services, lemme know)

The Ripped Bodice -brick and mortar stores but you can also shop online

Check out your local bookstores---many will order print copies for you if you request them

The authors' websites if they do direct sales

Barnes & Noble- yeah, it's a corporation and they are not great either, but it's not Amazon and sometimes a well-meaning relative gets you a gift card. And, for the moment, they do in fact sell queer romance and queer fiction. I know because I just used a gift card to get a paperback of The Prince and the Assassin. lol

Powell's Books- Portland's famous book store sells new and used books (and you can browse the stock online) --print only. They sell queer romance as well. I got a copy of Drag Me Up by RM Virtues there. That's not super relevant, but I was pleased :)

New link: Queer Books Weekly-- free and affordable books with queer protagonists

Tubby & Coos Bookshop: curates pocket bookstores featuring underrepresented voices

And from user @bobthebenevolentpirate (thank you!)

Giovanni's Room in Philadelphia was founded in 1973 and is “The Oldest & Very Best LGBTQ & Feminist Bookstore in the Country.” They ship to US addresses, but you can also email them about international shipping. The people who run it are lovely humans and have started providing harm reduction supplies/info to people to respond to the needs of the community! They deserve all the support

Also consider library books!

And for those in America--you can use library apps to read books. Yes, the authors still get paid! Libby is a big one. You can get audiobooks too, AND it can connect you with the Queer Liberation Library.

Also there is Hoopla - digital content

In Europe, I know there is Vivlio, which is French and I believe sells ereaders and also ebooks.

[blushofeve]

Cam girl p2

PART 1

pairing: Caleb x Cam girl!reader

summary: Caleb wishes he could fuck you through the screen after you wear a lingerie set he bought for you. lol.

themes: the reader is a cam girl, strangers to lovers(?), sexual tension, sexual content (masturbation), porn with no plot.

word count: 1.04K

tags (bc they asked): @calebswife , @mcdepressed290

A/N: This is not proofread, please let me know if there are any mistakes :)

Your profile’s popularity has grown quite a bit. Not just your live streams but video and picture posts too. It was a massive ego boost seeing all the thirsting comments and compliments under your posts. “Why not take advantage of it?” Your friend, Simone, says as you lounge around on your bed, checking up on your account. “Huh?” You cocked your head to the side. “Let your viewers send you gifts,” she said matter-of-factly, “I saw this girl online posting about how this one dude bought her the latest phone! That could be you.” You laughed, the idea sounding kind of ridiculous to you. “I’m serious, you’d be surprised how many guys— girls too—get off on that. They want to spoil you and feel close to you. Not only would you be making bank, but it would be so fun to open the packages.” Simone looked at you eagerly. “Hmmm… It doesn’t sound too bad.” “We can curate the perfect wishlist,” Simone smirked, “Just think about it—he sees you in lingerie he picked out? That’s like peak fantasy fulfilment.” “Are you sure you don’t want to be a cam girl? You’re way too into this.”

That night you added a “Spoil me” link in your profile bio. The wishlist contained items like satin ribbon chokers, new lingerie sets, a pink rabbit wand, and even a candle. You wanted to start small and not ask for much. You smiled to yourself as you uploaded a photo announcing that your lovely fans could now buy you sets. Not even an hour later you received a notification:

“You’ve received a gift: Princess Blush Set - from Apple.Prince 💌”

You stared at your screen, heart lightly pounding in your chest. You quickly shut off your phone and decided to busy yourself with something else, trying hard not to think about him. There was something different about him. Something that has had a grip on you since that night. Sure, you’ve had calls with other viewers since then. Some were good, but not like him. That body, those hands. His voice— the way he sounded like he was on the verge of tears when he came— was so addictive and you wanted more.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Caleb hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since the private call. Your laugh and that sweet nervous smile. Against his better judgment, every night he’d find himself scrolling through your account, taking in all the pictures you’d posted since then, the gold apple charm on your necklace, catching the low light in each one. His heart practically leapt out of his chest when he saw your post. It was simple, just a mirror selfie of you sprawled on your bed in nothing- the necessary parts being covered by your plushies. The caption read: “Feeling extra spoiled lately… so I made a lil wishlist 🎀 If you ever wanted to see me unwrap something just for you, now’s your chance. 💕 [link] xx” Caleb, against all rational thinking, was ready to spend more money on her. His job paid him enough, what’s wrong with spending a little extra? Spoiling her is basically spoiling himself.

Then came the notification:

“LIVE: Unboxing + Trying On Gifts 💕”

His heart hammered. He joined the stream, screen glowing pink, and there you were—perched on your bed, Princess Blush Set hugging your curves like it was made for you. “She’s wearing it,” Caleb whispered. “Special thank you to @Apple.Prince,” you purred, looking directly at the lens. “You picked so well, baby. I feel so pretty in it.” You stood up and did a little twirl. The chat exploded. Caleb was already hard. “I think it’s only fair I spoil you back, hmm?” you said, sinking into the plush cushions of your bed. Off-screen, you grabbed the wand. He knew it was coming. You spread your legs in front of the mirror, panty-clad and soaked, eyes fluttering as the wand buzzed to life. Caleb watched, entranced, one hand wrapped around his cock. “fuck,” he murmured, already leaking. Your moans hit his ears, soft at first, then increasingly desperate. You arched and trembled, thighs twitching as the pleasure built. “It’s s-so hot,” Caleb whined, hand stroking faster. Cum spilt over his fingers as his first orgasm hit, but he didn’t stop. You were still going, rocking your hips, whispering “fuck, right there, oh my god” until your climax overtook you with a shudder and a gasp. He came again. And again, a few minutes later, rutting helplessly against his mattress, drunk on your cries and the sight of you unravelling in that perfect set he bought. Your stream faded out with you blowing a kiss to the camera. “Goodnight, my spoiled little apples.”

Caleb was far from done. He imagined you in his room. On his bed. Tongue teasing his tip before you took him fully in your mouth, eyes watery, hands greedy. He flipped onto his stomach, humping his pillow like a desperate dog. Now you were on top of him. Then beneath him, clinging to his shoulders, crying out his name. High on the ecstasy of his previous orgasms, Caleb let his imagination run wild. Now you were in front of him, on your knees, licking up and down his shaft, sucking lightly on his tip. The next moment you were on top of him, bouncing up and down, your hands gripping his shoulders to stay up and his mouth on one boob while he fondled the other. Caleb moved to lie on his stomach and rutted into his pillow. Now you were under him, ass up face down. “You feel so good” “Please.. harder” “It’s so sensitive.. I-I can’t.” He imagined your paise and pleas, humping faster against the pillow. His mind was filled with images of you in all positions, taking him so well, begging him, encouraging him. Saying his name.

“Caleb. Caleb. Caleb. Caleb—” He spilt again, gasping into the sheets, thighs trembling. The sound of your moans still echoed in his earbuds. It was absurd how much he’d cum. “It should be inside you. What a waste” He thought. His bed was a mess. His body was a haze of heat and overstimulation. But his mind was only filled with you.

[a-d-nox]

how can you glow up: your 11h - friendships, networking, and goals

here's the next hypothesis of how you can glow up using your venus persona. take a close look at your 11h!

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

11h leo (5°, 17°, 29°), 11h sun, and/or sun aspecting 11h ruler

aligning with a supportive community

join circles that recognize your talent - like fellow creatives, performers, entrepreneurs, visionaries, etc.

avoid clout chasers and flatterers/yes-men: you need honest people, not yes-men.

don't be afraid to create your own community if one doesn’t exist: start a content chat, host a discord, run workshops, etc.

stay where you feel seen - not just included. you thrive where you’re celebrated/loved, not just "tolerated."

nurturing friendships that inspire you

curate your circle like it's an art; magnetism, good vibes, and bold individuals only.

stay close to the people who cheer when you win and keep you in check when you are wrong.

mix fun with loyalty; you need ride-or-dies who’ll dance all night and still defend you when you aren't around.

less acting cool/indifferent; let your warmth, enthusiasm, and loyal side shine.

getting involved in causes you care about

use your platform and presence; speak, perform, and/or create content for causes that matter most to you.

support youth empowerment, equal access to the arts, and leadership development. leo/sun placements here shine brightest when they are uplifting others.

know with confidence that your influence is part of much needed change.

expanding your social network

attend events: fashion shows, gallery openings, live performances, etc.

don’t just network but perform; your presence is magnetic.

be the glue; introduce people, host, throw unforgettable parties, etc.

use social media as your stage; curate a presence that captures your vision and voice.

setting future-oriented goals aligned with your dreams

manifest recognition: awards, features, leadership roles, etc.

align your goals with your inner child’s biggest dreams - if it feels like you're having too much fun, then you’re on the right path.

if the future feels dull, it’s not your real path.

become someone who inspires others to shine just by being themselves.

11h libra (7°, 19°), 11h venus, and/or venus aspecting 11h ruler

aligning with a supportive community

think creative collectives, nonprofits, political strategy teams, artist networks, etc.

be around peacemakers and visionaries - not messy drama magnets.

collaborate instead of compete; you shine brightest in partnerships, not popularity contests.

you thrive in harmony, not hustle/influencer culture.

nurturing friendships that inspire you

allow yourself to be around people who make you feel emotionally nourished.

create rituals/routines around your connections - think brunches, mutual check-ins, etc.

reciprocity is your glow-up non-negotiable in this house.

getting involved in causes you care about

use your voice for diplomacy, not noise.

stand up for what’s fair even when it’s uncomfortable.

support causes that bring people together - activism, healing, peace building, etc.

expanding your social network

network at art shows, intimate events, and/or thoughtfully curated gatherings.

lead with connection, not clout - gentle power play gets you farther than any status flexing.

show up at scenes that match your frequency - stuff that is elevated, intentional, and inclusive.

setting future-oriented goals aligned with your dreams

allow yourself to dream of a life where partnerships help you rise and they do not drain you.

ask yourself "how are you shaping culture?" or "how do you want to shape culture?"

11h scorpio (8°, 20°), 11h pluto, and/or pluto aspecting 11h ruler

aligning with a supportive community

don’t stay in places where you feel forced to fit in. embody your presence, not polite silence.

observe unspoken power dynamics and learn how to navigate/influence them (without manipulation).

choose quality over quantity; your “group” is 2-3 people who’d help you burn it all to the ground and then help you to rebuild it better.

nurturing friendships that inspire you

go deep, or go home for us scorpio girlies - don’t waste your energy on casual friends who ghost you when things get a bit too real.

be a mirror, not a sponge; offer truth/honesty, not just sympathy/empathy.

invest in the friends who confront their shit. you’ll only grow when next to you are people who also want to grow.

getting involved in causes you care about

support causes with an edge, not bs fluff; prison reform, death doulas, sexual trauma recovery, environmental collapse aids, etc.

lead from behind if needed: mentor, fund, strategize, etc.

start something powerful and private: anonymous storytelling projects, secret support networks, research, etc.

turn your pain into purpose. someone needs your voice when they themselves can't speak.

expanding your social network

dress to impress, speak bluntly, and don’t overexplain.

ask questions everyone else is afraid to.

setting future-oriented goals aligned with your dreams

if your dreams don’t scare you, they aren’t big enough.

restructure your goals to include leadership, ownership, and/or long-term influence.

never aim to be liked - aim to make waves!

11h ruler in 3h

aligning with a supportive community

find people you can think out loud with! try out writers' rooms, discussion groups, book clubs, discord, etc.

speak of which... join online communities that value shared learning and fast thinking - discords, reddit forums, group chats, etc.

explore your immediate environment; your neighbors, classmates, or even the local starbucks' regulars could just be your next friend(s).

nurturing friendships that inspire you

talk often. talk deeply. be playful. you build trust best through steady conversation.

laugh, debate, explore... just keep the dynamic fresh with spontaneous get-togethers and unpopular opinion sharing.

stay close to people who stimulate your mind, not just fill your emotional needs.

small consistent communication = long-term loyalty.

getting involved in causes you care about

advocate for education, journalism, storytelling, etc.

try speaking at local events, write an article, or even start a podcast.

be an advocate for media literacy, local policy, education access, etc.

expanding your social network

attend panels, networking mixers, and workshops - then follow up with some people you meet via dm or email.

use your voice online - newsletter, blog, voice notes, videos, etc.

host a casual meetup that mixes learning with vibes like a book club!

setting future-oriented goals aligned with your dreams

allow yourself to dream of teaching, speaking, writing, or building a social media platforms.

set goals around being understood, not just heard.

consider documenting your journey in real time. your growth can often inspire others when it’s shared and relatable.

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button! 

return to nox’s guide to metaphysics

return to nox's hypotheses

© a-d-nox 2025 all rights reserved

[makeitworse]

BABY I’M YOURS

who knew that working as an idol’s stylist meant you’d be concealing an affair and the muse for his upcoming album.

⋆˙⟡ ibelongiiu part one 𓂃 c/w: fem!reader x sub!jiyong. fluff | smut. age gap. power imbalance. slowburn. yearning. sneaking around. (not-so) casual relationship. nsfw content minors dni

since the first time you met, ji-yong held a certain fondness for you. you were a fresh face in his staff, joining at the start of the year through connections with his long-term stylist gee eun.

she’d scouted your talent and personally requested you to work with her team— despite your lack of formal experience in the star-studded world of idols.

and you managed to hold your own while working alongside the stylists who’d been dressing him for decades.

it was such a drastic leap from your former position as a fashion intern; only in your early twenties, and you were getting paid to curate outfits for the king of kpop’s public appearances.

you were well aware of how volatile this industry could be. ji-yong’s december scandal was proof of it. you had tunnel vision on your career: you didn’t need attention or to climb in status. you just wanted to do your job and do it well.

which, ironically, is what caught ji-yong’s eye.

from your first day you radiated an air of confidence. you had something special to land you here and you knew it.

you were easy to talk to: never trying too hard to impress him, never pushing for attention. simple, mundane conversations with you were a comfort.

you never spoke to him like he was g-dragon, either. you laughed at his stupid jokes. you saved work-talk for later when you noticed he was nodding off. you didn’t hesitate to call him out on being a diva, either; snappy during fittings, picky with outfit options.

(which, admittedly, was often.. but he respects someone who doesn’t shy at telling him off.)

he liked hearing you laugh too. it wasn’t like the polished, practiced laughter he was used to hearing from idols and other public figures— the kind that could come with ulterior motives.

yours was real. unpretentious. your smile was infectious. and yeah, there was the fact that he found you gorgeous.

it wasn’t exactly a revelation; who wouldn’t think the same? that’s all it was, just passing admiration.

at least he told himself so.

until one night, you were invited as part of a handful of staff to accompany ji-yong at a formal dinner.

ji-yong gravitated to the seat next to the one you’d already claimed in the car. and during the trip there, there wasn’t a singular second of a silence.

talking to you felt so natural. your humour bounced off each other’s, topics and stories flowed from one to the other. he almost wished the car wouldn’t reach its destination if it meant he could learn everything there is to know about you.

but inevitably it did. he turned to you as he adjusted his blazer, asking in a playful tone if he looked good enough for the cameras.

you beamed that smile at him; hand reaching out to straighten his tie, smoothen the lapel. but then your face drops with a frown.

ji-yong’s breath catches in his throat before he can ask what was wrong— as you reach up and lightly thread your fingers through the front of his hair, fixing a stray strand that had fallen over his forehead.

you tucked it back into place while absentmindedly biting your lip in concentration, completely unfazed by the fact you were touching him so casually, so intimately.

and then you were gone.

the door opened on your side, and you moved on like it was nothing. you’d taken his breath with him. ji-yong sat there for a second too long, the crowd outside hollering for him to step outside.

what the hell just happened?

it’s not like he hasn’t been touched before. he’s got people fussing over him every day— hands all over his body from stylist’s fixing up his clothes and hair, dabbing make-up at his face. it was routine.

but that? that was all you. you didn’t do it because it was part of your job. sure, this was a work-related event, but this car ride had been a conversation purely between you and him. and you’d touched him so softly, without hesitation, like it was second nature to be that close.

and god, he was thinking about it too much.

ji-yong caught himself staring at you from across the sidewalk, watching you laugh at something gee eun said; wondering to himself why you suddenly have his full attention.

from then on, it was excuses in order to be around you— requesting you specifically for fittings, revolving around you during breaks, asking you questions he could easily ask the other stylists.

the rest of the team joke that he has an obvious favourite. and instead of denying it, he laughs it off. no one’s taking it too seriously of course; he’s been in the public eye long enough to learn that dating a girl means putting a spotlight on her.

but it lingers in his mind.

he’s old enough to know better. he should know better. you work under him, and you’re young— what was it, over a decade apart from him?

there’s power dynamics, a scandal waiting to happen, his career to consider. and you of course; whether he was reading too far into your affections. you had a smart head on your shoulders, you wouldn’t cross that line with your boss. he had to stop waiting for that day to come.

you had him slipping back into the mindset of his twenties, convinced his image could win over any woman— which was really a front for how deep he’d fall himself. he’s always been a hopeless romantic. he’s cultivated a career by writing songs about it.

ji-yong thought distance would help.

he told himself it was better this way— extinguish his budding feelings before it turned dangerous. before someone really noticed.

before he acted on them.

at first, you didn’t notice the shift. he’s still himself; still smooth, still teasing, still carrying that effortless charm that people gravitate toward.

it starts small. he no longer snapped his head when he’d hear your voice. he no longer looked for your reaction first when he said a joke. he longer watched your reflection in the mirror, averting his gaze as you glance up, thinking you didn’t catch him.

you caught the way his jaw hardened as you adjusted his collar, and as your hands moved to his torso, his arms stayed rigid as his sides.

he doesn’t make it obvious. but he can tell you picked up on it. where there’d usually be playful teasing and light touches, was just an air of suffocating silence as you fixed up his shirt.

and now you’re looking at him differently. he hadn’t realised how much he missed the way you used to. there’s the faintest uncertainty in your movements, like you’re wondering if you’ve done something wrong. it makes his chest tighten.

you almost asked, why do you look at me like that?

for a week, he’d been dodging eye contact, keeping sentences curt and around you only when necessary. the easy rhythm you’d fallen into was gone, replaced by something unfamiliar that stung.

whatever was happening before, if it was anything, could still be found in his eyes. traces of his affections in the way that he looked at you; which he made an effort to keep to a minimum.

you had no reason to ask, though. he’s your boss. he’s an idol. you’ve no right to expectations for him.

so you swallow down the lump in your throat. the questions burning on your tongue— because what would it matter if he fancied you anyways? it’s not like you’d actually be together. you felt like a schoolgirl.

it’s been a long day, longer than most. he’s exhausted, drained from a packed schedule, and the weight of his own shame hanging over his shoulders.

he’s been irritable all day. snappy with the staff. you barely even glance in his direction anymore. his manager has to pull him to the side to check on him.

then something happens.

a tug at his waist— a sharp snap— and suddenly, his belt is loose, his pants hanging off his hips. the staff near him scramble for a fix; but then you’re there. rushing over, pulling your sleeves up to your elbows.

“i’ve got it,” you murmur. all focus.

you’re close. closer than you’ve been in weeks. your hands are on him without hesitation. the warmth of your touch, the scent of your perfume— it all floods back at once.

ji-yong swallows as you grab the hem of his pants, his jaw tight. he should look away, but he doesn’t. can’t. instead, he’s watching you thread the belt back through the loops; your furrowed brows, your lips softly between your teeth, completely oblivious to what you’re stirring in him.

once you buckle the belt back into place, you check it with a tug, and glance up at ji-yong. your eyes meet.

it was only an instant before you were gone again, but it’s enough. because he realises how much he missed you— in the wedge that he forced between you.

and above all, how wrong it was to treat you like just another member of the staff when you were anything but.

he wanted you. and he was done pretending otherwise.

the day had finally wrapped up, and ji-yong bee-lined to the dressing room, finding you humming to yourself by the clothing racks. he hesitates in the doorway before he steps inside.

“oh,” you glanced up. “did you forget something?”

for a second, he doesn’t answer. because yes, he had forgotten something. the warmth of your voice directed at him without uncertainty. how it felt like to talk to you once.

he scrunches his face in thought before shaking his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“nope, just need a breather.”

he ruffles his hair. he’s fidgety, nervous. it’s not lost on you.

you hum in response, turning your attention back to the clothes as you sift through them.

conversation over. he had no reason to linger. but he asks anyway, “you staying late again?”

you shrug. “gee eun’s asked me to organise a few things before tomorrow. you know how she gets.”

he smirks. “they’ll have to start charging you rent soon.”

that earns him a quiet chuckle. it’s familiar.

you continue talking, reflecting on the busy day, and he isn’t listening to the words. not really.

he’s lost in the sight of you. hair falling around your pretty face, all messy from the long day. your hands; delicate, always warm when you’d fix his collar.

how easy it would be to close the distance, to reach for you in the way he’s wanted to.

ji-yongs fingers twitch at his sides. it’s an effort to keep his feet planted there, to nod along.

“—are you even listening?”

“hrm?”

you scoff, your arms crossing.

“what did i just say?”

you watch his feet shuffle, his hand planting in his hair again. the weight of your gaze on him is heavy.

“ah, i haven’t seen that one before.”

ji-yong points at an outfit hanging on the rack to divert the topic. he steps forward, inspecting it when he knows damn well he’s already seen it. but now he’s moving, closing the space between you, and you don’t budge.

you raise a brow. “we used it for an interview earlier this year.”

“really? has it been tailored since?” he reaches out to touch the fabric, like he could give a damn about it. he barely even looks at it. but you are.

“like it needs that.” you adjust the sleeve, replying absently: “you looked great.”

he huffs a laugh. it’s shy, uncertain. he gets nothing but praise all the time, yet he still doesn’t know how to receive it.

he should probably say something else. but instead, he turns to you, and you glance up at him.

you’re close. you eye him curiously, before it shifts into understanding. he’s giving you that look again. like you’ve got something he wants. and he’s letting you recognise it.

he spots the faintest smudge of make-up on your cheek from working all day. and before he can stop himself, ji-yong reaches up to wipe it with his thumb.

your breath catches. his hand stills, hovering beside your cheek. neither of you move, feeling the air shift. it’s charged with something unspoken, but undeniable.

ji-yong’s heart drums against his chest like it’s about to give out. he swallows, watching your eyes dart all over his face.

you’re searching for reluctance, regret; but he holds your gaze while looking at you like there’s a million more things he would do.

you let go of the clothing and bring your hand to his one at your cheek. you close your fingers around the back of his hand, holding it.

“that’s a bad idea.”

he felt like his fingertips were charged with electricity. his body was buzzing with heat. slowly, gauging your reaction, he moves his palm to your face.

you don’t oppose— instead, you lean into his touch as he cradles your cheek.

“i know.” he mutters.

ji-yong’s thumb softly wipes over your skin, and you sigh. that noise stirs something in him.

”you should probably go.”

your hand trails down his wrist and over his arm. he watches with bated breath as your fingertips drag over his chest, stopping to feather over his throat.

“you might do something you’ll regret.”

you felt his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. breathlessly he says, “i wouldn’t.”

you dare to raise your hand to his face, ghosting your touch near his mouth. ji-yong responds by shifting his thumb to your chin, gently tilting your head for him.

for a beat, you let your breaths mingle as you stare at one another. you’re both asking: are we really doing this?

his gaze flickers to your lips and he sighs. you decide then that yes: we’re really doing this.

uncertainty gone, you lean forward to press your lips on his. they’re soft. you hear him suck in a breath through his nose, before he deepens the kiss by parting your mouth open with his own.

both his hands cradle your face, holding you like you’re precious. you pull him closer by his jacket, his body pressing into yours. you’re leaning into him, even letting little noises slip between the open-mouthed kisses.

it gets him hot. his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, asking for permission; when you hum in response, the warmth of his tongue slides into your mouth.

his hands come to rest on your waist, pulling your body further into his, feeling the curves of your chest press into him.

in turn, you felt his excitement digging into your hip. your head was whirling. this was a fucking celebrity, and you’re turning him on?

for a moment you’re both standing there, trading hot tongue kisses, letting your hands roam wild over each other.

ji-yong steps forward, guiding you to walk with him. he backs you into a nearby table.

you pull away, committing the sight before you to memory: ji-yong’s hair tousled, panting with his cheeks tinged red. his gaze charged with everything he’d do to you.

just as his hands come to your hamstrings to raise you onto the table, a distant voice from outside the door has you scrambling away from each other.

you position yourself back at the racks, with ji-yong pulling out his phone. someone walks past the room, glancing in to shoot you both a smile.

disaster averted.

but it was too close of a call. you shake your head at yourself, resting your palm on your forehead. what were you thinking, doing that with the door open?

you glance at ji-yong, pursing your lips. he gets the idea.

he nods, bowing his head as he turns to leave.

“ji-yong?”

he stops to look at you, and you beam a soft smile at him. an acknowledgment of what you two did: that it was real.

he smiles in kind, before you trade bows and he leaves you to get back to your work.

it’s not going to be the last time anyway.

ji-yong was being unbearable.

not outright, of course. just in the way that only you would pick up on.

he found you when the day started, approaching you in front of the styling team with a sly grin plastered on his face. he walked past you, brushing closer than was necessary— and he sneaked a hand out to pinch your waist.

you jumped, eyes darting up around the room. thankfully everyone’s too busy with their own tasks to take notice. you glanced back at ji-yong as he leaves, and he’s barely containing a giggle. asshole.

as the hours stretched on, he’d dare to steal fleeting touches: placing his palm on your back, brushing his fingers over your arm. ji-yong was too impatient for the day’s work to end. you still had to pick up from where your previous encounter left off.

once there were calls for a lunch break— you had locked eyes from across the room. you caught his lip twitch into a smirk briefly. while the other staff began to disperse, you continued your task of stitching up an accessory, biding for ji-yong to make his way over.

a gentle hand on your shoulder made your head turn, met with ji-yong’s face low at your ear.

“come with me?”

you exhale, turning your attention back to the needle. “what about my lunch?”

“i can arrange something for you after.”

you glance at ji-yong with a brow raised. he returns a boyish grin. his finger reaches up, twirling a stray strand of your hair.

you almost reply dryly again, but your words catch as ji-yong leans in, his breath fanning your lips. he extended his arm out, sliding the accessory from your hand and closing his own around your palm.

you suppress the urge to roll your eyes. you did still work under him, despite the tonsil hockey and all. he was just being so damn needy.

“alright.” you stood from your workbench, letting ji-yong pull your chair out and guide you by the hand. he had to drop it before you left the room together, but not before placing a kiss on your hand.

you followed ji-yong through the hallways. everyone was off on break elsewhere, but your heart was still beating in your throat. you were conjuring up excuses in the event that someone catches you— then ji-yong flashes you a soft smile.

he opens the door to an empty dressing room, offering you his palm to guide you in before him.

you take notice of a table against the wall, just before you hear the click of the door locking behind ji-yong.

now that you were actually here, you felt almost faint. it was so surreal. you worked here, and you were sneaking around. with the boss. a fucking idol.

and he led you here. because he wants you.

ji-yong’s hand finds your hip from behind. goosebumps bloom across your skin as he inhales at your hair behind your ear, breathing in your scent. his head leans forward, pressing a kiss to your temple.

his mouth trails down to your neck, hand softly roaming over your tummy, careful to not move further.

his name slips from you breathlessly, and he hums in response.

“we shouldn’t be long.”

you crane your head to him, and his palm comes to rest on your jaw. his gaze is unflinching from your lips.

“then i’ll make the most of it.”

there’s no hesitation this time as you both move to kiss each other. ji-yong gently spins you so you’re facing him, then pulling you in by the waist.

you’re both quick to part each other’s lips, your tongues pressing together as you tasted your shared breath. ji-yong was panting into the kisses, his fingers twitching to move from your back.

you bring your hands to cradle his face, briefly pulling away from the kiss to utter: “touch me.”

and he obeyed: sliding his hands with a newfound confidence till they reached the underside of your thighs, grabbing at the flesh.

your own hands tangled in his bright hair, pressing your hips into him— eliciting a hiss from ji-yong as his dick dug into your heat.

greed was rising in you. he’d been working you up all day, daring to show everyone just how close you two had gotten. you decide you’ll give him just what he’s been provoking.

ji-yong’s mouth breaks from yours in a groan as you slide your hand between your bodies to close your palm around his erection. he was hot in your hand, and a sight to behold: eyes screwed shut and his lips parted with a pant.

your hand inched upwards to rub at him, and his mouth came crashing onto yours again. you gasped as he squeezed your ass, nearly lifting you up as he guided you to walk back.

you get the idea— he wants to continue what he didn’t get to do yesterday.

you find your footing, kissing him fervently till you come in contact with the table’s edge. you hoist yourself up to sit on it, and ji-yong’s between your legs in an instant.

you pull him impossibly closer by his collar, and his groan rumbles in your throat as you roll your hips against him.

ji-yong’s mouth found purchase on your neck, and you hummed when he sucked on the skin.

time was ticking. you fumbled for his waistband, eager to unbuckle his belt, but he stopped you by the wrist.

you could’ve cussed him out— but he shot you a dark-eyed glance, his lip curled at the corner.

your mouth fell open as ji-yong dropped to his knees.

conveniently for him, you’d decided to wear a dress today. he pushed the skirt up your thighs, his lips parting in a pant when he noticed the damp spot in your panties.

he pulled them to the side, and you shuddered when he pressed a kiss to your bare cunt.

you steadied yourself with a hand in his hair as his head bobbed with kitten licks to your clit. he kept a palm on your thigh to keep your legs open, with the fingers of his other hand prodding at your core.

ji-yong ate you out like he was fucking starving. the noise of his own groans as he lapped at you vibrated against your clit. and when he finally slid his fingers in to curl up into you, you saw fucking stars.

it was only a few minutes before you came on his fingers, thighs threatening to clamp around his head. he kept his mouth latched onto you, sucking your clit through your orgasm.

he teased you with a swipe of his tongue over you, freshly sensitive. you swatted his head and he chuckled.

ji-yong was already lifting you off the table and ushering you out of the room just as you were asking to return the favour.

he replied that there wasn’t enough time, he still needed to organise lunch for you.

he let you leave the room first to find a bathroom, and you giggled as you flashed one last look at him: standing there with a (what would’ve been painfully hard) tent in his pants. his head dipped with a shy smile as the door shut.

after that, between you was an arrangement without a name. an affair that hadn’t yet been spoken into existence.

carefully coordinated encounters, stolen moments in the quiet corners of studios, which quickly progressed to meetings in parking lots and nights spent in hotel beds.

you’ve perfected the art of slipping away without raising suspicion, and he’s able to keep a straight face when someone asks where he’s been lately.

the team still believe it’s just a fleeting crush. it’s impossible to suppress his instinct to gravitate towards you, to gaze at you for far too long. it’s just something the stylists laugh at between themselves— they don’t he’d actually cross that line.

but he was far past that point. and he was down bad.

it’s in the way he can’t stop thinking of you when you’re not around. the way he’s memorised your little quirks when you’re working, how you bite your lip in concentration and hum absently.

the way he shifts his schedule around to better align with yours, just for the chance of more encounters in the shadows. the way he spent money on you like it meant nothing; treating you to meals and adorning you with jewellery, as much as you’d refuse.

but worst of all, it was in the music.

late at night, when he’s drafting songs for the album, the pen spills out lyrics that with your name written all over them.

his infatuation, his reluctance; his complete and utter devotion. him practically begging you to want to be with him.

the album was almost dangerously raw. when anyone close to him listens, they’ll start to wonder. because it’s not just a crush. ji-yong’s heart was yours.

truth was, he was falling in love. and he couldn’t tell a soul who you were.

you accompanied ji-yong to a photoshoot with elle magazine. the hours you’d been here have had no end of ji-yong attempting to whisk you away, sneak a kiss or two behind a corner.

you knew how he gets. ji-yong gets too excited for his own good; he couldn’t afford to get a boner when he has to pose up for the camera, or god forbid leak pre-cum into the trousers.

but it’d been a while since his schedule had an opening to spend time alone with you. he was restless today: groping you in the dressing room, stealing pecks on your face. you caught him staring at your chest in front of the other stylists, head dipped and all— and you nearly slapped him until you remembered he’s still g-dragon.

he’d catch your eye an alarming amount when he’d get into position for the pictures, almost as if he’s checking for your approval. it got to the point that you forced yourself to get busy with something else, in case someone starts to wonder why he keeps glancing in your direction.

the day was nearing its end. ji-yong was dressed in the last outfit prepared for him. you were skimming over any creases, straightening up his collar like you’d always do.

you spared him a smile and complimented him under your breath, low enough that the other stylists didn’t pay any mind.

but it only egged ji-yong on. temptation gets the better of him, and he leans forward on his toes like he’s about to kiss you— right there in front of everyone.

you freeze up as his nose nudges yours. it’s enough to have your heart drumming. it takes everything in you to calmly step away, not check to see if anyone saw.

and then someone’s calling his name for the next round of photos. he spares you a wink before he jogs off. you make a mental note to have no mercy the next time you fuck.

tonight was at long last a rare chance for ji-yong to spend the night with you. there’d been a cancellation in his plans, and he didn’t waste another moment in shooting you a message. all of your errands then became futile.

you had a singular foot in the door of his apartment before he launched himself at you. you felt zoa brush against your leg; he’s been telling you how much she’s missed you.

if only you could pet her, since ji-yong’s already practically ripping your clothes off.

you hadn’t forgotten his stunt at the elle photoshoot. you had straddled ji-yong on the couch, riding him till he was a whining mess. you only stopped after your second orgasm, and he was a shell of a man by the end of it. careful what you wish for.

freshly showered, you were both curled up in his sheets, your head resting on his chest. you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his body with each breath. ji-yong was drawing lazy circles on your arm, his eyes glossed over while his mind was in a distant place.

you could spend forever looking at that face without getting bored. there’s a reason he’s as famous as he is. he’s stunning, and he was all yours.

“what’re you thinking?” you murmured.

ji-yong’s quiet for a beat. then, his finger stills against your skin. “how much i hate hiding this.”

your heart skips a beat. there it was.

you shift, tilting your head to look at him. he tries to keep his face composed, but his eyes— warm, searching— give him away.

“you know why we have to.” you say carefully.

“i know,” he sighs, tightening his hold around you. “but that doesn’t mean i like it.”

his words settle between you two for a moment.

you knew this was coming. you’d been prolonging the day, dodging his attempts to ask what you both were, if you’d told anyone about him.

the thought’s lingered in your mind too of course. he’d charmed you; you adored him. maybe in another setting, where you were both on equal footing, it’d feel okay. but outside of these walls, you were just a stylist for g-dragon. and anything more than that being made public would blow up in your faces.

you could tell how much secrecy weighed him down. he wanted to show you off, to brag about you. be proud about his girl.

and you’re not sure you could give him that.

but tonight, you don’t say that.

instead, you bury your head in the crook of his neck and softly kiss his jaw.

“i’m here.” you whisper.

for now it’s enough.

but the way ji-yong presses a kiss to your hair, exhaling deeply: you can tell that this conversation wasn’t over. not tonight anyways.

a/n: thank you for reading! i’ve had so much inspiration for gd, i decided to just compile all my ideas into a series. this part serves as the calm before the shitstorm. i already have the next parts planned out, but i’m taking my time with writing to ensure a cohesive story. i hope to see you there in the next one! ♡

taglist ⟢ @breakmeoff @emmiesoverthemoon @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @jennierubyjem @namsgyu

@aokism @kandixcx @famouskoalastudent @ctrldivinev @myn4mgyu @aizshallnotbefound @astralruem @siideros @myst3rionn @aanaritt @lowkeyylaura @emmyf1 @comitzsiren @puddingknows @btwimmel @hrtswon @ufoev3 @drwholuvr @bambambwi @bloody-kissez @amoondragon @bfiechso @renjunniehavenn @1tsnotgab1 @cannotdriveinastraightline @numeroun01 @nirvanainmypants @zcmda @siriusly-rem-writes @jajabro @leagueofvillainsenthusiest @enhypj @eclips-moon @multiple-fandom @kjydrgnnnn @gdgirl21 @inhogf @namelesswoah fucking hell there’s alot of you

[theseinfernalangels]

Love Letters — Garrick Tavis

Synopsis: Recovered Correspondence between Lieutenant Garrick Tavis and Lieutenant Cosette Camden, Princess of Navarre.

 Takes place over the course of the first part of Iron Flame and is for Day 3 of Garrick Week: Distance.

The contents of this recovered correspondence are not dated, but are believed to have been sent between the timeframe of July 29th and December 3rd, 634 AU. This is not a completely recovered set of writing. Whilst included missives were found in the ruins of the Samara and Montserrat outposts, other letters are actively being sought after by scribe and rider alike for insight on personal relations within harsh military structures. Just for studying. Totally just for studying.

— A personal addendum from Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College

Princess,

Fuck. It’s not even been a week without you, and I can already feel myself coming apart (No — not like that. I wish.). Everything would be so much easier with you here, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re in Monserrat rather than Samara. This place is not for the faint of heart, and while you are the most capable woman I know, I can already tell that riders are eaten alive here. Especially when you’re me. I have to start from ground zero all over again to make people trust me, fight twice as hard for all the same privileges that others are handed so easily.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for you. Have people started suspecting about you yet? I doubt anything would happen — you’re an active service member with incredible skills — but a part of me worries that someone will be there to snitch you out. Stand your ground, beautiful. You’re more than any of these people can claim to be, anyway.

I’ll try to keep my missives as brief as possible, although I’d try to write whole tomes for you if I had the time. I love you in ways that consume me wholly. Please stay as safe as you can.

Yours forever, 

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick,

I can say with upmost certainty that no one here knows a thing, besides that we are together. Seriously — the amount of times I’ve been referred to as “Tavis’s Girl” rather than my own name is appalling. I don’t know many people here besides this one girl from my wing, who decided upon meeting that we are friends. I quite like her. She makes for good company.

I’ll be honest with you, my love; I’m lonely. I miss you more than I miss the sun in a hurricane. Sometimes, I wake at night reaching for you, only to be met with nothing but sheets. Disappointing, but fine.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you. Had I known that you’d be sent to Samara, I would have requested to be there, too. I don’t care if it’s dangerous — you cannot convince me that there is a place safer on this Continent than being by your side. Even surrounded by hundreds of infantrymen and dragons, I would still feel better if I could see you. Oh, well. I can be patient, I suppose. 

I send you all the love from my place here. Rest assured I am safe and sound, despite the constant conflict. Send Xaden my best, too — I can’t imagine he has it any easier, especially with his Violet ordeal.

Thoroughly and utterly yours,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Princess,

I’m glad you’re at least making connections with people — but who am I kidding? That’s what you do best. If your jackass brother weren’t the crown prince, you’d make the fairest queen of all.

You want to know what’s funny? Second to being classified as a traitor, people know me as yours, too. I guess sticking to one another like glue for three years paid off. 

Xaden wishes you well. The lucky bastard gets a couple of days every two weeks to go see Violet. I’d say I’m jealous, but I think Chradh would choke at the thought of being mates with Seachran. Correction — he just yelled at me extensively.

I would try and tell you about my days, but I’m afraid there’s not much to talk about right now. All we do is train and fight, with some recreational fighting on the side. Gambling is a big deal here, apparently. I bet I could cheat my way into getting the weekend off to see you, but I know you prefer honesty over everything. You’ve always been better than me, you righteous little light.

I heard that there was an attack near you recently. I imagine you are perfectly fine, but quick correspondance would be much appreciated.

Still terribly lovesick,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

Rest assured that I am okay. That "attack" was nothing more than a drift of gryphons gone astray. They were taken out quickly, with an efficiency that…Well, I’ll be honest. It scared the shit out of me. I forget sometimes that we’re actually in the service and not students anymore. 

Physically, I am fine. Emotionally? Drained. There is only so much time some can go without seeing the one they love, and despite what you may think, I am a woman of very weak willpower. Perhaps we spent a little too much time together back in Basgiath, because I find myself watching for you around every corner and through every door. It saddened me at first, but now it’s pretty funny. No one here even looks like you, yet I still was hopeful anyway. Perhaps that is foolish. I find it comedic. I think I have to — or else I’ll find myself succumbing to the things that haunt me otherwise. 

Don’t ask. It is best to leave it at that.

Tell me everything and anything you want. I would gladly listen to hours of strategizing and arguments just to hear your voice. You wouldn’t have to cheat, either. We both know that you’re the best of the best, and anyone who thinks they can one-up you just because of a damned relic can kiss my ass.

Always, always, always,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My darling,

Nothing in that beautiful mind of yours could ever be foolish. On the contrary, the same is happening to me. Riorson tried to assure me that it was fine, since some of the women here, “look like you, anyway,” but I disagree. None of them have your smile. They don’t have the freckles that only show themselves in the summer. They don’t have your inclination to take others under their wings, and they certainly don’t have your eyes. I don’t think anyone does.

Oh, yeah. They don’t have Seachran, either. I think we’d know if they did.  

I think you’ve boosted my ego tenfold, but that’s not much of a change, as far as I’m concerned. No time for being humble when I’ve got a lovely woman waiting for me and a bunch of dark wielders ready to hunt me down.

Call me a dreamer, but I can’t wait until this is over. I have so many things I want to show you. To share with you. To be with you. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, and perhaps you’ll think I’m a sap, but that’s alright. You could call me a traitor straight to my face, and I’d just appreciate how it sounds on your tongue.

Still drowning within you,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

 Firstly, I would never entertain the thought of calling you anything like that. You deserve only the sweetest of words from me, and that’s all you’ll get — unless you decide to be a dumbass.

Maybe you are a dreamer. Maybe it is wishful thinking. The thing about being a light-wielder, though, is that you learn to wish on stars frequently. I am a dreamer, too. Let me share a piece of my dreams with you.

When this war ends — because we will end it — all I want is you. I don’t care where we go, whether it be Aretia or someplace else. Just us and our friends for a while, taking chances and getting to take a moment to breathe air that isn’t tainted with blood. I see the sun, and that river you’ve told me so much about, and waking up to fresh sheets and warm touches. We can be soft and keep it that way,  just you and me, and then…I’m not quite sure. I have thoughts, but I don’t like being too forward. 

Fuck that. Never mind. I want a life with you. A family — a real one, where we never question if someone loves another or if their presence is wanted in the first place. I’ll give as much as you will, because I know you will without asking. That is why I want it in the first place; there is no one else I’d share the sentiment with.

So call yourself a dreamer and a sap. Just know that I am ten times more delusional than you are.

Dreaming of you,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My brightest light,

You can’t just say things like that and expect me to be normal about it. No, I am not crying; it is just exceptionally hot sharing a room with three other riders.

You want my dreams? I’ll give them all to you. I want it all. All of it. The sun, the river, the sheets, the touches, the family. I will give it all to you if you do the same for me. Actually, I’d give it all to you, regardless. You deserve every fucking moment of it for everything you’ve given me. 

Will we have any idea of what we’re doing? Probably not. Neither of us have parents to consult, and I don’t quite understand children, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. How many do you want? We’ll go from there.

Chradh says he’ll give us parenting advice. I’d sooner let him barrel-roll me into the side of the outpost.

Shit. He’s taking it personally now.

As I was saying, I want to give it all to you. The moment I have the chance, I’ll come to you and we’ll talk it out. I have something to ask of you, anyway. Tell me when it’s best for you, and I’ll fight like hell to get my forty-eight hours, and I’m not sharing. I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can manage without getting my ass kicked — even though, between you and me, I couldn’t care less if Command got mad at me. They’d have to find me to execute me, and fortunately for the both of us, I’m pretty fast.

I’ll be in your arms soon,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

I also have my forty-eight hours for you. I wasn’t even aware we could do that, but according to command, I’ve been out fighting so frequently that they’ve decided to give me a break of my choosing. Part of me wants to be offended and wonders if they think I’m delicate; the other part couldn’t care less. I haven’t had a break since the moment I slid from my mother’s womb on to her bedroom floor. I think I deserve it.

The end of November or beginning of December would suffice, I think. Since they won’t consider rotating stations until April, the halfway point is probably the best option — for both convenience’s sake, as well as my sanity.

I cannot wait to see you! I have not slept very well since the night before Reunification Day — the last night we had together. Where you should be laying, I have only sheets to cling to. If they smelled like you, maybe I would complain less, but no. I probably average a good four hours, but I know I’ll get at least six with you.

To put it bluntly, I need you here. Desperately. The end of November, at the earliest, please. Ask any question. Request anything of me. I don’t care. Please, just come home to me.

Don’t keep me waiting,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“I miss you.”

His words are mumbled into your hairline, his lips brushing against your skin like a midnight prayer. It may as well be; the moon, bright and swelling, paints his skin white as milk against the stone alcove you rest under. Despite his softness, his word choice has you frowning and tilting your head up.

“But I’m right here,” you reply, one brow furrowing in confusion.

Garrick just smiles. “I know,” he says. “But I still miss you. I miss you when I’m at Samara. I miss you when I’m on the battlefield. I miss you when you’re three inches away from me.” He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “No matter where I am, I miss you.”

“Ah.” Has Garrick always been so poetic? Or is this just another change made by the distance and the four months that have separated the two of you?

You could barely go four months without him. You’re not sure if it’s romantic or pathetic. 

“Something on your mind, lovely?” Garrick asks, slipping a finger under your chin to pull your eyes to his. His eyes, wonderfully hazel, search yours carefully. It’s no secret to him that you’ve been struggling without him there beside you, and it’s not like he can say any different.

“No.” You tuck your head into his shoulder and sigh. “I just can’t wait for the next few months to be over. They’re talking about transferring some people out, so I’m hoping luck will be on our side and I’ll get sent to Samara.”

A low chuckle leaves him. “I’m not sure you’d enjoy it there. Unless you’re into watching two sweaty, shirtless men go at each other while everyone else drinks.”

That puts a mischievous smile on your face. “Does one of those sweaty, shirtless men happen to be mine? Because I’d totally be into that.”

That painfully adorable dimple flashes on Garrick’s cheek. “Pervert.”

You shove him playfully, although he doesn’t budge a bit. “Don’t act like you would pass up the opportunity to see me fight someone in just my bindings. I’m surprised you haven’t campaigned for it yet.”

“Well…” He glances around before snaking his hands around your hips and pulling, trapping you further into his embrace as you let out a little squeak of laughter. “I’m definitely not against the idea.“

You lean in and press a light kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You wouldn’t get jealous of other men seeing me without my leathers?”

Garrick scoffs, but the cocky grin is too obvious in his voice. “Wear whatever you want in front of any man. At the end of the day, you’ll end up with me, anyway.”

You snort but shake your head fondly. It’s been three years since the two of you started going out, ever since that terrifying October of your first year. For every day since then, you’ve gone back for Garrick, and he’s always come for you. You didn’t even mean to propose the jealousy scenario, but grateful satisfaction blooms in your gut. Garrick is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not insecure.

“Alright, wise guy,” you joke, poking him in the ribs and receiving a mocking pout in return. “You wanted to ask me something. Talk.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, stretching the scar on his face a little like he didn’t expect your demand. “Someone’s eager.”

“Of course I am,” you shoot back. “I haven’t seen you in months. Haven’t heard you in months. Ask me everything so your voice sticks with me better.”

He just shakes his head, relaxing against the wall and reaching for the ends of your now-loosened hair. “You missed me, too?”

Your lips purse as you flick him in the chest, your eyes softening as he catches your hand to bring it to his mouth. “Of course I did, idiot. And I’ll miss you in forty-eight hours. Now, spill.”

His lips tense in the way you know is him holding back a dirty joke, and then he just smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist to anchor your body to his.

“…I’ve been thinking,” he says quietly, after a few heartbeats. “About us.”

Oh? You tilt your head. It doesn’t surprise you, given how often you’re thinking of him, but it’s definitely not something you think he’d need to ask about.

“These past few months…” He sighs roughly. “They’ve been painful without you. Really fucking painful. I never imagined how often I’d go to bed and not be able to sleep without your head tucked into my shoulder, or how pissed off I’d get when you’re not there to keep my head set.” 

Your gaze softens, a hand coming up to brush against his unscarred cheek lightly. “Gare…”

He brushes his thumb against your lower lip, shushing you gently. “No, listen. Let me say my piece.”

Your lips seal almost instantly.

He starts again. “You’ve always been right there, you know? Even before Threshing, before we even properly met, you were there. Defending Freya from those assholes. Defending mefrom your brother, even though you knew fully that he wanted both of us dead. I thought you were insane back then.”

A wry smile cuts across your face. “Not now?”

His fingers glide across your jaw. “I digress. And even after that…you never left. Never. Not when you knew we were hiding something. Not when I had to lie. Not even after War Games, and I knew you wanted to scream at me.”

His eyes find yours. “Somehow, despite everything, you’ve never left. Do you know how many people in my life get to say that? It’s not many.”

“Like that’s hard?” you reply quietly, tracing up his relic with your pinkie. “You never gave me a reason to leave. In fact, you’ve only ever given me reasons to stay. I’ve never had that before, either — a reason to stay where I am, perfectly content with what I have.”

“I want you to have that.” Garrick reaches down into the pocket by his thigh, but it’s out of your line of sight. “Always. A reason to stay. A life that you want that wasn’t just thrown your way for the sake of convenience. A place where you’re truly happy, like we talked about. The sun. The river. A family.”

For reasons you can’t quite comprehend, your heart starts racing, knocking your breath from your lungs. Sure, Garrick’s always been a sweet-talker when it comes to you, but this? This is nothing short of a confession. 

But he didn’t say he had a confession. He said he had a request.

You search his eyes, the hazel glow growing brighter in the starlight. “…I don’t understand what you’re trying to ask of me.”

He just smiles. Not cocky. Not cheeky. Just gently. Wanting. Earnest. 

It sets your heart ablaze.

“Lovely.” He shifts a little, adjusting his grip on your face so his thumb can trail over your cheekbone — no doubt re-memorizing the pattern of your freckles. “I can’t do it without you. Anything, really. Sleep, walk, fight the war, live. At the end of the day, I’m just a man, and I never want to have to let you go.”

The cool skin of his fingers brushes against yours as he laces your palms together, pressing something small and cold in between your hands. You watch him quizzically before you bring your hand away from his, flipping your palm towards you and choking once you catch sight of what he’s places in it.

It’s…a ring.

Relatively small, it is. A silver band, patterned in small designs that spread across the surface. The gem lays carefully within the widest spot, golden yellow and glinting in the light. Smaller, matching gems dot against the band. Citrine. They’re beautiful, just like sunlight.

No. Not just sunlight. Your light.

Your breath catches. Oh, gods. 

It’s not just a ring. It’s a ring.

Your head snaps up, meeting his eyes that are lit with pure, unadulterated adoration.

“Say you won’t let go of me, Princess?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his palm.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You blink once. Twice. A third time, just out of habit. You open your mouth and then close it, your voice stolen away from pure disbelief.

He wants to marry you. To stay with you.

It’s enough to make you start crying like an infant.

“Fuck.” You press your face into his chest, not caring that your hot tears are soaking into his tunic with every shaky breath that leaves you. “Oh, gods.”

A hand ghosts up your spine, cradling you carefully. That’s when you feel it — the gently weight of something pressing into your spine. Cold. Heavier. 

Another ring. His. When did he slip it on?

“Lovely?” he prompts, dragging his lips against your forehead. “Are you—“

You cut him off by tearing yourself away from his chest, meeting his confusion-filled gaze with your own, packed with every thing, every feeling, every moment you share with him. Your eyes drop to his lips, and then trail back up shakily. Watching. Waiting.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Thoroughly and utterly. Yes. Please. Stay with me, forever. Please.”

His lips are on yours before he can even agree, sealing the promise into your mouth.

Searing. Binding. Filled with every ounce of joy and love and light and longing and want.

You’ll never have to let him go.

And, as if in response, the moon starts to glow a little brighter.

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @kienhawon, @goldenmagnolias, @bi-incog-btch, @gracie-rosee, @lxnvmvrzx

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[mochinomnoms]

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Congrats on 1k followers Mochi (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡ you so so so so deserve it. You always make me smile when I see your posts so I hope you have fun writing them.

If I might make a request, could I have Jade, Trey, and Ace with a romantic prompt 16 (“I won't lose you again.”)? I want to see them cry a lot just a tiny bit. Feel free to let the vibes guide you, I trust it will be very good.

-Yuri

jade leech, trey clover, ace trappola (separate) x gn!reader [tags] — angst in Ace's, hurt in Trey's, humor in Jade, implied time loop theory [wc} - 1,000+ each prompt 16: “I won't lose you again.” song: Be, Talk (Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!”), Francesca (Hozier, “Unreal Unearth”) note - @yuri-is-online got it! went a lil wild cause I got massive inspo lmao. Also, let me know if yall can guess the anime I got inspired from with Ace's francesca (1k event)

“Be like the love that discovered the sin (Lover, be good to me) / That freed the first man and will do so again / And, lover, be good to me (Lover, be good to me)”

There were several things that caught Jade Leech’s attention during his life, but only a few kept his attention, after which he’d abandon his ‘toy’. Fungi, mountains, and poisonous flowers, were exceptions, to name a few. He had to admit to himself (and only himself) that there was one thing that revolved in his mind all this time later, dug deep into his brain like the mycelium of his beloved mushrooms in the forest floor. 

One. Thing. You. The funny little human from the broken down dorm. The funny little human with not a single ounce of magic in their veins. The cute little human that was captivated by his merform, an entirely foreign concept to them. The sweet little human with the even sweeter crush on him all throughout his second and third years. 

Perhaps it was cruel of him to entertain your affections with no real desire to follow through on them. Actually, scratch that, it was cruel of him to do so. It was just so…interesting to him at the time. He grew alongside his brother and Azul, none of them exactly being the most sought after during their childhood or teens. They were feared, each of them for multiple reasons, not exactly prime boyfriend material, despite some of their attempts to curate a specially crafted facade. 

Yet, you were so bewitched by him, enthralled, beguiled, and dare he say lovesick with him despite all the signs screaming “DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!” So please, forgive him for shamelessly flirting, and finding entertainment in your reactions. 

The dilated pupils as he leaned down to make eye contact. The sharp intakes when he cornered you against a library shelf, nonchalantly reaching for a random book. The shiver down your spine as he would lean over in class to whisper some nonsense in your ear regarding the class. All for the sole purpose to see you blush a pretty color and get flustered. Not for the jump in his heart at the thought of being revered so sweetly, or a potential lover being so good to him. 

It was just a bit of fun. That’s all it was. That’s all it was meant to be, when he finally left for his internship his third year. He paid no mind to the wistful look on your face as he gave his goodbyes, nor the strange creak in his heart at the sight.

Jade Leech was all he’s always been, and all he will ever be: a man that left his toys once they ceased to interest him.

Which is why he loathed that he’s been unable to remove you from his mind. Though, did he really? It wasn’t annoyance or hate, but an aching yearning that resided in his being. Jade spent many months tossing and turning in bed as he dreamt of you: shy smiles, soft eyes, and sweet words. He wanted, he needed to be free from this love-struck feeling, this infatuation. It was dragging him down from his finely constructed pedestal, like a sin striking an angel down from heaven. 

Yet, coming back to campus now, presenting his internship research at the end of the year, Jade found himself strangely content with the concept as he watched you. You’d taken on your role at NRC quite beautifully, and were the object of affection for many admirers, much to his dismay. Currently, you were attending to visitors, directing them to their destinations and helping the fourth years find their old clubs and friends, while he admired from around the corner.  

You were as you’ve always been, sweet, cute, and clueless to your surroundings as he stalked closer until he was behind you, leaning down until his lips inched close to your ear. 

He purred breathlessly into your ear, “Oh Prefect~ Is that you, my dear?” Jade didn’t miss the shudder that flew up your spine as you jumped away in shock. 

“EEP! W-what the—” You whipped your head around to berate the man before realizing who it was. “Oh, jeez, Jade! You’re back—why’d you do that?!”

The tall man chuckled as he straightened to his normal height. Oh, how he missed you. And your reactions, of course. 

“I simply missed your delightful expressions, you always have been rather reactive with me, haven’t you?”

“What—nooo. I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Huffing, you crossed your arms and jerked your gaze away in irritation. At least, it would be if not for the blush on your cheeks. 

“Fuhuhuh, that blush suggests otherwise.” A giddy feeling filled his chest as Jade inched closer to you, in which you backed away. This continued until he managed to corner you against the stone way of the hallway. 

“This is a familiar sight, is it not?” Jade cooed as he leaned down again, a hand reaching to caress your cheek. “I did miss you, didn’t you—”

A smack. Jade blinked in surprise as his hand was thrown back by your own. Now you looked more annoyed than flustered. 

“I’m sure you did.” You hissed sarcastically, narrowing your gaze at him. “Ha! Please, more like missed messing with me. If you really missed me, you’d’ve called or messaged me like the others in our class. Even Azul checked up on me!”

Jade…hadn’t been aware of that. He’s been too into his own head, reliving memories with you that it hadn’t occurred to him that you’d actually might lose affection for him. 

The thought made him a little sick. 

He pouted, taking your chin in his hand to tilt your head up to his. “Is that so? Please forgive me for my most egregious sin. I don’t wish to lose you again.”

“Hmph, again?” You made a sound of offense. Despite your words, you still looked up at Jade with a  shy gaze, eyes darting down to his lips every so often. 

You never had me in the first place.” You scoffed, trying to avert your blushing gaze, though he kept a firm grip, moving to squeeze your cheeks into a pucker.  

Jade chuckled, “Your previous actions say otherwise, though I am quite a fool for not taking what was mine in the first place.”

“Y-yours?! You-you-you can’t just say things like that—eep!” You let you a deliciously cute squeak, which he swallowed up as he stole a kiss. 

“Now, now my little lover, be good to me and let me revel in your affections, I’ve derived myself from them for far too long now, have I not?”

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice / Imagine being loved by me / I won't deny I've got in my mind now (Hey, yeah) / All the things I would do

He wasn’t sure why he had any faith in Crowley to get you back home. Really, that’s on him for thinking the headmage would put any work into your return home. If Trey had known that you’d still be here in Twisted Wonderland, years after his graduation, he wouldn’t have ever broken up with you. 

Granted, it hadn’t exactly been his choice in the first place, as you had abruptly ended the relationship towards the end of his fourth year. Told him to enjoy his life without you weighing him down, despite his insistence that you’d do no such thing. 

Trey finally relented when you told him that you had a world, a family, a home (without him) to get to. Somewhere you belonged, somewhere that wasn’t with him. 

It hurt, yes, knowing that you were never really meant to be with him in the first place. It was simply by magical chance that you were plucked from your world to turn his own upside down. Likewise, it was simply by chance that you and him got together to steal and eat his heart, leaving him almost an empty shell of himself. 

So it was a surprise to see you at Riddle’s wedding, of all places, dressed up in a pretty green outfit as you giggled with some bridesmaids. Seven, you looked good, the fabric hugging all the right spots. Maybe he was being a bit delusional, but Trey swears that the green of your outfit matched the color of his hair, and he had a small possessive streak pass through him at the thought. If it wasn’t for Cater pinching his arm, Trey would be sure that he was in a dream. 

“Ow! Cater!” Trey hissed, rubbing his arm as the strawberry-blonde smirked at him. Cater’s hair was longer now, but he kept his signature style from school still. 

“Go on, talk to them.” Cater nudged him with his elbow, gesturing to you. “I know you want too~”

Trey huffed, watching the liquid in his cup as he swirled his punch. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh, come on!” Cater whined, latching on to Trey’s arm. 

“We didn’t end on good terms.”

Cater countered, “You didn’t end on bad ones either.”

“Hmph.” Trey clicked his tongue, eyeing you from the corner of his eye. Your hair had grown longer, and was dyed. It looked nice on you.

Still leaning against Trey, Cater pouted before a mischievous look passed over his face as he leaned in to whisper in Trey’s ear. 

“Besides, I heard they’ve stayed single since being with you.”

“…” A sigh. “Really?”

“Totes, so you really ought to go make a move before that blonde dude does, though it doesn’t look like he’s having much luck.”

Finally deciding to look up, Trey noticed your uncomfortable expression as the guy twirled a strand of your hair with his fingers. Despite being known for being rather mild-mannered, a handful of your mutual friends knew the truth: Trey had a nasty jealous streak where you were concerned. 

He wasn’t sure when or how he got across the room, but Trey was suddenly hovering over you and the blond man, hazel eyes piercing his back. Surprise flitted your features as a hand was offered to you, along with a familiar. 

“Sorry, hope I’m not interrupting.” Trey had to withhold a smug smirk as he saw your eyes light up at the sight of him. “But would you mind sharing a dance?”

You eagerly nodded, taking his hand and mumbling a half-hearted apology to the other man as Trey guided you to the dance floor, filled with couples sharing a dance to the latest love song. 

His hands rested on the familiar curve of your waist as your arms wrapped around his neck, hesitating before finally settling your hands on the back of his neck. The two of you swayed to the music, a surprisingly comfortable silence between you two. Honestly? It was as if you two never broke up, with how your bodies curled into each other, heart-to-heart.

Yet, neither one of you seems willing to start the conversation he was begging to have.

“… You look beautiful—”

“You look wonderful—” 

Both of you opened your mouths at the same time, interrupting each other before sharing a giggle.

“Sorry, sorry. You go first.”

Trey shook his head. “No, go ahead.”

You smiled, something soft and a bit sad, before looking him up and down. “You look good, got stockier. The bakery’s got you working hard, hm?”

“Ha, yeah. It has, what…about you?”

Your lips thinned, as you looked away. “Still at NRC with Grim, we teach the new Beast-tamer curriculum. It’s…fun.”

Silence fell over you two again, the elephant in the room hanging between you two.

“You’ve been here, all this time, then?”

You nodded, a sliver of shame passing over your features. 

“He never did find me a way home after we…you know…”

Trey sharply inhaled, tightening his grip and rubbing soothing circles as he nodded. “Yeah…why didn’t you…tell me. Why didn’t you come back?” He left out the ‘to me.’

You stopped dancing, making him stumble slightly as he watched your face intently, heart aching at the tears growing in your eyes. 

 “I—” Trey watched as you swallowed a lump in your throat, voice shaky. “—I felt so bad that you’d spent your time and energy on being with me when I might not even stay, so I wanted you to go off and live life. But then, he never did find me a way back, and I realized that I just pushed you away, and I just couldn’t face you—”

You broke into sobs, burying your face into his chest as Trey led you away from the dance floor. He managed to pull you into a secluded hallway, one for the staff to enter in and out of the kitchen. Trey held you close as he rubbed your back, resting his cheek on the top of your head as you rested into the crook of his neck.

“I-I'm sorry… I shouldn't be…” You were sniffling, letting out little hiccups as you spoke. “—crying like this… I'm not trying to make you… feel bad… I just… I should go…”

As you moved to pull away, Trey tightened his grip, hand reaching up to caress your cheek as you looked up at him with watery eyes. You were as beautiful as the day you left him, tears streaking your makeup and all. 

“Don’t, please, I—” Trey sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I won’t lose you again. I missed you so much, please, stay?”

You nodded, still sniffling, as you moved to kiss the palm holding your cheek. “I missed you too, but aren’t you mad at me? For not coming back?”

Trey shook his head, smiling softly at you. Whatever anger he had was immediately forgiven at the sight of you before him. He couldn’t care less about the last few years, as long as he had you back in his arms again. 

“As long as I can have you back in my arms, the past is forgiven. As long as…you’ll have me?”

The two of you shared another sweet smile, leaning into each other to press your lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. The type of kiss you give when you can’t tell the difference between a dream and reality. Cater’s quick photo of you two lovers would later help cement that fact that this was reality. 

It’s a week later that Trey has that exact same picture set as his home and lock screen.

I'd tell them, "Put me back in it" (Da-ah, darlin') / I would do it again (Ah-ah, ah-ah) / If I could hold you for a minute (Da-ah, darlin') / I'd go through it again (Ah-ah, ah-ah)

It’s all dark. It’s always dark until the moment Ace opens his eyes and the coffin opens. Ace goes through the orientation ceremony, only to have it interrupted by you stumbling into the Mirror Chamber, an energetic and egotistical Grim demanding to take your spot. 

It’s dark in the cave that he goes into with you two and Deuce to collect the new chandelier magistone. You're screaming, he’s screaming, so are Deuce and Grim. It’s a shit show, even before Riddle comes to drag him and Deuce back to the dorm. 

It’s dark when he makes the trek to your dorm after being collared. Grumbling about just wanting a snack, about Riddle’s unnecessary rage, and about who the hell can remember all 810 rules. It’s light, though, that he sees when you open the door to Ramshackle, the warm, old lightbulbs from the hallway creating a halo around you. 

It’s light again, in the morning as the sun filters through the broken window, you poking him awake to get to class.

Ace has never been one to get sentimental, the idea of love is frightening, to be frank. But looking at you again, light curtaining your features, he was reminded why he did what he did. 

Why he punched Riddle for his outburst and insults to you. 

Why he threw himself into the fight against Leona as he threatened to turn you to sand. 

Why he let himself get “tricked” by Azul again and again, get beaten up by the twins under the sea again and again. Why he tried to run back to school to your rescue, only to be too late again and again. Why he endured the embarrassment of losing the SDC. 

He’d hoped that this time he’d be able to avoid getting into a coma from the S.T.Y.X. Charon robots again, but he had no luck, so you once again had to depend on Rook and Epel getting you through the Isle of Woe. Maybe he should’ve focused on getting Grim back after scratching you, or maybe just prevented him from eating all the blot stones, then you wouldn’t have been in this mess. 

It might have prevented Malleus’s own blot, though Ace wasn’t really sure what led to his spiraling. It was probably a combination of a lot of information, as it was with the rest of the blots. Either way, he’d been hoping that preventing Grim from eating the 8th blot stone would’ve prevented this. 

Ace wouldn’t know though, as he’s been through this year at least 4 times now. Trying to prevent what he’s slowly starting to believe is inevitable.  

He’s replayed your deaths over and over in his brain. The first one that happened, he was upset for losing a friend, but probably would’ve gotten over it. It sounds harsh, but that was the reality of the situation. 

After the second loop, Ace started noticing you more. Things he missed out on the first time. The way you smiled, the way you walked, the way you tugged on your shirt when you were nervous. It was cute. 

It was his third loop that he started noticing little things. How you liked to grab on to his arm when it got too crowded. How you always made an effort to help him in class, despite having to catch up with nearly 2 decades of curriculum just to understand the professors. He noticed how you’d blush whenever he’d make flirty jokes. 

It was his fourth, and current, loop that he really started to view you differently. That he started to view these second, third, and fourth chances as a way to keep you safe. To not lose you again. 

You were always helping him, despite the stress he caused you. Every time you’d let him crash in your dorm, eventually convincing you to let him share at least your room. He’d be up, tossing and turning as he watched your sleep. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, but seeing you take your whole situation in stride, every overblot, every condescending comment, every shenanigan Grim, Deuce, and him really made Ace think about why he was doing this. 

Was it because he felt bad? No, it certainly wasn’t the first time, anyway. Was it because he liked having you around? Kinda, maybe a little. Was it because every time he’d ask you why you got involved with all the drama at school, you’d answer with a shrug, a smile, and simply answer “I gotta protect my friends, as best I can anyway.” That was probably partially the reason.

He thinks the reason he’s so desperate to make sure you stay around is because of the promise you made with him the first loop around: “If I can’t go home, let’s always stick together! I like you, and you like me, so we can support each other every way we can.”

You’d made this promise, in one form or another, every loop.

“Promise we’ll stay friends, even after graduation! I wanna stick by my first friend’s side!”

“Ace? Do you actually promise to take care of me? I know I’m a pain, no magic and all, but I’ve taken care of you in my own way, do you really promise to do the same?”

It was his fourth time watching you live your year in Twisted Wonderland. And it’s then that it clicked for him: he was falling deep into love with the magicless Prefect that cared way too much for others, and much too little for themselves. 

“Ace…” you gasped, a bloodied hand reaching out for him as an overblotted Grim made a rampage throughout the Mirror Chamber. He could hear the others screaming, magic being cast, and a distinct yowl from Grim as Riddle launched another fire spell at him. 

Ace cringed as the giant direbeast that was once his little fiery friend screamed in pain, running around until he tripped and fell through where there was once a wall. Grim let out an eerie, inhuman scream as he fell, a sickening crunch echoing as he landed on the stone ground. For the fourth time, Grim was gone. But that didn’t matter, not when he was watching you die for the fourth time. 

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey I’m here.” Ace had managed to crawl over to you, clasping your hand with his own. He rested your head on his lap as you coughed, red liquid leaving your mouth as you did. 

“No, nononononono—you’re fine!” Ace hyperventilated as he looked over your battered body. He was sure that he had prevented Grim from eating Vil’s blot stone. Was that not the reason he turned into this? Did he only need to eat a few before turning into a monster? He was so confident that he’d managed to keep you safe. So why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy—

“Ace.” He froze as you murmured his name, your other hand reaching for his cheek, wiping away the tears he didn’t realize he was leaving. 

“Ace, promise me you’ll stay with me? I don’t want to be alone right now…” you hiccuped as you started crying, curling into his chest as Ace cradled you. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t help! I was so useless, so useless to let Grim get to this point. So useless as a friend, I’m so sorry!”

Ace curled into you, ignoring the voices from behind you two, no doubt the other students coming to the realization that you’d be grievously harmed. 

“I’ll stay with you, I’m always with you.” Ace shuddered. He felt like throwing up. “I’m going to try again, I won’t be too late this time. I’ll make sure to keep you safe this time. I won't lose you again.”

Ace ignored the person shaking his shoulder as he watched you hyperventilate, before your breathing slowed and eventually stopped. He ignored the surprised cries as magic swirled around him, as he activated his signature spell for the fifth, and hopefully final time:

With a flick of the wand, a rhythm sublime,

Reverse The Clock, turn back the chime,

No time to say 'Hello', goodbye!

I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!

It’s all dark. It’s always dark until the moment Ace opens his eyes and the coffin opens for the fifth time.

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[princessfbi]

Do you still write for buddie or are you exclusively a bucktommy writer?

I write, as I always have, whatever brings me joy.

I'm going to say something and this is not directed at you Nonnie. It's just something I've needed to get off my chest and you've unfortunately opened the door. This is something that's been happening since the moment I "deviated" from what other people have been demanding.

Fanfic is not my job. Creating content is not my job. Crafting your escapism is not my responsibility.

I write for me. I write what I want to write and when I want to write it. I am not a machine. I am not getting paid. I am not here serve to the masses. The sheer entitlement some people have had these last few months has been exhausting. When we, the authors, see you talk about how we've "forsaken" you or you talk about how you can't understand what it is we see in something you personally don't want to read? The answer is simple: it's because we like it. It's because it brings us joy. It's because it's not fucking about you.

My fanfic is about me.

Let's look at the timeline of my works:

Most recent going down.

Bucktommy

Tumblr prompts which include Bucktommy, Buddietommy, and Buddie

Buddie

Buddietommy

Bucktommy

Buddie

Bucktommy

All of that has been written post 7x04.

Do you know how many words I have written for Buddie?

1,558,689 Words.

Over a million words have been dedicated to Buddie.

So excuse me for doing something else that may also bring me joy. Excuse me for having the audacity to not cater to your every whims and pleasure. Fanfics are a form of escapism. I get it. But this is not my job. This is not a Starbucks. I do not owe you anything and to imply otherwise just shows how much you truly do not value it. Half of you can't even be bothered to leave a comment. You spit in the face of people's joy and you have been cruel, mean spirited, and unkind. All of you.

I am a person with wants and needs including a moment of goddamn peace in this shit show of a world we find ourselves in. I am entitled to curating and creating my own form of joy. I am a person. I should not have to beg you to see that. And the fact that these last few months people cannot and will not acknowledge that makes me not want to write for Buddie ever again.

I'm going to because that is my joy. I am making the choice to share it with the world. But it will be on my terms. Because what I write is about me. It is for me.

So if that means I write for Bucktommy or Buddie or some entirely different show or movie that catches my attention then it will be because I have decided I want to do it. Not anyone else.

[luxuryandlilacs]

Manifestelle

On a dream girl journey, we want to basically brainwash ourselves to be the best version of ourselves. One way to do that is watching specific content to curate that dream girl. One youtuber I’ve been loving is Manifestelle. Here are some notes I’ve been taking so far:

Broke men love to project their insecurities and negativity on you. Don’t let them have access to you.

You shouldn’t be friends with men. Men look better when they are seen with you. They need to invest in you if they are to be seen with you.

As a woman, you are valuable just by existing.

Listen with your ears, not your triggers.

De-centering men is centering yourself and your desires.

Don’t get mad, get paid.

Abolish low effort men, 💅

Men want the high maintenance.

Stop playing life on hard mode.

Use the patriarchy to your benefit.

[holylustration]

My thoughts about my Tumblr under the cut. What do the kids say these days? Something something, rent lowering gun shots?

I started this side-Tumblr account as a medium to think through my stories, establish accountability for myself by posting WIPs and snippets, as well as share cool moodboard ideas and art created for or from my fanfics. After meeting other folks on Twitter and Discord, that struck me as a bit egocentric, because why wouldn't I want to share the stuff of my talented friends, too? And then I started to reblog other content that I liked that was on-brand with my theme, which is Rogue Trader fanfic and fanart.

Blog history out of the way, let's talk about content. On my little blog, you are just not going to see a lot of head canons or meta-critiques. If you want my takes, go read my fanfics, otherwise, I'm not going to risk yucking on someone else's yum. And I've seen the raging head canon debates! I don't want that on my pretty fanfic and fanart, sometimes memey, Tumblr. That isn't what I want in my space.

As for what takes up that space, well, there's no right, special privilege, or entitlement as to what I post or reblog. I love the stuff my friends make and I love the stuff that people I don't know make that my friends reblog. But even then, not everything makes the cut.

Not getting a reblog, like, or follow, or being unfollowed, is not a personal slight or an attack. I have been on Tumblr since the early oughts and I am mystified that this is the new peception. There could be any number of reasons why I don't do the Thing - you've got content that's already similar to a lot of other stuff I follow and I've got too much of it already and need to trim it down; maybe you have headcanons and ideas that I don't want to read (but that does NOT mean that I don't support your right to have them, let's make that clear); maybe you post a lot of Other Fandom content that I'm not in or into; maybe you format your posts in ways that are unreadable; maybe its all of the above and I don't know you enough to give you a pass about it; or maybe there's just so much content on my dash that I missed your great post that a mutual reblogged. Please don't take it personally. I don't take it personally when someone doesn't follow me or reblog my stuff - I'm not owed anything by anyone and I can't force anyone to like my stuff. I can't be the only one who understands that others, like me, are but one person and can only engage with so much content in their day, whether that's fanfic, Tumblr, or anything else. Maybe that isn't obvious though.

And, again, this my blog, and I'm allowed to do what I want with it within Tumblr's terms of service. I owe no explanation to anyone, but now you've all now gotten to peer behind the veil. Understand that I curate my Tumblr experience to avoid using the block button.

"But Holy," you cry, "The Rogue Trader tags are filled with things that you should be engaging with. You need to look there!"

First, should is such an ugly word. I don't get paid to be in fandom. I'm not a public figure. I'm not an Owlcat employee. I'm not a Games Workshop writer. I'm an old, married woman with a fulltime job and a commute who writes fanfiction for her own enjoyment when she gets a spare minute. You can't make me do anything, and if you tried, then you'd know that making my Tumblr experience a chore makes it unfun and so I will leave and go elsewhere. You'll still get the fanfic, but no sneaky peekies or commissioned fanart - you'll have to wait for it to get posted to Ao3.

Second, I learned in the early days of the Rogue Trader fandom to stay out of the tags, and I very much have continued to adhere to that practice. In the days of yore, the tags were filled with nothing but negativity and insults (sometimes hurled directly at me for my fanfic(s)!), and that's not changed all that much in recent months, though now there are new targets (good for me, bad for everyone else). So, I'm not in the tags. I never will be in the tags. I won't see anything you post unless I'm tagged in it or someone I follow reblogs it and it's on my feed when I'm browsing.

And, honestly, those early fandom experiences and some of these recent ones have only served to make me increasingly wary of folks I don't know who occupy space in those very same tags. I challenge anyone to remain warm and open when you've had folks faking drama for their own self-image and messaging you for months to kill yourself, while others threaten to find where you live and do the job that your own cowardly hand won't. :) There are crazy, obsessive, and out of touch people in the world, and I will always protect myself and those I love first. That includes protecting the content on my dash and how I choose to use and interact with Tumblr (and other social media) for my own safety and sanity. If you think that's selfish, you know how to unfollow me.

But if, for whatever reason, you WANT my attention, if you just know in your heart of hearts that we are DESTINED to be mutuals and besties, and you're not willing to wait for the Introverted stray cat in me to warm up and trust you of her own volition, then please just send me a DM. Make a comment on a post. At me in an ask challenge or something. I do eventually notice! And we probably will become besties and mutuals. And if we don't hit it off, well, that's life, we move on and there're no hard feelings.

But without reaching out, don't assume that I'm in some tower brushing my hair and ignoring you. You're giving me (and my hair) way too much credit.

[mya-valentine]

February 22nd - That's You by Lucky Daye - Suguru Geto x Reader

The soft hum of city life filtered through the partially open window of Suguru Geto’s penthouse. Neon lights flickered against the glass, casting fleeting shades of blue and purple across the pristine white walls. It was the kind of luxury most could only dream of—marble floors, silk sheets, and art pieces that cost more than some made in a year. The kind of life he had always imagined would bring him peace.

But peace was as foreign to Suguru as happiness had become.

He leaned against the window frame, fingers curling around a crystal glass half-filled with aged whiskey. The burn did nothing to numb the ache in his chest, the hollow space that wealth, power, and fleeting company had failed to fill. On the surface, he was everything—the powerful sorcerer, the man with the crooked smile that made hearts flutter and enemies tremble. Women came and went, faces blurring together like a montage he barely paid attention to. They laughed, touched, whispered promises they thought he wanted to hear.

But none of them were you.

Suguru cursed under his breath, setting the glass down with a sharp clink. His phone lay on the counter, screen dark except for the faint reflection of his tired eyes. It had been months since he last saw you, since you walked away with your head held high, refusing to be another accessory in his meticulously curated life.

“You don’t get it, do you, Suguru?” you had said, voice trembling despite the steel in your eyes. “I don’t want your money, your gifts, or your empty apologies. I wanted you. Just you.”

And he’d let you go, standing there like a fool while the only person who ever made him feel whole walked out the door. Pride had chained his feet to the ground, and arrogance had sealed his lips. After all, people didn’t leave Suguru Geto. He left them. It was easier that way—clean, controlled, detached.

But you weren’t people. You were you.

The scent of cocoa butter lingered on the edge of his memory—a cruel reminder of the mornings you spent tangled in his sheets, skin glowing in the soft dawn light. Suguru ran a hand through his dark hair, pulling it loose from the tie that barely held it together. He’d tried everything to forget—lavish parties, first-class flights to nowhere, drowning himself in meaningless pleasure—but no amount of excess could replace the warmth you left behind.

“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, pushing away from the window. The penthouse’s emptiness seemed to mock him—all this space, all this wealth, and not a single moment of true contentment. He could buy another diamond-studded watch, another property in some glamorous city, another fleeting distraction.

But he couldn’t buy you.

The phone vibrated, the sudden noise breaking the silence. Suguru’s heart skipped a beat—an involuntary reaction that annoyed him. He picked it up, eyes scanning the notification.

Yaga: Mission update. Call when you can.

Suguru swiped the notification away, thumb hovering over your contact—“[Name].” No emoji, no cute nickname. Just your name, stark and simple, like the imprint you’d left on his soul.

He shouldn’t call. He had nothing to offer you except the same cycle of empty promises and self-destructive habits. But the silence was deafening, and the weight of regret far heavier than pride.

Before he could overthink it, he tapped the screen.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

“Suguru?” Your voice was soft, surprised—the same voice that used to call him home.

He exhaled slowly, gripping the phone tighter. “Hey.”

Silence stretched between you, filled with words unsaid and wounds unhealed.

“Is everything okay?” you asked cautiously, as if bracing for another disappointment.

No, everything wasn’t okay. It hadn’t been since the moment you left.

“I don’t know why I called,” he admitted, running a hand down his face. “Or maybe I do. I… I just needed to hear your voice.”

You sighed, and he could almost picture you—sitting on that worn-out couch you loved, legs tucked under you, brows furrowed in that way they always did when you were trying to decide whether to forgive him one last time.

“Suguru,” you began, but he cut you off.

“Don’t hang up. Please.” The word tasted foreign on his tongue—he never begged. But for you, pride was a small price to pay.

Another beat of silence. Then, softly: “I’m listening.”

Suguru closed his eyes, leaning against the cold marble counter. “I tried. I really tried to move on. Thought I could drown it out with noise—money, cities, people… but nothing works. I’ve had everything I ever wanted, and none of it means shit without you.”

Your breath hitched, and he pressed on, desperation cracking through his usual calm facade. “I was a fool, Y/N. Thought I was protecting myself, keeping my heart out of reach. But all I did was push away the only person who ever made this stupid, hollow life feel real.”

The line was quiet for so long he wondered if you’d hung up. Then you spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you really mean that, Suguru? Or is this just another moment of loneliness you’ll forget once the sun rises?”

He swallowed hard. “I mean it. Every damn word. I don’t want the world, Y/N. I just want you.”

Another pause. Then, softly: “Come over.”

His heart leapt into his throat. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Suguru didn’t remember grabbing his keys or locking the penthouse door behind him. All he knew was the rush of cold night air against his face as he sped through the streets, heart pounding in a way it hadn’t in months. Not from adrenaline or danger—but from hope.

When you opened the door, eyes wary but soft, Suguru realized just how starved he’d been—not for pleasure, not for power, but for the quiet, grounding presence of you.

“Hi,” you murmured, arms crossing protectively over your chest.

Suguru didn’t speak—words felt useless now. Instead, he stepped forward, hesitating for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding on like a drowning man grasping a lifeline.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the hollow ache inside him eased.

Because it was never the money, the diamonds, or the fleeting highs he truly wanted.

It was always you.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[wonderlandwalker]

Soon and Sooner | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick makes his way back to you after the arena separated the two of you last night. He is worried about your safety in a place as cruel as this, but he knows in his heart he'll see you soon again. Turns out it wasn't exactly the reunion he had hoped for.

Content Warnings / Tags: Angst, violence, blood, wounds, mentions of death, hurt with no comfort, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I don't know how to write long fics I'm sorry, but enjoy this piece of heartbreak that's been stuck in my head xx

Whether or not today was a good day depends on at what point of that day you asked. Finnick was alone, as alone as someone can be in the arena. He wonders at which point a greater plan is at work, and at which point it's a coincidence, but the more he thinks about it, the less he wants to. Maybe you had been separated on purpose, singling everyone out for a carefully curated show, maybe this was simply how things were meant to be. It doesn't matter either way, he tells himself, because he'll find his way back to you soon enough

The leaves rustled around him, and if he had been home the melody would have calmed him, but not here. It wasn't relaxing in the same way a breeze is on a summer day by the lakes, not serene any longer. In the arena it only put him on the edge further, dangerously close to the edge. He had last seen you yesterday, having no choice but to go in opposite directions. But that wasn't what worried him, because he knows how to find his way back, recalls the direction of the rendezvous you were probably waiting at already, all he had to do was get there too.

So he went on, only taking small breaks to refill his water, check his surroundings, make sure he would live to be with you once more. As the day passed and he got closer to his destination, he found himself growing negligent, deciding to worry later about the cut on his leg from the thick branches, not bothering to thread carefully over the ground anymore. He was growing restless, desperate.

It didn't take long for Finnick before he could already see the beach coming closer, determination carrying him far. With every step closer he couldn't deny his growing worry, his worry for you. He knew for sure you had survived the attack yesterday, your picture had not been shown in the sky and he had felt relieved, but this morning there was  a cannon, and he had no idea who that belonged to. He thinks he would know, somehow, if it had been you, that his heart was so irrevocably tied to yours he would have felt the string being cut, but that doesn't stop him from wondering, what if it had been you. What if you had been left with a fatal wound that claimed your life after hours of agony, what if there had been another attack, what if-. No, he would know, and he knows he'll see you again soon, so he continues on.

As he turned through the clearing, he could see you standing there, laughing at some joke Johanna had made. The two of you had always had a soft spot for each other, finding family in even the most dire of circumstances. As he finally saw you, the band around his heart released, no longer being tugged at with every step he took. As he finally got closer to you, he called out for you, knowing you’d reach out for him with the same amount of vigor. As he finally reached out for you, so close to having you in his arms once more, he was lost in the sight of you turning around, beaming at him, only for your expression to drop faster than his heart could. He hadn’t even seen it, hadn’t even thought about it, his sole focus on finding you. If he had paid more attention he might have remembered that he was not alone in this arena, that there were people here hunting you, that he was sharing delicate secrets by shouting them loudly, his mind too clouded by its current storm to even begin predicting the next.

He blinked once, twice, but your eyes were wide, no hesitation as you rushed forward. His mind tricking him with a false narrative of ease in a moment where he should have known better. You rushed for him, and he expected the sweet relief of holding you in his arms, but all you did was reach for his shoulders, spinning him around and out of the path of the tribute he could now see retreating back into the forest. He should have known better than to get lost in the euphoria of your presence, you’d always lecture him for it, ranting about how you’re not worth dying for. As he looked back over to you, expecting you to tell him exactly that and kiss him when he’d promise not to do it again, he wasn't smiling anymore either. His bubble shattered into pieces like the sand he was standing on, joining it in hopes that never came to be.

It was as if you hadn't blocked the hit at all, as if the dagger had found its way into his heart regardless. At first he didn't even see it, too caught up in the look of pain on your face, too determined to fix it for you, but he looked down to see he had assigned himself an impossible task.

He felt like a statue, ever forced to watch the violence of mankind without means of intervering. He wanted to envelop you in his arms and whisper assurances to you, but he was too scared that his white lies would be too crimson from the blood that was dripping down onto the beach. The beach, a place that held so many memories of the both of you, now forever stained by this single day.

Simple seconds ticked by, time he once thanked, betraying him. You dropped to the ground like a wave collapsing in on itself, holding a power too great that must now be returned. And the moment it did, the second your now limp body hit the sand beneath you, finding its final destination, he screamed once more. Maybe it was the shock being forced to wear off too soon, maybe it was the denial he didn't want to leave, but the sight before his own eyes was one he could no longer ignore.

He rushed for you, sliding onto his knees as he reached for you, shouting in agony for you to stand back up, to smile at him and cup his jaw like you always did when he was worried. He yelled at those around him, the people he called his friends, doing nothing to save you. And if he had been paying more attention, he would have heard the cannon just like them, would have heard the sound signaling it no longer mattered, because you were already gone. If he had been level headed he would have known that he was only attracted more attention from the other tributes out there, not that it would have mattered, he would have gladly stayed here for them to kill him, maybe he would have even wished for it, because his world would forever be incomplete without you. He would spend eternity searching for you even if he knew it was fruitless, because to him, you were absolutely worth dying for. Not that you’d let him, you would have never let him, you would lay down your own life before letting him sacrifice his, but he could do without the cruel reminder. 

Yes, he should have realized it was too late, but he couldn't, he couldn't hear anything other than the ringing in his ears from how loud he was screaming for you, desperate for you to comfort him, already longing to feel your fingers sifting through his hair, the one thing that calmed him down when nothing else could. He could feel someone reaching out to him, and he wished they were here to let him join you, wondering if you’d ever forgive him if he indulged the thought. But the touch didn’t bring relief, it was simply another painful truth trying to pull him into a now worthless world. 

He could hear them now, hear them talking about having to move, about getting him to move, it only made him cling to you harder. He could no longer feel your muscles confulsing in slight twitches against his fingers, the stillness was unsettling, but he wouldnt dare let go.

If only he could see the rose flush disappearing from your cheeks, the glimmer in your eyes fading to join the others amongst the stars, here you were, finally in his arms again, but he didn’t enjoy the feeling like he thought he would, here you were, reunited yet never having been able to say hello, never even being able to say goodbye. He wonders if he shouldn't have stopped to drink water from the stream he had passed, thinks about how he could have walked faster, not worried about a time limit he hadn’t even known existed, he ponders the possibilities from each and every second that had separated the two of you, every breath he took without you and every breath he’ll take longing for you now, wishing you’d be there to take it from him. Every step he took and every step he’ll be taking wishing you were at the end of it. 

He had been so sure he would see you soon, that you were still here because he could simply feel it, this time he felt it. He felt the connection being severed, and would spend the rest of his life holding on to his end of it. Would wonder for eternity what would happen if he'd only gotten here sooner.

[dami-is-delusional]

Fighting or Flirting?: A Series of Confusing Events (seriously. someone stop them.) - Steve Rogers x ExHydra!Male!Reader

Summary: You used to be an experiment, curated by Hydra to be a living weapon. Somewhere along the line, SHIELD saved you and decided to place you with the Avengers. As the superficial leader, Steve Rogers tried his best to welcome you. Somehow it all went downhill from there... until it didn't!

(enemies to lovers, might not be the most accurate Steve, my second fic ever so i apologize in advance.)

PART TWO: Meeting the Avengers (and your downfall... jk it's just your future bf!)

If someone were to see your expression on the car ride to the Avengers tower, they would've assumed someone had just killed your puppy. But nope, you were simply upset that you had to join the team of heroes. Were you even going to get paid for this? Probably not. You sighed, the agent who was driving paid no mind. Now, one might be questioning why you were so against joining the Avengers. If it were anyone else, they probably would've been absolutely thrilled! Who wouldn't want to be in the same space as the heroes of New York? You. That's who.

It wasn't like you had anything against them. No, quite the opposite. You admired their heroism and their desire to keep people safe. You found it noble and extremely cool. It was like something out of your comic books. The real problem was the fact that you would have to work with them. As in teamwork. As in talking to them. As in socializing and having to hold conversations.

Due to your experience at HYDRA, you knew how to do many things. Like how to intimidate and interrogate people into giving you information. How to sneak around buildings without making a sound. How to end someone's life in 74 different ways. You know, the basics! What you didn't know how to do was how to interact with other human beings. Making conversation past a basic introduction? Not your thing! Turns out that being isolated from humanity for a good portion of your life doesn't exactly do wonders for your social life. When SHIELD took you in, you were perfectly content with going on solo missions where you only had yourself to depend on. That's what most of your life has been like anyways. It wasn't anything new. You went from one set routine at HYDRA to another set routine at SHIELD, both in which you were by yourself.

Now, you were being added to a team of people who already knew each other pretty well. You would be an outsider who didn't even know how to knock on the door. You didn't know how people behaved around each other. You didn't know how to get closer to people. You had very low hopes on surviving this. You sighed once more and the agent driver ignored you and your brooding once more as well.

The tall and imposing Avengers tower stood like a mean taunt. Poor little Y/N is going to have to function like a normal human being! Let's hope they don't secretly hate you! You looked up at it and grimaced. It almost felt like the building was making fun of you and already predicting your inevitable doom.

"Maybe doom is a bit much. Oh, who am I kidding? If I'm lucky, the building will explode and I won't have to talk to anyone," you thought hopefully. You looked at the tower for a couple more seconds. No explosion. You sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Before you could decide to run away to India, you stepped into the building.

The elevator ride up to the floor you were told to go to was nerve wracking. Questions and doubts swirled inside your mind like a snowstorm trying to keep you frozen where you stood.

“What if I can't do my job properly? What if I can’t figure out how a team works? What if I trip when I step out of the elevator and that’s all they think about?” Luckily (and unluckily) for you, your thoughts were brought to a stop when the doors of the elevator opened. Taking a deep breath and giving yourself speedrun mini pep talks in your mind, you took your first step as an Avenger.

CRASH.

Several people stumbled over to the elevator and tried their hardest (and failed miserably) to look normal and stoic. Clint Barton and Tony Stark seemed to have toppled over each other in an attempt to be first. Natasha Romanoff and Bruce Banner approached in a much more orderly fashion, the former looking as though she was going to whack the first duo. Finally, the poster boy of all of America. Steve Rogers. How could someone look like a Greek statue and a golden retriever?

“So these are the Avengers… at least I didn’t trip!” you thought, feeling the most joy you could muster up from this day.

The owner of the building and the man who could probably buy your entire life with one phone call started to speak first.

"So you're the new member that Eye-Patch was telling us about! Welcome to my- our tower," Tony said in greeting, correcting himself after a sharp nudge from Natasha. You knew both Natasha and Clint since they were also SHIELD agents like yourself. You hoped that they could help you out so that you didn't actually have to talk to someone entirely new about it.

"Yeah, I'm Y/N L/N," you answered simply. You were already off to an awkward start as you stood there, unsure of what to say. You had expected this, of course, but it felt ten times more unbearable in real life.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Steve Rogers, welcome to the team," came a kind and gentle voice.

You looked over at the source and saw Captain America himself, smiling politely. What were you supposed to say to that? You didn't want to lie and say you were happy to be here.

"Shit, should I smile back? Do I say thank you? Oh wait, a thank you sounds right..."

Hoping no one took note of your obvious silent panic and hesitance, you cleared your throat, "Uh, thank you. I hope... we can get along...?" you weren't sure if you were actually replying or asking a question. At this point, you were just relieved that you managed to say something at all.

To your surprise, the recently defrosted Super Soldier just continued smiling. It was beginning to creep you out. "I'm sure we all will. We're excited to have someone new! You should join us for lunch, Stark is taking us to some shawarma place," Steve offered, his golden boy smile seemingly glowing and radiating with his optimism.

The idea of being thrown into a group social setting right off the bat made you want to jump out of a window. You prayed to some divine being that your face didn't automatically react and show your distaste to such a plan.

"I'm okay, thank you. I'm just gonna... find my room and settle down... and stuff," Lord, you wanted to shoot yourself because of how stupid you probably sounded to them. You saw the slightest falter in Wonder Boy's face but it was gone the next milisecond.

"That's alright! You do that. We can all get together another time," he suggested. You just sort of laughed awkwardly and walked past them with your bags. You wanted nothing more than to hide in a hole and never come out.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y is gonna help you find your room!" Tony called out as the group walked over to the elevator. You turned back slightly to nod in acknowledgement, even though you had no idea who the hell 'Friday' was. As you did, you noticed that Steve was staring at you oddly. He immediately looked away when you caught him. Weird... but who were you to judge?

The elevator door closed and you let out a shaky sigh. How long would you have to repeat the tedious and torturous act of making conversation? You picked up your bags, ready to crash into a bed.

Now for future references, if anyone asked you if you screamed louder than a tornado warning siren when a disembodied, robotic voice began talking, you will deny it with your whole body and soul.

So that's who F.R.I.D.A.Y is...

A/N: This totally did not take almost a full month to make, no you're just being crazy. I don't procrastinate EVER.

Side note, I don't know why I put this off for so long. I will try my best to be a tad bit more consistent in the future.