#deadline hell...how i hate u so...

[orcelito]

Potentially might write a dragon vash au vw smut fic. For entirely self indulgent times.

Potentially 🫡

[notlongtolove]

like a lover

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even look at you again. he just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. by the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: hurt comfort

content: student!reader gets drunk after a brutal final and spencer is beyond mad. very brief mention of abduction. lowkey spencer is in the right bc #safety but he made reader cry n for that he is found #guilty!!!

word count: 3.1k

note: based off this ask! random fact the last line of this fic was the inspiration for empty my soul but idk why i just couldnt fit it in there, anyways i hope you guys like it! (pls tell me if u do i was struggling with a resolution for this)

a line: Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again.

I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. Here. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. - carol ann duffy

You probably should’ve stopped five drinks ago—maybe four if you were feeling merciful. That last Vodka cran? A spectacularly bad idea. But whatever. You earned this. You’re young, you’re fun, you look good, and for the first time in weeks, you have no deadlines clawing at you. The final had been a nightmare. You knew your fate was sealed the second you flipped to question three. What the hell is textual and symbolic environmentalisation? But it’s over now. That’s all that matters.

The wind bites at your bare legs as you stand by the curb, aimlessly kicking a pebble. You hug your arms close, fighting off the chill. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket. Spencer had suggested it, but you’d waved him off. He’s usually right.

You frown, glancing up at the street sign. He said he’d be here. Right? Your phone’s dying battery blinks at you in its final moments, mocking you before shutting off completely. Definitely should’ve taken his offer of a portable charger, too. You sigh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

A man stumbles by, reeking of booze. You don’t need to look to know.

"Hey," he calls out, voice slurred and gravelly.

You keep your eyes down, pretending not to hear.

“Hey,” he says again, louder this time.

Where the hell is Spencer?

"D’you know when the bus starts running again?"

You hesitate, half-relieved that he’s asking something semi-coherent. "I—I’m sorry, I’m not sure."

He nods to himself, swaying on his feet. 

"I told you to wait by the bodega on 3rd," a familiar voice mutters. Spencer’s hand closes around your arm, already steering you away.

"Oh, hey," you say softly, relief washing over you. "Is this not—" You glance at the street sign overhead—4 Maple Drive. Shit. "I—sorry, I thought—"

"It’s fine," he says, but the sharp edge in his voice tells you it’s not.

The car ride is suffocatingly silent. When he pulls open the passenger door for you, there’s no trace of his usual warmth. No soft smile, no gentle tease about your perpetually dead phone. Just a click of the door and the quiet thud of it shutting behind you.

You hate this. Hate the tension humming between you, the way his jaw is set tight as he drives. He was so different this afternoon, greeting you after your final with those cupcakes he knows you love from the bakery on the other side of town, his lips brushing yours in endless, giddy kisses. This Spencer is nothing like that. 

"They played ‘Dancing Queen’ tonight," you venture, voice tentative. He knows it’s your favourite. Knows it always pulls you to the dance floor, no matter how tired or tipsy you are. "It was so funny—some guy bought us a round of shots—"

"And you drank it?"

The question lands heavy. His first words to you since he’d started driving. 

"Well... yeah?"

"What else did you drink?"

"Not a lot," you say quickly, tripping over your words. "Just vodka, tequila, a bit of wine—"

"You mixed?" 

The way he says it makes you bristle. There’s a hint of disbelief, maybe even disappointment. 

"Spence," you say softly. "I’m not that drunk, I promise."

Nothing.

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. The silence in the air is almost tangible, a crackling, oppressive thing. When he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, he doesn’t move to open your door. He always does that. But not tonight. 

You’re pretty sure he’s mad at you, though you’re not entirely sure why. It’s not like you go out that often, and you can’t even remember the last time you let yourself get this drunk. Tonight was an exception, a celebration. He understands, doesn’t he?

You follow him inside, trailing behind like a shadow. He doesn’t head to the kitchen like he does after you get back from a night out—no tea, no toast, no quiet ritual of making sure you’re okay. Instead, he walks straight into the study, his back to you. Yeah, he’s definitely mad. 

"You’re mad at me," you say, standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t answer. His hands grip the back of his chair, his head bowed like he’s trying to gather himself. You’re not one to push, usually giving him the space he needs when he gets all broody like this, but the alcohol that’s running through your system is making it hard to practice patience. 

"Why are you mad at me?"

Still nothing. 

When he finally moves, it’s only to brush past you, heading for the bedroom without so much as a glance. "We’ll talk about this tomorrow," he says, his tone flat, clipped. "I can’t talk to you when you’re like this."

This. The word hits like a slap, sharp and dismissive. It irks you. 

"If you didn’t want to come, then you shouldn’t have come," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I could’ve gotten a ride—"

"You were slurring on the phone." He stops in the hallway, turning just enough for you to see the tight set of his jaw. 

"Yeah, no shit, Spencer. People slur when they drink," you fire back a little too harshly, the alcohol fueling your irritation as you cross your arms defensively.

"Don’t," he warns, his voice low, dangerous in a way that makes your chest tighten.

​​You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. "Don’t what? Don’t point out how ridiculous you’re being right now?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at you again. He just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. By the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. Fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

You head to the bathroom without a word, your movements jerky as you swipe at the remnants of your makeup. You grab your moisturizer, fingers fumbling with the cap. A sharp tug and it goes flying out of your hands, clattering to the floor. 

"Fuck," you mutter, bracing yourself for a bout of instability as you bend down to retrieve it.

Before you can grab it, Spencer moves. He scoops it up, straightening with an ease that feels almost mocking. When you meet his eyes, they’re unfamiliar. It’s not the Spencer you know. Not the Spencer who covers your eyes during scary movies or kisses your forehead when you’re half-asleep. No, this Spencer feels distant, cold. 

"And I’m supposed to believe you’re not that drunk," he says flatly. Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as heat flushes your face. He offers a hand as you steady yourself, trying to rise to your feet, but you brush him off, snatching the bottle from his grip with a bitterness you don’t try to mask. 

"What the hell is your problem?" you snap.

"My problem?" he repeats, incredulous. "I’m not the one blackout drunk on a Wednesday night."

"I’m not—"

"Would you—would you just stop!" he barks, the words sharp enough to make you flinch. "You’re slurring your words. You got the streets wrong. You couldn’t even get the damn moisturizer open," he snaps, gesturing toward you harshly with a mixture of frustration and exasperation.

Your knuckles whiten as you cling to the edge of the sink, unsure if you’re holding on for balance or just to keep from breaking. You spin back toward the mirror willing yourself not to cry. The frustration, the confusion, the ache in your chest—everything wells up at once.

"God, you’re being so—"

"So what?" he interrupts, his voice rising as he steps closer. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to say it. "So concerned? So worried? So—"

"So fucking mean!"

The silence that follows deafening. For a moment, he freezes, the hard edges of his expression softening into something else—shock, regret, guilt—but it’s fleeting.

"So what if I’m drunk?" Your voice cracks as the words tumble out, your frustration too overwhelming to contain. "And yeah, maybe—" You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you glare at him, "Maybe I’m slurring a little but forgive me for wanting a drink after the final I’ve been stressing over all fucking month."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. "It’s not about you having a drink. It’s about you not knowing your limits—"

"Oh, for fucks sake," you interrupt, throwing your hands up. The movement makes you sway slightly, and you hate how it only seems to prove his point. "Newsflash, Spencer, I’m a university student. Sometimes we get drunk. You don’t get to make me feel like shit just because you don’t drink.”

You push past him, your shoulder grazing his as you move to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and you grip the edge, willing the room to stop spinning.

"You were being reckless," he bites back, the word hanging heavy in the air. "You don’t see what I see. You’re out alone, you don’t—"

"I wasn’t alone," you say, your voice rising to meet his. "I had friends—"

"Yeah, friends who left you alone on a curb at 3am," he shoots back, cutting you off. The words land with precision, a calculated jab, but you refuse to flinch.

"Because you said you were on the way!" you fire back.

His voice is cold now, practically seething. "And what do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t reached you just as that guy was coming on to you?"

"He was asking for the bus!" you shoot back, the words ringing out louder than you intended. You hate everything about this fight. You hate how unfamiliar he feels, hate the part of you that wonders if you’re the one who brought this out of him. "Nothing would’ve—"

Spencer’s expression darkens, his gaze narrowing. "Nothing?" He scoffs. "Tell that to Nina Radha. To Caroline Wrenley. To Mindy Denver. They were all ‘just waiting for a ride home’ last week. And now? All abducted. All dead." 

The room goes silent. Your chest tightens, and the fight drains out of you as his meaning sinks in. 

"You’re being cruel," your words are barely audible, trembling on the edge of your lips. The tears come faster now, streaking your face, but you don’t bother wiping them away. "Why—" you whisper, weak and watery, "Why are you being like this?" 

When Spencer finally turns to look at you, the sight of your tears stops him cold. They streak your face in uneven paths, and he feels something inside him splinter. Spencer never likes seeing you cry—he hates it, actually. It’s not just discomfort or unease; it’s a literal, physical ache. But knowing he’s the reason for your tears tonight? That’s pain in its most visceral form. It’s failure in its purest state.

"I—" he starts, his voice faltering. It cracks mid-sentence, and he stops, swallowing hard. His breath shudders as he exhales, trying to find the words, but all that comes out is a quiet, broken, "I was scared." 

Your tears have momentarily slowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. The anger in his voice has faded, replaced by something softer, something raw—fear, tangled with guilt, with regret. He takes a tentative step closer, then hesitates, unsure of what to do. 

"I thought that… something could’ve happened to you, and I—I didn’t know how to handle it." 

After a moment, he lowers himself to your level, crouching in front of you. He lifts his hand, reaching out to wipe away the tears that stain your face. But the instant his fingers near you, you flinch, turning your head to avoid his touch. The movement is small, but Spencer’s heart shatters at the rejection all the same. He hates that he’s made you cry, hates that you won’t let him near you, hates that you won’t even look at him.

"I’m sorry," he says, the words low and weighted with sincerity. He knows it’s not enough, but it’s all he has left to give. 

Your tears fall, dripping onto your hands that rest limply in your lap. You shake your head, your shoulders tense, refusing to meet his eyes. The rejection stings, sharper than he expected, but he doesn’t blame you. He knows he deserves this. The room is still except for the sound of your quiet sniffles. 

Spencer tries again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "I just—" His breath catches as he exhales, his hand running through his hair in agitation, the movement more to calm himself than anything else. "When I saw you standing there alone—alone and with that man, I got scared. And I lashed out. I shouldn’t have. You didn’t— you didn’t deserve that."

The silence that follows is thick, but finally, you break it. Your voice is quiet, bitter. 

"I’m not them."

You’re still not meeting his eyes, still keeping that distance, but at least it’s something. 

"Those girls… I’m not them, Spencer."

"I know, I know. I was—", his voice is low, the regret weighing heavily on every syllable.

​​"That case was tough on you, I know it was," you interrupt, "And what happened to those girls, it was horrible. But I'm not them, Spence. I'm not…" Spencer watches helplessly as you furiously wipe away a tear from your cheek. 

"I'm not dead. I'm here."

“I was projecting, I—” His voice catches, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” he admits quietly. You nod, grimly. Another single, heavy tear slips down your cheek and Spencer feels his heart break all over again. 

"I know you’re scared. How do you think I feel every time you go out into the field?" You take a deep breath, and say bitterly, "I get it." 

Each word is a struggle, but you say it with conviction. He can see how much you’re holding in, the effort it takes for you to keep your voice from cracking. 

You pause, swallowing hard as you steady yourself, "But you—You don’t get to talk to me like that." When your eyes meet his, they flash with both anger and sadness. "You don’t get to take that out on me." 

"I know, I—That was—I was being horrible, I was an ass," Spencer admits, his voice small. "You didn’t deserve that, honey. God, I’m just—I’m so, so, sorry." 

You look at him for a long moment, searching for any sign that he’s being sincere. All you see is regret, raw and heavy. And something else, something softer. Love. He reaches out, and this time you don’t pull away. Just getting to touch you is a brief, bittersweet, blinding relief. Spencer lets his fingers graze your cheek as he wipes away your tears gently, his thumb brushing over the wet path they’ve left behind. 

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. "An ass is putting it lightly." 

Spencer’s chest tightens, a small breath of relief escaping him, though it’s quickly replaced with guilt. "M’so sorry sweetheart," he breathes out, comforted by the familiar bite in your tone. It lightens the air between you, just a little.

He shifts to sit next to you on the bed. "I didn’t—I really didn’t mean to," he says quietly. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh, the fight slowly draining out of you. Spencer gently takes your hands, cradling them in his. 

"I—I never want to hurt you, never want to make you cry. Ever." Spencer's voice cracks slightly as he talks, fingers tracing your palm. "You know that, right?"

You nod, your voice small but steady. "I know."

Shifting, you tuck your legs beneath you, turning to face him fully. Your hands lift to cup his face gently, your thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. The touch is tender, almost protective, as you guide his face to meet yours. His eyes can’t hold your gaze for long, shame clearly written across them.

"I was just—I was—" He stumbles over his words.

"Scared," you finish softly, filling the silence for him. 

"I—I’m sorry," Spencer’s voice falters, "I’m really sorry honey, I should’ve never—That was—"

Your hands guide his face back toward yours, coaxing him to meet your eyes. This time, he doesn’t resist, his breath shaky as he clings to the comfort you offer. "S’okay, baby. M’not mad anymore," you murmur.

"Sad?" he asks, his voice barely audible, like he’s afraid of what you’ll say.

"No," you smile faintly, shaking your head, "Not sad, baby," you whisper, leaning closer. Your thumb traces the curve of his cheek in silent reassurance. His shoulders relax just a little. "I just—" you sigh as you let out one last, quiet sniffle, "I really hate fighting." 

Carefully, he coaxes you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you. "Me too, honey," he says, his voice thick with emotion as he shifts closer. You don’t resist, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin.

"S’not nice," you murmur against him, your words muffled.

"I know, I know," Spencer whispers, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. You let out a shaky sigh, sinking further into his embrace. “Was awful, wasn’t it?” he says, quietly.

"Mhm," you mumble quietly, your voice soft but pointed as you lean into his touch. "Made me cry," you say, looking at him through wet lashes to prove your point. Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again. After a beat of quiet, he tilts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

"I love you, you know that?" 

You hum softly, nuzzling your face into his neck with a contented sigh, "Love you too."

"Love you so much, sweet girl," he says again, quieter this time, like it’s a truth meant only for you.

"Sap," you tease, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze, the faintest hint of a smile on your lips.

Spencer grins, soft and boyish. "Always for you," he mumbles fondly, and before you can respond, he leans forward, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of your nose.

You stick your tongue out at him in mock protest, but he’s already chasing the moment. A kiss lands on your cheek. Then another on the other side. Each one dripping with easy affection. 

"Spence—" you laugh, the sound bubbling up. It spreads a warmth through Spencer’s chest. 

"My sweet girl," he says quietly, almost to himself. 

His smile only grows as he drinks in the sound of your giggles, tears long gone. He presses a fluttering series of kisses across your form until you’re laughing into his lips, each kiss softer than the last. 

One on your cheek, two on your shoulder, a thousand on your lips.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: false god by taylor swift moon river by frank ocean

[devdozes]

SO HAPPY TO HEAR ABT SPIDERMAN PHAINON, like can you write how exhausted he must be after being busy all night? Dozing of in the middle of class and having to cover for him and If you have more shenanigans for them please add them!!

♥ Spiderman Phainon !!

OH MY GOD THIS MAN HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD !! AND HELL YEAH ALSO SPIDERMAN PHAINON DRAWING AT THE END OF THE POST!!

This man treats you as his personal pillow istg. And, he will be passed out within SECONDS. You’ll be talking to him, and next thing you know? He’s OUT. If you try to get up, he tightens his grip around you. -"Babe, I need to get up—" "No." "Phainon." "You’re my pillow now. ;3"

He is absolutely DOWN BAD, he will definitely do those silly couple trends with you, and sometimes you wonder whether hes the man in the relation or you. -"BABYY WANT TO DO THE RIBBON TREND WITH ME??" -"BABY WANT TO DO THE LIPSTICK TREND WIRTH ME PLEAJ :(" - "Of course phai :), NOW CMERE"

He falls asleep in the most RANDOM places, and when he falls asleep, he is a HUNDRED times more clingy, You have caught him dozing off in class more times than you can count. Sometimes, his head just drops onto his desk with a loud thud. Other times? He’s literally asleep with his eyes open. "Babe, wake up." pinches cheek Mumbling. "Mmf… five more minutes…" clings onto your arm like a koala. "Phainon, we are in a LECTURE, wake up—" Grabs your hand and dramatically puts it over his heart. "Let me just… rest in your warmth for a moment…" "Oh my god."

Calls you his savior since you have to write his notes for him, of course you do hes literally spiderman and your boyfriend, you have to help him since you love his idiotic ass. If you don’t remind him about deadlines, he will forget. "Phai, did you finish the essay?" "… What essay." "THE ONE DUE IN AN HOUR???" "WHAT THE FUCK??" -You once caught him doing an entire paper five minutes before submission. The man wrote 1,000 words in 4 minutes. It somehow got an A.

Doesn’t want to admit when he’s too tired. "Phai, baby, go sleep for gods sake. "Nah baby im alright" immediately trips on air and faceplants

You once tried to see how long phainon would last without touching you and clinging on to you, he lasted 46 seconds. - baby come back i hate this, this is TORTURE—"

He texts you randomly during patrol and tells you EVERYTHING "Just stopped a robbery. Miss u. What r u doing?" "Babe I just saw a guy try to fight a raccoon behind a gas station. This city is insane." "I’m on top of a skyscraper right now thinking about u." "Send me a selfie. I need motivation."

HE LOVES WHEN YOU PATCH HIS INJURIESS !! and when you kiss them "Baby im alright no need to worry" "YOU HAVE A HUGE GASH ON YOUR ARM. SIT DOWN." "Im alright ill heal-" "Ill kiss your injuries" "Yes maam, please do that 500 times"

Bites you everywhere, fucking whimpers if you bite him back "Bites you "here is your daily serving""bites back""Lets out a whimper and asks you to do it again" "PHAI WHAT THE FUCK"

He always calls you "his" like 24/7, And gets SHAMELESS whenever he wants your attention and if someone approaches you "My love" "My baby" "Mine" "My girl" "Phai thats a cat you dont need to be all.. clingy" "Felines are cute yet dangerous"

His love language? Spoiling you. SPOILING THE LIVING SHIT OUTTA YOU. If you casually mention you like something? BOOM its in your room the next day "Babyyy you like cats dont you?" "Yes i do- oh my god." "Meet our new kid :D" "PHAINON WHY IS THERE A BRAND NEW GAMING SETUP" "But you complained on how your old gaming setup lagged :(" "Phainon i love you but you can NOT keep wasting your money"

Eats alot, and will force you to eat with him, He practically lives in your house so your fridge is ALWAYS full "Baby i got you your snacks and groceries!!" "That is enough food to last me an entire month." "You just eat less" "I am not a bigback like you Phainon" "THE AUDACITY??"

ALWAYS uses his webs cuz hes too lazy to do anything. One time, you were "too far" from him (you were 7 steps away from him" and then used his webs to pull you to him "PHAINON I WAS NEAR YOU! YOU COULDVE JUST WALKED" "Nuh uh" "Fuck you mean nuh uh"

If you compliment him once he will malfunction and BOMBARD you with compliments, kisses whatever. "C'mere pretty boy" "..." "OH MY GOD YOU LOVE ME" "We are literally dating" "MY AMAZING SWEET BEAUTIFUL PARTNER I LVOE YOU SO MUCHH"

He carries you randomly just to see your expressions, he is a down bad mf. And does those random ass stunts. "Baby look!" does a backflip "You're so dumb" It is dumb but you laugh and smile widely "YOUR SMILE IS SO PRETTYY"

If you ever feel bad, or want comfort, he will do ANYTHING FOR YOU. ANYTHING. Want fresh air? He's swinging you through the city with you in his hand the next second. Want to rant? He's listening and comforting you the next second

He may be a hero, but he would do anythin for you, even if that means betraying his city's trust or becoming evil or just quitting.

ARCADE DATES AND CHAOTIC ASS DATES. Phainon took you to an abandoned place and explored it around as a date. He is afraid of normalcy and loves being unique im not like other boys ahh 😒 -He insisted on dancing in the rain with you. "Baby can we please" "Sure :) but your clumsy ass is gonna get hurt" "No i wont!!" He falls on his ass the next moment he tries to do a fancy step in the rain with you, but you just laugh your asses off - He one time stole a shopping cart, seated you inside the shopping cart and pushed it full speed while controlling it. You both almost crashed against a light pole at like 100 km/h but his strong ass dodges it with ease luckily "PHAINON OH MY GOD LOOK IN FRONT!!" "FUCK OH MY GOD" - If you go on a beach date? hes beefing with kids and everyone. He is competitive. LIKE ALOT. He built a sandcastle and webbed it up so its technically indestructible. "BABYY LOOK :D" "Phai thats a goddamn kingdom" And whenever you all play beach volleyball, he does EVERYTHING to impress you or beat you. (he just wants to win) "HEY BABY THATS CHEATING YOUR USING YOUR SPIDEY SENSES :(" "I TAKE NO LOSSES." - Even when yall do an arcade date he does that. He always secretly uses his webs to pull out plushies without the sensors and you noticing "Aww baby you wanted that plushie" Pulls it out using his webs "PHAINON THATS STEALING!" "UH ITS JUST EXTENDED CLAW FUNCTIONALITY" Please kiss him after that - And in mall dates? he somehow manages to sneak in an entire course meal inside the movie theatre. He refuses to sit still. His leg bounces. He fidgets. He’s either whispering dumb commentary in your ear or dramatically reacting to the screen. "Baby the popcorn is so dry ugh" casually pulls out an entire full course meal from his jacket "Phainon what the fuck" "Shh Shh baby just relax and enjoy the illegally smuggled pizza" -Go karting dates? Hes gonna web the other players to win. And bowling? he accidentally breaks the bowling ball and the pins

HE ALWAYS RANDOMLY PICKS YOU UP, JUST TO FLEX HIS STRENGTH AND MUSCLES, AND EASILY DOES THINGS FOR YOU "Phai.. you dont have to hold my shopping bags" "Its okay there are only 21 bags" "Phai-" "Ill carry you too." AND HE ACTUALLY DOES. -His BACK MUSCLES OH MY GODD HE IS SO FINE, One time you walked in on him shirtless and his back was facing towards you, his shoulder blades and back msucles were so fucking fine. And the way his arms are so fuckign firm. You can NEVER get out of his grip

some texts with this menace

giggles, i am down bad AND THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST WHOEVER DID THIS OH MY GOD ILY

[insomniaccorner]

the Logan x reader was very nice! can u do one where they kiss?

Just This Once

Logan Howlett X GN!Reader

(warning, because it wasn't stated, I did make this angst, so be prepared for that)

You were packing when he found you.

Your bag was half-zipped, clothes shoved inside without care. The mission was over. The damage was done. You weren’t staying at the mansion—not after what happened. Not after what they lost.

Not after what you lost.

Logan stood in the doorway, silent for a long time.

“You don’t have to run,” he finally said.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m not running. I’m leaving.”

“That’s what running is.”

You zipped the bag all the way and threw your jacket over your shoulder. “Not everyone can heal from everything, Logan.”

That made him flinch, just barely. But you saw it.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you’re hurt.”

You turned, finally facing him, and god—you hated how tired he looked. Like he hadn’t slept since the explosion. Like he hadn’t stopped blaming himself since the moment you pulled yourself out of the rubble with blood on your hands and someone else’s name on your lips.

“You weren’t the one who died,” you whispered. “But you act like you were.”

“Because it should’ve been me.”

That stopped you cold.

His eyes locked with yours—haunted, full of all the things he never said.

“I’ve lost people,” he rasped, voice breaking. “More than I can count. But watching you walk out that door? That’s a different kind of hell.”

Your fingers clenched around your jacket.

“Don’t do this now,” you said. “Not when I’m finally strong enough to leave.”

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, stepping forward. “I should’ve told you when we had time.”

Your throat tightened. “But you didn’t.”

Silence.

Then, like it was the only thing that made sense, he reached for you—slow, gentle. His hand cradled your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheek. And you didn’t stop him.

You couldn’t stop him.

The kiss was desperate. Not soft. Not romantic. It was years of grief, guilt, longing, and what-ifs poured into one stolen moment neither of you had the right to ask for.

When it broke, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing like you were drowning.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“I still do,” he said.

And then you stepped back, picked up your bag, and walked out—because love wasn’t always enough, and this time?

It was too late.

You walked out.

You had to.

But the moment the mansion's front doors shut behind you, the cold hit harder than it should’ve. Not just the weather—Logan’s absence clung to you like fog, sinking deep into your lungs.

The kiss still burned on your lips. Not gentle, not sweet—but real. And it lingered.

You didn’t look back. Not when you stepped into the snow. Not when the trees swallowed you whole.

But Logan did.

He stood at the window long after your silhouette vanished behind the white, jaw clenched like he could hold the pain in his teeth.

“I’m not gonna chase you,” he muttered to himself. “You said you needed space. You’ll get it.”

His hands curled into fists.

“But I’m not done.”

He turned away from the window, jaw set.

He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when, but he would see you again.

Because some people you fight for—quietly, steadily, without a deadline.

And some loves don’t end at goodbye.

They wait.

[hannie-dul-set]

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [2].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst if you squint, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, multiple instances where personal space is invaded HAHAHHA, the boys are very dramatic please understand their yearning hearts. WORD COUNT. 4.5k.

NOTE. woohoo! next chapter to this shitshow! some parts may be a bit confusing and vague....sometimes ominous....but all will be known in due time HAHAHHA (may be tempted to give a spoiler or two if u ask). hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think of this chapter and the story so far!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 2 — these meet-cutes aren’t cute at all.

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO READ LIPS. But you don’t need to know how to get the idea that Taehyun is shooting an insult at you right now. His face says it all. “I said you look like hell,” he repeats after you’ve removed your headphones, the music still leaking out even after you’ve settled it down the cemented table. 

“Taehyun’s right,” Gaeul pipes in, and Woohyun seconds it. “You look like crap. What did you do last night?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you grunt, melting into the table. The sound of Yeong-Il’s Second Life is still just barely playing in the background thanks to your loud as fuck headphones volume. “We finished our exams. Of course I stayed up until six in the morning watching dramas.”

Three disappointed stares and one of full respect. “Dude, you’re crazy,” says Huening. “What did you watch? Night Has Come? My Demon? You should’ve invited me. I feel betrayed.”

“Both,” you reply, but you don’t seem all too happy after consuming over twenty episodes worth of dopamine. You’re frowning. You slam a fist down the table and let out a groan. “But they don’t fill the Choi Soobin shaped hole in my heart— fuck! Why isn’t he getting employed? Why hasn’t he been posting on his Insta? It’s been six months since his last drama. I miss him already.”

Huening’s attempts to console you consist of a few pats on your back. Gaeul’s attempt is a lot more effective. “Didn’t you win a slot to Choi Yeonjun’s fansign this weekend? Aren’t you coming?” You spring up with a gasp. “Girl, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I did! I fucking forgot because I have a deadline on the same fucking day, fuck! I want to die. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Are you still going?” asks Woohyun.

“Of course she is! Deadlines come ten times a week, but the chance to meet Choi Yeonjin comes one in a million!” Gaeul exclaims, then grabs you by the shoulders with a very serious look on her face, as if she wasn’t just disappointed that you sacrificed sleep just to watch a bunch of dramas. “Tell him I’m in love with him. No, wait, I need to tell him that in person. Tell him to wait for me. I’ll get in next time for sure.”

You whine out something that sounds like an agreement. “I haven’t prepared an outfit yet. This is so depressing. Gaeul, help me.”

Taehyun, who doesn’t share any of your unhealthy fixations, still hasn’t crawled out from his state of disappointed concern. “Just make sure you don’t miss your Saturday deadline,” he says. You roll your eyes in response.

“This is me you’re talking to. I may not seem like it, but I have my shit together. You don’t have to worry.”

They hate to admit it, but it’s true.

Your friends have always wondered how you managed to balance your hellish course load, your evening shifts at The Grind, and your hobby of fangirling over pretty and good looking men. The only reason you were able to binge two dramas until daylight is because you’ve finished all your midterm requirements before taking your exams, and you’ll definitely be able to attend the fansign because you’ll somehow finish a thirty-page paper in one day, in between classes and your work shifts.

They’re quite convinced you’re insane. The lifeless look in your eyes as you flit through your flashcards to review for a recitation later is a testament to that insanity.

But sometimes, a little spark of life manages to slip through.

Like right now, as you check a notification in your phone in the middle of reviewing.

“Shit, fuck, shit— oh my god. Yeong-Il dropped an interview, fuck, hold on—”

“Whoa, really?’ Woohyun digs his nose next to you. You guys have a graded recitation in thirty minutes, and you’re walking to the classroom with a blank face zeroed in at your phone screen in landscape instead of the flashcards you have now tossed away into your bag, paying no mind to your surroundings to the point that Gael and Huening have to make sure you’re still walking in the right direction.

Taehyun isn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned. They can’t even tell you off because they know you’ll somehow find the answers to Prof Yang’s questions anyway.

APPARENTLY, THERE’S A CAR ACCIDENT OUT FRONT. On top of having a tiring day of rehearsals and the interview with Beomgyu exposing his delusions on the internet being dropped earlier (they didn’t edit it out, those rats), Yeong-Il isn’t having a good day, so it’s to no one’s surprise the the tension inside their van on the way back to their dorms is rather palpable.

Beomgyu, however, doesn’t feel said tension. Or maybe he just doesn’t care because he’s closing his eyes, ready to nap while all the rest of the vehicles surrounding theirs are honking their horns, and while Jeongin and Jimin are monitoring the interview on a phone. The part where Beomgyu talks about his alleged first love comes up. “Beomgyu,” Heeseung groans, covering his ears with a neck pillow. “Did you really have to say all that?”

“Ahh, quit nagging. No one’s even taking it seriously,” he grumbles, arms crossed and turning over his body to face the window instead of his bandmates.

“Yeah, people are just raving about how romantic Beomgyu is,” says Jimin.

“And making edits of him and Heeseung,” adds Jeongin. “They’re mistaking your stressed-out glances at Beomgyu as signs of unrequited love—”

Heeseung shoves a hand against Jeongin’s face to shut him up. “Still. You should be more careful of what you say in front of the camera, Gyu.”

“Nyenye. You should be more careful of what you say in front of the camera, Gyu.” 

They’re friendly as usual. Heeseung can’t put in the last word because Beomgyu has completely transformed into a sleeping position— yet he can’t seem to sleep and rest despite being absolutely fucked out and tired. He lets out a groan, squirming in the car seat. “Ugh.” The car still isn’t moving. The road is still a mess. All he wants is to rest as soon as possible, and he can’t even have that. All he wants is to see you again as soon as possible, and he’s starting to feel like he can’t have that as well.

Beomgyu gives up. He begrudgingly opens his eyes and looks at the state of the traffic out the window. It’s getting dark. Streetlights are being lit up one after the other, and he watches people moving faster than the frozen cars, like the road and the sidewalk are on two separate spaces of time.

A thought enters his head. What are the chances that you’ll be one of the people walking along the sidewalk right now?

“They’re making way for an ambulance.”

It’s a fruitlessly hopeful thought, he knows. It’s a silly possibility to entertain. But still. He can’t help but examine each of the faces passing by in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, his wish from four-hundred years ago will finally fucking come true. 

“Damn, when are we getting home?”

Right when Beomgyu gives up hoping and tries to fall back asleep again, he spots a familiar face walking down the sidewalk. Wait a minute—

“Man, this sucks.”

He jolts up, There’s no way. There’s no way Beomgyu wouldn’t recognize that expression— stone-cold, looking as if the very thing in front of you is a worthless bug waiting to be stepped on, warding away any possible attempts of anyone bothering you. There are no knives in your hands, but a phone and a paper bag. You’re not adorned in the blue, red, white, and gold like he’s used to, but a large coat draped over your shoulders.

Still. Even if your face is covered by a mask, or if you’ve inhabited the body of a completely different person.

“Beomgyu, wanna play are round when we get—”

There’s no way Beomgyu wouldn’t recognize you.

Looks like the chances are high after all.

“Beomgyu?!”

The van door slides open. Beomgyu feels the cold air hitting his face as he rushes in between the gaps of the traffic-saddled cars and the spaces in between. He hears Heeseung and Jeongin and Jimin calling after him but he doesn’t give a shit. Not now. Not when he’s sure he finally has you within reach, closing in the gap between you before you can disappear into a corner. Not when all he has to do is stretch out his hand, breath caught in his throat and heart racing, and pull you by the arm so you can turn around and look at him.

And you do.

Your phone crashes to the ground, and you’re looking at him like you want to punch him in the face. Beomgyu’s heart skips a beat.

“What the hell?!”

“It’s you.”

Beomgyu watches your brows knit together, your mouth falling into a sneer. It’s like looking into a time machine. Holy shit. 

“It’s really you.”

That look of annoyance. There’s no denying it. Night has fallen. The only thing illuminating your face is a single streetlight hanging above, but he’d be stupid to mistake you for anyone else. The arm that shakes his hold off is yours. The eyes that are glaring at him— sharp as knives— are yours, yours, and yours alone and he can get lost in them for hours on end. “The fuck? Do I know—” 

Your name falls from his lips for the first time in centuries. It’s always been blurry, always at the tip of his tongue the moment his memories from four-hundred years ago came crashing back to him like a storm. But now, it comes off naturally the moment he sees you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s the only thing he was ever meant to sing.

He says your name once more. Your eyes widen in alarm.

“Are you a stalker?”

“I love you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I love you,” he repeats, breathless. “My biggest regret was failing to tell you how much I loved when I still had the chance.”

“What the fuck? What are you—”

Beomgyu reaches out for your hands, tugging you closer. Your skin burns him. Warm. Alive. “Now that I’ve been given that chance, I’m not letting go of you anymore.” He pauses, practicing the words inside his head before saying, “Let’s get married.” 

“What?!”

“I love you. I missed you. Let’s get married right now.”

You don’t say anything. You’re silent. Beomgyu feels his stomach wrench and drop and hurt all the way to his chest and lungs because why—

Why are you looking at him like that? 

“I’m going to call the fucking cops.” Once again, you shove him off, pulling your hands back and pressing them close to your chest. “There’s a crazy fucking bastard on the— shit! My phone! The screen is cracked, gosh! I haven’t even finished paying for it, for fuck’s sake, you have to— ex—excuse me, are you crying? Are you actually crying? What the hell?”

Beomgu’s vision is cloudy and his cheeks are wet. He knows you’ve always been spunky. You’ve always had an attitude and you two didn’t start off on the right foot, either. But why are you acting like you don’t know him? Like he’s some sort of fucking stranger? 

“Hey, I should be the one crying right now! You broke my phone! What is wrong with—”

“There you are!”

Suddenly, he doesn’t see you anymore. Heeseung’s voice comes crashing in and he gets shoved aside, eyes stinging and mind still in a daze. “I’m so, so sorry for my friend over here. We can’t pay for the damages right away, but please take this. Again, we’re so sorry! Hope you have a great night, still!”

No. He can’t let you slip away again. Not when he can finally hold you in his arms like all the countless times he hasn’t. “Dude, what are you doing?!” Heeseung yanks him back before he can run after you down the sidewalk. “Quit being weird. Why the hell are you crying?”

Beomgyu is having a hard time understanding. He’s not sure if he can’t, or if he simply doesn’t want to believe this— but your eyes don’t lie. He can tell if you’re annoyed by him just by looking at you. He can tell if you’re angry, regretful, elated, or drunk from the onslaught of his affections, so this time— he can clearly tell as well.

He can tell just from the look in your eyes that you don’t remember him.

That all those years of waiting for you was all for naught.

SOOBIN KNOWS THAT HE SHOULDN’T BE HERE RIGHT NOW. He knows that he’s supposed to be on a diet, and he knows that he has a photo shoot for a magazine this weekend. He even got rid of his stash of instant ramyeon because of that, deleted all those delivery apps because this’ll be his first schedule after a few months of taking a break.

But he is here, at one in the morning, in between the isles of the 7-Eleven nearest to his apartment building, because cravings sometimes trump rationality, and god he sure is craving for a cup of noodles. Or two. Two sounds good. And since he’s already here, might as well put a pack of milk bread in his basket. A can of Sprite too. Manager Lee is gonna kill him, but at least he’ll die full and satisfied.

“Hey, hold the door open for me.”

“Don’t you have hands?”

“Nice! They have empty seats outside. Waiting here. Buy me some donuts.”

Ah, shit. Soobin pulls his hood over his head and readjusts his mask. Sounds like a group coming in. He should pay later once the store’s emptier— meaning, he has no choice but to browse for more snacks to add to his basket. Totally not because he wants to, no. 

“Why’d you bring your laptop all the way here? You can continue working in Woohyung’s apartment.”

“Yeah, girl. There’s still a lot of time before the deadline.”

Soobin doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but the voices are talking pretty loudly. He’s dropping a few packets of yakgwa cookies into his basket while listening to a group of college students mourning about their courses. Good thing he chose not to pursue tertiary education. 

“I need to finish this as soon as possible if I want to attend the fucking fansign. Crap, I should’ve switched majors when I had the chance.”

He abruptly stops snack surfing. Wait. Pause. Hold on.

“Should’ve done that before junior year.”

“I know. Shut up. Get me a popsicle, please. Chocolate. Thank you.”

That voice—

“They ran out. Only strawberry or melon. Pick one”

“That’s fucking balls.”

“You’re so eloquent.”

“Suck my fucking dick.”

Okay. Nevermind. It’s kinda weird to hear a voice that sounds eerily similar to the love of his life’s saying so much obscenities. You only spoke pretty words to him before, so maybe he’s just tripping. There’s no way you’d swear so much, so he continues browsing the snack aisle. Maybe he just misses you so much that he’s starting to mistake a similarly sounding voice as yours and subconsciously letting his hopes up.

“Hyun, by the way. I forgot to mention. I met a Choi Beomgyu lookalike last night on the way home from work. It was fucking wild.”

Then again, he thinks, arm paused hovering above a bag of chips. People didn’t really say suck my fucking dick in Joseon era.

Soobin stops filling his basket and starts moving out of the aisle, following the sound of your voice.

“I almost fell in love on the spot, but the guy wasn’t right in the head, I think.” Closer. You’re starting to sound closer. “He knew my name. He kept acting like he knew me and asked me to fucking marry him? I even dropped my phone because he scared the shit out of me. I don’t know, it was wild.”

Where? Where are you?

“Dude, really? No way.”

“I’m serious! I’m telling you—”

Where the hell are you?

“I even got a card from his friend when he dragged the Beomgyu clone away. I have it here, take a loo— wait. Wait. Isn’t BH the agency that manages Yeong-Il? Am I wrong— oh, sorry!”

There you are.

There’s a stain on his hoodie. Bright pink. It matches the popsicle you’re holding, the varsity jacket you’re wearing, and the color painting his cheeks because you’re right in front of him. You’re actually right in front of him right now— face flushed with panic, eyes rapidly blinking. “Are—are you Choi Soobin?” someone says. Not you. You’re still profusely apologizing while trying to wipe away the stain with your jacket sleeve.

“That’s ridiculous, Huening. Go get me some tissues! I’m so, so sorry, oh gosh. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

You’re here. It’s actually you. His heart is racing. He can’t fucking breathe. He’s not sure if he should cry, scream, or all of the above.

But there’s something different. There’s something wrong.

“I can tell Choi Soobin from a picture of his ear! I’m telling you it’s him!” Your attention is pulled away by your companion tugging on your arm. “You’re Choi Soobin, right?! Jipuragi? Figured Obscurity?”

“Dude, you’re making him uncomfortable! Why in the world would Choi Soobin be—”

Soobin pulls down his mask, tugging on its fabric. When you turn back to look at him, your popsicle drops to the ground and you let out a gasp.

Your eyes are shining. You’re beaming. You do recognize him. You do know him.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m such a big fan.”

Just not in the way he was hoping for.

“Y—yeah. Would you like a picture?”

You let out a squeal. So does your friend. This isn’t how Soobin expected his reunion with you to go about. This is wrong. He had it all planned in his head like a screenplay, and all that was left was to execute it without fail.

The moment he sees you, he was supposed to spin you around and hear your laughter fluttering in the air. He was supposed to hold you in his arms and give you the first kiss he’d been saving in this life because he’s been waiting for you all this time, yearning for years and years to give you the life he wasn’t able to in the past. To make up for everything you missed because in this life— there’s no class system to keep you apart. There’s nothing stopping him from loving you out in the open.

He didn’t expect to give you his autograph and take a fan selca with you after years of waiting.

This is so wrong. This is so freaking wrong.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” who he assumes is your friend says, and you’re smiling so, so brightly while looking at the photo of you and him that everything he wishes to say and profess and confess just lodges in his throat, blocking everything in its path.

“Thank you! Don’t worry, we won’t post this anywhere,” you say. Soobin holds back the inhuman urge to tell you why settle for a photo, when you can have him instead?

“S—sure. Anytime.”

“Ah, we should probably give you some privacy now. Huening, stop gawking! Anyway, fighting! We’re looking forward to your upcoming dramas!”

Just like that, you leave. You walk out of the store and join the rest of your friends outside, and he sees you showing off the signature he left on your receipt from the window, when he could give you so much more than that, when you could show off that you already own his entire heart. This...this really isn’t how he wanted to reunite with you. And the underlying reason for it something he doesn’t want to entertain.

“YEONJUN, YOU’RE UP IN TEN,” says a staff member. It’s the last week of promotions, and Yeonjun is getting his hair and makeup retouched one last time before he’s set to go uponstage to open the fansign. His manager tells him not to do anything stupid, or scandalous, or all of the above onstage— an almost everyday reminder that Yeonjun, more often than not, isn’t interested in listening to.

“Noona, you should trust me more,” he reacts, a slight whine in his tone. Manager Kim’s expression is nothing but dubious.

“At the very least warn me before you do something insane so I can prepare.”

“Will do,” Yeonjun grins, and his manager waves him off. Screams erupt the moment he emerges from behind the stage curtains, and everything else just comes naturally for Choi Yeonjun— not needing to second guess when he blows a kiss mid-performance, stirs the crowd with a comment or two, and making sure that all eyes are on him, almost as if he was born on every stage he steps foot on.

And to think he started this career without any desire for stardom.

Now, there’s nothing he desires more than blinding lights and the visceral sounds of cheers.

“A—ah, hello!” 

Well. There is one thing.

“Crap, I—I’m so nervous I don’t think I can breathe.”

“Oh no,” replies Yeonjun to the fan sitting before him, marker in hand as he flips open the tabbed page on the nth album splayed out on the table. “Should I give you CPR to help you start breathing again?” 

The girl lets out something sort of a squeal. He grins out a laugh and asks for her name and if she’s eaten anything yet.

“Thank you! Oh— oh, wait, one more thing—”

“Next!”

It’s a fast paced rotation. It always is. But Yeonjun uses the split second before the next person carousels in front of him to make a quick scan across the people lining up, across the people waiting in the audience seats, clinging onto the sliver of probability that this may finally be the day where his years of yearning for the ghost of past can finally end— well overdue for god knows how long already. 

He reuses and rehashes the same lines, same dialogue, and same greetings for the next person, and the next person, and the next and the next and the next. It’s just one face after another. Not that he’s bored, or unappreciative of the fans that spent their time (and truckloads of money) to see him. But it’s human to feel a sense of disappointment when the face he wants to see doesn't turn up after the fifth, tenth, seventh, hundredth, thousand, nth face, fansign after a fansign.

“Next.”

His wrist is getting sore, back is getting tired, but Yeonjun readies himself for another round of mindless chat, missing the opportunity to do his routine scans when he closes his eyes to roll back his shoulders. 

“Oh.”

Yeonjun hears the voice in front of him say. It’s a singular syllable, not even a word, but it’s enough to snap him wide awake.

“Oh my gosh,” you say again. Yeonjun doesn’t feel his fingertips. “You’re even prettier up close, whoa, this is crazy.”

He’s frozen. The usual ments and words and lines that usually flow naturally off his tongue don’t come. His brain is empty. The ink from his marker seeps into the album page underneath his numb hands. He hears his manager say something, but his manager’s voice is so far away— so, so, so far away, but the face he;s been yearning for in his memories is now, all of a sudden and without warning, within an arm’s reach, right before his eyes.

The marker stumbles out of his grasp. If Yeonjun reaches an arm out right now—

“U—uh.”

—he’d be able to touch your face.

“O—oh, holy shit, okay so we’re doing this now.”

And he is. The very feeling of your soft skin, unchanged from the feeling stored in the capsules of his memories, burns stronger than the adrenaline he feels when he’s onstage under the spotlight.

It’s real. You’re real.

You’re right in front of him right now.

“Choi Yeonjun, what the hell are you doing?!”

The hiss of his manager from behind is ignored when he suddenly springs up from behind the table, and you let out a yelp when he drags you up along with him. He’s holding both of your hands, thumbs brushing over the ridges of your knuckles before pulling them closer to his chest. There’s whispering in the background, along with the snaps and flashes of the numerous cameras littered everywhere in the venue.

“Yeonjun.”

He pays no mind to them. Instead he brings up your hands to his face and presses a kiss onto your knuckles. 

There’s a scream and gasp and a yell coming from somewhere. 

“I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

But all he’s focused on is the swirls in your widened eyes, dizzy and taken aback, voiceless with your mouth hanging open. Yeonjun furrows his brows. “Why don’t you look happy to see me, my love?” You hack out a hard cough and Yeonjun drops your hands in surprise. “What’s— what’s wrong?” he stammers, leaning forward and closing into your face while you turn away from him, digging more unease into his bones because this...this doesn’t seem right.

“Sh—shit, I think I need to sit down, oh my god,” he hears you say, and it hits him. Yes. You were never good at expressing your affection. Yes, yes. Perhaps you’re just overtaken by a surge of emotions, that your appearance looks like that of constipated confusion of trepidation as a result of being overwhelmed by the fact that you’re so in love with him and that you’re happy to see him again.

Yes. That must be it. You’re both sat back down, and he scribbles something on your now ink-stained album. “Next.” And when you’re just about to bow and leave, he says your name— one that he thought he’s forgotten— and you freeze.

“Why do you look so surprised?” he laughs. “There’s no need to be shy. Should I kiss you again to ease your— ack!”

“Next! Next person!” 

Suddenly, you’re being scurried away. “No, wait!” he yells out, but the moment he tries to get up again, he’s jerked right back.

His manager is holding the back of his collar, and you’re disappearing into the crowd. Was…was Manager Kim always this strong? He can’t even budge, can’t even run after you after he’d finally been reunited with you again.

“Choi Yeonjun, that’s enough!”

He blinks, remembering belatedly just where he is right now.

There’s still a line of people waiting for him. Yeonjun drops back to his seat, his manager losing her grip on his shirt, and he brings himself back after a round of inhales and exhales. It’s alright, he thinks to himself. It’s gonna work out. “Sorry about that,” he hums, smiling at a now different face sitting in front of him. “What did you tell me your name was?”

You’ve been separated from him yet again, but this time it’s fine. He’s not anxious. He’s certain that it won’t take centuries for you to return to each other, no— it won’t be long until then because this time, he’s not dead. 

You’re both still alive at this point in time.

And that enough assures him that he’s going to find his way back to you.

“Next!”

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[sweetdispatch]

Eurovision songs as NHL teams

as you may or may not know, i love eurovision and it's basically my whole personality in spring haha that's why i wanted to do a little thread with this year' songs and which nhl team they're giving me vibe it's my opinion - it's all for fun, please don't feel offended‼️ special dedication to @hockeyboistrash!!!!!

ATLANTIC

Boston Bruins as Voyage (🇨🇭)

Voyage means a long trip and I feel like the last deadline when half of the Bruins left it’s gonna be a long trip for fans

Buffalo Sabres as How Much Time Do We Have Left (🇸🇮)

The title speaks for itself. The sentence is related to Buffalo and their long awaited playoff spot

Detroit Red Wings as Bird of Pray (🇺🇦)

Wings, bird - related words. Fans also pray for Detroit to make the playoffs

Florida Panthers as Gaja (🇵🇱)

Gaja in Greek mythology is a mother earth and it’s a powerful song. Perfect summary of Florida especially since they’re champions now

Montreal Canadiens as Milkshake Man (🇦🇺)

Lyrics are as questionable as players and whatever is happening between them. But it’s a good song just like Montreal

Ottawa Senators as Hallucination (🇩🇰)

I get hallucinations when I see Ottawa in the playoff spot but it’s a good song like this team tho

Tampa Bay Lightning as Run With U (🇦🇿)

Owners of Tampa are running with the coach no matter what since he won two Stanley Cups for them 

Toronto Maple Leafs as Esa Diva (🇪🇸)

Whole Toronto, especially Marner, Nylander and Matthews, are the definition of diva 

CENTRAL

Chicago Blackhawks as C’est La Vie (🇳🇱)

C’est la vie means that’s life and I feel like Chicago’ fans have the same motto with this team every season

Colorado Avalanche as Mila (🇷🇸)

Mila in slavic means hardworking and Colorado was hard working this season, especially with the trades

Dallas Stars as Bara Bada Bastu (🇸🇪)

Bara bada bastu means just sauna and since there’s 5 players from Finland I bet they sing this song to the rest of the team  

Minnesota Wild as Survivor (🇦🇲)

With all the injuries in Minnesota, you can call yourself a survivor

Nashville Predators as Shh (🇨🇾)

I don’t really have an explanation for this but when I listen to this song I see yellow color and it’s Nashville color so yeah

St. Louis Blues as Dobrodosli (🇲🇪)

Dobrodosli means welcome and I feel like St. Louis just welcomed themselves in the fight for the wild card

Utah Hockey Club as Kiss Kiss Goodbye (🇨🇿)

This song grew on me just like Utah plus this song is giving me a vibe like they would have listened to this in the locker room

Winnipeg Jets as Laika Party (🇮🇪)

Winnipeg for the whole season just has a party and hopes it will never die

METROPOLITAN

Carolina Hurricanes as Strobe Lights (🇧🇪)

Carolina is just giving me the vibe of a loud party with bright lights plus the aesthetic of the song is red and black just like their colors

Columbus Blue Jackets as La Poupée Monte Le Son (🇱🇺)

This song was meh at first, just like Columbus but after revamp it’s a strong contender just like Columbus right now

New Jersey Devils as Serving (🇲🇹)

New Jersey is serving this year compared to last season. They’re serving cunt!! Fun fact, at first this song was called “Kant” but they had to change it to just serving 

New York Islanders as Freedom (🇬🇪)

Chill song just like this Islanders, not good and not bad just like them - just mid

New York Rangers as What The Hell Just Happened? (🇬🇧)

Yeah, what the hell just happened to the team who was the leader at the start of the season  

Philadelphia Flyers as Bur Man Laimi (🇱🇻)

Bur man laimi means bring me happiness and that’s my motto before every Flyers game; spoiler, most of the time they don’t do it

Pittsburgh Penguins as Asteromata (🇬🇷)

Asteromata symbolizes nostalgia and I bet the fans have nostalgia to the old good times

Washington Capitals as Poison Cake (🇭🇷)

Everyone hates this song but it’s a good one so basically Capitals

PACIFIC

Anaheim Ducks as Espresso Macchiato (🇪🇪)

Chill song just like Anaheim, might not be everyone’s favorite but it’s yours and you’re totally chill about it

Calgary Flames as Zjerm (🇦🇱)

Zjerm means fire so it speaks for itself

Edmonton Oilers as Wasted Love (🇦🇹)

Good song, one of the favorites to win the whole contest but not my favorite so basically my feelings about Edmonton

Los Angeles Kings as Róa (🇮🇸)

Róa means row and LA is just rowing their way to win

San Jose Sharks as Lighter (🇳🇴)

This song features a guy who’s 19 years old who can do huge things in this contest (and I’m not saying this because I’m Norwegian) just like San Jose can do in the future with their young squad

Seattle Kraken as Mamam (🇫🇷)

Mamam means mother and we all know that there’s a mother on the bench!!!! 

Vancouver Canucks as Baller (🇩🇪)

Baller means successful person and this person for Vancouver is Quinn who’s carrying this team on his back

Vegas Golden Knights as Ich Komme (🇫🇮)

I have no explanation except for the fact that the colors of this song are gold and black just like Vegas, oh and this is also winner material just like this team

HONORABLE MENTION

Arizona Coyotes as Balorda Nostalgia (🇮🇹)

This song won Sanremo (which means he got permission to represent Italy on Eurovision) but the guy withdrew so kinda Arizona vibe

[burinazar]

i wonder if there's ever been a person who wonders if i, as one of the most outspoken belavue/vuebela proponents on earth, resent Be's other ship for being more popular.

my feelings are actually like the...inverse?... of that

wazubela is so hot, so good, so emotionally charged, so deliciously doomed, that even the sadness i feel over the unpopularity of my otp has not lead to any bitterness over it being much more popular, and that's how you know i really really like it. i'll buy official merchandise aimed at fans of it (well. excepting the occasions when i Manage to Not Buy It because i forgot a sales deadline lmao, which is why i dont own Together with Plushie waz...) and every doujinshi for it released by artists at events/on booth. i really really really like it, i love what it brings out in the characters, i relate to the feelings of the fans invested in it, and... it's really hot. my first r18 story on AO3 was wazubela instead of belavue and it's possible that in total i've drawn an equal amount of r18 artwork of it compared to belavue

'if my otp has to languish in unpopularity, i'm glad that at least the much more most popular ship for belaf is something i love a lot too' that's how i feel. if it weren't a delicious ship i'd constantly be suffering. back in 2022, in the first couple weeks of being fixated on my favorite characters, i hadn't yet tapped into the appeal of the ship and felt a little wistful that it was Be's most popular one, but when that turned around, it turned around completely.

pakkovue/vuepakko and whether i feel sanguine about that being a more popular ship option for vueko is a little more complicated to answer this about. with wazubela i basically always feel a lot of kinship with the shippers and how they read wazukyan and belaf. we have very compatible understandings of the characters, and of vueko as well -- they generally seem to see Vueko as i do and appreciate her strengths as a character. i've never actually met a wazubela fan who seems to dislike Vueko. and on the japanese side, most of the creators of wazubela content are supporters of shipping vueko and belaf and also occasional creators of that content. (needed to specify this is on the jp side because on the english speaking side i've met a few wabe fans who hated belavue)

meanwhile with depictions of pakkovue, i only sometimes feel like the shippers have a similar understanding of pakkoyan and vueko as i do. it's similar to the thing where, with vueko fans in general, i only sometimes feel like they see her the same way i do. other people love a version of her that i just don't see, and which seems to infantilize or oversimplify her, or remove some of what i think is original and interesting about her...in the same way, i think some depictions of this ship either remove particular elements of their implied relationship i find fascinating, or feel kind of...limited to focusing on 'well the appeal of this ship is... there's SEX. between GIRLS. HELL YEAH. what more do u need' both of which make me think hmm ok i can't get into this fanwork. even though i like the ship in concept

to be honest this lack of mental synchronicity and the feeling i have to build it all from the ground up has been a major reason i never finish any writing with them and rarely draw them, even though i'm pretty fond of my own characterization of them. which is like, bad, and contributing to the problem, because since several people have told me that they 'get' belavue after reading my stories about them i think if i put my version of pakkovue out in the world it would have some nonzero odds of spreading my understanding of them and helping me connect with likeminded fans. but it's just harder to do that. also as i've written before, pakkoyan is just a lot of work to write compared to the others bc she's so...implied, as a character, while the sages just feel so well sketched out already in canon even with relatively few scenes

tl;dr i love wazubela and it doesn't actually bum me out that it's popular than belavue. pakkovue is a little more complicated but i do like my own version quite a bit. ...i still would like it if my ship ever got any official nods in merch like the other two do though,,,...

[1eos]

Hi, just read your post about immigrant mothers ruining their kid's jobs. My mother is not an immigrant but she's asian and she cannot for the life of her be considerate with my previous job situation.

I earned 2k monthIy. It's quite low bc we're poor and I have to use half of my pay to support my family. So I decided to take this remote part time job for savings (not just for me but for the family also) and bc of that I am almost in front of my laptop 24/7. It's a report writing job and usually I would have 2 reports weekly to be submitted within 4 days.

My mother hated that I am always in my room doing work and would get so angry because "I listen to the employers more than her". She would make me do a lot of house chores when she knew I was tired from work just to spite me, saying that in the house I do the least chores???? Yeah bc I have a deadline to catch OMG.

Usually I would plan my week for the reports but then she would make me drive her for errands etc and would guilt trip me if I don't do so. Because of this I would stay up all night trying to finish the report just so that she won't throw a fit. Also, I have 2 other brothers who have a lot of free time but just for gaming, not for chores.....but somehow I'm the bad guy......which also makes me believe all asian mothers are "boy moms" but that's for another day.

The problem about these mothers is not because they don't understand their children. It's because they DO NOT WANT to. Because if they do, it means they have to listen/cater to you; not the other way around. They rather die than doing THAT.

first n foremost i haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate that you're going thru this :(. it's truly thee worst to be sabotaged by a mother its truly so insidious and too many ppl in this day and age think its cute or like something we just have to suffer thru bc hey that lady gave birth to us and helped raise us. like the idea that GIRLS --bc they rarely if ever do this to sons--are literally put on earth to toil and suffer and serve their mothers, brothers, aunties etc until some man comes along and then u serve him w no thought or care for ourselves until we die is sooooooooo pervasive.

like its so sad that in 2024 you have someone purposefully going out of her way to sabotage your hustle :(((((((((((((((((( and i won't do the annoying 'just move out!' bc trust me ik how hard it is to move out right now!!!!!!!!! i will say i hope you maintain the strength and energy to persevere thru the sabotage 😐 you will win. misogyny will not win! m*thers who are mad that their daughters aren't just rolling over to be the family doormat. and its like? you'd think they'd be happy but that post partum jealousy is something else i'll tell you that

i still remember being a kid and my mom waiting until i was totally asleep to force me awake to put two dishes in the dish washer?????? and would be yelling and totally pissed off that im not standing at attention to do the dishes at 11pm 😭😭😭😭😭 bitch i was in literal rem sleep why are u screaming at an unconscious child? just lacking control or excitement in their own lives and take it out on their daughters its fucking sick

bc you're right lolllll its not that they 'dont understand' they deadass do not want to. which is why i don't believe in extending grace for bad mothers in a lot of these situations bc why the hell do i have to put myself in YOUR shoes and suffer disrespect always thinking about YOUR feelings when for the first 18 years you were the ONLY adult??? absolutely bizarre. i hope one day we can stop lighting up mothers for shit they can't control like crying babies or having to breastfeed and clock them for the way theyre cornerstones in keeping the patriarchy alive. and the specific bullshit mothers dole out and get away with it bc society expects total devotion to mothers especially from daughters like i need everyone to wake it up bc there's nooooo reason for a grown ass person to be sabotaging you like that! a lot of us are living in the house with our worst opponents and i hate it!

but bottom line? I AM ROOTING FOR YOU ANONNNN WE WILL MAKE IT OUT OF HERE I PROMMY

[dykebenry]

I'm sharing my Frenry spotify playlist. these are songs personal to my taste and my idea of Frenry, so if u dont like it, too funkin bad i suppose. the playlist will keep growing as long as i keep liking Frenry and listening to music i am taking suggestions if u have songs that fit the vibe 👍

list of current tracks, in no particular order, under the cut (will probably update as i remember to)

To My Enemies - Saint Motel

How I Survived Bobby Mackey's Personal Hell - Lincoln

Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge

Bad Ideas - Tessa Violet

I Love Hating You - FrankJavCee

hedonic treadmill - KevinKempt

Easy To Hate - Waterparks

Deadlines (Hostile) - Car Seat Headrest

Want You Gone - Portal 2 OST

Blah Blah Blah - The Oozes

Turtleneck Sweater - marinelli

Pigeon - Cavetown

Backstabber - Kesha

Bad Romance - Halestorm

Rory - Foxing

Drunken Lament - Ludo

Worry - Mother Mother

Banks - Lincoln

Ghosting - Mother Mother

Cause for Concern - Lovejoy

It's All Futile! It's All Pointless! - Lovejoy

...well, better than the alternative - Will Wood

Animal - Sir Chloe

Absence - Rio Romeo

Love Me Dead - Ludo

Stalker's Tango - Autoheart

Soft Bitch - Rio Romeo

Sweet - Phemiec

Butch 4 Butch - Rio Romeo

Microwave - Ricky Jamaraz

despair - leo.

So Alright, Cool, Whatever - The Happy Fits

Diet Soda - Starbenders

The Room Is Filled With People That Love You - Foresight

Wet - Dazey and the Scouts

Bloody Mary, Kate and Ashley - PUP

You Make Me Feel - Archive

Platonic Best Friend - Bug Hunter

Doing Things That Artists Do - The I.L.Y's

Boys Club - Ivory Hours

Do You Want To Die Together? - Stars

So Beautiful - Creative Differences

VR - CreepP, Disko Warp, Michaela Laws

we've got history - The Garages

Sick - Barcelona

FUCK ABOUT IT - Waterparks, blackbear

[Reboot] - Waterparks

Arizona - Kevin Creel

The Edge - Panicland

Honeywell - Clem Turner

Need You here - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Problems - Mother Mother

This Is Love - Air Traffic Controller

Arms Tonite - Mother Mother

Let's Fall In Love - Mother Mother

Two Time - Jack Stauber's Micropop

Gossamer - Fashion Jackson

Champagne - Machinery of the Human Heart

WasteUrTime - Kevin Walkman

Benjamin Alphabet - Super Whatevr

FIGURE IN THE BACKGROUND - SNAKE POOL

Normal People Things - Lovejoy

Fall - The Terrordactyls

3:30am - Kevin Walkman

Needs - Verzache

Kiss With A Fist - Florence + The Machine

Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost

You Give Love A Bad Name - Bon Jovi

Said the Spider to the Fly - The Paper Chase

Don't Tell Me You Love Me - Follies & Vices

Knives, Guns & Bed - Rare Americans, Clare Twiddy

I Hate You So Much - Anarbor

Who Said Anything About Falling in Love - Within Ruins

Virus - Andrew Stein

Potential Breakup Song - Aly & AJ

Super Psycho Love - Simon Curtis

Call Me What You Like - Lovejoy

Breezeblocks - alt-J

Orange - Alex Unknown

Blast Doors - Everything Everything

Oleander - Mother Mother

Community Gardens - The Scary Jokes, Louie Zong

Obsession - OK Go

Foolishly Wrong - Autoheart

Bugbear - chloe moriondo

Your Stupid Face - Kaden MacKay

Fighting in the Car - Joe P

Mean to you - Stella Mar

Romance Is Boring - Los Campesinos!

Operator - The Ready Set

Barbie & Ken - Scene Queen, Set It Off

You're Not Welcome - Naethan Apollo

As the World Caves In - Matt Maltese

Taking What's Not Yours - TV Girl

I Am the Antichrist to You - Kishi Bashi

reaching - Jonny West

[dozenssporks]

Okay, I've been reading your little Office AU snippets... Maybe I didn't see it if it's been posted already? What do Vash's and Knives' companies do, respectively? What are their goods and/or services? What are their names? - "Saverem and Son?" (Late owner, Rem) "Gung Ho Incorporated?" - Lost-Technology, from her main blog.

owch I've been Caught Out!

you haven't missed anything, I just haven't written anything about the companies or products! So far it's just been generic office workers and the universal stacks of paperwork.

I've vaguely thought that Knives' company is equivalent to amazon (or is that TOO evil?) and right here and now I officially name it Gung Ho Incorporated because I really like it thank u . . . even if putting 'ho' in a business name . . . maybe it's Gungho, one word . . .? Gungho Incorporated. Or would Knives just Not Care? I'm open to further opinions :p

Vash, now . . . my first impulse is to have his company design and make running shoes because it's funny. Vash would test the products.

I don't think the company is related to Rem in any way because it was a real hell hole when Vash started working there. Perhaps it was a good company and Knives got it bought out by a competitor for some reason. Saverem Inc, intended to be renamed Saverem and Sons when the boys got older but everything went under before then. The name was kept for brand recognition?

though I really like the idea that Vash deliberately picked a minor role in some random small but fairly successful business just to get away from Knives' mega-corp and accidentally ends up revolutionizing the way this particular business is run.

yeah I haven't thought it through. very open to suggestions :D

---

vash: I dunno what we even do here I think our job is to scream about deadlines and never go home

coworker: I know you're joking but I hate how you are also right

[just-my-type-x]

Masterlist

✨smut ; 🌺fluff; 🥶angst; 💌 normal/playful

Colby Brock

Constructive Arguments ✨🥶

A Scare At The Bellaire ✨🥶

A Hot Mess ✨🌺

The Other Way Around 🌺🥶

Chill Day Headcanon 🌺

Playtime Headcanon ✨

Black Swan Inn 🌺

You're fucking with my head 🥶

Hot Piece ✨🥶-ish

Say My Name Like It's Holy ✨🥶

Thinking About You Playlist Headcanon 🌺

Not So Sneaky Afterall 💌

Call Me By My Name ✨

"Colby, i swear to God..." 💌✨-ish

Not So Shy 🌺💌

Everything I Didn't Say 🌺

Evil Lurks Here 🌺

If You Weren't Here 🌺🥶-ish

Will You Marry Me? Headcanon 🌺

Another Pretty Lie 🥶

Make Up Your Mind 🌺💌

Mizpah Hotel 💌✨-ish

Unholy ✨🥶

Bitch, U Better Be Joking 🥶

Detective Brock 🥶

Spoiled Surprise 💌🌺

Ghostly Encounter 💌🌺

The Aftermath (Part 2 for Hot Piece) ✨

Home Alone 💌🌺

The Lighthouse 🥶🌺

Old Washoe Club 🌺

Late Night In 💌🌺

Hate The Game 🥶✨

Brad Simpson

Mob The Vamps 🥶

Love Again pt 1 🌺🥶, pt 2 ✨🥶, pt 3 🌺✨

Lover Of Mine 🌺🥶✨

Drive Me Insane ✨

Don't Talk Nonsense, Darling ✨

Hush ✨

Jealousy Headcanon 💌

Protective Headcanon 💌

Naughtiness Headcanon ✨

Boyfriend Headcanon 💌

Making You Feel Better Headcanon 🌺💌

Best Of Both Worlds Headcanon ✨💌

Forever Yours ✨🌺

Birthday King✨

Countryside Escapade ✨

Just My Type/Dating a Brazilian Headcanon 💌🌺

Nice To Meet Ya 💌🌺

A Team Headcanon 💌🌺

Hell Week Headcanon 💌🌺

Sleeping with Brad Headcanon 💌🌺

My Day One 🥶🌺

Vampire Headcanon 🥶🌺💌

Playful Fingers Headcanon ✨

Call Time ✨

It Feels Too Good 🌺💌✨-ish

Tying You Up Headcanon ✨

Showstopper 🥶

You're A Vibe (Part 2 for Showstopper)🥶✨

Deadline For Love 💌

"Be a good girl" (Part 2 for DFL) ✨

Sweet Dreams 🌺✨-ish

Flirtationship ✨

"Eyes Up Here" 🥶✨

"I'd Get On My Knees For You" 🥶✨

Friendly Much 🥶✨

Smoke and Fire 🥶

Untouchable 🥶

New Us 🌺💌

Talk is Cheap 🌺💌

Another Me🌺💌

Mr. and Mrs. Simpson ✨

Night Outs and Nightclubs 🥶✨-ish

Little White Dress 🥶✨-ish

Body On Me ✨

Tell Me How You Really Feel 🥶

Glass Half Full 🥶

Honey, You Got All Of Me ✨

Most Feels Aren't Temporary 🌺✨

Tit For Tat 🥶✨

If Brad Simpson was ur boyfriend 🌺

Curly Heads and Caffè Lattes ✨

Tristan Evans

Naked Confessions ✨

Dylan O'brien & characters

From enemies to lovers 🥶✨

Misunderstood Smiles 🥶✨

Love Yourself 🌺

An unusual context // Stiles Stilinski 🥶✨

Things Take Time // Mitch Rapp ✨

Victorian Habits 🌺💌

Cody Christian & characters

Fixing You // Asher Adams 🌺

Not So Evil After All // Theo Raeken 🥶🌺

"Champagne" // Asher Adams 🌺✨

[autisticlancemcclain]

13

And not in the game but how can you bring yourself to write so much? I keep trying to write but I keep getting stuck.

13 from this ask game — Have you ever received hate on a fic?

no, thankfully!! nothing yet. but i’m always afraid i’m gonna get shit for autistic lance or tall keith or whatever since i see so much hate for them 😭😭 i hope i’m spared.

as for how i manage to find the time/motivation to write so much — there’s a short answer and a long one. short answer is i cater entirely to myself and i set small deadlines to trick my brain.

long answer: okay, so i’ve been in the voltron fandom since 2016 (altho i was 14 at the time lol). so i’ve had a lot of time to think and read and look at art and generally, i had a lot of half-formed fics, ideas, headcanons, and all sorts of things flicking through my brain.

one day, i saw this lil nas tweet that planted a fic so vividly in my brain that i just… wrote. just spat the words out on the document, wrote. and i liked it! i really did. so i posted it.

after that i realised i could just… write shit down. it didn’t have to be finished, it didn���t even have to have a start! the smidges of dialogue, the fragmented pieces of fics, the longer headcanons, whatever. i could just write things down. i kept them all in one big note, and they looked a little like this (photo ids at the end of the post):

you might recognize some of my really early fic fragments! that’s because i also realised, eventually, that i could also post these! it’s free content, yknow? no room for complaints. i could just post, and i could also write whatever the hell i wanted. i liked autistic lance? i wrote him. i liked soft keith? i wrote him. i like hunk & lance’s friendship? i wrote it, and i lot of it. i wrote what i wanted to read!

at this point (i think mid-march) i had several dozen of these fic fragments stacked up. so i asked if anyone would be interested in me posting them, and i got a pretty decent response, so i started just copy-pasting, every day. just the things u already had. they did pretty decently, too, averaged about 30 notes each.

i actually got pretty attached to the notes. i’ve always thrived on external validation, so when i started to get it regularly i became a smidge attached to it, so i started feeling a little stressed about posting, yknow? i started feeling like i had to get things out every day. and then i ran out of pre-written fics to post, and i panicked. i didn’t think i would be able to come up with fics on the fly, and i was way too stressed about posting every day to even think about not doing that.

but here’s the thing… i did. come up with things on the fly, i mean. it turned out that because i was literally writing all the time, whatever came to mind, that i started building up the skills! suddenly i was able to think of ideas easily, and it was easier and easier for me to come up with whole paragraphs and full dialogues, not just pieces.

and the daily posting ended up helping me, too. i stopped putting so many damn rules on myself. the only rule i had for myself was ‘post before midnight, if you can’. i wrote whatever the hell i wanted, however long or short i wanted, however silly i wanted. just whatever. and i reminded myself that i was writing this for fun. and i really started to find joy with what i was doing.

after that, it got easier. i love what i’m doing, i’ve made some awesome friends, and when i need to take a break i take one.

so my advice is: find joy in your art. remind yourself that you’re writing for yourself. take the pressure off. everything get easier :)

(also, hey, i’ve seen your stuff!! i really like your art and have laughed at several of your posts — that sam/samurai one in particular. you’re doing great!)

[Photo I.D.: nine screenshots of different works of mine from my apple notes app. they read as follows:

first screenshot: ‘fic idea lance n keith invite everyone to some weird dress up party at halloween. it’s their wedding’

second screenshot: ‘i want femme fatale BOM lance on a secret mission literally more than i want to breathe. “oh, i live with my grandparents. i don’t have parents.” “you don’t..have…parents?” “yeah.” lance said offhandedly. “my dad abandoned me and my mom blamed me for it, so i ran away when i was seven. luckily my abuela and grand-père found me and decided to take me in,” he explained, smiling softly. his eyes never left his work, seemingly unconcentrated with the conversation - he missed the looks of horror exchanged around him.’

third: screenshot of a tweet with the caption: “I know my boss sick of me”, and then a screenshot of a text conversation: (grey bubble) “Did you call a customer dumb tonight?” (blue bubble) “No” (blue bubble) “I said ‘are you dumb’?” (blue bubble) “I was asking him” (grey bubble) “Do you think that was appropriate?” (blue bubble) “Very much so”. And then text I wrote saying “shiro to keith when he does this to a planets leader”

fourth: ‘princess buttercup - lance, westley - keith, montoya - shiro, fezzir - hunk, kid - pidge, grandpa - matt, verusi - iverson, montoya’s father - adam, old wizard guy - allura, old wizard guy’s wife - coran, humperdinck - lotor, creepy henchman of humperdinck - sendak. notes: lance solves some of the problems bc buttercup is too much of a damsel, shiro is fighting to avenge adam, allura and coran are not married obviously, lance shoots the ROOS’

fifth: ‘they all giggled, and lance snapped. “Los pendejos monolingües no tienen el privilegio de que yo traduzca todos mis pensamientos para su conveniencia. ustedes pueden jugar el papel de idiotas, por una vez. vete a la mierda.” he stormed off. klance fic where they’ve passed rivals, they’re friends, and they’re in love, but keith doesn’t know, but lance does, so lance waits patiently for keith to realize, and then he smiles softly when keith figures it out, and keith’s like “h-how, what?” and lance laughs softly and is like “you’ve been in love with me as long as i’ve loved you, baby. it just took you a little while to find out” and they live sappily ever after’

sixth: ‘we find out lance is a soccer star cus he drop kicks a bomb safely away’

seventh: ‘him?” Keith flushed, but nodded his head. Shiro smiled. “Then what does it matter if you’re gay? You like Lance. Liking him doesn’t make you any less gay. Don’t force yourself to ignore your feelings because you’ve been convinced your identity belongs to a few letters. People are complicated, Keith. We don’t have to fit into neatly labelled boxes.” au where everything is the same except lance is short as shit and also like. absolutely stacked fic where lances dad is killed and he was half raised by his oldest brother (22 yrs his senior) and he lowkey gives shiro a pep talk after shiro and keith fight because he gets the whole half brother half dad thing’

eighth: ‘i want to see a fic exploring the fact that it’s canon that shiro was a lot like lance when he was younger. i want to see lance and shiro interacting after shiro comes back to life and they’re basically The Same Person and it freaks everyone out to see them side by side. just like a problem arises and they say the same thing at the same time and side eye each other i think it could be so funny while also being so so sad. : Hunk shook his head. “It’s insane. Honestly, the main difference between them is their taste in men,” he said. Shiro raised his eyebrows. “Really?” Hunk scoffed. “You seem to go for the respectable choice of tall, sweet-sassy nerd. Lance, on the other hand -“ he gives Lance a pointed look, Lance bites back a sheepish grin. This is clearly a’

ninth: ‘explained, mischievous. “It was fun whether or not they realized they were being clowned, but watching them slowly come to find that they were schooled was certainly entertaining.” i just want to team to realise that lance clowns them constantly by playing dumb. paladins are doing the mind meld for ‘something u can’t believe you got away with’. lance projects the memory of meeting his stepmom for the first time: Lance looked at her critically. “Did your mother have, like, a ridiculously long labour, or something?” He asked her. She looked at him strangely. “Uh… what?” “I’m just trying to imagine how much pain your mother must have been in to look at her newborn baby daughter in the eyes, holding her carefully, and go ‘Ah, yes.’

All photos include a black background with white text. End I.D.]

[ptergwen]

Hey Val! I love ur writing so so much and ur amazing! My request is maybe like a Tom Holland x Reader where Y/N is a famous actress and Paddy’s celeb crush, and one day Tom brings Y/N home to meet his brothers and Paddy is vying for her attention and Tom and Paddy get jealous of each other? Thanks in advance if u decide to write this!💕

thank you so much love!! i took forever on this i’m sorry :( please enjoy

-

“you’re dating who?” paddy gawks, harry snickering at him from across the table. tom leans back in his chair. “y/n y/l/n. you’ve heard of her, haven’t you?” he clasps his hands behind his head. “i’ve seen all her movies at least twice. i… i love her!” his youngest brother beams. “so do i,” tom playfully challenges.

“darling, you should bring her by tomorrow. sam’s cooking us dinner,” nikki suggests with a supportive smile. hearing his name mentioned, sam peeks up from his phone. “since when?” “since your brother has a girlfriend he’s only just told us about!” she nudges tom’s shoulder. tom bites back the grin growing on his lips. “a girlfriend he loves, at that.”

“he’s not the only one,” harry comments and glances at paddy, whose whole face has gone red. “i guess i could whip something up. i’m visiting the shops later,” sam agrees with a nod at tom. he winks back. “thanks, mate.” turning to his mom, tom’s own face gets warm. “sorry i haven’t said anything, mum. we’ve been trying to keep our relationship on the low. dating in hollywood is…”

“a shit show,” nikki finishes for tom. her words make him chuckle. “exactly. we wanted to make sure we were ready before bringing in the rest of the world.” eager as ever, paddy speaks up again. “i think we’re the perfect people to start with, specifically me.” that earns a quirked eyebrow from tom. “easy there, padster man.” he looks him over, trying to figure out his motives. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were trying to steal my girl.”

paddy points at him with a glint in his eyes tom has never seen. “you don’t know any better.”

the family gets back to their conversation, talking about what you’re like and how their dad’s gigs are going. tom is a bit distracted, though. he isn’t sure what paddy meant by that. realistically, he knows he won’t be stealing you away. there’s a huge age gap among other things. it seems to tom like paddy has a crush on you, a big one. he’s probably just excited to meet you. that’s good, right?

tom doesn’t think about it again until arriving back at his parents’ the next day. you’re with him this time, nervously clutching at your purse in one hand while your free one squeezes his. he frowns at your fidgeting.

“y/n… they’re gonna love you, sweetheart,” he assures you, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “how do you know?” you wonder as you two walk up the steps. “because i love you, and i think paddy’s got a thing for you as well.” he’s smirking when he tells you this. scoffing, you curl into tom’s side. “i love you too, but what’s up with paddy?” you stand next to tom on the porch. he rings the doorbell before replying.

“he’s watched your whole filmography, all your interviews,” tom explains, shaking his head lightheartedly. “i’m sure there’s a poster or two of you in his room somewhere.” you pout your lower lip out. “aw, so he’s a fan?” “he’s my competition,” he jokes. your head falls onto tom’s shoulder with a sigh. “he’s a literal child, tom… and your brother.” you glance up at him wickedly. “maybe i can sign his posters. i think he’d like that.”

tom slips his arm around your waist, hearing footsteps come towards the door. “oh, paddy would be thrilled,” he confirms. your response is a hum as the front door swings open. “tom, darling. back so soon?” nikki teases her son, then gives you the warmest grin. “you must be y/n. we haven’t heard much about you, but we will.” you return the smile and let her take your hand to guide you inside.

after all the introductions, you gather outside to sit and talk. sam is in the kitchen cooking, nikki is helping him, and harry is setting the table. that leaves you with tom and paddy. they’re on either side of you, your head on tom’s shoulder and his arm around both of yours. paddy is talking about a school project while you nod along. he’s completely harmless, contrary to how tom described him.

“the deadline is next friday, but i’ve only just started,” paddy explains, you laughing softly. tom’s lips brush your ear. “i’m gonna look for something to drink. do you want anything?” he speaks in a whisper and trails his fingertips over your shoulder. “sure, tommy. whatever you’re having, thanks,” you reply with a kiss to the back of his hand. paddy clenches his jaw as he watches you two.

“what about you, pads? soda?” tom teases and earns a giggle from you. “i told you not to call me that,” paddy groans back. he scrunches his face up when tom reaches over you to ruffle his hair. “someone’s got to put you in your place. soda it is.” “don’t take too long.” you tilt your head back to look at tom. “i won’t.” he licks his lips before pressing them to yours, trying to deepen it form the angle.

“children are present,” you remind him, sitting back up promptly. “be a good boy and get our drinks.” “ok, fine. i’m going,” tom laughs out, pecking your cheek and standing from the couch. paddy rolls his eyes when his brother finally gets inside. he hates being thought of as a child by you, even if he is one. “so,” you start to fill the silence. “what else are you-“

“i think you’re an incredible actress,” paddy says instead with an innocent smile. “really? thank you so much.” you rest your head in your hand, grinning. “tom kinda told me already. he said you’ve seen all my movies.” “did he?” paddy repeats bitterly. he’d probably made him sound obsessed. you’re still grinning. “mhm, and that you might have posters of me.” his eyes widen, cheeks flushing a deep pink. he’ll never let tom in his room again.

“between you and me…” you look behind you to make sure tom isn’t coming. paddy scoots closer to you and nods. “i think tom is a little jealous.” “he should be,” paddy mumbles to himself. that doesn’t stop you from hearing. “what are you-“ “how about you help me with my project? i could use the extra hands,” he smoothly changes the subject. must be a holland thing.

“let’s wait until after dinner. tom is gonna be back soon, anyway,” you try to reason. you’re only fueling the fire by saying that. “i need to use all the time i have. come with me!” he’s grabbing your hands before you can protest again. you end up following paddy to his room, tom still sucked into a conversation with the rest of his family. harry sees you two pass by. he murmurs a div to paddy.

when tom gets back outside with two beers and a coke, you and paddy are gone. he frowns, heading to the kitchen once again.

“has anyone seen y/n?” he wonders and scans the room for you. “i think paddy stole her.” “they’re in his room. he just brought her up,” harry replies, his lips forming a line. a bit of anger bubbles in tom upon hearing this. “dinner is nearly done!” nikki gasps. “bring them back down,” sam requests. setting the drinks on the counter, tom sighs. “will do. give me a minute.”

tom’s annoyance only grows as he ascends the stairs. he can hear your giggling from behind the bedroom door, obviously caused by paddy. it’s silly that he’s so jealous of his baby brother, but he knows him well.

the door opens to reveal you laying stomach down on the floor and paddy on his bed. you’re autographing a picture of yourself while he gets books together for his assignment. tom isn’t sure what he was expecting, though he’s relieved this is all it is.

“oh, tom!” you notice him standing in the doorway and cap the pen. “you were right about the posters, babe.” “i see.” tom clicks his tongue. paddy scowls at his brother. “i can’t believe you told her,” he grumbles, you handing him the signed photograph. “no, it’s fine! i think it’s really sweet.” his face relaxes. “nevermind, then.” he’s now making heart eyes at you, tom inhaling a sharp breath.

“y/n/n, can i talk to you?” he asks quietly, eyes flitting over to paddy. “in private?” “um, yeah. i’ll be right back, okay?” you tell paddy with an apologetic smile. he shoots you a thumbs up, tom stepping aside so you can leave the room. “mum wants you for dinner in five, actually,” tom corrects. he’s quick to close the door behind him so he doesn’t have to hear complaints.

you’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed over your chest. tom walks up to you cautiously. “what the hell was that?” you squint at him. “i came back with the drinks, and you were gone,” he answers lowly, and not to your satisfaction. “which doesn’t answer my question.” “i… well…” tom huffs childishly. “paddy’s whisked you away! i wanted you to spend the night with my family, yeah?” he sets his hands on your hips.

putting your own hands on both his shoulders, you look at him knowingly. “babe, paddy is your family. there’s nothing wrong with some one on one time.” tom stares down at the floor while rubbing his thumb over your hip. he doesn’t say anything. “so what if he has a little crush on me? he’ll get over it.” you take a step closer to him. “what makes you think that?” tom chews his lower lip.

“he’s just starstruck. and, i’m his future sister in law,” you confidently respond, finally making tom perk up. he exhales a laugh and pulls your body against his, leaving a warm kiss on your forehead. “bonding isn’t such a bad idea after all.” “mm, i told you,” you bury your face in the crook of his neck. paddy leaves his room then, his face falling at the sight in front of him. this time, tom puts his pettiness aside.

“get in here, padster man. we’ve got room for one more.”

[emwritesfootball]

Dirty Little Secret | Dominic Calvert-Lewin

It's midnight PST which means I'm so far past the deadline for @footballffbarbiex's Summer Writing Challenge but I don't really care. Please enjoy the millionth version of 'sneaking around with a rival' but with DCL. This one's for the babes: @sweetlikesugar9 @dclsbaby @domspeach

Word Count: 3,610

Warnings: light mentions of smut, sneaking around

- - -

Your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You wanted so badly to pull it out and reread the text you’d been sent an hour ago, but then Jordan would be suspicious and you didn’t want to try to cobble together some half-assed explanation that would ultimately end in disaster.

“Are you listening to me?” Jordan asked, huffing your name in frustration. “I swear, you’ve been spacy for the last week. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied, rolling your eyes. Jordan gave you a disbelieving look, so you elaborated, “Work has been kicking my ass and I’m annoyed, okay? I know it’ll pass, but I’d just like it if you let me handle it on my own.”

Jordan’s face softened. “I’m sorry. And I won’t, alright?” When you nodded, he continued, “But you know that if you ever need me to step in and use my name, I will.”

“I know,” you said, giving him a teary-eyed smile. “You know how much I don’t want that, but if it comes down to it, I’ll let you know.”

“It’s just...you’re my little sister, and I worry about you.” Jordan wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah - I appreciate it.” You paused, finally remembering the conversation from earlier. “Wait, you were saying something about England?”

Jordan smiled, launching into the conversation. “I just got the call from Southgate today. He told me I’ll be part of this upcoming England squad.”

“What?! Jordan, that’s incredible!” You squealed, wrapping him up in a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks. I was hoping I’d get the call-up, but with each camp, you never know. And I get older every year and-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you scoffed, waving him off. “You’ve done so much for the club and you deserve this. Take the win and move on.”

“I hate it when you’re right, you know.”

You giggled, shoving him playfully. “It feels weird to be the one dispensing life advice to my older brother, so don’t worry, it’s just as weird for me, too.”

You left Jordan’s place a little while later, promising to help him plan an England get-together once the rest of the squad was announced.

Once you were back home, you finally pulled up the text you’d been both excited for and dreading about replying to.

Dominic: When can I see you again?

Just as you started typing, the three dots on his end popped up and you couldn’t help the rush of excitement that pooled in your belly when his latest text came through.

Dominic: I just got good news. Come over and celebrate?

You: I’m on my way

***

The moment Dom opened his front door, his lips were on yours. He pinned you against the door, kissing you hungrily as his hands slid up your shirt. You moaned into his mouth, loving the way his body fit against yours as he swallowed the sound.

“What…” Your thought was cut off as Dom sucked on the sensitive spot on your neck. “What was the good news?”u

“Later,” Dom hummed, nibbling on your earlobe. “I wanna celebrate first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” You giggled, the sound quickly turning to a breathy whimper as one of Dom’s hands slid between your legs. “Fuck, Dom! It makes sense - please just take me to bed.”

Dom smirked, grabbing your hand and leading you to the bedroom. He threw you down on the bed, kneeling between your legs as he started to undress you. It had only been a little over a month since the two of you started sleeping together, but neither of you could get enough of each other.

Your name was on his lips as he sucked a mark into your hip, watching as you dug your heels into the mattress while he kissed his way up your inner thighs before sucking on your clit and making you cry out. “You’re always so responsive for me,” he praised, chuckling as he slid two fingers inside you. “So sexy.”

“Please, Dom!” You whimpered, burying your fingers in his curls. “Please make me cum already!”

He responded to your pleas, flipping you over onto your stomach and driving his cock into you. One hand was around your throat, the other smacking your ass as pure filth spewed from his mouth with every thrust. Dom made you feel dirty in the best possible ways and it wasn’t long before you were cumming around his cock, feeling his cum coat your inner walls as he released his own orgasm inside you.

“So, what’s the news?” You asked as you cuddled with Dom, your head on your chest with one hand tracing patterns across his forearm.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot - I got called up to the England squad for this upcoming run of matches.”

He said it so casually that you almost didn’t register what he’d said. “Wait, what?”

“I got another call-up!”

Your stomach bottomed out and you thought you were gonna be sick. “Dom, that’s amazing!” You said, hoping he didn’t notice how preoccupied you sounded.

“Thank you!” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, a much more intimate gesture than the two of you usually did, but you didn’t question it. “You’ll come see me play, right?”

“Of course,” you promised, hoping you sounded sincere.

When he drifted off to sleep, you were still up, your mind racing as you tried to figure out how you were going to tell Dom that you were Jordan Henderson’s baby sister.

***

Anfield. Last Spring.

You flashed your Friends and Family pass to the staff, feeling a bit awkward as you looked for Rebecca and the kids. It wasn’t often that you used the ticket Jordan purchased, preferring the season tickets you’d gotten with friends ages ago on the off-chance you were recognized. The only time you did was for Derby matches, and today was no exception; the ‘Henderson 14’ burning a hole in your back as you took your seat.

The whistle blew and the match began. You were as nervous as you always were during Derby matches, your heart in your throat every time Jordan got the ball. You were always worried something would happen to him on the pitch, what with the countless injuries he’d had over the years.

You cheered along with the rest of the spectators when Mo put one in the back of Pickford’s net a couple minutes outside of the 20th. Richarlison scored moments before the end of the first half, tying it up before the start of the second.

There was a penalty call early on in the second half and your heart stopped as you watched Jordan step up to take it. He hadn’t been in good form to take a pen all season, having missed three of his four pens so far, and you peeked through your fingers, hoping the ball would slot right into the back of the net.

...

It didn’t.

It didn’t, and you were devastated. Suddenly, you didn’t want to be wearing your brother’s jersey anymore. You felt sick as all the friends and family of your brother’s teammates gave you sympathetic pats and hugs while the match wore on.

When Mo scored his second of the night, you screamed until you were hoarse. It wasn’t long after that and the final whistle was blowing and the match ended 2-1 in favour of Liverpool. You hugged Jordan tightly when he finally appeared, giving him a small smile. “Sorry about your pen.”

He stiffened and you instantly knew you’d hit a nerve. Sometimes, he was able to laugh these things off, but tonight apparently wasn’t one of those nights. “Fuck off.”

“You’ll get the next one, I’m sure.” You winced internally as the words came out of your mouth and Jordan’s expression darkened.

Your name was an angry growl on his lips as he said, “If you’re trying to make me feel better, just don’t. I don’t need your sunshine and rainbows opinion - if I want it, I’ll ask, got it?”

His condescending tone ignited your own nerve and you got in his face. “Go to hell, Jordan,” you hissed, your eyes involuntarily welling with tears at the angry confrontation. You turned on your heel and stormed off, ignoring Rebecca’s pleas for you to come back.

You sat in your car, waiting for the tears to subside. It wasn’t often that you fought with him, and to make matters worse, you’d been staying with him for a bit while you looked for a place of your own, so you couldn’t even avoid him at home.

Instead of going home, you headed to your favourite pub. It was low key, and you knew there probably wouldn’t be too many people in there so you could drink in peace. You changed out of the jersey, throwing on a t-shirt you found in the backseat of your car, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself than usual.

“Can I buy the next?” A man’s voice asked, and you turned to find Dominic Calvert-Lewin sitting on the barstool next to yours.

“Sure,” you said, giving him a small smile. “As long as you let me buy the one after that.”

“You’ve heard, I take it?” Dom gave you a sheepish smile, ducking his head and looking away.

“I was there. Thought you had it for a minute there when that pen didn’t go in.”

“Me, too. I had a couple good shots in there, but none of them ended up going in.”

“I saw.” Dom gave you a look at your comment and the two of you burst into giggles. “Sorry, I just had to say it.”

“Clearly, you know who I am,” he started, his gaze raking over your body. “Can I at least get your name? You look so familiar...”

You debated giving him your middle name or a fake name altogether, but ultimately gave him your real name, conveniently leaving out your surname. He rewarded you with a full-blown smile that you felt all the way down to your toes; a smile that made you think about what it would be like to kiss those lips.

A couple hours later, and you didn’t have to wonder what it felt like to kiss him. His lips were on yours in the back of the Uber as the two of you headed back to his place. Another hour after that, and you were discovering all the other things his mouth and hands could do, loving the way his body felt against yours.

When you left in the morning, you felt like you had a secret that was only yours to keep - and Dom’s, of course - but this was you sticking it to your brother by sleeping with one of his rival club’s players while also getting some much-needed sex.

A week later, you were grinning down at your phone as you read Dom’s latest text.

Dom: So, when can I see you again?

***

Jordan’s House, Present Day

“We’ve got everything we need, right?” Jordan asked, frantically looking around his kitchen. The counter was fully-stocked with all the alcohol he could possibly need, there was enough food to feed an army, and everything was as it should be.

“Yes,” Rebecca confirmed, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a kiss. You shut your eyes and made a face, still not used to seeing your brother be intimate with his wife. “Everything’s going to be great. The team should be arriving in about an hour, so don’t go too crazy waiting for them, okay?”

Jordan nodded and you laughed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do that. “Well, if neither of you need me, I’m gonna go nap in the guest room,” you announced. “Wake me if I sleep through my alarm?”

“Sure.”

You went up to the guest room, setting your alarm to give yourself half an hour to get ready for the party.

***

The party was on by the time Dom walked through the door. Someone put a beer in his hands and he made the rounds, catching up with players he hadn’t called teammates since the last call-up.

“Hey!” Hendo shouted, waving at Dom from his lounge chair by the pool. “Calvert-Lewin, as I live and breathe. How are you?”

Dom brought it in for a hug, laughing. “I’m good, I’m good.”

“I’d ask how you’re coping with losing to us yet again in the Derby, but I’m sure you had no problem finding some willing girl to console you.”

“Now that you mention it, I’ve been seeing this girl for a few months now. Hooked up with her the night we lost to you and haven’t really looked back.”

“Good for you. She coming to the matches?”

Dom shrugged. “Not sure yet. Haven’t really done much talking, if you know what I mean.”

Hendo smirked. “Nice.”

Just as Dom was about to say more, Rebecca came running over. “Jordan, have you seen your sister? I think we’re running out of drinks and she said she’d run to the store if we needed her to and well, we need her to.”

“Is she not up from her nap?” Hendo asked, his brows furrowing when Rebecca shrugged. “Okay, can you go see if she’s awake? I’ve kind of got my hands full.”

“Yeah, I-”

“Mummy!” One of the kids ran up to Rebecca, drawing her attention away. “Dom! Good to see you! Can you go wake my sister-in-law?”

“Sure. Where is she?”

Hendo gave him directions and Dom was off, searching for the guest bedroom.

“Hello?” He asked, lightly knocking on the closed door. When he got no response, he turned the handle and opened the door. “Hendo’s sister?”

***

Shit. You’d slept through your alarm and now someone was waking you up. And to make matters worse, they were calling you ‘Hendo’s sister’. “What?” You asked groggily, shifting.

“Your brother needs you.”

The voice sounded familiar but you were too tired to figure out why. “Okay. Can you turn on the light?” The sound of the switch being flipped and the light hit you. “Oh, fuck, that’s bright!” You covered your eyes, blinking rapidly to try to get used to the light.

You heard your name being whispered incredulously and you realized it was Dom standing in front of you.

***

Dom couldn’t believe it. Here you were, standing - well, technically sitting in bed - in front of him and you turned out to be Jordan Henderson’s little sister. “You’re…” He trailed off, unable to say the words.

“Yeah.” You looked down at your hands, not wanting to see the look on his face. “Jordan Henderson is my older brother.” You heard the door shut and you looked up, not expecting him to still be standing in front of you.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Dom asked, his expression blank as he crossed his arm and leaned against the door. “You’ve had plenty of chances to tell me and you haven’t. Why?”

“I just… I don’t know.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling as you struggled to find composure. “Everybody treats me differently when they find out who my brother is, so I don’t exactly go around telling everyone I meet that my brother is… who he is.”

“But we’re sleeping together! Hell, I’ve got you in my bed more than half the nights of the week and you still didn’t think to tell me?!”

“Dom!” You hissed, fear coursing through your veins. You didn’t want anyone to overhear him even though you knew they were probably too busy with the party. “I didn’t think to tell you because I didn’t think we were that serious!”

Dom looked furious. His jaw clenched and he stormed over to you, kneeling on the bed and taking your face in his hands. He kissed you hard, pinning you underneath him and all you could do was loop your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you had. “How’s that for serious?” He asked, breathing heavily as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m here, kissing you in your brother’s house where anyone could discover us, and you don’t think I’m serious.”

“I-I get it now,” you stuttered, smiling at him. “Can we just wait a little while before we tell Jordan about us?”

“Just as long as we tell him before we have to go back to being rivals, okay?”

“Okay.” You gave him one last kiss. “Now you’re really gonna have to leave because I’m pretty sure Jordan didn’t send you here to come into the guest room and kiss me senseless.”

Dom chuckled at that. “He definitely didn’t. Pretty sure Rebecca was saying something about needing you to run and grab more alcohol, too? But the point is that we need to get you out of this bed and to the right people.”

***

You couldn’t stop staring at him. Dom was right across the room, chatting it up with Rice and Mount, laughing with the two footballers. He caught your gaze, giving you a subtle wink before turning back to say something to Rice. You watched him pull his phone out, your own vibrating in your back pocket moments later.

Dom: Meet me in the guest bedroom… Five minutes

You tried to keep the smile off your face, but it was impossible. “Who’s the guy?” Came Rebecca’s voice over your shoulder.

You gasped, hoping she didn’t see Dom’s name at the top of the contacts list before you shut it off. “Uh, nobody? Just a guy I’m sleeping with.”

Rebecca gave you a look. “Just a guy?” She rolled her eyes. “Not with that lovey-dovey look in your eyes, he’s not.”

“Okay, fine,” you sighed. “He’s not just a guy, but I’m not ready to introduce him to you and Jordan, okay? He’s just...not someone I would usually date and I don’t want Jordan to lose his shit, especially with these matches coming up.”

“I see,” Rebecca said wisely, giving you a knowing look. “Just don’t wait too long, because Dominic Calvert-Lewin looks like the kind of man who won’t wait around forever.”

“How did you-?” You asked, incredulous. “Nevermind, I don’t wanna know.”

Rebecca laughed. “Don’t worry - I won’t tell Jordan. That’s something you’ve gotta do.”

***

Two Weeks Later

“We can’t keep doing this,” Dom murmured in-between kisses in one of the empty rooms of Wembley. “Tomorrow’s the last match in this run of friendlies and I wanna catch Hendo on his good side when the two of us aren’t rivals.”

You giggled, the sound morphing into a moan as he kissed your neck. “After the match tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

Dom pulled away, a serious look on his face. “I’m serious. If you don’t tell him after the match tomorrow, I’m not sure I’ll be able to continue this.”

The pit of dread grew in your stomach. You wanted to tell Jordan but you’d never shown an interest in or dated any footballers before, let alone one of his rivals. It was going to be hard to convince him that you were serious about Dom, and for the first time, you realized you were serious about him.

~~~

The day of the match, you were in the stands in your ‘Henderson 8’ kit. The ‘Calvert-Lewin 18’ was underneath, your body tense with the anticipation - fear? - of telling your brother that you and Dom were seeing each other.

All your nerves went out the window the moment Dom came on and scored after less than five minutes of being on the pitch. You were on your feet with the rest of the stadium, cheering on your man as he celebrated with your brother.

The friendly ended England’s way and you were celebrating it like they’d won the World Cup. Without a second thought, you launched yourself into Dom’s arms, both of you giddy as he spun you around before setting you down on the ground and kissing you breathless.

“What the hell?!” Came Jordan’s voice, snapping you and Dom out of your own little world.

“Jordan, it’s-” you started, but your brother was furious.

“No, I don’t wanna hear it. The two of you?!” He glared at Dom. “At my party, were you talking about my sister? To me?! You’ve got some nerve, Dominic.”

Dom held up his hands. “I didn’t know she was your sister at the time, I swear!”

“It’s true: he didn’t,” you backed up your man, threading your fingers through his in a nonverbal show of support. “I knew who he was when I started sleeping with him, but he didn’t know who I was.”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what I hate more: that that’s actually believable or that I’m starting to be okay with this.”

“Really?” You asked, your eyes wide. You and Dom shared a look.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to completely love this - at least not for a year or more - but you better not hurt her, Dominic. I’m serious.”

Dom squeezed your hand, nodding with a serious expression. “Yes, sir.”

You held back your giggle at Dom’s response, not wanting to ruin your brother’s good mood. You let go of Dom’s hand to go over and hug Jordan, a bright smile on your face. “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me; just make sure he doesn’t hurt you so I don’t have to hurt him.”

An hour later when you met Dom, you couldn’t stop smiling, making sure to stop in front of Wembley to kiss him one more time before he took you out on a proper date in public.

[dokidokey]

who would have thought that passing a 20-page paper 5 days late would lead you to dabi?

word count: 3,765

tags & warnings: bad boy x straight a student au, college au, fluff, a pinch of endeavor slander, brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of abuse (nothing explicit, the word just gets mentioned once!)

notes: hi zeze (@reddriot), i’m your secret santa! sorry this is so late, we’re on our way home at this ungodly hour and i finally have some stable connection now lmao. i’m so so sorry but also, happy holidays! i hope you enjoy what my pretty much dry and blank mind managed to cook up lol i’m so thankful and i met you and got to know you. <3 thank u for everything. and the title lol omg i’m so bad at titles but i kind realized it rhymes with ornaments, so i left it at that.

The day you met Todoroki Touya was not a good day. You would even consider it a bad week, actually. Apparently, you were a week late on a 20-page paper for History and you didn’t even know. It irked you because you have no other excuse except that you didn’t know. There was a totally different due date in your head, one that wasn’t five days ago. So when your teacher shook her head disapprovingly while tucking your 20-page paper against the smooth surface of her desk, you had no other choice but to leave the room.

You wouldn’t want a teacher to see you cry over a late submission. You certainly wouldn’t want other students roaming the hallway to see you cry either, so you had to fight off the warmth pooling at the corners of your eyes. The last corner leading to the campus library was where Todoroki Touya presented himself.

The impact of your bodies bumping against each other came first, then the stinging pinch of something hot against your skin next. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you pulled your arm away, eyes widening at the sight of a small, circular burn mark on your forearm.

“You burned － Why are you smoking here?” The accusing tone in your voice immediately disappeared and replaced by panic as you watched a quite familiar face bring a cigarette to his lips, perfectly poised between his long fingers. “You’re not allowed to smoke on campus grounds!”

A puff of smoke swirled through the air as he huffed, the corner of his lips twitching as he eyed you up and down. The intense, blue eyes taking over your body sent shivers down your spine, arms protectively crossing over your front to try and shield yourself from his gaze.

“Not if I don’t get caught,” he smirked, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. The man was familiar; face and most of his skin that’s exposed under the leather jacket were covered in scars, a dark contrast against his fair complexion. You’re sure you will never forget him if you knew him, but the familiarity of his face doesn’t ring any names in your head.

He puffed out the smoke in a harsh breath, the delicate sound seeming so loud in the quiet and isolated hallway. For a moment you forgot about your late History paper and the chances of you getting anything lower than an A.

Both of your palms met the fabric of your denim-clad thigh in a light slap, arms sagging and voice raising. “If you and I get caught－!”

“Then leave.”

The deadpan and harsh delivery of his words left you open-mouthed, the disapproving look of your teacher once again flashing in your mind. The corners of your eyes warmed again, stinging more than the way it did earlier.

You’re croaking out an unwanted explanation before you realized it. “I － I might get detention and－,” you sniffled, trying to prevent the tears from flowing because you know how embarrassing that would be, so much so to this mysterious person who you found familiar but not really. “And my parents－.”

A scoff cuts you off. You watched as he killed the ember of the cigarette using his bare fingers, pinching the lit end between his thumb and forefinger before tucking it in one of his front pockets. If it weren’t for the strong stench of the cigarette, no one would suspect that he was smoking here, in front of you, inside campus grounds.

“Of course. Precious little [Name] can’t have bad grades and a bad record.”

He said it as if it was so bad. You wouldn’t normally find offense on jabs like those, but today wasn’t just your day. Your retort died down quickly in your throat though when you realized he said your name. He knew you.

With furrowed brows and quivering lips, you asked, “how do you know me?”

The dark-haired man leaned on the concrete wall, shoving a hand down the pocket of his pants. “Who wouldn’t know the teachers’ favorite student? Straight A, little miss [Name].”

It was your turn to scoff. “Favorite,” you mocked, eyes rolling, “I didn’t know being the favorite meant not considering the fact that I didn’t know the deadline was 5 days ago without anyone else informing me.”

A smirk blossomed on his stupidly handsome face. “For once you didn’t get away with something, huh?”

“Didn’t get away? I didn’t know! I had no idea! It’s not my fault.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s true.”

“If you say so,” he chuckled, pushing himself off the wall and taking two steps back, eyes still on you. He winked, then turned around. The silence in the hallway felt deafening as you stood there, but the quick footsteps of his figure walking back towards you eats up the quiet. “Or on second thought,” he says, tapping a foot on the floor, “I can excuse you to the teacher about your late paper.”

It seemed like the tears of frustration pooling at the sides of your eyes retreated back to your tear glands, ears more than ready to hear out whatever his proposition was.

“If you act as my fake girlfriend for a Christmas dinner with my family, I’ll tell the teacher that I tricked you about the deadline.”

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “And that’s going to work?”

“Have you seen me, doll? I’m that boy your teacher refers to as a bad influence.”

“You should not be hanging out with people like him, [Name.]”

Mrs. Nakamura’s disappointed tone does nothing to stop the smile spreading on your face, though you tried to suppress it to not come off as suspicious. You’re nodding your head like you’re agreeing with her, knowing that that will not happen any time soon because you have a Christmas dinner with your boyfriend’s family in less than three weeks.

“Go on then,” your teacher waved her hand, “you aren’t marked as late but remember what I told you. If you keep that boy around you, trouble’s sure to follow.”

The hallway didn’t feel as dark and lonesome as it did earlier. It’s surely not because of the other person walking along with you. You’d like to think that, but a part of you knew you might just be lying. And it was stupid, really. Were you really harboring a crush over him? You. . . don’t even know his name.

“What’s your name?”

A choked laugh was the reply you got. “What? You don’t know me?”

“You’re familiar. I just can’t put a name on you,” you shrugged.

“Touya. Todoroki Touya,” he answered, grimacing. “But call me Dabi. That’s what my friends call me.”

“Are you saying we’re friends?” You grinned, looking up at him. He was tall, okay. So much more taller than you. You barely reached his shoulders.

“Technically, you’re my girlfriend, so no. We are not friends.”

You decided technicalities weren’t so bad when Dabi almost never left your side. The sudden (and quite cliché yet comic) pair you two made didn’t go unnoticed by the teachers. Mrs. Nakamura reminded you every single day about Dabi and his troubles. You aren’t aware what kind of troubles Dabi is associated in yet, but you’d like to think you’ll get there.

When you agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend, you didn’t think it would be this kind of long-term thing. You thought that maybe he’ll leave you alone after that day and just hit you up again on the day of the dinner, but you were so wrong.

You’ve never liked being wrong as much as you did about him.

“Stop fussing, my mom’s going to love you.”

He’s said that for the fourth time now. You’re making him more antsy than you are with your bouncing leg and deep sighs every ten seconds.

“And your dad?” You glare at him, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans and bouncing your leg again. He rolls his eyes as an answer.

In the short, three weeks you’ve gotten to know Dabi, you learned a lot about him. One, he hates his father passionately. Two, the teachers don’t really like him (but that sounds so mean when worded like that so you like to think he just isn’t the favorite student.) Three, he’s allergic to fish. Four, he pays attention to every single thing you say. Five, he’s actually the eldest out of the four Todoroki children and lastly, (this is more about you than him) maybe you let your little crush fester more than you planned.

You’ve had to berate yourself multiple times that he is not your boyfriend. You and Dabi are not in a real relationship. This is all a product of your grades being saved and an arrangement to fill up an empty seat at his family’s dinner for Christmas.

“What if your sister doesn’t like me,” you say meekly, “or your brother. And your other brother.”

Dabi shifts on the bench you both are sitting on to face you properly, placing a warm hand over your sweaty ones. “Stop it. They’re going to love you.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes but really, you’re just having a hard time making your brain function properly to process a reply when his hands are there, on top of yours, warm and soothing. It makes your heart do a little happy dance inside your chest that you know it should not be doing, but you can’t help it.

You’re way too deep into this hell, and you don’t know how you’ll take it when he cuts you off after you both benefit from this arrangement you have.

When Dabi pulls you up to stand up before he walks you home, you try to remember how his hands felt against yours.

“You look nice.”

Nice. You had to rummage through your closet for this halter dress, the most decent thing you can find that can fit for a Christmas dinner. It’s 6 PM on the 24th of December and even though this isn’t how you expected to spend the night before Christmas, here you are anyway.

“You look nice too,” you compliment, taking in how Dabi is wearing an actual pair of decent slacks and a button up. A nervous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “You said it was a simple dinner date so I was kind of expecting you to just show up in one of your old, ragged jeans, you know?!”

He quirks his head to the left, the sides of his lips turned up. Dabi offers you his hand as you descend the few steps from your apartment door. “It was,” he says, “but my mom made me wear this when I said I’ll bring a girl over.”

“Haven’t you brought a girl over before?”

A mischievous smile spreads over Dabi’s face, a thumb pressing a gentle pressure on the back of your hand. “No. You’re special because you’re the first one.”

Great. It’s not like you’re not nervous enough about meeting the Todorokis. He just has to tell you you’re the first girl his family will meet. What makes it worse is that you aren’t really Dabi’s girlfriend. It seems a little selfish on both of your parts to let the rest of his family get to know you and then you’ll never see them again because, well, this arrangement can’t last forever, can it?

“And you have a car?” You gasp, eye zeroing in on the sleek, black vehicle parked across the street where you both are heading. “You have a car?”

He chuckles, shaking his head side to side. “This is my dad’s, actually.” He says it again with an eye roll, opening up the passenger door for you. “He only made me use it to impress you.”

“Like I’m not impressed enough?” You huff out a laugh, palms gliding over the dashboard.

“Impressed by what?”

You, you’d like to answer, but for the sake of your sad excuse of a relationship, you keep your mouth shut.

“Things.”

The ride to their place was filled with back and forth banter from you and Dabi. He’s tried to calm you down when a new wave of nervousness surged within you but as you stand in front of their door with hands sweating an entire Pacific ocean, it’s obvious his attempt didn’t work.

“Calm down,” Dabi says, forehead scrunched as he watches you fiddle with the skirt of your dress. You’ve been standing there for about two minutes now and if your goal is to make your nervousness rub off on him, then you’re doing a pretty good job.

“Is my hair okay?” You fuss over some more, smoothing out the unruly strands that weren’t even there. “Is my face－?”

Dabi grabs your hands in his, calloused fingers wrapping around yours. The words die in your throat as you look up at him with wide eyes, mind blanking out at the warmth on your palm.

“You look beautiful, okay? If you touch your hair or smooth your skirt one more ti－.”

“I knew I heard you guys!”

An enthusiastic voice of a girl almost the same height as you rings through your ears and you look over to see his sister, Fuyumi, white and red hair parted in the middle and over her shoulders. You’ve seen her in some pictures in Dabi’s phone because you’re in that stage where you can just casually unlock and go through Dabi’s phone. (You haven’t seen anything unusual yet, just some candid pictures of you that you have no idea how he took. Bless your poor heart after you discovered that album dedicated just for you.)

Fuyumi places her hands on her hips, smiling brightly at you. “I thought Touya was just lying about you to escape the marriage arranged for him but turns out he isn’t.” She opens the door wider for you and Dabi. “Come in. Mom’s been waiting for you.”

The Todoroki household is neat. Minimalist. You aren’t sure if it’s spacious or it’s an illusion due to the lack of decorations inside. Fuyumi immediately hugs you after you and Dabi are completely inside, and she leads you away to meet Natsuo and Shouto. The sight of Natsuo startles you at first. He looks exactly like how you envisioned Dabi to be if he didn’t have scars. And seriously, what’s up with this family having scars? You noticed a dark crimson circling Shouto’s right eye.

Mrs. Todoroki is the most welcoming of them all, if not as much as Fuyumi. Her hand immediately went to your hair, patting softly and smiling delicately at you.

“I never imagined the day would come when Touya finally brings home a girl,” she whispers. The sight of her eyes getting glassy is enough to make your own gloss over, though it’s for an entirely different reason. How cruel can you and Dabi be to pretend and lie like this in front of his mom?

“Oh, please don’t cry! Did I make you cry?” She laughs tearfully, squeezing your shoulder. You choke out a laugh at her reaction, shaking your head no.

“I leave her alone for five minutes and you already made her cry?” Comes Dabi’s voice at the entryway of the kitchen, his tall frame blocking the path. He walks over to where you and Rei are standing, placing a warm hand on the small of your back. “What did mom say to make you cry?”

Rei sniffles and you dab a finger under your eyes, trying to keep your tears at bay. “Nothing,” you reply, unconsciously leaning back on his chest as you keep your emotions in check. In front of you, Rei has a fond look in her eyes as she watches Dabi tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and your wobbly smile directed at her son.

Your little moment is ruined when the front door shuts close with a loud rattle. Dabi tenses behind and you crane your neck enough to see across the living room a tall and broad man with bright red hair.

“That’s your father,” Mrs. Todoroki sighs.

The food is good but the dinner is awkward. Todoroki Enji made sure that either you nor Dabi will be able to sit through tonight peacefully.

“I’m surprised you managed to stick around my son this long,” Enji rumbles, looking at you briefly before going back to his meal. Four months. That’s what you and Dabi came up with for your pretend relationship. You’ve been dating for four months and you both knew each other after getting paired up for a History project. It’s not much of a lie since you did meet because of History.

“I’m surprised Dabi managed to stick around me this long,” you reply nervously, trying to make light of the situation. It seems you only made it worse when Enji’s sharp eyes bote onto yours.

“Dabi?” He inquires, head tilting to the side. The rest of the Todorokis are quiet except him. “You call him that?”

You nod, stomach churning. Any time now and you might just throw up. “You call him by that name, huh?” He chuckles hollowly, shaking his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you here, much less as Touya’s infamous girlfriend. If I didn’t know better, he just hired you as a fake girlfriend to run away from tradition.”

Tradition. Right. Dabi has mentioned to you once that his parents were arranged. He’s told you how he knows his father doesn’t really love his mom. You know about the abuse and the way he treats his family.

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong because what Dabi－,” you pause, turning briefly to look at him, “Touya. What Touya and I have is pretty much real.”

Enji scoffs, a large, heavy palm slapping on the smooth surface of their mahogany table. “Tell me that again when you’re still here a year from now.”

“Sure,” you smile, cheeks aching with how forced it is. It baffles you how Dabi’s father has all the authority in this household －how no one dares to object or talk back.

Todoroki Enji decides to surprise when deep chuckles start escaping his lips. “You,” he points a finger at you, “I like you. You’re brave. Not a single person in this household can face me like that. You’re too good for that boy,” he nods over Dabi’s direction. From your peripheral, you can see just how tight Dabi’s hands are clenched, and you reach over to place one over his.

“Actually, he’s too good for me,” you quip back. You have no idea where this sudden surge of confidence is coming from, but that doesn’t matter. You need to say what you have to say. You wouldn’t be seeing this family ever again after this anyways. “Touya is actually a good man. He’s more than what meets the eye. Maybe you’ll know that if you paid enough attention to him － and all your children, honestly.”

There’s no taking back what you just spewed out. Too stunned, you aren’t aware of the smug smirk and raised eyebrows Dabi is sporting. You don’t see the way Natsuo is trying to fight off his smile. Mrs. Todoroki and Fuyumi have a hand in their faces and Shouto, for the first time since you arrived, looks at you wholly and quite in awe. With your blood rushing in your ears and heart beating erratically, you open your mouth to excuse yourself, but Dabi beats you to it.

“Now if you would just excuse us.” And he’s tugging on your hand. You whisper out a quiet “I’m sorry,” when you pass by Rei, and you’re out of the front door.

“So,” you grin, hugging the mug of hot chocolate to your chest with your feet tucked beneath you. “On a scale of one to ten, how good was I at ruining your family’s dinner?”

After that whole dinner fiasco, you both just decided to go home to your apartment. Dabi is currently sprawled over the other end of your couch, his feet perched on the coffee table (you told him three times already to put it down) and three of his shirt buttons are undone. He’s got his own cup of hot chocolate on his hand, the other playing with the frills of your throw pillow.

“An eleven,” he grins back at you. He leans over and places his mug on the table. “That took guts.”

You nod. “It did. It just didn’t sit right with me how he talked about you like that, like － I remember you telling me how he used to be all over you as a child, but after Shouto was born, he neglected all of you. He isn’t － That’s not － What kind of father does that?” You sigh, groaning when you remember Rei and the rest of his siblings had to witness that.

“That is so embarrassing. I’m pretty sure your mom hates me now.”

“Trust me,” Dabi chuckles, sitting upright and moving closer to you, “she does not. You should have seen Natsu. He was about to lose it.”

“Still,” you press, throwing him a dirty look. “Who talks like that to their boyfriend’s dad on the first meeting?”

Dabi stares at you, turquoise eyes brighter than ever. “So I’m your boyfriend now?”

You’re pretty sure your heart just skipped a beat at that. “I mean, t-technically. Right? That was － That was what we － That was what we were pretending to be.”

Reality dawns on you again. This is all pretend. No matter how warm Rei and his sibling welcomed you, no matter how much Rei adored you, you’ll never see them again. This is a one time thing － something beneficial for the two of you. And as much as it breaks your heart that you got attached to Dabi that fast, you try to hide your sadness by saying, “at least I won’t see them again, so technically, talking back to your dad is fine.”

“Do you want to though?”

“I － What?”

Dabi leans closer. “Do you want to stop pretending?”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. “Is this a trick question?”

He goes closer. The tips of his hair are grazing your forehead. Even this close, Dabi seems to be looming over you. “I wouldn’t mind making it real.”

“I really don’t want to see your father again,” you whisper. Dabi barely closes the gap between the two of you, nose touching yours.

“We can arrange that.”

more notes: tbh this kind of strayed, uh, kinda far from the bad boy x straight a student au but that’s just because most of what i plan ends up straying kind of far from the original idea. but never mind that, i’m happy with how this turned out. EXCUSE ME THAT LAST LINE? WITH THE ARRANGE THING? HELLO? AM I GIVING MYSELF TOO MUCH CREDITS? I MIGHT BE, BUT I DON’T CARE. also ze (´ ▽｀) if you ever get tagged by me on another dabi fic, it’s just me making up for this late post i am sorry.

[faun-buns]

how long does it take you on average to finish a full drawing?

it depends on the drawing and how im feeling!! i have adhd too so that is a huge factor in it as well LOL im notoriously super slow at drawing in general, but idk if im slow at drawing itself or if im just too easily distracted

im looking thru my file properties for drawings i know i pretty much did all in one sitting and it seems that for most complete 1-2 character drawings it took me around 6-8 hours each, give or take some time dicking around doing other things what usually happens though is that i'll start a drawing and sort of chip away at it over the course of a few days. sometimes ill have like 4 drawings going at the same time that are on different stages of being drawn (sketch, lineart, color, ect) and switch between them depending on what i wanna work on that day. hell right now i even have this lineart ive been sitting on for 2 weeks because i hate coloring and havent felt like coloring anything JB8P4EHTUIHN

i seriously used to hyperfocus on drawing to the point of not eating all day and literally churn out something every other day because i kept giving myself arbitrary deadlines and posting schedules. it was stressful!!!! i wouldnt recommend anyone do that ever. if youre asking this because you think you need to draw faster or smth, just go at ur own pace </3 if u are asking just bc youre curious i hope u enjoy my tangent anyways sorry im rantbuns tonite 💜💜💜💜💜💜