#Beats & Pieces Big Band

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

One Piece Fighting Game AU

this au is inpired by the song Heart Attack by Chuu

hope you enjoy the designs i created most of them in a 2 hr long manic episode of just nonstop designing.

More designs of the vinsmoke sibs, the donquixote brothers, Hancock, Bonney, and Kuma

ASL dialogue video

some lore ive cooked up for it and design explainations:

preface: sorry this is so much writing and im not going to grammar check it cuz aint no body got time for that.

The world of this au is like pokemon with different gyms you can fight through and beat, there's a big league of pro fighters, and there are schools for teaching you to be a better fighter.

The school our main cast goes to is called the Doki-Doki Battle Academy and it's principle is currently Crocodile. It's previous principle was Nefertari Cobra, but maybe something nefarious happened to give crocodile the spot who knowwsssss~

Doki-Doki Battle Academy (DDBA) hosts many tournaments in their school stadium throughout the school year. The tournies act as tests for the students who are taking that field of study. There are other fields the school offers though, such as weapon crafting, medical staffing, and managing. Though, if the students in those fields with so learn fighting on the side that is also accepted.

In the Pro Fighting world, there are typically pro-league teams such as the Red Hairs and The Beasts. These teams have different levels to it such as Little Leagues (for younger fighters), Minor leagues (for adults on a regional level), and Major leagues (for profighting at a national level). You can also go solo though, much like Mihawk does.

The power system in this AU is pretty simple, different color of auras do different things, but the complexities happen when you start using the different auras in tandem. I might explain it more in depth in a different post, but i dont really know what to explain about it. mostly because i dont know everything about it, myself, yet lol

-----design talk now yippeeee-----

Luffy: i tried to make him very simple protagonist vibes, play into the genre a bit. i incorporated hearts into his design in his hat, his shirt, his arm bands, and his pants poofies. His hat was given him as a sign of love, his shirt is from his school and he loves his school, his arm bands are on his arms and he uses his arms to show his love by fighting or by hugging, and his pants arent scuffed or anything so the heart puffs on his knees protects them from getting damaged (his love protects him)

Sabo: Tried to give him a more mysterious vibe with that peacoat and hat that shadows his face. I incorporated hearts into his design in his eyepatch, his vest buttons, and his boots. His heart eyepatch covers up that nasty scar, so he's distracting himself from his past pain by focusing on his love, the buttons on his vest/hearts on his boots are more or less hidden most of the time so he tends to hide his love but when he lets his guard down (when the boot is rolled down) you can see his love plainly.

Ace: Now, i dont know if Ace will die in this au or not, but in canon, he expresses his love through his torso area, i.e. tattoo on his arm and back and also that Certain Moment, so thats where i put a big ol' heart on him. His pants are also ripped in a shape of a heart but its kinda hard to see, but its meant to symbolize how the damage he takes is his love.

Nami: All the orange in her design is in heart shapes or the shapes of tangerines, thats where her love is. I also made nami's staff a curtain rod. She uses the rod to produce wind when she summons water and then manipulates it to heat it up or cool it down. i tried to add little details like that and the bandages on her torso to show that although she's outwardly clean, she's still scrappy. Nami is in the managerial pathway at the DDBA.

Zoro: I didnt make him quite as bright or vibrant as the others, i kinda just tried to make him Just A Guy. Except for his Swords. His Swords are special, so theyre bright and saturated. I roughed him up, a bit, not too much. i made his varsity jacket be ripped open so it looks like the heart on the front was broken because zoro is very broken hearted.

Sanji: I made him look like a wannabe princely character. Very cheesy, gaudy charm. I made the hearts of his design (on his boots) look like they're sewn up. So at some point his heart was broken, but he's healing them by stitching them up with love.

Robin: The hearts in her design are hard to make out because she is hiding her love. The pink of her lacey undershirt is where the heart is and its being protected by a dark over layer. The many belts in her design, however, are meant to look like shatters in that protective layer. This is meant to represent how even though she's strongly protecting herself, that strength is still weak without any outside help. Robin uses her multiplication abilities to simply multiply the shape of her arms like how she does in canon.

Chopper: His hearts are on his viles and his hat, love was given to him when he was given that hat, and he shows his love by making his healing potions. On another note though, chopper is a Transtormationalist, which is basically the zoan fruits of this world. His model is the Reindeer and his body has naturally started morphing into that form, too. Chopper is in the medical program at the DDBA

Usopp: Usopp's hearts on his pants patches signifies the new loves he’s accepted into his once lonely life. He fights with his sling shot and his ammo is seeds he's found savaging through forests or just growing himself. the white and grey auras he commands lessen the air resistance of his projectiles and makes them go a lot faster, and once they hit their target, he makes the plant grow super quickly, like how it does in canon post-ts.

Franky: Franky's hearts are everywhere and they're bright. he doesn't hide his love and he's built love for himself to wear on his person. Franky is one of the weapon masters at the school and he's a SUUUUPER cool teacher.

Brook: the hearts in his design are his Afro and his bag. I think i read somewhere that brook has kept his Afro so that Laboon can recognize him when he sees him again and that is just so loving to me so his Afro is in the shape of a heart. His bag is also in the shape of a heart, but the bag is being weighed down by whatever he's carrying inside of it, signifying the burden of the love he carries.

Jinbei: Jinbei is a Transtormationalist, Model: Whale Shark. the heart in his design is the tattoo on his chest for his old team. He's the driver of Luffy's bus and if you do enough dialogue options with him instead of skipping the bus cut-scenes, you get the option to battle Jinbei. If you do, he takes off his jacket revealing the pro-league he used to be in and then he decimates you. it is impossible to win the battle.

Koala: the colors i used for her are peachy colors, signifying what a peach she is :)))) her goggles and the buttons on her suspenders are the hearts on her design, signifying how her love is looking out for others and how love keeps herself up.

Vivi: Her hair is a big ol heart but its upsidedow, signifying how the love she feels often makes her look at things incorrectly. Also the rips in her tights are hearts, much like ace's are. the damage she takes is how she shows her love.

Crocodile: his hook is a heart, he loves fighting. i like the idea that when a student needs a text book and and asks him for one, he gives it to them by spearing a hole through one he has in his coat and handing it to the student who has to just live with a textbook with a big-ass hole through it.

Perona: the hearts in her design are on her sleeves and on her hat. The joke about the sleeves is that she wears her heart on her sleeves. but the hat, its meant to look like more or less a cage for the heart, her love is what traps her.

Mihawk: his hearts are on his weapons, he fucking loves fighting.

Shanks: The hearts in his design are only on his torso area, the locket around his neck and the deep unbuttoned shirt makes it look like there's a heart in the negative space, and the heart patch on his jacket, the loss of his arm and the lack of something there is symbolic for the love he has given.

imma be real, i didnt put that much thought in the heart positionings for yamato buggy or law. I kinda was swept up in Hot Man, Pathetic Man, and Hot Pathetic Man.

Uta: she's based off of Cupid, so she doesn't have any hearts really in her design but her whole persona is based off of a symbol of love and how it can turn malicious.

also in general, the shines on people's hair are meant to look like a heart-rate monitor's peaks and troughs. And the shading i did just by drawing all the shading then desaturating that area

WOWEE that's a lot of designing wtf was i on when i did all this.

if you got to the end, thank you so very much for reading! i hope you enjoyed my ramblings :)

again, there is more to come with this AU so Stay Tuned, Folks!!!!!!!!!!

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[its-avalon-08]

say something, say anything (ln4)

summary -> lando and y/n got into a massive agrguement and he yelled at her. she leaves to get some space and he is left to pick up the pieces.

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort

The air crackled with tension in Lando's sleek apartment. Dinner plates remained untouched, the remnants of a playful afternoon at the Monaco harbor replaced by a suffocating silence. Y/N, her back ramrod straight, finally broke it.

"I can't believe you said that to Daniel," she said, voice tight.

Lando scoffed, pushing back from the table. "Come on, Y/N, it was just a joke."

"A pretty cutting one, aimed at someone who's actually struggling this season," she countered. "And in front of everyone, no less."

"He should be able to take a jab," Lando mumbled, his playful demeanor replaced by a defensive scowl.

"That's not the point! It's not funny to poke fun at someone's performance, especially a teammate."

"Oh, come on," Lando's voice rose a notch. "Don't pretend you haven't laughed at some of Ricciardo's antics yourself."

"That's different! It's all light-hearted banter, not publicly belittling someone on a bad day."

Lando slammed his fist on the table, the sudden noise making Y/N flinch. "Look, will you just fucking drop it? It's not a big of a goddamn deal."

The anger in his voice caught Y/N off guard. Tears welled up in her eyes. "That's not how you talk to me, Lando."

His expression softened a fraction. "Y/N, I—"

"No," she cut him off, wiping at her eyes. "This is fucking childish. I'm going for a walk."

She grabbed her purse and stormed out, leaving Lando staring after her, a knot of guilt tightening in his stomach. He waited for a beat, then pulled out his phone, his heart hammering in his chest as he dialed your number.

One ring. Two rings. Voicemail.

Frustration bubbled up. He tried again, the same result. He slammed his phone down on the table, his anger returning.

He fumed for a while, then finally dialed again. This time, you picked up.

"Y/N," he started, relief flooding his voice.

"What, Lando?" Your voice was cool, devoid of its usual warmth.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," he said, forcing a lightness he didn't feel. "It was a stupid joke, and I shouldn't have said it."

"An apology would've been nice back at the apartment, before I had to practically walk out," you countered.

"Yeah, well, you could've just talked to me instead of storming off like a—"

He stopped himself, realizing where that was going. There was a heavy silence.

"Don't call me immature, Lando," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

"It's kind of immature to walk out on a conversation just because you're upset," he retorted, defensiveness creeping back in.

"Oh, so now it's my fault for being upset by your lack of empathy?"

"I have empathy, Y/N! But I also know how to laugh things off sometimes. You need to lighten up geez."

The line went dead. Lando stared at the phone, his frustration morphing into something close to despair. He'd messed up, royally. He knew you weren't the type to throw a tantrum, but walking out after he yelled? That was bad. Really bad.

He sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. He needed to fix this, but how? Maybe some flowers, your favorite chocolates… but that felt like a band-aid on a gaping wound. He needed to do better. He just hoped you'd give him the chance.

a little later

Y/N wandered the park, tears drying on her cheeks, leaving a trail of saltiness. Her phone buzzed incessantly with Lando's calls, but she kept it silenced. She just needed some space to process the anger and hurt. As she rounded a corner, she bumped into a familiar figure.

"Oh, Y/N! Hey!" boomed Daniel's voice, his usual infectious energy dimmed. Heidi, his girlfriend, greeted her with a warm smile.

Y/N felt a fresh wave of guilt. "Hey, guys," she managed, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The puffiness around her eyes must've been a dead giveaway.

"Everything alright?" Daniel asked, his brow furrowing with concern. "You look like you've been crying."

Y/N quickly blinked away any threatening tears. "Oh, no, it's just allergies. Hay fever's a nightmare this time of year." It was a lame excuse, and they both knew it.

Heidi, perceptive soul she was, placed a comforting hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Are you sure? You can tell us if something's wrong."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, the urge to confide in them strong. But Lando's immaturity and the sting of his words still felt raw. "Honestly, it's nothing a good night's sleep won't fix. Thanks for your concern, though. It means a lot."

Before they could press further, Y/N shifted uncomfortably. "Actually, there's something I wanted to say." She turned to Daniel, her voice sincere. "I'm so sorry about Lando's comment earlier. It was completely out of line, and I know you're working incredibly hard."

Daniel gave her a sad smile. "No worries, Y/N. I appreciate you sticking up for me." He patted her hand lightly. "Just tell Lando to ease up on the… team spirit, shall we say?"

Y/N gave a weak laugh, unable to meet his eyes fully. "I'll try."

With a forced farewell, she turned and walked away, leaving Daniel and Heidi to exchange a worried glance.

Daniel, phone pressed to his ear, marched purposefully towards his car. "Lando? Speak to me."

There was a nervous pause on the other end. "Hey, mate," Lando said, his voice strained.

"Don't 'hey, mate' me," Daniel cut him off, his voice low and firm. "What happened with Y/N?"

Lando flinched at the sharpness in Daniel's tone. He mumbled a vague explanation, trying to downplay the situation. Daniel, however, wasn't having it.

"Listen, Lando," Daniel interrupted, his voice heavy with disappointment. "I know things haven't been going great for me this season. But that doesn't give you the right to take a jab at my performance, especially in front of everyone. You know better than that."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And from the way Y/N sounded, it seems things escalated beyond a 'joke'. You know she cares about you, right?"

Lando mumbled incoherently, a knot of shame tightening in his stomach. Daniel didn't need to hear his answer.

"Just… sort it out," Daniel said with a sigh. "And for goodness sake, apologize properly. She deserves it."

The line went dead, leaving Lando staring at his phone, the weight of his actions hitting him hard. He'd hurt Y/N, embarrassed Daniel, and created unnecessary tension within the team. Now, he had to fix it, but where to even begin?

Panic gnawed at Lando's insides. He'd called Y/N a dozen times, each unanswered ring echoing his growing fear. He couldn't believe he'd let things escalate so far. To make matters worse, her phone's location service was disabled, adding another layer of frustration.

He knew her usual haunts, the park being a top contender. Throwing on a cap and sunglasses, he jumped into his car, speeding through the city streets. Every corner looked the same, his heart pounding with a frantic rhythm. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spotted a familiar figure on a park bench, a discarded coffee cup beside her.

He parked haphazardly and sprinted across the grass, his chest heaving. Y/N, her back turned, didn't even turn her head when she heard his approach.

"Y/N," he said, voice ragged. "Hey, please listen to—"

She remained stubbornly silent, staring intently at a group of pigeons strutting across the grass. Lando felt defeated, his shoulders slumping. "Look, I know I messed up. Big time."

Still no response. He felt like a fool, rambling on to a brick wall.

"What I said to Daniel, it was stupid and insensitive. And then yelling at you… that was just… I don't even know what I was thinking. You didn't deserve that."

He took a deep breath, finally registering the hurt on her face, even from behind. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. Can you please forgive me?"

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Just as Lando felt all hope drain away, Y/N finally spoke. "You know what, Lando? You hurt me. A lot."

Her voice, though quiet, held an unexpected edge of strength. It was a wake-up call, and Lando felt a surge of gratitude that she hadn't shut him out completely.

"I know," he confessed, his voice thick with remorse. "I feel terrible about it. Please, just talk to me."

A long, agonizing silence followed. Finally, Y/N sighed, a flicker of something softer returning to her eyes. "Alright," she said, finally facing him. "But you better be sincere, Lando Norris."

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave. He knelt before her, taking her hand in his. "More sincere than you can imagine. I value you, Y/N. You're… everything to me."

His voice cracked slightly, and he saw a flicker of empathy cross her face. "Just… don't take that for granted, okay?"

He squeezed her hand, his heart overflowing. "Never. Never again. Can you forgive me?"

She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze searching his. Slowly, a hint of a smile played on her lips. "Fine," she conceded, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "But on one condition."

Lando grinned, hope blooming in his chest. "Anything."

"No more insensitive jokes about teammates, especially when you know they're struggling. And no more yelling when we fight."

He chuckled, relief turning into pure joy. "Deal. In fact, I'll bake Daniel a giant apology cake. How does that sound?"

Y/N laughed, a beautiful sound that chased away the last remnants of tension. "Sounds like a plan."

He stood up, pulling her into a tight embrace. The scent of her perfume filled his senses, a comforting balm to his soul. As they held each other, the anger and hurt melted away, replaced by a deep sense of love and understanding.

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against hers. The kiss was hesitant at first, filled with unspoken apologies and renewed devotion. As they deepened the kiss, a sense of peace settled over them.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Y/N snuggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder. With his arm wrapped around her, they sat in comfortable silence, the warmth of the afternoon sun basking them in its glow. They had a long way to go, but for now, they were together, and that was all that mattered.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

♡♡♡♡♡ Say It Again ♡♡♡♡♡

Summary: If Megumi could make a list of the things he hates in this world, his name would probably be at the very top. When it comes from you though, well, it's not so bad.

Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, smut, vanilla, Megumi is a sap lowkey

Megumi hates a lot of things. He isn’t a fan of sweets unless they’re accompanied by the spice of ginger to wash away the overly sugary, sticky residue on his tongue. He isn’t fond of crowds either, choosing to keep his circle small and even then he prefers to observe rather than be in the thick of his friends’ misadventures. Constantly, perhaps too much, he finds himself rolling his eyes at the strange trends they talk him into. That’s only to name a few. There’s a never-ending list of big and small grievances about the world he could make if given the time and energy to think; and if you ask him what’s at the top of that list, it’d probably be his name.

“Megumi” sounds so explicitly feminine rolling off the tongue--a name for every other female television character nowadays. It can be an irritation at times when Gojo says it in that singsong voice that makes his shoulders rear up and his brain prep for whatever annoyance will follow. He hated the way his teachers would sometimes call for him in that obnoxious, scolding tone whenever he’d crack his fist over the face of whatever asshole decided to piss him off. Mostly, Megumi hates that it makes him think about the man who gave it to him with so little regard for his gender.

He prefers “Fushiguro” even if he still shares that name with a father whose face is nothing but a bleary oil-curdled puddle on the crumbling edge of his memory. It’s the name he shares with Tsumiki and that separates him from the Zen’in clan. It’s the name he was allowed to keep thanks to Gojo’s intervention. When he thinks about it like that then “Fushiguro” isn’t so bad.

“Me-Megumi.”

Ah.

There are a few times where he likes his first name, he supposes.

None more so than when it’s fracturing off your kiss-swollen lips, groaning from so deep in your chest that it curls like a purr in the stifling air surrounding him. It always manages to sound good from you, enough that his concentration breaks when he hears it.

He remembers the first time you said it back in your school years.

The simple “Good morning, Megumi” rang in his ears and imprinted in his brain as the gears in his mind slowed and the beating of his heart skipped. He learned the difference between the chipper call of your voice after a good night’s sleep and the drowsy drawl, almost like a whisper as you rubbed your shadowed eyes after a rough night.

It was like a dose of milk and honey each time, making him grumble less and less and want it more and more. He savored it. Somehow, he did, between his anti-socialness and ever-growing list of things he hates with his name at the very top. He should’ve bottled it up and saved it for those long missions where he didn’t get to see you in what felt like forever. Instead, he stubbornly suppressed his feelings against his better judgment, trying and failing to ignore them.

It's fine though because it worked out; somehow, it did.

Now when you say it, it causes his hips to stutter between your legs as he grinds you into the mattress. You don’t seem to mind though because his cock rocks against you in just the right way that the flimsy piece of underwear separating the two of you cease to matter.

He gets to hear it singing from your mouth as he slips his fingers from your chest and shoves them past the band of your underwear. And he can tell you need him just from how easy it is to collect your cum and glide his fingers between your lips in the same familiar tempo that leaves your quivering and whining into his shoulder—your warm voice sinking into him—caught between begging him to stop and asking for more with those sweet pleas of “Megumi, not there” to “please please please, Megumi”.

Taking advantage of the golden opportunity, he slides his tongue into your mouth, savoring the origin of those cute, honeyed whimpers. It’s an acquired taste because he hates sweets but you’re undeniably an exception to the rule because you taste as saccharine to hungry tastebuds as you sounded.

And he’s become greedy for it, especially after those same long missions that used to plague him and on those rarer quiet nights with you. He would never give it up if he had the choice; never give anyone else the opportunity to enjoy it, let alone try it.

“Megumi, do you want to go out with me—like on a date?” you said it softly and nervously with a finger bitten between your teeth, eyes down, afraid to look him in the eye, as if he could possibly reject you.

You moan into his mouth as his fingers curve inside of you, eagerly racing towards their destination; your face contorts and moans pour out when he reaches it, but it isn’t what he wants. It isn’t good enough even as you arch into his hand and throw your head back.

"I really like you, Megumi."

He wanted it. He wanted to hear you say it like you did back then, with all the affection the world could hold. He can’t be satisfied unless you do. He’s willing to work for it; he always does, craving to make you feel good, to make it worth choosing him.

In one fluid motion, the world melts away when he snags aside your clothes and enters you in a single smooth thrust.

“Megumi!”

That was it.

He presses his hand down on your stomach, adding pressure to the rush you were feeling as he plunges and holds his cock deep inside you. You were already close before he even started, have been close long before he pulls out to the tip and thrusts back in.

Your hand tightens on his shoulder and nails imprint into his skin. Your mouth cracks open in a broken cry, which ends with trembling pants that hiccup again and again as he slowly pulls back and thrusts back into you, trying to ring out those few sweet seconds where your mind is far gone and his every demand willing to be filled.

Megumi huffs against your neck. He’s almost there, and the familiar edging of his climax builds in him as he buries his head into your neck. Closing his eyes, he chases his climax, the one threatening to burst with each whimper of his name.

“Say it again," he grunts out.

And you do, so prettily, so softly, and all for him. It sends him tumbling over that edge with no effort, leaving you both breathless, sweating, and covered with the smell of it all as you gaze at each other. Your hand climbs up the back of his neck and breaches the lining of his hair. You smile, tired yet blissful.

“Megumi,” you say, and his heart skips a beat. An experience he has all too regularly with you – only you. “I love you.”

It takes a while to soak the words in; he needs time to carefully store the feeling, the way the sound escapes like syrup from your mouth, and the sugary residue of those feelings sticks to every crevice of his soul like candy on his tongue. When he finally does, Megumi thinks once again that maybe his name isn’t so bad.

“I love you too.”

[whiskeyghoul]

She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid X Goth!reader]

A/N: self indulgent little fic here. I have been in a writing slump for a few weeks and needed to do something just a little self indulgent. So we have this which has been on my mind for ever. I love Abby Sciuto from NCIS and thought how fun it would be to see our little nerd fall in love with the alternative lab rat of the FBI. This is not proof read or anything so it might not be the absolute best but I just wanted to put something out here again.

WC: 1737

Tags: fluff, crush, first meeting, love at first sight possibly, multiple parts, opposites attract, self indulgent fic, reader is described as female, reader is alternative

Warnings: Mention of human remains.

Read part 2 here, read part 3 here

The music coming from the lab was muffled. Even through the closed door Spencer could hear the barely legible lyrics as he got closer and closer. As he reached the door and knocked there seemed to be no answer. Certain his knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise that he now recognized as Siouxsie and the banshees. He opened the door. As soon as the barrier between him and the music was lifted it sounded so clear. It was turned up to 11 and he wondered how anyone could even focus with music that loud.

That was until he saw you, swaying along to the music, the white coat exaggerated the movements. Swishing from side to side as you reach for a pasteur pipette while bobbing your head along to the music. You seemed absorbed in the music, focussed on your work leaning over the bench and carefully dripping a clear substance on a piece of paper while still perfectly on beat with the music. Spencer cleared his throat loudly, hoping to make himself known before he interrupted you in whatever you seemed to be doing. Though it didn’t quite reach the decibel level to alert you. “L/N” he called out your last name but once again no response. So he took a few steps closer. Once Spencer was close enough he reached out and softly tapped your shoulder. You jumped in response, whirling around in shock with the pipette in your hands raised like a weapon. Like somehow you would be able to defend yourself with the lab instrument. A yelp falling from your lips. 

“Oh my god! Can’t you knock!” You accused, eyes wide as you placed your free hand on the top of your chest, taking a deep breath. “I did. I also tried to clear my throat to not scare you.” Spencer retorted, his voice raised a little louder so you could hear him over the music. You twirled around, placing the pipette in the holder. “I’m Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He continued loudly. You turned, holding your left hand up to shush him. Your right fishing the remote from your coat pocket. It gave Spencer some time to look you over. 

Your lab coat was about the only light thing you wore. The outfit underneath was black on black on black. A band tee with illegible writing that peeked over a corset, layered with a ripped fishnet top underneath. The abundance of necklaces of all different lengths, cascading down your neck like silver waterfalls. Ripped jeans he wasn’t quite sure were safe for the lab environment, but the skin of your thigh caught his attention. Something inside of him stirring. He fidgeted with his hands in front of his body.

“So… you were saying?” You spoke. Spencer’s eyes snapped back to your face. You looked up at him with big eyes, a small smile accompanying them. The music was turned down now giving him room to think. Though your eyes still made it difficult to really focus. “Oh, I am Doctor Reid, from the BAU.”  He answered after swallowing for a moment. “Ah! You are here for the clothing analysis, right? Penelope mentioned one of the team would come pick it up. Normally it's her or Derek, though I think Derek has complained about hearing loss.” You whirled around while rambling on, pony tail waving behind as you turned, bounding over to a table with scattered papers. Spencer followed close behind, not focussing on the words rather just the tone of your voice, a slight intrigue towards you. He didn’t even know your first name, yet somehow your mannerisms, your unconventional style, it made him want to know more. “Right.” He said, realizing he hadn’t technically answered your questions. 

Spencer looked over your shoulder as you picked up a stack of papers neatly stapled together. He thought he might be a bit too close as he could smell the subtle perfume wafting off of you. Though he also strangely enjoyed it. It was sweet but not overly so. A hint of cherry that was fitting in his eyes. The color of the fruit matching that of your lipstick. As you looked over the paper and began to talk again, “So, the substance that was on the clothes seems to be turpentine. Commonly used in oil painting. The vapors can already cause irritation to the eyes, skin, and airways if exposed to them for longer periods of time.” you rambled off the words as you read them. “There were some other things found on the clothes that coincide with the oil painting. Different pigments and paint residue.” You turned, eyes still on the paper nearly bumping into Spencer as he had been standing so close. When you looked up at him surprised he could feel a tightening in his chest. “Oops, sorry.” You apologized, a small smile on your lips.

You apologized to him while he was the one in your way. “Oh it was my fault. Shouldn’t have stood so close. Sorry.” He muttered. The words falling from his lips unceremoniously. He felt like half of his intelligence had up and left his brain as he talked to you. Not really knowing what to say at that moment. His hands fidgeted at his sides again. His left hand playing with the hem of his cardigan sleeve. He cursed himself internally for being reduced to a stumbling mess in front of you. You kept standing there though. Clearly you had turned around to go somewhere and Spencer had been in your way. Yet he was nailed in place and so, it seemed to him, were you. “Did you know they used to make oil paints with human remains?” You spoke excitedly. Like you had been waiting to tell someone, anyone, that little fact. He knew that. He knew that for a long time yet seeing you, tell him a fact with such delight, made him want to lie. “Now I do.” He answered, his smile matching yours.

“It was called mummy brown. They ground up mummies, both human and animal, and put it in the paint.” You continued. Your voice trailing off slightly after the word animal. You held up the stack of papers to him. “Everything you need is in there. If you need me to clarify something just give me a call. Or stop by whenever you want.” Spencer nods after your sentence. Taking the papers from you his hand touched yours ever so slightly. His brain short circuited for a moment before the neurons started firing accordingly again. “I eh- I don’t have your number.” he stumbled over the words.

As if you realized that in that moment you took a step aside and walked past him. Walking over to a desk and rummaging through a drawer. Spencer walked a bit closer to your desk. No longer being nailed in place by some unspeakable force. You pulled out a thin sharpie, and Spencer raised a brow ever so slightly at that. You walked back over, holding out your hand to grasp his. Spencer placed his hand in yours. His mouth felt incredibly dry for a moment. His tongue was uncomfortable in his mouth. His heartbeat raced faster. Nothing like he had ever really felt before. You could have done it on the papers, or maybe even a sticky note. Yet you decided that his hand would be the perfect place to write down your number. He thought about it for a moment, your hand was soft and warm. You twisted his hand, writing down your phone number along with your name. Once you finished you let go off his hand. Spencer looked at the black numbers, committing them to memory, and your name. God your name would be bouncing around his head for days. “Y/N.” He said, testing the name. It felt right.

“That’s me, you better put that in your phone. These markers are not nearly as permanent on skin. It’s the oils.” You went on, capping the marker as you spoke. “I will. Thank you.” Spencer said and smiled. He stayed standing in place for another moment. Trying to commit you to memory just in case his eidetic memory failed him. He realized he was staring a little and cleared his throat. “I eh… I have to go.” pointing his thumb to the door. You giggled a little, a sound that made Spencer’s cheek heat up a little. “Right, pretty boy, head on out. I need to get back to work too.” You smiled casually. Spencer’s face was only heating up more. He swallowed. The nickname the others used for him sounded so much better when it came from you. He turned around to hide his ever heating face from your sight, walking over to the door quickly. Once in the opening he quickly looked back, giving an awkward wave that you returned with a smile. 

When Spencer entered the bullpen his face had calmed down a little. Not feeling nearly as hot as before. He was able to think clearly again, but when he looked at your number and name on his hand he felt giddy inside. Reaching his desk he sat down, placing the analysis file on his desk. “That took you long enough, pretty boy.” Derek called out from his desk, humor in his voice. The nickname had no effect when he said it. “Sorry, the lab tech… she was explaining some things to me.” Spencer quickly lied. “Alright, can I get the file?” Derek had his hand already out. Spencer gave him the file and Derek’s brows raised at the number scribbled on his hand. “You got her number?” He smirked. Spencer pulled his hand back covering the numbers and your name with his other hand. “If something needed more clearing up.” He retorted. Derek merely chuckled at his awkwardness, “She’s friends with Garcia, you wouldn’t have needed her phone number.” He added with a smirk. Spencer felt his face heat up a little again, embarrassed. He knew that. He knew that he had known that. But in that moment he couldn’t think.

He looked back at his hand. Your name on his skin. A little flutter in his chest kicked up when he did. Derek cleared his throat, making Spencer look up again. Derek pointed at him with his pen, before opening his mouth. “You better call her soon.”

[dazevi]

CHAPTER ONE: GHOST IN THE ROOM

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: with the tour coming to an end, vi's manager insists on the band taking a break. meanwhile, you help your best friend, mel, with planning her wedding.

content warnings: MDNI. angst (lots of it), slightly suggestive, rockstar!vi, writer!reader, eventual exes to lovers (more like exes to fwb to lovers), no smut but mentions of sex, jaymel cameo, bestfriend!mel, time skips, mentions of alcohol and smoking

wc: 11,388 (about—i made some edits lol)

note: good morning!! (its morning where i am) this is my first time writing a series so feedback would be very much appreciated—would love to hear what you guys think!!! also i had some trouble deciding if i wanted to write jayvik or jaymel but i felt like mel would’ve been more fitting for reader to have as a best friend lol anyways here is the first chapter! i hope you all enjoy!!! (fanart by bunimint_ on ig)

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

The hum of the venue echoed faintly through the backstage room, muffled by layers of concrete and steel.

The crowd had been electric tonight, their cheers and screams still ringing faintly in Vi’s ears as she sat on the small stool in front of a mirror. Her guitar sat propped against the brick wall behind her, its strings still vibrating in her memory from the final chords of the night. The air in the room smelled faintly of sweat and smoke, the residue of adrenaline and effort clinging to her skin.

The band was as much a family as it was a group of musicians. While Vi stands in front, Ekko was on lead guitar, the youngest of them but by far the most electric on stage, shredding solos and occasionally stepping up to rap when a song called for it. Then there was Steb on drums. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t really need to. He was a crucial part of the band already and quite creative with his beats. And on bass was Loris, a big guy with a bigger heart, who filled every song with lines that could shake the floor of any venue.

But she was alone now, the rest of the band off celebrating the end of the tour, their laughter faint in the distance, just past the door. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—flushed cheeks, damp hair sticking to her temples, her tank top slightly wrinkled. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but her mind wasn’t calm.

Not really.

She reached up to push a strand of hair from her face when her fingers brushed against the cool silver chain around her neck.

Her hand stilled.

The necklace felt heavy on her neck as always, but she hardly thought about anymore.

Tonight, for some reason, it felt heavier. Vi tugged gently at it, pulling the necklace out from under her shirt to let it fall against her chest. They glimmered faintly in the dim backstage light, catching her eye like they always had.

She stared at them for a long moment, her throat tightening.

She hadn’t thought about it—about you—in a while.

Or… maybe that wasn’t true.

Maybe she’d just gotten better at pretending she didn’t.

But now, with the adrenaline of the stage fading away and the silence of the backstage room settling in, it hit her all over again.

Six years had passed since graduating high school. She remembers all the memories that came with it—that came with being with you—as if they happened yesterday.

But, three years.

It had been three years since the two of you had broken up, and Vi still couldn’t let go of this last piece of you. She told herself it was just a necklace, just a reminder of a time when life seemed simple, but deep down she knew it was more than that.

It was a lifeline to a past she hadn’t entirely made peace with—a time when the world didn’t feel quite so big, and her dreams hadn’t come at the cost of losing you.

She blinked at her reflection, her jaw tightening as her fingers played with the rings. The memories came flooding back despite her best efforts to push them down. The nights spent tangled up together in her room, the sound of your laugh as you teased her for pretending to know how to play certain songs when she wanted to impress you, the way you always smelled faintly of lavender and paper from all those books you carried around and loved so much. God, she could almost hear your voice if she closed her eyes, could almost feel the way your hands used to cup her face when you kissed her.

But you weren’t here. And you hadn’t been for years.

Vi exhaled shakily, letting the necklace fall back against her chest. She rubbed her hands over her face, her calloused fingers catching slightly on her damp skin.

She tried to tell herself this was what she wanted—what she had worked so hard for. The sold-out shows, the screaming fans, the endless crowds. It had been her dream for as long as she could remember.

But the truth was, none of it felt quite as fulfilling as she thought it would. Not without you.

The buzz of her phone on the dressing table broke her train of thought. She glanced at it, the screen lighting up with a text from Ekko reminding her to join them at the bar. She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the mirror.

For a quick moment, she thought about it—thought about texting you. Maybe, calling you. Just to say hi. Just to hear your voice again, even if only through the cold distance of a phone call.

But she knew better. You had probably already moved on, or at least, you deserved to.

Vi stood slowly, adjusting the chain so it tucked back under her shirt, hidden from view. She ran a hand through her hair and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on. As she walked out of the room, she felt the rings press lightly against her chest.

The party the next night was loud, chaotic, and everything it should have been to celebrate the end of a year-long tour. Vi found herself tucked into a corner of the room, a half-empty beer bottle in her hand as she watched her bandmates laugh and shout over the music. People swarmed around them—fans, industry suits, and a few familiar faces from the tour circuit.

It was exactly what she used to love, the kind of scene she’d dreamed about when she first picked up a guitar in her mom’s garage. But tonight, it all felt hollow.

She plastered on a grin when someone approached, making small talk she wouldn’t remember later, pretending the music wasn’t giving her a headache.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the celebration. She should have been celebrating. A year long tour. Ninety shows. Sold-out venues in cities she never thought she’d even visit, let alone play in.

But now that it was over, the rush was fading.

Vi’s manager had pulled the band aside after the final show, giving them a rundown of what came next.

Or rather, what didn’t come next.

“You’ve earned it,” the manager had said, looking around at the group. “Take a break. Go home. Recharge. You’ve been going non-stop for years. You deserve this.”

Home. The word lingered in Vi’s mind. It felt heavy and unfamiliar.

She sipped her beer and glanced around the party again. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives, but Vi felt detached, like she was watching it all through a screen.

The truth was, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. This band, for the time being, had been her life. The shows, the music, the adrenaline—it all kept her moving forward, kept her distracted.

But now? Now she was being told to stop.

Her fingers brushed against the chain around her neck, hidden beneath her shirt. She’d done it out of habit, her thumb grazing the spot where the rings rested against her skin. She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as she felt some sort of pain swell in her chest. She pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the noise and the people around her.

When a girl caught her eye across the room—pretty, confident, the kind of girl who wouldn’t ask too many questions—Vi didn’t hesitate.

She let the girl take her hand and pull her upstairs to some empty room in the penthouse suite. It was mechanical by now, second nature. She knew what to say, where to touch, how to make it seem like she was present when, in truth, her mind was somewhere else.

Or rather, with someone else.

It always ended the same way.

Vi closed her eyes, and it was you. There was no one else she could think of other than you.

It didn’t help that every time she hovered over someone else, her necklace would dangle just in front of her, and she’d look down and catch a glimpse of you beneath her, all pretty and waiting, with eyes full of love and warmth—the very eyes she fell in love with again and again. Every laugh, every touch, every kiss—it was you she conjured up in her mind.

But it never lasted.

Reality always came crashing back when the girl whispered her name in a way that had no effect on her or when she clung to her a little too tightly, too roughly.

When it was over, Vi sat silently by the bed, pulling on her shirt, avoiding eye contact.

“Can you stay?” the girl asked softly.

“No,” Vi shook her head, grabbing her jacket. She never stayed. She never left her number. And she never looked back.

Walking out into the cold night air, Vi lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

She thought about you—again. She thought about the way you used to smile at her, how your fingers used to trail through her hair when she rested her head in your lap, how you’d call her name so softly that it felt like she was listening to her favorite song. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but it was the only thing that reminded her she was still alive.

Since the breakup, Vi had grown bitter, the world feeling heavier with each passing day. She hadn’t felt truly happy in years, hadn’t laughed the way she used to.

So she buried herself into anything that could distract her—work, music, and nights like this one.

But it was useless.

Because no matter how far she ran, how many strangers she kissed, or how loud the music played, she always had you in her mind.

Always you. Only you.

To the little town she used to call home. To the life she’d walked away from when she chose this one.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice.

The chime of the bell above the flower shop door rang faintly as a customer left, and you glanced up from where you sat behind the counter, absentmindedly wrapping a bouquet of daisies in soft brown paper. The shop smelled sweet and earthy—comforting in a way that nothing else had been for the past few years.

It had been your mom’s idea for you to work here after you graduated college, though you hadn’t exactly protested. It was a nice job to have. Stress free. Relaxing. Arranging flowers, chatting with customers, and helping with orders had its own kind of peace.

You figured it would be nice way to pass some time while saving up money for your own shop—a book shop.

But some time has passed now, and all you’ve got to do is find the courage to go downtown and lease out that nice empty spot by the town gardens.

But, you decide to put that off for next month. Maybe after the wedding.

Your degree in literature had been the culmination of years of dreaming, of late nights spent pouring over books and writing short stories that no one else ever read. And for a while, everything felt like it was falling into place. That book—the one you poured your soul into, the one that had felt like ripping your heart out to write—had done surprisingly well. It wasn’t a bestseller, but it had been enough. Enough to make you believe you were on the right path, to reassure you that the sacrifices had been worth it.

But now, the blank pages in your notebook always stared back at you, mocking. The words didn’t come as easily as they used to. It wasn’t writer’s block, not exactly—it was something deeper. A lack of fire, you called it. And you told yourself that the flower shop was just a temporary stop, a place to regroup until the inspiration came back.

But part of you worried it never would.

As you finished tying a ribbon around the bouquet, your gaze drifted to the small bookshelf by the window. Copies of your book sat there, stacked neatly, the cover facing out. Your mom kept them in stock, proud and supportive as always, even if the sight of them made you wince. Every time you looked at it, you remembered how much of yourself you’d poured into that story—how you’d been told it was heartbreaking and beautiful, and yet writing it had felt like stitching up a wound that refused to heal.

You always tried not to think about who had inspired it.

But of course, you failed. You always did.

Some days, it was easier to pretend that part of your life hadn’t happened, to bury it under layers of routine and busy nights. Other days, it hit you out of nowhere—a song on the radio, a laugh in a movie, the way a stranger’s voice pitched just so.

And suddenly, you’d be back there.

Back to her.

The chime of the bell rang again, snapping you out of your thoughts as a new customer stepped in. You forced a polite smile, brushing your hands against your apron. The shop was warm and safe, a place where you could hide from the rest of the world.

But somewhere out there, the rest of the world kept moving—just as it had for Vi.

You remembered the day you saw that headline.

You hadn’t expected to see it, but there it was—Violet Lanes Spotted Dining With Famous Actress Caitlyn Kiramman—in bold, glaring letters across the entertainment news section of your phone screen.

The date on the article was just two weeks after your breakup, and it felt like the universe had decided to make sure you never forgot. You could still remember the way your heart sank as you read it, like the air was suddenly sucked out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

You’d known about Vi’s fame, how it grew quickly when she started making music professionally, of course—how could you not? She was a rockstar, her face plastered everywhere, her name trending almost daily.

But this… this was different.

Caitlyn Kiramman was an actress with a reputation that preceded her, a star on a different level entirely. Vi was supposed to be with you—at least, you thought so, at the time. But as you read through the details, the pictures of Vi smiling across the table at Caitlyn, her arm casually draped around the actress’s shoulders, something inside you snapped. It was the first time, in the aftermath of everything, that you’d truly felt like you’d lost her.

You tried to dismiss the burning ache in your chest. After all, you hadn’t exactly been an innocent party in your breakup. You had your reasons for walking away, too.

But seeing Vi so effortlessly move on, laughing and drinking wine with someone like Caitlyn—someone who could stand next to her in the spotlight without being swallowed by it—hit you harder than you expected.

It wasn’t jealousy, not really.

It was just you realizing that Vi had stepped into a world without you, just as you had stepped into one without her.

You thought about calling her, but you didn’t.

The last time you’d spoken, you’d said what needed to be said, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time. You had told yourself you were better off, that you deserved more than being constantly second place to her career.

You didn’t want to call. Instead, you buried yourself in your work, threw yourself into your job, and started writing stories that felt too hollow to ever really be finished. You kept your distance from everything that reminded you of her, trying to forget the feeling of her hand in yours, the sound of her voice when she’d whisper your name in that low, raspy tone that made your heart flutter.

Maybe Vi was happy. Maybe she had found someone else who could give her the things you couldn’t. The thought hit you harder than it should, but you couldn’t stop it.

You thought about the necklace—the one Vi had worn, the one that had been yours too, back in high school. Your fingers traced the small silver chain around your neck, the one you hadn’t taken off since that night you two shared it.

Had she kept hers? You wondered, for the briefest second, if she still thought about you.

But you had no way of knowing. You hadn’t heard from her in years, and you had convinced yourself that it was for the best.

The familiar sound of the bell above the shop’s door jingled softly as your mom stepped out from the back room, balancing a couple of boxes in her arms. She looked like she’d been at it for hours, strands of her hair falling from the bun on top of her head.

“Sweetheart,” she said, setting the boxes down on the counter with a thud. “Mel’s going to call about the flowers soon. You know how particular she can be about the arrangements.”

You sighed, pausing mid-wrap on a bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus.

“I know, Mom,” you muttered, though you couldn’t quite keep the smile off your face.

Mel had been one of your closest friends since high school, and if anyone had a reason to be particular, it was her. She deserved the perfect wedding, after all.

“She’s already called three times this week about those centerpieces. I’m pretty sure I know her vision better than she does at this point.”

Your mom laughed softly, brushing her hands on her apron. “She’s just excited. It’s a big day.”

She gave you a knowing look, the kind that said she wasn’t just talking about Mel.

Before you could respond, the phone behind the counter buzzed, cutting through the silence of the shop. You reached for it instinctively, already knowing who it would be.

“I swear, she has a sixth sense for these things,” you mumbled as you picked up the receiver.

“Hello, Lane Florals, how can I help—”

“Don’t even start with the formalities, I know it’s you,” came Mel’s voice, bright and slightly exasperated on the other end. “And I know I’ve already called you a million times this week, but I need to talk about the bouquets again. Jayce thinks we’re good, but I’m having second thoughts about the hydrangeas.”

You let out a dramatic groan, though you couldn’t help the laugh that followed. “Mel, you’ve gotta stop stressing. You’re going to make me go gray before your wedding day. What’s wrong with the hydrangeas now?”

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “I just feel like they don’t have the right… feeling. Maybe we should go with lilies? Or peonies? Or—oh! Do you think we could mix in some sunflowers? Jayce looooves sunflowers.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, glancing over at your mom, who was now suppressing a grin as she watered the potted plants by the window.

“Mel, we’re two weeks away from the wedding,” you said gently. “If we keep changing things, you’re not going to have any flowers at all.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Mel sighed dramatically. “You’re right. Ugh, you’re right. I’m just overthinking it. I’m sorry, I’ll stop being such a pain your ass.”

“You’re not a pain,” you said, softening. “You’re just… a perfectionist. But it’s all going to be perfect, I promise. The hydrangeas are beautiful, and they’re going to look amazing with everything else. Trust me. I’ll throw in some sunflowers, too, for Jayce.”

Mel let out a small, relieved laugh. “Thanks, babe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lose your mind, probably,” you teased, leaning back against the counter. “But seriously, you’re going to be fine. And as your maid of honor, I think you should take my advice and roll with it.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, and you could hear the smile in her voice. “Oh, and don’t forget, you promised to help me with the seating chart this weekend.”

“I know, I know,” you assured her, though the thought of wrangling that seating chart made you want to pour yourself a strong drink. “I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

“Okay. Love you!” she said quickly before hanging up.

You set the phone down with a sigh, turning to your mom, who was now watching you with an amused expression. “Hydrangeas again?” she asked.

“Hydrangeas,” you confirmed with a laugh, shaking your head. “I swear, if I hear the word one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

But despite the teasing, you felt nothing but warmth for Mel. She was one of the few people who had stuck by you through everything, and seeing her so happy with Jayce was something you couldn’t begrudge, no matter how stressful wedding planning had become.

You glanced at the calendar on the wall, your thoughts drifting briefly, as they so often did, to Vi.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

At least, that’s what Vi had told you when she kissed you goodbye at the airport years ago, both of you standing on the edge of the new chapter—her with her band’s first big break, and you heading off to college.

She had cupped your face, her calloused hands warm against your cheeks, and promised, “We’ll make it work. You and me, we’re solid, baby. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

But it did.

You used to call everyday. Text everyday. It was so often that Vi would fall asleep on the phone every night, to the sound of your voice, telling her how much you missed her. You’d do the same, too.

But the calls that used to stretch into the early hours of the morning grew shorter and less frequent.

At first, Vi always made time for you, even if she was in the middle of nowhere, some dingy tour bus parked at a rest stop. She’d stay on the line, her gravelly voice cutting through the static as she told you about the show that night or the funny thing Ekko had done to annoy Steb. And you’d tell her about your classes, your professors, the friends you were making in your lit program. She also always used to mention you in interviews when people would ask the band if they were single or whatever.

And Vi would always say, “I’ve actually got a girl waiting for me back at home,” with cheekiest smile she could throw on.

For a while, it was enough.

But then the band’s success started to pick up, and Vi’s world got louder, busier. The calls started to come later and later—or sometimes not at all.

You’d stay up, staring at your phone, waiting for it to ring, only to wake up hours later with an empty inbox and a dull ache in your chest.

And the texts? They dwindled too.

You used to send each other everything—pictures, inside jokes, songs that reminded you of each other.

Days would pass before you’d hear from her. And when you did, it was always rushed. A quick voice message, “Sorry, babe, crazy day. Miss you, though. Love you,” followed by radio silence for the rest of the week.

You tried to understand. You really did.

You knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d worked to get where she was. You were proud of her, more than you could ever put into words.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

One night, you were in your dorm room, sitting at your desk with a stack of notes and an unfinished essay in front of you, your phone balanced precariously on the edge. Vi had promised to call after a show—it had been over two weeks since you’d last spoken properly—but the clock was inching toward midnight, and there was still no word.

When the phone finally buzzed, you snatched it up, your heart pounding. “Vi?”

Her voice came through the line, raspy and tired. “Hey, baby. Sorry, show ran late.”

“It’s okay,” you lied, sinking back into your chair. “How was it?”

She sighed, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. “Good. Crowd was wild. But I’m beat.”

There was a pause, one that stretched too long, too heavy. You could feel the distance between you, the miles and the time zones and the weeks of missed calls.

“I miss you,” you said softly, your voice breaking a little.

“I miss you too,” she said, but it sounded automatic, like something she’d said a thousand times before—who are you kidding? She probably has.

You wanted to ask her why she hadn’t called, why it felt like you were slipping further and further apart.

But the words caught in your throat.

Instead, you said, “When are you coming home?”

“Uh…” Another pause. Then, “I don’t know, babe. Not for a while.”

It felt like a punch to the gut.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’m sorry,” she added quickly, like she could sense your disappointment in her. “It’s just… everything’s so crazy right now. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

When the call ended, you stared at your phone for a long time, tears blurring your vision. Vi had always been your safe place. But at that time, it felt like she was slipping away, and no matter how tightly you held on, you couldn’t stop it.

And Vi felt it too.

She hated the way things were between you, the way she could hear the hurt in your voice even when you tried to hide it. She wanted to fix it, to drop everything, fly to you and hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

But the truth was, she didn’t know if it would be.

Because no matter how much you loved each other, the distance was pulling you apart. And neither of you knew how to stop it.

NOVEMBER, THREE YEARS AGO.

It had been months since you’d last seen her—months that felt like years. You’d tried to bury yourself in your studies, keeping busy so you didn’t have to think about the loneliness she left behind with you.

But then your phone rang one rainy afternoon, and when Vi’s name flashed on the screen, you hesitated for only a moment before answering.

“Hey,” you said softly, curling up on your bed as you balanced the phone against your ear.

“Hey, babe,” she replied, her voice a little hoarse, like she’d been yelling or maybe singing too much. “How’s school?”

“It’s… fine,” you said, trying to keep your tone neutral.

You wanted to tell her everything—how much you missed her, how hard it was to fall asleep without her voice in your ear—but you swallowed the words.

“What are you up to?” You asked, bringing a hand up to rub the side of your neck.

“Nothing, right now… I’m in bed. I just finished up at the studio,” she said quietly. “It ran pretty late so…”

“Are you doing okay?”

You hear her take a breath before sighing softly, “Yeah, I’m… I just miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you echoed.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then she said, “I was thinking… I want you to come to New York.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “New York?”

“Yeah. The band got invited to this award show. It’s kind of a big deal, I guess. I—I want you to be my date.”

Your stomach twisted at the invitation. You could hear the hope in her voice, and for a second, all you wanted to do was say yes. But then reality set in.

“Vi, I don’t know. I have finals coming up, and plane tickets are—”

“Will be taken care of,” she interrupted quickly. “I’ll handle it, everything. Just say yes.”

“Vi…”

“I wanna see you,” she said, and her voice was soft, almost pleading. It caught you off guard. “Please. It’s been too long. I miss you.”

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the wall, and sighed.

It was always hard to say no to Vi.

“Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice brightening.

“Yeah.”

The next few weeks all happened too quickly.

Vi arranged everything—a plane ticket, a car to pick you up from the airport, even a dress for the event. You didn’t know how she’d managed it all, but you weren’t surprised. She could practically do anything she sets her mind to.

When you stepped off the plane and into the terminal, you were expecting to just follow the signs to baggage claim, look for the driver Vi had mentioned in passing, and quietly make your way to whatever fancy hotel she had booked for you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate her effort—Vi always went all out when it came to you—but you figured this was just another one of those things she couldn’t be present for, one more event she’d planned out from a distance.

But when you rounded the corner toward the arrivals area, your feet froze mid-step.

There she was.

Vi was standing near the entrance, her tall frame wrapped in an all-black outfit. A long black coat hung open over a fitted turtleneck and dark jeans, her combat boots planted firmly on the tiled floor. In her hands, she held a small bouquet of flowers—white daisies and a few pale pink roses wrapped in simple brown paper.

She looked every bit the rockstar she’d become, yet look on her face told a different story.

Her eyes scanned the crowd eagerly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper wrapping as though she were nervous.

Your breath hitched, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

For a moment, you couldn’t move.

Then Vi’s eyes found yours.

Her face lit up like the sun breaking through a storm, and before you could even process what was happening, she was running toward you. Her long strides closed the distance in seconds, and then she was there—her arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you into her chest.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered against your hair.

You couldn’t respond.

Your throat was too tight, and the only thing you could do was cling to her, burying your face in her neck as the tears spilled over. The flowers were crushed slightly between your bodies, but neither of you cared. Vi’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, holding you like she was afraid you might disappear.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands cupping your face as she scanned your features like she needed to memorize them all over again.

She let out a breathy sigh, a smile making its way onto her face, “God, you’re even prettier than I remember.”

You let out a watery laugh, wiping at your cheeks with trembling fingers.

“Shut up,” you teased, though your voice wavered.

Vi grinned, a little sheepishly, and handed you the now slightly crumpled bouquet. “These are for you. Sorry, I think I crushed them a little.”

“They’re perfect,” you said, taking the flowers and holding them close to your chest.

She smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to take your suitcase.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. We can go get lunch after the hotel. I know a place you might like.”

And for the first time in a long while, being with her finally felt right.

The weekend passed like something out of a dream. Vi stuck close to you, almost glued to your side, like she couldn’t bear to let go of you for even a second. She carried your bags, opened every door, kissed you in every private corner she could find.

In the the hotel room, with the city skyline stretching endlessly outside the window, she kissed you until her lips felt bruised, like she was trying to make up for every kiss she hadn’t been able to give you.

She made love to you slowly, tenderly, the way you deserved—whispering soft words against your skin, brushing stray strands of hair from your face, as if she couldn’t believe you were there with her.

“God, I missed you,” she murmured over and over again, her voice thick and quiet, spilling out each time her lips found yours. “I missed you so much.”

And it wasn’t just the being this close to you that left Vi breathless—it was everything else.

The way your laugh filled the room when she cracked a joke. The way you shyly tucked your head into her shoulder when she kissed your temple in public. The way your voice softened when you told her you missed her, that you loved her. Vi felt like she was relearning you, rediscovering all the tiny details she’d loved about you from the start—the way your fingertips felt trailing down her arm, the way you hummed absentmindedly when you were happy, the way you fit perfectly in her arms like you’d been made for her.

For once, Vi wasn’t thinking about work, about the band, about the next tour or the endless cycle of interviews and late-night rehearsals.

None of that mattered here.

The world felt smaller, quieter, when it was just the two of you.

She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed you, how much she’d missed this.

As the weekend was drawing to a close, you were lying in bed together, your head resting on her chest. Vi traced lazy circles along your shoulder with her fingertips, her other hand draped protectively across your waist. The sheets were tangled around your bare legs, the city lights painting soft, dim patterns on the walls.

“I forgot what this feels like,” Vi had said, her voice almost a whisper. “Just… being with you. I missed it.”

You tilted your head to look up at her, your eyes warm and full of something she couldn’t quite name.

“Me too,” you said softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

Vi leaned down to kiss you again slowly, her hand cradling your jaw.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever, to bottle it up and carry it with her wherever she went.

Being with you, she wasn’t worried about the distance, about the time apart, about anything other than you.

But happiness like that didn’t last for long and, tomorrow, it would all go to shit.

The night of the music award show was everything Vi had hoped it would be, glimmering lights, and flashing cameras. She could hardly contain her pride as she stood beside you, her arm around your waist, guiding you through. Everything had been planned, from your dress to the after-party, and it seemed like everything was falling into place.

You looked stunning in the dress she had picked out for you. It was a deep shade of red that hugged your body in all the right places, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline that made your girlfriend want to cover your collarbone with kisses. Vi couldn’t take her eyes off you when she first saw you in it. She kept telling you how beautiful you looked, her voice filled with awe every time she caught a glimpse of you.

You had always been beautiful in Vi’s eyes, but tonight, you looked like someone straight out of a dream, her dreams. She felt a pride swell up inside her every time she looked at you, like the world had never seemed brighter, knowing that you, her girl, were beside her.

But despite how nice it was all going, it wasn’t without its discomforts for you.

There were moments when you felt too out of place in the spotlight, when the flashing of cameras made your chest tighten, or when you were pulled away from Vi to stand beside some celebrities for interviews, your smile feeling stiff and forced. Every time you were apart from her, even for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of loneliness, wanting to be close to her again.

The show itself went smoothly, though.

Vi did her thing and you watched from the sidelines, starstruck and completely in awe. It was so surreal to see her like this, her bandmates by her side, to see other celebrities you watched from home, the crowd cheering for her every time her name was called. She looked radiant. And it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by it all.

But the further the night dragged on, the more it felt like you were losing her to this new world.

You felt more of it at the after party. Vi had been swept away by a group of celebrities who wanted to talk to her, leaving you standing alone at the bar.

Ekko noticed and came over to keep you company, but it still wasn’t the same. He asked about how things were at home, mentioned how much he missed eating Benzo’s cooking. And it was nice talking to him—nice to have a friend around who didn’t feel too far into the fame as everyone else did in the room.

As you leaned against the bar, nursing your drink, you found your eyes wandering back to Vi, standing across the room, laughing and chatting with some famous actress, her hand resting on her arm. She looked completely at ease, her eyes sparkling as she talked with the other guests.

But it was clear that you that were nothing more than a bystander to her world now.

Ekko’s voice snapped you out of your daze. “You okay?” he asked, noticing your distracted expression.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a bit tired, I guess.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “You sure? Vi looks like she’s having a blast. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

You smiled again, though it felt hollow. “Yeah, she always has a way of talking to people, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does,” Ekko agreed, grinning. “But you know she’s really happy to have you here tonight. She’s always talking about you. Can’t get her to shut up about you sometimes.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, but it faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

You stand there, drink in hand, feeling an odd tension settle in your chest as you watch Vi across the room. She’s talking to someone—a tall woman, all legs and sharp angles, with dark blue hair that catches the light in an almost ethereal way. The way the actress moves, the way she laughs—effortless, magnetic, like she’s always been in the spotlight.

You’ve seen her before, vaguely—magazines, red carpets, maybe a movie trailer. She’s the kind of woman people can’t help but stare at. Perfectly polished, perfectly poised.

And there’s Vi, her face bright with a smile you once thought was reserved just for you. But now, as she stands there, chatting easily, you feel like a ghost in the room, watching from the sidelines.

Your fingers tighten around your glass, but you don’t move. You can’t.

It’s strange, this feeling that tightens your chest, this longing and bitterness you can’t seem to shake. Vi’s laugh carries over through the party, and for a moment, you close your eyes, remembering when you were the one who made her laugh like that. When you were the one who kissed that smile from her lips.

But it all feels so far away now.

The more you watch them, the more out of place you feel.

The more you look at Vi, the more she seems to belong in this world—this world of lights and flashes, of perfect strangers who all seem to know exactly who they are, exactly where they fit.

And you?

You’re still standing in the corner of this room, feeling like you’re made of something that doesn’t belong, something that’s too small for this space.

You swallow, trying to force down the lump in your throat.

It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid.

You’re just a girl from a small town with college exams coming up and some books you wrote.

Nothing glamorous.

And Vi—Vi’s everything you aren’t. She’s out here, living the life you never had the guts to chase. You can’t even blame her for it. She’s been nothing but amazing, talented and hardworking, giving you so much of herself, even when it all felt too complicated.

But seeing her like this, only reminds you of how out of place you feel now, in her world, in this world.

“I… I think I’m just gonna get some fresh air,” you say quietly.

You excuse yourself from Ekko, offering him a small smile as you slip away from the conversation. You need air—fresh, cool, anything to clear the thoughts that have taken root in your mind.

You take the elevator down to the ground floor, your heels clicking softly on the polished floors. The doors open with a soft ding, and you step out, immediately greeted by the cool bite of the night air. It’s a entirely different compared to the warmth of the party inside, and for a moment, it feels like a relief, like you can finally breathe without the walls of the venue pressing in on you.

The city lights glow in the distance, the hustle of traffic and the low hum of conversations from nearby streets filled your ears. You pull your coat tighter around you, the fabric clinging to your shoulders, but it doesn’t do much to shield you from the knot tightening in your chest.

You stand there for a moment, breathing deeply. The cool air is refreshing, but it can’t seem to cool the heat rising in your cheeks, the bitter ache in your stomach. Everything about it reminds you of how far things have come—and how far apart you and Vi have drifted.

You didn’t want to feel this way tonight. You didn’t want to spend another evening consumed by jealousy, by doubt.

But here you are, standing outside in the dark, unable to fight the feeling.

You really hadn’t expected it to be this hard.

Maybe it’s silly to think you could’ve ever fit into that world.

But the truth stings.

You want things to be different. You want to be the one she looks at, the one she chooses. But everything about tonight has made you feel like that’s something you’ll never be again.

You look up at the sky, the stars barely visible through the city’s haze, and for a moment, you close your eyes, letting the cold air fill your lungs.

You wish things were different. You wish you could go back to when you were everything to each other.

But you can’t.

Not anymore.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Vi’s voice cuts through your train of thought.

She must have slipped out unnoticed, and now, there she is, standing behind you. Her arms come around your waist, pulling you closer, her front pressed against your back. Her chin rests gently on your shoulder, her breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Hi, baby,” she muttered quietly.

You want to speak, to tell her how you feel, how the space between you both is only growing wider.

But the words stick in your throat.

Vi stays there, waiting for you, her body warm against yours. Her hands move from your waist, softly tracing over your arms, gently coaxing you into the safety of her touch, even though you don’t know how safe it feels anymore.

For a moment, all you can do is breathe, just breathe, feeling her arms around you… as if it’s the last time you’ll feel it.

When you do finally speak, it’s quieter than you intend, barely above a whisper. “Vi, I think we… I think we should stop this.”

Vi stiffens behind you, her hands pausing on your skin.

You can feel her heart rate quicken slightly. But she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she presses closer, her breath brushing your ear as she whispers, “What are you talking about?”

She holds you tighter, and for a brief second, you feel the urge to give in to her touch, to forget the mess in your head.

But it’s not enough anymore.

You try to speak again, but your words come out jumbled, like you’re struggling to find the right pieces to fit together.

“I… I don’t know. We’re not the same anymore.” You let out a shaky breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to explain the mess of feelings inside your chest. “It’s like we’re just… strangers now. I can’t keep pretending it’s the same, Vi.”

Vi’s hands stay on your waist, but you feel her pause for a moment. She pulls back just a little, enough to look at you, but not enough to fully let go.

You can hear the uncertainty in her voice when she speaks, “What? It’s still us. You and me. I—” She swallows, and you can hear the faint tremor in her words. “I thought we were okay.”

You shake your head, your chest tight.

“We’re not. We haven’t been for a while. And, I can’t tell if you even notice. Do you? You’re… you’re so far away, and I’m just… here.” The pain in your voice stings, but it feels like it’s the only truth you have left. “And I don’t know how to make it work anymore. I don’t know how to feel close to you when you’re a million miles away all the time.”

Vi’s arms move again, but this time, they’re softer, as if she’s afraid you’ll break under her touch.

“Don’t say that. I-I do notice. I do. I know it’s been a bit rough lately, but we can fix this… right? We’ve always been able to fix things before.” She tries to lighten the air, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she’s trying to erase the tension in the air. “I-I promise to call more, baby, please—”

But it doesn’t reach you.

You step back from her, the space between you both growing with each step, and for the first time in so long, you feel something other than the ache in your chest. It’s cold, too cold, and the distance feels like it’s swallowing you whole.

Vi’s arms drop at her sides, her hands twitching as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

She watches you carefully, her eyes wide as you move away. When she tries to move closer, you flinch. It’s instinct, something you didn’t mean to do, but you can’t help it. You just need space.

And Vi hates it.

“I wanna go home,” you say, your voice shaking with the everything you’ve been trying to ignore, trying to bury.

Vi’s smile falters, her brows furrow as she processes your words. She takes a small step toward you, the panic creeping into her voice. “O-Okay. I-I’ll call a cab and we can go back to the hotel and—“

You cut her off before she can finish, your heart hammering in your chest. “No, Vi. I want to go back home. I don’t… I don’t belong here with you.”

The ring in her ears and as soon as they leave your lips, you can see the color drain from Vi’s face. Her breath catches in her throat, and you watch her, eyes wide, disbelief settling in. She furrows her eyebrows, her entire posture faltering as she tries to process what you just said.

“What?” she whispers.

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze searching your face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of cruel joke, some kind of misunderstanding.

But you can’t give her that. You can’t pretend anymore.

“I just…” you start, but the words get caught in your throat, like you’re suffocating on them. You look at her, at the girl you once knew better than anyone else, and you realize that you’re not the same person anymore. “I thought I could keep pretending, but I can’t. And… I-I don’t see how we can change anything right now. I’m sorry, I—”

Vi opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She just stares at you, like she’s trying to wrap her mind around what’s happening, and in her silence, you hear all the things you can’t say.

The tears begin yo roll down your cheeks and Vi wants to wipe them away immediately, wants to take all that pain you’re feeling away for good… but…

“I need to go home,” you whisper again, this time your voice firmer, because if you don’t say it again, you might never leave.

And the look in her eyes—this heartbreaking, raw pain that flits across her face—makes your heart shatter even more.

Because you never wanted to hurt her.

But you’re not sure how to fix any of this. How to find your way back when it feels like everything between you two has crumbled into dust.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but the words feel so small. So insignificant.

Vi doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, frozen in place. She swallows hard, her lips trembling as she finally finds her voice.

“I thought we were… I thought you wanted to be with me.”

“I always want to be with you, I do, but this—” you bring a hand up, wiping your cheeks quickly. “What did you think was gonna to happen after this weekend’s over? That we’d have a great time here together, then everything would be okay? All of our problems aren’t just magically gonna disappear, Vi… You barely call. You barely text. And I’ll go back home and you’ll stay here and I… What, I won’t see you again for another four—five months? I-I cant be in a relationship with someone who—fuck, with someone who can’t even really be with me. And I don’t want to make you choose. I can’t make you choose but, Vi…”

Her eyes widen in panic, her face twisting with desperation.

“Don’t say that. I-I can fix this. We can fix this, baby, just—” she starts, her voice broken, her words faltering, as though she’s trying to pull something, anything, to make things right.

“Stop it, Violet,” you say quiet.

“No, no, just—just tell me what to do,” she says. She’s shaking, but it’s not the gentle tremor of someone trying to hold it together. It’s raw. It’s frantic. “Tell me what I need to do to, please—”

You stand your ground, feeling the anger swell within you as her frustration starts to mirror your own.

“Stop it.”

“I love you.”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s right, if there’s a chance, if somehow everything can go back to how it used to be.

But then the reality sets in.

“Are you happy with me, Vi?” You ask.

Vi looks at you and furrows her brows, confused at the question, “Of course, I am—”

“You’re happy with the way things are right now? Really?”

Vi freezes, the words caught in her throat. The certainty she usually wears like armor slips away.

“You’re happy with how far apart we always are? You’re happy that we barely talk anymore? That we don’t have time for each other anymore? T-That when I go home, you’ll forget all about me until you suddenly remember that you have a girlfriend miles and miles away, just waiting for you to call or pick up your damn phone?”

“I…” she stammers, her brow furrowing as she tries to find the right thing to say, but nothing feels right. She’s taken aback, not just by your question but by the realization behind it—the way your words cut through the illusion that she’s been clinging to, that everything is okay.

The silence between you stretches for so long and Vi fucking hates it. She hates the way you’re looking at her, as if you already know the answer she’s too afraid to give. Because deep down, she knows she’s not happy—not with the distance, not with the missed calls and the half-hearted promises, not with the way she’s been letting you slip away.

But admitting that feels like admitting defeat, like saying out loud that she’s failing you, failing this.

“I—” she tries again, but she looks away, her jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

She wants to say that she’s happy, that you’re enough, that she wouldn’t trade this for anything—but the truth is, she doesn’t even know what this is anymore either.

And by the look in your eyes, neither do you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, before opening them again to look up at her. Your hand reaches up, trembling slightly, and cups Vi’s cheek. Her skin is warm, damp from the tears she didn’t realize had fallen until now. The moment your palm makes contact, Vi leans into it instinctively. Her eyes flutter closed, and her shoulders quake as she lets out the softest, most broken sound—a quiet sob she tries to hide but can’t.

“Don’t,” she whispers, shaky and fragile. “Please…”

You don’t pull your hand away. Instead, your thumb brushes along the line of her cheekbone, and how gentle you were with her makes her cry harder. She feels your breath, and she hates how much she craves you, hates how much it hurts.

You swallow hard, the sound of your barely louder than a breath as you say, “This isn’t good for us.”

Vi’s eyes snap open, bloodshot and wide, her lips parting in disbelief. For a second, she freezes, the words not fully sinking in, like her brain refuses to process them.

“We should stop,” you say again, softer this time. Your hand is still on her cheek, and Vi clings to it, her larger hand wrapping around yours as though she could keep you there forever. “We’re hurting each other, Violet. We’ve been hurting each other for a while now.”

“No,” Vi pleads, shaking her head, her voice so weak you could barely hear her as she presses harder into your touch, desperate. “I don’t wanna stop. Please, just—let me fix this—”

You shake your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay, though they’re already blurring your vision.

“It’s not about fixing anything, Vi. We’re just in two completely different places and…” Your voice falters for a moment, breaking. “…and it’s not working for us.”

Vi’s breath hitches, and the hand gripping yours starts to tremble.

“I don’t know how to—” Her voice cracks, and she looks down, her tears falling freely onto the ground. “I don’t know how to do any of this this without you.”

Your heart clenches painfully, and for a fleeting second, you want to take it all back. You lean down slightly, pressing your forehead to hers, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, you do,” you whisper, the words like a final goodbye. “You’ve been doing all of this without me already.”

She shakes her head softly, “That’s not true.”

Vi’s breath comes out shaky, her tears mingling with yours as she presses herself closer, trying to savor the moment, to memorize the feel of you before it slips away entirely.

“I love you,” she says, words trembling as if the words are the last lifeline she has left to offer.

She watches you closely, her wide, teary eyes searching yours, desperate for something—anything—to tell her this isn’t the end.

But you don’t say it back right away.

And for those few agonizing seconds, the silence feels suffocating. Vi’s heart pounds painfully in her chest, and a lump forms in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her lips part to say something, to plead again, but before she can, you finally speak.

“I love you, Violet.”

It’s everything Vi wanted to hear, but as soon as the words leave your lips, they cut deeper than any silence ever could. There’s a softness to your voice, a finality in the way you say it, and Vi knows.

She knows what it means, what you’re trying to say without saying it outright.

And it hurts so fucking bad.

Her breath catches, and her hands drop slightly from where they’d been holding you, as if the weight of the words has drained her strength.

She shakes her head, voice cracking as she stammers, “Don’t say it like that.”

You look at her with so much tenderness it almost shatters her completely, but it’s that softness that makes it clear you’ve already made up your mind.

“Vi,” you whisper, and the way you say her name only makes the tears come faster.

She hates it. She hates how much of a goodbye it sounds.

“I love you so much,” she says, words breaking, barely audible now.

But even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they’re futile. She knows that no matter how much she loves you, no matter how much she tries to hold on, she can’t stop you from slipping through her fingers.

And for the first time, the love she’s always clung to feels hollow, like it’s not enough to keep you here.

Like she’s already lost you.

After a moment, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to Vi’s cheek, the warmth of your lips lingering on her skin.

Vi closes her eyes at the touch, savoring it, even though something deep inside her tells her this is the last time. She wants to hold onto it, to freeze this moment, to make you stay just a little longer. But you’re already stepping back, pulling away from her reach.

“I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” you say quietly.

Vi nods instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as she responds, “I’ll go with you.”

Just a little more time, she thinks. She just wants whatever time she could get with you. Her voice is so weak under her breath, but she takes a step forward, already moving to follow, to stay by your side no matter what.

But then you stop her.

You place a hand up between you—not to push her away, but enough to keep her there, frozen in place. And when she sees the look in your eyes, Vi feels the first crack split through her chest.

“I’ll be okay,” you say softly. “I’ll call a cab and find my way back.”

It’s not the words themselves that break her; it’s the way you say them, like you’re letting her go in every sense of the word. Her heart shatters, the pieces falling one by one, and she doesn’t know how to stop it. She doesn’t know how to stop you.

“Let me go with you,” she breathes out, her voice, desperate to see more of you for as long as she still can.

But you shake your head gently, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over, and she knows there’s no changing your mind.

She’s never felt so powerless, so useless, and all she can do is stand there, watching you walk away, feeling like you’re taking every part of her with you.

She watches your silhouette grow smaller and smaller, her mind clinging to every detail—how your hair looked under the dim streetlights, how soft your lips felt against her cheek, how your voice cracked when you said her name. She already misses all of it, every little piece of you.

But deep down, she knows she’s been missing you for far longer than just tonight.

The air is damp and Vi doesn’t move. She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing there, rooted to the ground, staring at the spot where you disappeared from her sight. A faint drizzle begins, tiny drops kissing her skin. She barely notices it at first, but soon the rain falls harder, soaking through her clothes.

She shivers, but she doesn’t move. Her hands fall limply at her sides, her mind replaying every moment of the night, every word you said, every second she couldn’t hold on to you. Her knees feel weak, but the ache in her chest is worse.

She wants to run after you, to stop you, but even if she said all the right words, she knows you’d still be leaving.

And it’s her fault, she thinks. She let it all slip away.

Hours pass, or maybe just minutes—it doesn’t matter. By the time she finally stumbles back to the party, her hair is dripping, her hands are trembling, and her heart feels hollow.

You booked the earliest flight you could, and as the sky begins to lighten, you pull your coat tighter around you and make your way to the airport.

In the next couple of days, in a big headline on your phone, you find out that Vi punched someone at that party.

SATURDAY, PRESENT DAY.

The hum of soft music drifted through the flower shop as you sat at the counter, a list of names and scribbled notes sprawled out in front of you. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched by your elbow, the faint aroma of lavender and honey filling the air.

You tapped your pen lightly against the edge of the paper, squinting at Mel’s unusually messy handwriting.

“Does Jayce even know this many people?” you muttered, half to yourself and half to Mel, who sat cross-legged on a stool across from you, flipping through her wedding binder.

Mel let out a melodious laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, you’d be surprised. He seems to think everyone he’s ever spoken to needs a seat at this wedding.”

She reached over and plucked the list from your hands, glancing at the names.

“This is ridiculous. He even invited his college professor,” she squinted, pointing at a name near the bottom of the page, “—Heimer…dinger?”

You laughed softly, shrugging. “Don’t look at me.”

Mel groaned, leaning back and rubbing her temples. “I swear, at this rate, we’re going to have to build a second venue just to fit all these people.”

“Maybe you could just cut the guest list in half,” you suggested lightly, marking a few names off with your pen. “Say the venue has a sudden capacity issue.”

She smirked. “Tempting. Though, knowing Jayce, he’d probably build a whole new venue himself just to make sure no one gets left out.”

You smiled at her, then turned your attention back to the seating chart—you were only halfway through the list. You could feel the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the shop’s windows. The scent of fresh blooms mixed with the faint perfume Mel always wore, filling the air with a sense of comfort you’ve gotten familiar with long ago.

“Do you think my mother will mind sitting next to Jayce’s?” Mel asks, uncertain. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and frowns at the chart like it’s a puzzle she just can’t solve.

You glance up at her and let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I think they’re are old enough to behave for one meal.”

Mel sighs, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. “You clearly haven’t met my family.”

“Yes, I have,” you roll your eyes and lean forward, studying the chart. “Okay, well… how about this?”

You move a few names around, scribbling quick arrows to new spots.

“We put your mom near your college friends. She can’t cause too much trouble if they’re surrounded by strangers.”

Mel grins at you, resting her chin on her hand as she watches you work.

“Perfect,” she says.

“How’s your mom holding up with all of this?” Mel asked suddenly, watching you as you meticulously rearranged the tiny paper name tags on the chart.

“She’s good,” you replied, your voice soft. “Excited, mostly. She keeps talking about how nice it is to have the shop involved in something so big.”

You paused, your hand hovering over one of the name tags.

“She’s just happy to see you and Jayce so… settled, I guess.”

Mel tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful look in her eyes. “And you? How are you holding up?”

You hesitated, your fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the seating chart. For a moment, you considered giving her the same polite, surface-level answer you gave everyone else. But this was Mel—your best friend, the one person who’d known you through every high and low.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, though the words felt heavier than they should have. “Really.”

Mel’s gaze softened, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached over and placed a reassuring hand on yours, her smile warm and understanding. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great. And if you need anything—anything at all—you know I’m here.”

The phone rings before you can reply. You instinctively reach for it, the receiver cool against your hand as you press it to your ear. “Lane Florals, how can I help you?”

“Oh, hey! It’s Jayce,” a familiar voice greets you cheerfully on the other end. “Just checking in to see if Mel’s still holding you hostage over there.”

You laugh softly. “Hostage is a strong word, but yes, we’re almost done.”

Mel perks up at the sound of his name and reaches for the phone.

“Give me that,” she says playfully, taking it from you. “Jayce, we’ve been over this—your input doesn’t count unless you actually help with something.”

As Mel steps into the back to argue with her fiancé, you sit back in the chair, momentarily tuning out the sound of her voice. Your eyes wander around the shop, landing on the bundles of flowers waiting to be arranged, the sunlight filtering in through the windows, and the stillness of this place.

You absently twirl the pen in your hand, your mind drifting for a moment. It’s easy to stay busy here, to focus on what’s in front of you instead of the ache you don’t like to name.

“Jayce insists we keep his cousins together,” Mel said with a playful roll of her eyes as she returned to you. “I love him, but the man doesn’t understand how chaotic that side of the family is.”

“Maybe put them near the bar. That way they won’t bother anyone too much,” you suggested, earning a grateful laugh from Mel.

“Alright, I think we’ve almost got it,” she said, standing up to pour herself a glass of water.

Left alone for a moment, you leaned over the chart, eyes scanning the names to double-check the placements. Your gaze moved quickly at first, recognizing some familiar names and skimming unfamiliar ones, until it landed on something—towards the end of the list—that made your breath hitch.

Violet Lanes.

It was there, clear as day—her name printed neatly on a delicate little card, tucked beside a few other names at one of the smaller tables. Your hands stilled, hovering over the paper as a wave of something sharp and overwhelming crashed over you.

“Hey, you okay?” Mel’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, I just—” You glanced down at the name again, your fingers brushing against the edge of the paper. “I’m fine.”

Mel’s eyes softened as she walked over, leaning over your shoulder. She followed your gaze to the card and let out a quiet sigh.

“I was going to tell you,” she said gently. “Jayce invited her. You know how they’ve been since high school. They’ve been in touch for a while, I guess. He didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

You nodded again, but the tightness in your chest didn’t ease.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Mel reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“If it’s too much, I can figure something out,” she offered. “She hasn’t even confirmed with us yet… She’s probably so busy anyway.”

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “No, it’s… it’s your wedding. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Mel, really. It’s okay,” you threw on one of the best fake smiles you could give. “It just caught me off guard, is all.”

Mel studies you for a moment, her gaze lingering on your face. “If you don’t want her there, I can tell Jayce—”

You cut her off with a quick shake of your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but you push through it. The last thing you want is for Mel to feel guilty, or worse, pitying you.

She doesn’t seem convinced, but she nods anyway, going back to arranging the seating chart. You know she’s trying to keep things light, to keep you from feeling weighed down by whatever’s hanging in the air. And maybe you’re fooling yourself into thinking you’re not still carrying it.

But the truth is, you don’t know what to do with the ghost of her, or your love for her, lingering between everything you do.

“Hey,” Mel says after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Want to grab a coffee after we finish here? We could use a break.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction. “That sounds good.”

Glancing at the seating chart again, your finger rests on the name that’s still too familiar.

series masterlist | next chapter

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[tavolgisvist]

I was always interested in finding out what have happens on the photo. What gave them the idea of depict Paul's funeral: why the funeral, why Paul? Well…I have an answer, I suppose

More legendary than most, however, were a band briefly signed to Brian, the Big Three. Other musicians on the scene seemed to regard this band with awe. They were the original power trio, real sonic bruisers who’d built themselves the biggest amplifiers - nicknamed Coffins - that anyone had ever seen.

(Liverpool - Wondrous Place by Paul Du Noyer, 2002)

Epstein made his way to the Cavern club to see the group perform at a lunchtime session on November 9th. He wrote later that he had never seen anything like The Beatles on any stage. <…> "I loved their ad libs and I was fascinated by this, to me, new music with its pounding bass beat and its vast, engulfing sound." <…> The "pounding" bass that Epstein described was due in part to a new addition to The Beatles' equipment line-up. In the early 1960s there was really no such thing as a proper bass amplifier. Most bass players would use the most powerful guitar amplifier that they could get their hands on. But these were not designed for bass guitar, and did not provide the deep, throbbing bass tones that bass guitarists wanted. As The Beatles evolved their sound and Best perfected his "atomic beat" the group were searching for a stronger and more solid bass sound.

The band considered by many to be the loudest and most aggressive in Liverpool was The Big Three. They bad started out as Cass & The Cassanovas, a four-piece until leader and frontman Brian Casser left during the beginning of 1961. The remaining members stayed together to form The Big Three: Johnny Gustafson on bass, guitarist Adrian Barber, and Liverpool's loudest drummer, Johnny Hutchinson, on the skins.

Barber says that when they became a trio there was an instant problem: he and Gustafson weren't loud enough to project over Hutchinson's drumming. Even the relatively punchy Selmer Truvoice amp was not enough. Barber, however, had an interest in electronics from his days in the merchant navy. <…> Barber went out and bought a book about loudspeakers produced by G A Briggs, who owned the British Wharfedale speaker company, and inside he found construction details for various sizes of cabinets. "I decided on one, and Denis Kealing said he could get me a 15-inch speaker," recalls Barber. "I built a set-up for the bass guitar and for the vocal, in a cabinet about five feet tall by about 18 inches square. <…> I used that and mounted it in a metal ammunitions case, so we could carry it around without killing it. Johnny Gustafson used it as his bass amp, and it was very successful. "When we carried it we bad to lower it on its side, because it was long and skinny. The first time we took it down to the Cavern, we struggled down the tiny stairs there. As we carried this black-painted thing across the room it looked just like a coffin - and that's how it got its name: the Coffin. Now, the Cavern was the underground basement of a warehouse, with three vaulted brick-built archways. Over the years water had seeped down and brought calcium deposits with it, which had settled in the ceiling bricks. So when Johnny plucked that first bass note it was like a shower of snow corning down. People went, 'Wow look at that … and listen to that.' So we were really impressed, and I got ambitious at that point." <…> Other bands began to notice the relative sophistication of The Big Three's amplification, especially the bass gear. "Liverpool wasn't a competitive scene, before it got commercial," explains Barber. '"All the bands co-operated with one another and backed each other up. It was a cool scene, and I started to build these things for other people. Paul McCartney asked me to make him a Coffin. It had a single 15-inch speaker in a reflex-ported cabinet, with two chrome handles and wheels on the side."

McCartney started to use a Barber Coffin speaker cabinet during the late part of 1961. <…> McCartney himself recalls, "Adrian made me a great bass amp that he called the Coffin. And, man! Suddenly that was a total other world. That was bass as we know it now. It was like reggae bass: it was just too right there. It was great live." Pete Best too remembers the Coffin. "Neil Aspinall and I used to carry it. Every couple of shows there'd be a flight of stairs which you had to carry this thing up, and it was then we'd wonder why he couldn't have got something smaller. We'd have sweat streaming off us. But the beauty of it was, with all the laughing and joking aside, it did produce a great sound. The first time Paul plugged it in and used it, we just said my god, this is incredible. It added to The Beatles sound."

(Beatles Gear: All the Fab Four's Instruments from Stage to Studio Hardcover by Andy Babiuk, 2010)

So, I guess, Paul is lying on his bass amp that they called the Coffin - and it's the reason of the pantomime on the photo.

[cosmiclily]

chapter one: heartache

wc: 2.1k

Five years. Vi and Caitlyn had been together for five years before Caitlyn decided that the exposure from Vi’s life as a musician was “too much.” She said she was already dealing with enough from her mother’s expectations, constant scrutiny, and the pressure to be perfect. Being tied to someone constantly in the spotlight only amplified the chaos she was trying to escape.

But how do you just walk away from five years? Five years of love, growth, and shared memories. They had been through everything together—the awkward phases, the big milestones, the small, intimate moments that made life feel worth it. They were each other’s first in almost everything: first love, first heartbreak, first time believing someone could truly know and accept them for who they were.

Vi couldn’t imagine a future without Caitlyn in it. Caitlyn wasn’t just her girlfriend; she was her rock, her balance, her safe place in a world that could be loud and overwhelming. With her, life made sense. Without her, it felt like the ground had been pulled out from under her feet.

Now, Vi was left standing in the ruins of what they had built together, forced to pick up the shattered pieces and figure out who she was without Caitlyn. Every corner of her life reminded her of what she’d lost—the songs Caitlyn inspired, the jokes they shared together, the faint trace of her perfume still clinging to the throw pillows they’d picked out together.

Relearning herself wasn’t just hard—it felt impossible. How do you start over when so much of your identity has been intertwined with someone else? How do you let go of someone who was your past, your present, and the future you were certain you’d have?

Vi’s days were spent trying to fill the void Caitlyn left behind, and her nights were haunted by the deafening silence where laughter and love used to live.

──────────────────────

“Wake up!” you say, shaking Vi’s body aggressively. “I sure hope you’re not dead or still drunk because we leave in 30 minutes. Pack your shit.” You’re already gathering her clothes scattered across the room, shoving them into her beat-up suitcase. It’s barely holding together, much like its owner.

The thing is, you love Vi—you really do. She’s one of your best friends, and without a doubt, one of the most talented people you’ve ever met. But ever since her breakup with Caitlyn, she’s been a complete wreck. All she does these days is drink and mope around like the world ended.

When she first came to you, heartbroken and teary-eyed, spilling every detail of the split, you were genuinely sad for her. Five years with someone isn’t easy to walk away from. But, selfishly, you couldn’t help but think,“At least we’ll get some killer songs out of this.” Heartbreak always fuels the best music, right? You figured she’d take her pain and pour it into the band.

Instead, she spends 85% of her days drowning herself in booze and picking fights with strangers in dive bars, and the other 15% passed out somewhere she probably shouldn’t be. Honestly, it’s exhausting keeping up with her. At least this time, she actually made it back to her own hotel room instead of crashing on some stranger’s couch—or worse.

“Violet, seriously,” you snap, shaking her again when all you get is a groan. “You’re a grown-ass woman, and I’m not your babysitter. Get up, get dressed, and try not to look like you’ve been on a week-long bender. The van is leaving, and I’m not letting you make us late again.”

She finally stirs, one bloodshot eye cracking open as she glares at you. “What’s your problem?” she mutters, her voice gravelly and tired.

“My problem? My problem is that you’re wasting your talent and dragging us all down with you. I get it—you’re hurt, heartbroken, life sucks. But this?” You gesture around the room, littered with empty bottles and discarded clothes. “This isn’t you, Vi. And it sure as hell isn’t the Vi this band needs right now.”

She sits up slowly, rubbing her temples like even that’s too much effort. “You don’t get it,” she mutters, her voice low. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like Cait.”

You take a deep breath, softening your tone. “No, I don’t. I won’t pretend I do. But I know Caitlyn wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. And I know you’re better than this. So, get your ass up and let’s get to work. You don’t have to fix everything right now, but at least show up—for yourself, and for us.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her face unreadable. For a second, you think she’s going to argue. But instead, she sighs heavily, dragging herself out of bed like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

“Fine,” she mutters, running a hand through her mess of hair. “I’ll pack. But don’t expect me to look ‘presentable.’”

You snort, tossing her a clean shirt you found buried under a pile of god knows what. “Presentable’s overrated. I’ll settle for functional.”

She gives you a half-smirk, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from her in weeks, and starts gathering the rest of her things.

You make your way to the van, your thoughts swirling as you reflect on how much your lives have changed in such a short time. Just a few months ago, you were barely scraping by, playing gigs at any bar that would have you. Your dad thought joining a band was a terrible idea—especially since it meant you wouldn’t be going to college. He never liked Vi, or her family for that matter, constantly calling her a bad influence. He’d been saying that ever since the two of you met in high school, always claiming that Vi was the one putting reckless ideas in your head.

When you told him you were starting a band with her, he completely lost it. You could still hear the echoes of his angry voice, the awful things he said, the way he swore you’d never make it. “You’re throwing your future away for a pipe dream,” he’d yelled. “Mark my words, you’ll regret this.” Those words used to haunt you—sometimes they still do. But right now, you can’t deny the faint sense of satisfaction in knowing that you’ve proven him wrong. Sure, things aren’t perfect, but you’re here. You’re on a tour van, opening for a bigger artist, starting to get noticed by her fans. It’s not the dream yet, but it’s closer than it’s ever been.

Climbing onto the van, you spot Jinx already in her usual spot by the window, earbuds dangling around her neck as she scrolls aimlessly on her phone. She glances up when she hears you, a crooked grin forming on her face.

“Did you get her to wake up?” she asks, scrunching her nose in exaggerated disgust. “I tried, but it reeks in there. Smells like whiskey, sweat, and bad decisions.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Yeah, she’s up. Barely. I had to practically shake her awake and threaten to leave her behind. She’s packing now, probably still half-asleep.”

Jinx smirks, leaning back in her seat and tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. “You’re a braver soul than I am. I gave up after two knocks. You know how Vi gets when she’s hungover—like a grumpy bear. Or a bear with a hangover.”

“She’s not a bear,” you say with a sigh, dropping into the seat across from her. “She’s just… going through it. Though, honestly, I wish she’d just move on already.”

Jinx raises an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and frustrated. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. When does ‘going through it’ stop being an excuse? She’s dragging herself—and us—down. It’s not like we’re rolling in free passes for her to waste.”

You glance out the window, watching the early morning light streak across the horizon. She’s not wrong. Vi’s breakup with Caitlyn hadn’t just been hard on her—it had been hard on all of you. The drinking, the fights, the inconsistency... It was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Where’s Ekko?” you ask, changing the subject. “Don’t tell me he’s late too.”

Jinx shrugs lazily. “Oh, he forgot something in his room. He’s probably on his way back already. You know him—‘fashionably late’ and all that.”

As if on cue, the hotel doors swing open, and Ekko steps outside with Archie, your ever-enthusiastic manager, trailing close behind. The two are deep in conversation, their hands gesturing wildly as they talk.

“Oh, you girls are already here! Excellent.” Archie’s voice carries before he even reaches the bus. His short, chubby frame and thick british accent somehow manage to command attention wherever he goes. He’s the reason the band even had a shot, the one who saw potential when no one else did.

“I have exciting news,” Archie announces, his grin stretching ear to ear as he climbs aboard. Then, his expression falters. “But… where is Miss Violet? Don’t tell me she’s late again.”

“She’s packing,” you answer, sitting up straighter. “She’ll be out any minute.”

Archie narrows his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Packing? At this hour? I gave everyone strict instructions to be ready by now.”

“She had a rough night,” you offer, though you feel like a broken record at this point. How many times have you covered for her?

“A rough night?” Archie throws his hands up dramatically. “She’s had a ‘rough night’ every night for the past month! If she’s not careful, she’ll burn herself out before we even get close to making it big.”

You exchange a glance with Jinx, who shrugs as if to say, He’s not wrong.

At that moment, the can door opens again, and Vi steps aboard. She looks like she just rolled out of bed—hair tousled, hoodie wrinkled, and sunglasses covering her undoubtedly bloodshot eyes.

“Morning,” she mutters, flopping into a seat without so much as a glance at Archie.

“Morning?” Archie echoes incredulously. “Miss Violet, this is hardly the professionalism I expect from you. We’re opening for one of the biggest acts of the year, and you’re showing up like you’ve just walked out of a frat house!”

Vi groans, tilting her head back against the seat. “Save it, Archie. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Archie pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath before shaking it off. “Fine. I’ll save my lecture for later because—believe it or not—we’ve got good news. Big news.”

Everyone perks up at that, even Vi, though she does so begrudgingly.

“What kind of news?” you ask, leaning forward with curiosity.

Archie’s grin widens as he claps his hands together. “You’re being added to three more tour dates! One of which is in LA. And, if you can manage to pull yourselves together, there might even be offers for an single on the table.”

The van erupts into excited chatter, a buzz of energy filling the space. Jinx punches the air, Ekko grins from ear to ear, and even you feel a rush of exhilaration. This is what you’ve all been working for—an actual shot at something bigger.

Even Vi, slouched in her seat with her sunglasses still on, cracks a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s there. Maybe this could be the spark she needed—the moment she finally stopped wallowing and started using all that anger and hurt for something productive.

“Quiet down, please,” Archie calls out, waving his hands to settle everyone. “I know you’re all excited, and you should be. But this will only be possible if you show your absolute best in the upcoming concerts. No more sloppiness, no more excuses. This is your chance to prove you’re ready for the big leagues.”

His words hang heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the stakes. The excitement dims just slightly, replaced by determination.

“So,” Archie continues, checking his watch, “settle down, get your heads in the game, and prepare to give it everything you’ve got. We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”

Jinx leans over your seat, her voice low but tinged with excitement. “Three more shows, an album, and LA? Think we’ll survive?”

You chuckle softly, glancing at Vi, who’s staring out the window now, her expression unreadable. “We’ll survive,” you reply. “The question is whether we’ll thrive.”

Jinx snorts. “Speak for yourself. I was born to thrive.”

Despite everything, you feel a flicker of hope. This was it—the break you’d been waiting for. Now all you had to do was rise to the occasion.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter two

notes: i love making vi suffer 😔 it’s a character flaw im sorry

[kisses4reid]

big change | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - cutting spencer’s hair results in more than just a ‘big change’ appearance wise.

genre - fluff!!!!! cutesy yearning

warnings - idk u scared of haircuts?? scissors??? kissing?? (barely edited btw)

a/n - sometimes i black out and write a fanfic and then find it later on and then i’m like shit this kinda fire and then i edit it and then i post it and then-

You roll your chair over to Spencer’s desk after much staring, and rest an elbow on a low stack of manila folders. Your sneakers squeak as you slow yourself, causing a visible flinch from the long haired boy.

His brunet hair was flicked up at the ends which touched his shoulders, the front pieces tucked behind his ears. As he lifted his gaze, hard expression softening immediately, you whispered, “I know your secret.”

His smile jolted, heart beat quickening. You had a cheeky smile on, hair twirling between your fingers, talking so low. You couldn’t possibly know his secret.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” He asked, placing his pen down and turning to give you his full attention.

“You don’t know how to cut your hair.” His long hair suited him, you thought he looked as handsome as he did on your first day of work how many years ago. The day Spencer fell in love.

Dumbfounded, Spencer replied with a pout, “I know how to cut my hair.”

You raised an eyebrow, and suddenly he was aware of the jagged lines and length of his hair, and how he was now bringing hair ties with him everywhere. Which was actually convenient for all female members of the team. He had to admit, it was inconvenient at times, and it wasn’t his favourite to deal with or to look at. He looked back into your sparkling expecting eyes, smiled softly, and continued, “You should cut it for me.”

You lifted your head from your palm and raised your eyebrows, a pink flush ghosting your cheeks. The offer was innocent, it was a favour, but something about it felt so domestic in your head that you couldn’t help but smile hard, cheeks pressing, “Yeah, of course.”

You pushed off his desk and returned to yours, though his gaze never left your sunny appearance.

The next day, you were knocking on a familiar apartment door, rocking on your sneaker heels, eyes wandering anywhere but where you thought Spencer would be when he opened the door. But even when he did open his door, after a thud and small ‘ow’, you couldn’t help but look at him and savour the last moments with his long hair.

He had a navy blue sweater over a white t-shirt, some sweatpants that looked more formal from afar, and mis-match socks on. You gulped and stepped into his apartment, taking everything in as if you hadn’t been there before.

You took off your light purple scarf and placed it on the kitchen counter, along side the small hair cutting kit you had gotten a few years ago (you couldn’t afford a hair cut before your first day at the BAU, it was a diy emergency).

The apartment was dark and cosy, cabinets a rich wood tone, countertops squeaky clean, couches plush and thrifted. You two often talked about the best thrift stores to visit, you had even planned to go to one together one day. As Spencer pulled a wooden bar stool into the kitchen to sit on, you tied your own hair up, reminding yourself of why you were here.

He smelt amazing, like a new book and burnt marshmallow, and as he gazed into your eyes waiting for you to speak, a cat caught your tongue. You were alone in this warm apartment, only the soft music of Spencer’s old playlist in the background, and a heart beating that you weren’t sure was yours or his.

“Um- Okay. Do you have a reference photo or?”

“Yeah,” he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and showed you a reference photo. It was like he wanted to be a boy band member, and as you imagined him with it, you couldn’t be happier.

He got nervous watching your reaction, it was a very drastic change. You placed his phone on the counter top next to your hair kit, his eyes following your every move like if he blinked you would dissipate. And when a small smile ghosted your face, he felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

"I like it."

"Good."

You leaned close to Spencer, your heat radiating onto him, to pull a lever on his chair to lower him to your eye level. A spray bottle appeared in your hand while the other covered Spencer's brown eyes. Suddenly, cold sprits of water caused Spencer to flinch every time he heard the trigger fire, causing you to giggle lightly. "It's just water." "I didn't get any warning though." He replied sheepishly. He couldn't hear much over his heartbeat, or see much other than you.

The next 15 minutes was spent in radio music and being surrounded by your sweet perfume, trying not to grab you or touch you as much as he wanted to. You were stood in front of him now, eyes focused on his bangs and the hair around his ears, scissors and comb in hand, and he couldn't stop gazing into your eyes like a little boy looking at the stars.

You were utterly gorgeous, beautiful, unreal. Spencer often wondered, especially at the start of your relationship, how nobody else had tried to date you in the team, or in general. But as the two of you grew closer, he realised you were telling everyone no. You were waiting for someone, and it made his heart break everytime he remembered your words.

If only he knew. Your hands jittered slightly, feeling insecure at his hard gaze that you simply couldn't ignore. You hoped in the dim lighting he couldn't see your red cheeks or steep breaths, or that he could. You hoped you never finished cutting his hair, and you thought of other ways you could stay this close. He was tall, warm, comfortable. He was smart, caring, clean. He was Spencer, who wouldn't want to stay with him? A gulp escaped you, and he ripped his eyes off of yours, looking down to avoid your eyes and to see the damage.

There was piles of hair beneath your feet now, and he smiled at the sight.

"Spencer, stop moving your head. I couldv'e cut off your eyebrows." Your laugh filled the apartment, and he looked back up at you.

He hadn't realised how far you had gotten, your eyes scanning his hair for any improvements before a small smile of approval appeared on your cheeks. A breath escaped him. You turned to close your kit. He stood up and placed a hand on the front of your neck, turning your head, and planting his lips on yours.

You squeaked in surprise, quickly kissing back as his hands traveled to your cheeks, holding onto you like you were the only girl in the world. Your fingertips splayed on his chest, you pulled away only to be followed for another kiss, only broken up by a millisecond of a breath.

You opened your eyes and pushed him softly away, noticing the lipstick now stained on his lips and around them. The dim kitchen was spinning, your chest was heaving, and your heart was racing a million beats per minute. You even got a little light-headed before Spencer took his hands from your face and rest them on your waist.

He was much taller now that he wasn't sat, and he looked even more handsome with the haircut you had given him. For a second you thought you were hallucinating. Spencers eyes played between your lips and your eyes, before meeting you in the middle once again. He lifted you slightly, kissing you with movements full of yearning and passion, slowly with multiple breaths in the middle to give you time to reject him (which he expected), but you never did.

You put one hand on his cheek as he pulled away. He smiled widely at you, taking the enthusiasm back as a good sign. He didn't totally fuck up. You whispered, "You kiss your barbers often?" He replied with a cheeky smile, "Only you."

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[catghoststories]

Frank, Eddie, and the Tell-Tale Heart

So, I know the main focus of this update was Poppy, which I was happy to see (though I'm not happy to see what happened to her).  I do have a theory cooking about her, Sally, and the Commedia Dell'arte, but Frank n' Eddie are my favorite pair, and I've been stewing over this particular theory since the July '23 update.  This tiny line from the Looky-Loo storybook is what cinched it for me.

Source: Merchandise Page, Looky-Loo Storybook

This line isn't read out loud, but we can see it at around the 9 minute in the video, above Eddie, looking so polite.  It reads,

"Villains!" I shrieked, "I can deny it no longer! I admit the deed!—tear up my flower bed!—here, here!—it is the ticking of my beloved alarm clock!"

This isn't the actual line from The Tell-Tale Heart.  The original line reads "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

Source: The Tell-Tale Heart

The Tell-Tale Heart is about someone murdering their roommate, cutting him into pieces, and hiding the evidence under the floorboards of their house. 

And I think this is what Frank is going to do to Eddie, in an attempt to protect him in a perverse, misguided way.

This rewritten lines seems very specific to Frank and Eddie.  We know Frank loves his garden.  And who's the only character in the Neighborhood who owns a clock?  Eddie.

At the end of the Homewarming video, Frank sees how distressed Eddie is.  As many have theorized, Frank seems to be somewhat aware of what's happening, although we don't know to what extent.  But he sees that Eddie is now in the line of fire of The Powers That Be, and he becomes worried for him.  

I think Frank will dismantle Eddie and hide him in his garden until he deems it 'safe' for Eddie to come back, once the 'eyes' are off him.  (Kind of reminds me of the Eye of Sauron from Lord of the Rings).  An unintentional—or perhaps intentional—side effect of being dismantled and put back together, with new parts, is that Eddie doesn't remember things well. 

Including, possibly, his and Frank's relationship.

This goes along with the theme we've seen several times in WH now, including this new Halloween update.  The puppets unintentionally—yet seriously—harm their loved ones in order to protect them from something they deem far worse—whatever that may be.

As these posts by kykudos, oniongrass, and nikkiiiscute discuss, there is an image from one of the hidden bug clips of Frank's garden with 9 clothespins—one buried in the dirt.

Source: Welcome Home Hidden Audio ('til it's back on the official site :3)

And there's the references to burial in Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight, too.  This post by the-nosy-neighbor goes quite a lot into this song very well, especially how it might indicate Frank could put Eddie into a suspended state!

Source: Transcript Page, Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

Now I have been thinking about this dismantling/reassembling thing for a long time, especially since the last Halloween update.  Eddie is one of the puppets with a new costume, and he is Frank(enstein)'s monster.  And he has a big yellow band-aid on the back—Frank's color.  If Eddie is taken apart, Frank will patch him up again.

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(Also, I'm curious about the blue hand and face in Eddie's costume design. That's Barnaby's color. Does Frank use Barnaby's spare parts to put Eddie back together?! 😳 Especially since I feel like Barnaby's time on Mister Bone's Wild Ride is fast approaching—but that's yet another post 😅)

But based on the Tell-Tale Heart line, Frank may have been the one to do the dismantling in the first place, which is quite dark.  Based on the below picture from the former staff member page—clearer image here from Clown's Tumblr—Frank may be aware they're puppets and made up of various parts.

Source: Welcome Home Wiki until it's back on the official site :3

There is also an intense piece on Clown's Ko-Fi here (please support Clown if you can!) that shows butterflies doing SOMETHING to Eddie. Are they putting him together? Or taking him apart to join them in their hibernation? 🤔

Frank also likes gelatin. As he tells Poppy in their hidden audio, 'it holds perfectly sliced fruit beautifully'.  Perfectly sliced, cut up fruit, eh?  Gelatin is a preservative that we also see in the cookbook recipe, and we all know Eddie has an unholy encounter with his single pea.  So yet another symbol of suspended animation that is related to Frank and Eddie.

Source: Merchandise Page, Cookbook

So it seems like Frank has some experience in preservation, hibernation, etc. and knows how to use it, if it comes to it.

The next big update will likely be spring-themed.  A long time ago, Clown posted that Frank has a holiday in spring. Of course this isn't canon until it's on the website, but either way, I think Frank will have an important role in the spring update, which I believe will also focus on Julie.  We may see him wake up Julie from hibernation...and Eddie from his dirt nap.  

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(I've been so curious about that shadow behind the flower.  At first I thought 'OMG, it's Eddie's hand!', but I don't think so. 😅 I dunno what it is, but it doesn't quite seem flower like to me...🤔)

This Ko-Fi post (again, please support Clown if you have the means!) was posted around Easter this year and had a bunny/Easter theme.  Clown says "What is there to say though... Well! We know what the next holiday is in our Home Sweet Home, I'd say."  A huge theme of Easter/Spring are Rebirth and Resurrection.

As this post by serene-hatterene so beautifully details, Frank may feel pressured to kiss Julie to wake her up to prove his heteronormativity.  Maybe to further protect Eddie, too, to prove they aren't a thing.  Seems like Julie's family may show up this update, too, and we know family can cause a lot of pressure for couples during holidays. 😬

My last item isn't that strong, but I have been thinking of since the July '23 update.  In Eddie's Big Lift, Frank says the following line:

Source: Transcript Page, Eddie's Big Lift

The tense of "You always did work too hard" always bothered me.  Why doesn't Frank just say, "You always work too hard!"  And Eddie doesn't seem to know what he's talking about. Frank sounds almost wistful here.  It's like he's talking about his ex—a former version of Eddie, pre-dismantling, perhaps?

(Also, 'Enjoy the ground, Mr. Dear'? Dude, if this theory is right, that line is even more screwed up than it already was. 😳)

Here is my order of how I feel these events actually happened:

Secret Bug Audios (Eddie and Frank flirting) -> 1st Halloween Audio (Eddie still seems like his chipper, knowledgeable self) -> Homewarming -> Springtime (and Eddie's Resurrection)? -> Eddie's Big Lift

Not quite sure where this last Halloween update lands, but I feel like it's later.  Eddie seems ignorant of the potential adverse effects The Brickening (TM) could have on Poppy.  I feel like he's been more sensitive to Poppy and others in the past (but maybe I'm wrong, I'm biased towards him, heh).  Perhaps after his Reconstruction, his memory has now been reset, and he has "fallen into line" with the other Neighbors and their weird, pile-onto-one-person ways.

Anyway, what do you all think? 😬😬 I do hope I'm wrong, since Frank is my favorite, and this would make me feel very differently about him. 😬😬😬 Please tell me your own WH theories, too! I find them so interesting!

[rinhaler]

As promised!!! Since I love your writing, I had this imagination spark while listening to Chase Atlantic's "HEAVEN AND BACK" song, oddly to say I associate Rin Itoshi in every CA songs. Basically could I request a steamy one-night stand of him meeting reader in a big crowded bar where Rin is likely a bass guitarist? Sounds cheesy of it but XD

GLAD U SAID BASS PLAYER MY BOYF PLAYS BASS 😭 sorry this took SO long to post but I hope u like it :3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, alcohol consumption, (kinda fast) enemies to lovers, fingering, love bites, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess etc.), squirting.

words: 2.2k

It’s been years since you’ve been to a gig. Especially one like this, in a dingy dive bar for a barely known local band. The guitarist is a friend of your cousin’s. And she just about begged you to go.

The place is pretty packed and the music definitely isn’t the worst you’ve heard. In fact, you found yourself swaying your hips and tapping your toes along to the beat. As the night went on and on, you were surprised to find that they were actually good. Good enough to be searching for their latest single when they promoted it at the end of their set.

“Play nice please,” your cousin begs. “I really like him, and I think tonight might be the night.”

“I knew he wasn’t just a fucking friend.” you laugh. She crosses her arms across her chest as embarrassment surges through her, but you still decide to tease her. “You really needed me to help you get some dick?”

“Shut up!” she blushes. “You always have guys falling at your feet so I thought it might rub off on me.” she pouts.

You clear your throat when you notice the guy in question heading your way. She turns around, instantly, smoothing her hair down and putting on the highest, girliest voice she can muster. He seems interested enough without her needing your help, but you decide to stay a few extra seconds for moral support. She giggles at every sentence and smiles giddily whenever he speaks.

“Tone it down, you’re good.” you whisper in her ear before slinking away to the bar.

You signal for a drink, thankful for the low-cut top you’re wearing as everyone else seems to be instantly ignored in favour of you. There’s a scoff beside you, one you choose to ignore until he watches you receive your pint of beer.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask.

“No.” he responds. “I’m jealous of your drink, princess.”

“Excuse me, can you get this guy a beer too?” you yell. The bartender nods with a smile and quickly acquiesces. “Will that put a smile on your pretty face?”

He smirks but shakes his head as he ignores you. He thanks the bartender as he receives his own drink, the frothy head attaching itself to his lip before he licks it away. He grunts a little as he feels a passerby knock into the big black case on his back. It’s only then that you notice it, and pieces begin to fall into place.

“Oh fuck. You were in the band.” you smile excitedly as you angle your body to face him. “I wasn’t gonna come tonight but I’m glad I did.” you giggle as you pull up your phone to show the bands single saved in your music library.

“Thanks.” he nods. “Why did you come?”

“Uh my cousin is trying to fuck the guitarist.”

“You’re Ada’s cousin?” he asks, expression changing to one of slight annoyance. He takes another swig of his beer before elaborating. “Zantetsu hasn’t shut up about her and she’s always crashing our practices. I hope they get it over with, it’s getting in the way.”

“Oh you’re a serious musician. Gotcha.” you roll your eyes. “You know you play the most boring instrument out of everyone, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“Drummers are the hottest, guitars are the most iconic, everyone’s drawn to the singer. And then there’s… you. No one can even hear you over all of that, you know.”

He scoffs once again. You can tell he wants to fight you on it and fill your head with facts about his instrument of choice. But it’s almost like he already knows you and how stubborn you are. He could tell you anything he wants, but you’ll die on the hill you’ve decided to climb just to piss him off more.

“They’d sound like shit if it wasn’t for me.” he mumbles before taking another drink. “The bass is the most important part, you’re clueless. It’s like you’ve never listened to music in your life.”

“Clueless?” you repeat. “Besides, you’ve got a pretty face. I’m sure if your attitude wasn’t so rotten and you were the lead singer you’d be drowning in pussy.”

“I do alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You squint your eyes sceptically. There’s no doubt that he has the potential to pull a girl or two. And, admittedly, you’ve had one very hostile conversation with him. But you can tell from his sulky demeanour that any woman he has a chance with is likely scared off by his attitude.

He tries to ignore you for the remainder of his drink.

God, he tries.

But he’s overwhelmed by the desire to put you in your place.

“I—”

“There’s no way you’re getting girls.” you interrupt him immediately. “Like, no way. Maybe one or two, but you’re not doing better than the lead. He’s gorgeous and he’s the face of the band.”

His smile is wicked as he holds his near empty glass, swilling the golden liquid around the bottom before he puts it down on a coaster. “You really don’t get it, do you?” you’re a little taken aback as he bites his lip whilst looking at you from the corner of his eye.

His expression makes your heart beat a little faster. You find yourself shuffling in your seat as you see just how strikingly handsome he really is when he’s trying. And then it hits you, he’s trying. He’s showing you what he’s capable of and you’re falling for it. Even with the knowledge, it’s too late. All you can think about his that sharp jawline and striking stare.

“You know what they say about bass players.” he says quietly, but loud enough for you to hear. His barstool spins so he’s facing you. You take a sharp inhale as he slowly leans in towards you, the smell of beer on his pretty lips makes you heady and excited, waiting with bated breath for him to continue. “They’re good with their fingers.”

You can’t stifle a laugh as he pulls away, giggling like your cousin had been moments prior whilst flirting with the guitarist. It’s embarrassing, letting him see you reduced to this after trying to irritate him. You clear your throat and try to gain your composure.

“You’re disgusting.” you respond.

“Mmm, you want to find out though, so,” he shrugs, finishing the last dregs of his drink. “I’ll wait by the entrance for ten minutes, if you don’t come find me, I’ll leave without you.” he walks away without even looking at you.

You don’t get a chance to say a word before he seamlessly weaves through the crowd and out of sight. Without thinking, you’re already on your feet and checking the time.

Ten minutes.

You rush through the bar to find Ada, tapping on her shoulder to pull her attention away from Zantetsu. “I’m leaving. Seal the deal, please.” you wink. She nods, laughing as you kiss her cheek and rush towards the entrance.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you saw his face light up when he realised you were actually going to take him up on his offer. He plays it off, though, trying to appear cooler and more aloof as you approach him.

“It’s barely been two minutes.” he tells you.

“I’m not gonna let you hear the end of it if you’re all talk.” you smirk.

The minute he gets you inside of his apartment, you can’t keep your hands off each other. Your lips are on his in an instant, your breath stolen as he lifts you from the ground and encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist while he carries you into the kitchen.

He helps you out of the vest top you’re wearing when he sits you down on the counter so you’re down to your jeans and bra. You tilt your head as he peppers your neck in a combination of soft and sloppy kisses.

Your heels fall off without effort as you instinctively open your legs, rolling your hip against his clothed abs.

“My roommate is out,” he tells you quietly, still kissing you all over. You moan softly as he starts leaving soft bite marks across your skin. “He’s such a clean freak, he’d lose it if he knew—”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, you cup his face and direct him to kiss you again. “Help me get my jeans off.”

He wastes no time unbuttoning them and yanking down the zipper. He keeps his eyes on yours as he helps you shimmy out of the wide-legged jeans, smiling at you as you both hear them crumple on the ground.

“Gonna show me what a stud you are?” you ask, spreading your legs to reveal your dark, lewd panties. There’s a glint of amusement in his eye, which soon turns into a toothy grin as he runs his finger along the damp slit. “Fuck,”

“You’re soaking for me already, good girl.” he tells you. He begins to rub your clit over the lace covering your flesh, and you’re immediately putty in his hands. Your legs quiver slightly, and you rush to close them, but he pries them apart before leaning in to kiss you. “Keep them open for me.” he demands before slipping his tongue between your lips.

“Haah.. haaaah~!” you whimper, his featherlight ministrations seeming like magic as he continues to tease your clit.

“Fuck,” he grunts, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties before he begins to tug. “Off. Get them off.” he demands, ordering you to wiggle on the counter until he manages to peel them from your cunt and slip them down your legs. He distracts you with a kiss as he shoves them into the back pocket of his jeans.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as he resumes circling your now bare clit. Your face is picturesque, he thinks, as your eyes become heavy and your pants are more uncontrollable.

“Are you faking this to piss me off?” he wonders. You shake your head slowly. “You’re so sensitive…”

“S-Shut up,” you bite your lip before giggling. “Haven’t gotten any in a while.”

“Well we can’t have that. Better make up for lost time.” he grins, fingers traversing from your throbbing clit to your entrance. His jaw hangs low, moaning in faux sympathy as he starts to stretch you immediately with two fingers. “You’re so tight baby, takin’ me so well.” he tells you.

He doesn’t wait for a response before his head sinks to nestle in the crook of your neck as he assaults your skin with a cacophony moans and sucks, decorating your flesh with his name in a purple and blue masterpiece.  

Your cunt squelches as he presses his fingers deeper and deeper into your gooey interior, eagerly searching for your sweet spot and hellbent on targeting it. He hears you squeak, body almost falling limp with a particularly delicious curling of his fingers. You feel his smug expression against your pulse point, but instead of mocking you, his canines gently graze against it.

“She’s so loud for me, baby. Your sloppy little pussy loves me.” he breathes. You throw your head back as he continues to delve deeper and deeper until you can no longer fight off the urge to scream his name.

“FUCK, Rin!” you cry. “There! R-Right there!”

“There, princess?” he asks, though it’s rhetorical. He already knows what you want and what he needs to do. You’re happy you goaded him. But he’s happier to know he’s proving you wrong. “You’re squeezing so tight… won’t be able to play with your pussy or my bass if you break my fingers.”

“Sto- stop. Goddddd Rin I’m gonna c-um. Gonna cum!” you warn him, as if he didn’t already know. You wrap your arms around his neck in a needy display that makes you sick, but you don’t care enough to stop. He doesn’t mind, either. Making out with you passionately, swapping spit as drool dribbles and pools from each of your mouths. His lips remain connected to yours by a single string of spit as you break away to moan through your high.

He swallows them, though. Transfixed by the feeling and pride that you’re offering your prettiest sounds for him to devour while your legs quiver violently on either side of his hand.

You throw your head back as your pussy begins to squirt and douse his fingers. He doesn’t even flinch, immediately using his free hand to swipe across your clit to extend your pleasure and further the mess spurting from the apex of your thighs.

“She really likes me, baby.” he smirks at you, an expression so smarmy you’d punch him if he hadn’t made you feel so good. “You came so fast for me.”

“You’re welcome.” you giggle, leaning forward to kiss him. “I got what I came for so I’m gonna leave now.” you tell him as you pretend to free yourself of his hold. He shakes his head, lower lip tugged by his teeth as he tries to supress a smile.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Nowhere near through with you yet.”

© 2024 rinhaler

[thanosscross]

Cutie - Kwon Ji-Yong/G-Dragon x reader part one

Summary: After getting a pretty good gig, you meet someone at the club, who you immediately take a liking to, due to how fucking adorable he was anytime he was around you, never noticing he was the one who sang some of your favorite songs to play.

Warnings: None <33

You worked with music for as long as you could remember, you always liked the way certain songs just merged perfectly, plus it was just fun. Once you got to the legal age to go out to clubs, it just got even more fun, so you decided to invest your birthday money and savings to get all of the equipment you'd need to start taking DJ gigs at different clubs around your hometown.

After a few months, you quickly made a name for yourself in the club scene, even getting to travel to other countries to be able to do the one thing you absolutely loved. Which is how you ended up in a high end private club, making sure all of your things were hooked up before the club actually opened. "Y/n? Right? So we're going to have some pretty big names in here tonight, so make sure shit is amazing or we won't be afraid to replace you." The manager stated as he helped you set your mixer down on the table, it was your most expensive piece, so naturally it was your baby, always making sure it was in the most pristine condition, never really allowing anybody to touch it during your gigs, unless you needed help carrying it back to your car.

As the night started off, you were more reserved, trying to feel out the crowd before really getting into it, you nodded along to your music as you took a drink of the random drink the bartender had made you, thankful for the complimentary drinks during your gig. You noticed as a group of four boys walked in, watching as the crowd morphed around them you assumed they were the big names the manager was talking about. You held your headphones as you shook your head to the beat, bouncing on your tip toes as you mixed one of the trending songs for a rising band, BigBang, with a song you became familiar with in your sets, You weren't sure the name exactly, but you knew from the BigBang songs that you mashed up, he was one of the guys that went by G-Dragon. You noticed as the boys looked over towards you laughing loudly as they sent you a thumbs up.

As the night got later, you got drunker, but so did everybody else, the club was vibing and you swore this had to be one of your best gigs yet. Noticing movement from the side of your eye, you glanced over, seeing a shorter man shyly scratching the back of his neck a few feet away. "Hi...Can I help you?" You shouted over the music, giggling softly as you slid your headphones around your neck so you could hear him properly, keeping your hands on the switches on your mixer not wanting to miss your cue to switch the song back over to 'Fantastic baby'. "U-Um..Hi! I'm Ji-Yong! I like your stuff!" He sheepishly shouted pointing to your setup, you smiled softly, shamelessly checking him out.

He was adorable, you could tell by his slurred words and him swaying as he stood shyly in front of you, he was drunk, he had on tight black skinny jeans, a striped oversized long sleeve shirt with a white t-shirt over it, the sleeves pulled over his hands as he nervously rocked on his feet. His hair was cleanly cut as the silky black strands were sat perfectly out of his face, you took notice to the tattoos that littered his neck, disappearing under his shirt, and his ears that were covered in small earrings. "You're cute!" You smiled after a minute "I'm y/n!" You added on before nodding your head, motioning him to get closer to you, shuffling closer, Ji-Yong covered his cheeks blushing brightly. Even drunk he'd still always get ladies flustered, but here you were, making him a blushing mess just by checking him out and drunkenly complimenting him. It confused Ji-Yong though, even in his state, you sang along to his song, not missing a single word, but you still never noticed who exactly was standing next to you, it had to be the alcohol he thought, that's why you didn't notice yet, right? How could you mainly be playing their songs all night, and not know him?

As it got closer to close you swayed your head back, moving your hands in the air to the beat of Good Boy, you had somehow without realizing made that into your closing song. Anybody who had been to your gigs before would get the hint to get their things together as soon as the song started, knowing they had one more song after that before they'd be kicked out. Ji-Yong was even more drunk than he was whenever he first approached you, jumping next to you as he shook his head drunkenly to the beat, his hair getting messy and wild in the process. As the club closed, you were left standing next to a drunk, giggling, blushing Ji-Yong "You going to come back tomorrow to see me, cutie?" You asked raising your eyebrows playfully, watching as he gasped his eyes widening "Will you be back?" He whispered in shock, excitedly grabbing your arms "Yea, I've got a few more gigs before I head over to a place in America for a few weeks" You smiled, watching as he blushed brightly covering his cheeks in excitement with his hands, now that the lights were on, you could see him a lot better. "If you want me too" He chuckled, throwing his head back as he blushed, not noticing his friends approaching with their own smirks "Of course, Cutie, I'd always be happy to have you up here being the good looks of my gigs" You teased, watching as three other men approached "Ji-Yong! Is this where you've been all night!?" The tallest one shouted laughing, Ji-Yong just turned around excitedly "Guys! Guys! This is Y/n!! She's awesome!" He cheered, holding onto one of your arms still as he bounced in his spot "Nice to meet you, Y/n, Sorry about our friend here, he tends to get excited after shows and...I guess runs off now whenever he gets drunk" A shorter one replied, extending his hand "I'm Dae-Sung, That is Tae-Yang, and this giant, is T.O.P" He smiled, as you shook his hand you gasped recognizing at least one of the names, you smiled bowing slightly in respect, Seung Hyun just blushed laughing softly "Thanks for taking care of Ji-Yong for us, hopefully his drunk ass wasn't too much of a bother" Tae-Yang jumped in, shaking your hand gently, Ji-Yong pouted sightly as his friends pulled him away from you "No, of course night! He's welcome back to my gigs anytime, I like having cuties help me up there" You smirked, winking at Ji-Yong before bidding your farewells, going to find one of the bartenders to help you with your things.

Your second night there, it took awhile for you to spot the boys, but after about three hours of being there, you spotted them all walking in, Ji-Yong being in front, trying to look around the crowd to get a better view of you. "I'm going to go find Y/n!" He shouted to his friends, determined to stay slightly sober as he spent the night with you again. As Ji-Yong made his way to you, his cheeks immediately broke into a blush, you were already standing behind the table, a glass in your hand, and an extra sitting a few feet away from all of your equipment. "Cutie! Get over here!" You cheered, smiling brightly as you spotted him at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform you were set up at. Ji-Yong was quick to rush over, smiling as you grabbed his hand raising it in the air as you danced along to the song playing.

It wasn't long before Ji-Yong was drunk with you again, dancing along to the music with his hand still in yours. "I'm gonna miss you when I leave, cutie!" You shouted over the music, moving your hips to the beat, giggling as you watched him cover his cheeks in a blush. Ji-Yong couldn't help it, between how hot you were always making him flustered, and the way your hips moved to the music, it was giving him unholy thoughts as he hid his face. "Really?" He asked loudly over the speakers, you nodded in reply, smirking as you spun him around before pressing your back against his chest, running your hands up your body, the alcohol really taking you in it's hold. "W-Why don't I give you my number?" He asked shyly, trying to hide his blushing cheeks, and the obvious growing bulge in his jeans.

After your little dance break with Ji-Yong, he was feeling more flustered than ever, holding his cheeks as they started to hurt from how long he was smiling for. He excused himself, using the excuse he needed to use the restroom to go find his friends, feeling like he was going to explode being around you. "Seung Hyun!" He shouted, spotting the group at a table, laughing about something "Yes, Ji?" He asked playfully, turning his head to look at his friend who was clearly flustered and frustrated "She's so fucking...Oh my god!" He shouted; it was the second day now he couldn't find the words to describe you, or the way you make him feel, he just wanted to scream, in a good way. Ji-Yong would calm down after a bit, continuing to try and describe you to the boys, only growing grumpy with the fact he was still at a loss of words. As he made his way back to you, he noticed you looking deeply at the mixer board in front of you, rocking your body to the beat before sliding the left switches up and the right ones down as you switched the song over to a different one as soon as the beat dropped. "Hi! Sorry it took so long!" He shouted over the music as he approached you, your head immediately turned at the sound of his voice "Cutie! There you are!" You smiled happily "I thought you left, I was upset thinking you never said bye!" You laughed softly, resting your hand on his arm gently, causing his blush to return to his cheeks.

Whenever you ended your last gig a few nights later, you gave Ji-Yong a tight hug, knowing it'd be a little while before you were back home "Call me, got it, Cutie?" You stated, pointing at Ji-Yong as he sadly stood next to his friends, even with his dampened mood, you were still successful in making him blush, he nodded softly, trying to offer you a soft smile. "Will you let me know as soon as you're back?" He asked sadly, tugging his sleeves over his hands as he looked at his shoes, you just giggled shaking your head "Of course, cutie" You whispered, lifting his head gently to make eye contact with you, he was quick to cover his face quickly "Wait! I have to get a picture! I can't bare to not see my cutie for three weeks!" You gasped, pulling your phone out, Ji-Yong just covered his face more as he giggled, the slightly new nickname causing his stomach to do flips. As you opened your camera app, you pressed your lips to his cheek smiling, you weren't sure why you were so flirty with him, you weren't like this with any man, they often annoyed you, but there was something about Ji-Yong, he was so adorable and charming, you just always wanted to see how cute he was whenever he'd blush and do that cute smile of his.

Whenever you'd both depart, Ji-Yong would have to hold back tears, the alcohol mixed with his already saddened emotions causing him to feel a lot more towards the goodbye with you. You would be quick to be rushed to another country by your personal manager, who had yet to find out about your new 'friend' you had met.

--

What do we think lovelies? Part two coming really soon because personally I cannot get enough of flustered soft Ji-Yong, maybe even smut in the future? 0.0 what do you think? You like?

--

Taglist!!

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@seunghyunwifey

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[eunseoksimp]

west coast — p.wb [vol 1]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 lead singer park wonbin, bass guitarist reader, angst, songfic

synopsis: caught in the chaos of fame and forbidden longing, you’re the guitarist in a rising band, battling intense feelings for park wonbin—charismatic, untouchable, and completely unaware of the storm he’s stirred within you. despite the deep adoration you pour into your music, he remains distant, leaving you to grapple with a passion that he’ll never truly return.

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, poorly strung together suggestive content, unprotected sex (please do not imitate in real life), one mention of an ed

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

you stand in the shadows, just out of reach of the flickering stage lights, the pulsing beat of the bass vibrating through your chest like a second heartbeat. 

the air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something else—something electric, almost tangible. the crowd surges and sways in front of you, a living, breathing sea of bodies lost in the music, their collective energy like a storm ready to break.

on stage, wonbin commands the space like a golden god, every movement deliberate, every note he plays dripping with an effortless cool that sends shivers down your spine. his fingers dance over the strings of his guitar, coaxing out a sound that feels like fire and silk all at once, burning and soothing. the lights catch the sheen of sweat on his brow, turning him into something almost otherworldly, like he’s been kissed by the gods themselves.

you can’t take your eyes off him, and it’s not just because of the music. 

there’s something about the way he moves, the way his hair falls into his eyes, the way he grins at the crowd—wild and free, untamed. it’s as if he’s made of the very essence of the west coast, of sunsets that bleed into the ocean, of nights that stretch on forever, filled with the promise of something more, something you can almost touch but never quite grasp.

but this, right here, this stage, this music—it’s everything you ever wanted, everything you dreamed of. it’s the reason you left behind the quiet life you once knew, trading it for the chaotic, unpredictable rhythm of the west coast. music had always been your escape, the one thing that made sense in a world that often felt too loud, too fast, too much. 

you remember the first time you picked up a guitar, the way the strings felt under your fingers, the thrill of creating something from nothing, the way the music seemed to pour out of you like it had been waiting there all along. it was as if you had found the missing piece of yourself, the part that had been aching for something more.

back then, you were just a girl with big dreams and a second-hand guitar, strumming away in your bedroom, your heart set on making it in a world that didn’t seem to have a place for you. you poured yourself into the music, letting it carry you away, dreaming of the day when you’d be on stage, playing to a crowd that felt every note, every chord, just as deeply as you did.

and then, one day, that dream started to take shape. it wasn’t easy—it was late nights and early mornings, playing in dingy bars for crowds that barely noticed you, struggling to make ends meet while holding onto the belief that one day, it would all be worth it. 

you met yunjin during one of those late nights, in a crowded bar where the air was thick with smoke and the floor sticky with spilled drinks. she was behind the bar, pouring shots with a practiced ease, her eyes flicking to the stage every now and then, as if she was waiting for something—or someone. 

you were up next, and you remember the way your hands trembled slightly as you plugged in your guitar, the nerves dancing under your skin like live wires. 

but the moment you started playing, everything else fell away. the music took over, filling the small space with a sound that was raw and powerful, pulling the few people who were paying attention into its grip.

 when you finished, there was a brief moment of silence before the applause started—a smattering at first, then growing louder, more enthusiastic. it wasn’t much, but it was enough. enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, you were on the right path.

yunjin had approached you afterward, a drink in hand and a smile on her face. 

“that was incredible,” she said, her voice low and warm, the kind that instantly put you at ease. “you’ve got something special, you know that?”

you shrugged, not really sure how to respond. compliments always made you a little uncomfortable, like they were something you didn’t quite know what to do with.

 “thanks,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, still riding the high from the performance.

“no, seriously,” she insisted, leaning in a little closer. “you’ve got the kind of talent that people notice. you ever think about doing this full-time? like, for real?”

you laughed, a short, nervous sound. “that’s the dream, isn’t it?”

“well, dreams don’t come true if you don’t chase them,” she said, and there was something in her tone that made you believe she knew what she was talking about. “listen, a few friends of mine are putting together a band. we’re looking for a guitarist. interested?”

that’s how it started—a chance encounter in a smoky bar, a conversation that led to late-night rehearsals in a cramped garage, the sound of music filling the space like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 yunjin introduced you to the rest of the band, and you fit in like you’d always belonged there, like this was where you were meant to be.

and then there was wonbin.

you remember the first time you saw him—really saw him—not just as another musician, but as something more. it was during one of those rehearsals, the sun just starting to dip below the horizon, casting everything in a soft, golden light. 

he was sitting on the edge of the stage, tuning his guitar, his hair falling into his eyes in that careless way that seemed so effortlessly cool. there was something about him, something that drew you in, made you want to know more, to see past the easy smile and the rockstar persona.

he caught you staring, and for a moment, you were sure he was going to say something, maybe tease you or flash that grin that made your heart skip a beat. but instead, he just looked at you, his gaze steady, unreadable, like he was trying to figure you out. it was the first time you felt that strange, electric pull, the one that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“hey,” he said finally, his voice low, almost lost in the noise of the band setting up. “you’re the new guitarist, right?”

“yeah,” you managed to say, hoping your voice didn’t betray how nervous you felt. “that’s me.”

“cool.” he nodded, then looked back down at his guitar, strumming a few chords. “heard a lot about you. they say you’re good.”

“they do?” you asked, surprised. you hadn’t realized you’d made that much of an impression.

“yeah.” he looked up again, his eyes locking onto yours, and there was something in his gaze that made your heart race. “you’ve got the music in you. that’s what matters.”

those words stuck with you, long after the rehearsal ended and everyone had gone home. it was the first time someone had acknowledged what you’d always felt deep down—that music wasn’t just something you did, it was who you were. it was in your blood, in your bones, a part of you that you couldn’t separate even if you tried.

and from that moment on, you were hooked. on the music, on the band, on the way wonbin made you feel—like you were part of something bigger than yourself, something that mattered. you started looking forward to rehearsals, to those late nights when the world outside the garage faded away, leaving just the music and the band and that electric feeling in the air.

but it wasn’t long before you realized that the feeling you had for wonbin wasn’t just admiration, or even the camaraderie that comes from making music together. it was something more, something deeper, something that scared you because it felt so out of control.

you tried to ignore it, to push it down, telling yourself that it was just a crush, that it would pass. but the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to pretend that what you felt was anything but real.

 it was in the way your heart sped up every time he smiled at you, in the way your stomach flipped when his fingers brushed against yours as you passed him a guitar pick, in the way your thoughts drifted to him when you were alone, late at night, the memory of his voice, his touch, lingering long after you’d said goodbye.

and now, as you stand in the shadows, watching him command the stage, you feel that same pull, that same intoxicating mix of longing and fear, of desire and dread. you know you shouldn’t let yourself feel this way, that it’s dangerous to want someone who lives so freely, who moves from one girl to the next like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t mean anything. 

but you can’t help it. because when wonbin looks at you, when he plays that guitar like it’s an extension of himself, like it’s a part of his soul, you forget everything else. you forget that you’re supposed to be strong, that you’re supposed to keep your feelings in check, that you’re just another musician in the band, nothing more.

the song shifts, the tempo slowing, and the world seems to slow with it. the lights dim, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you—wonbin on stage, you in the shadows, the space between you charged with something that makes your skin tingle. he looks up, his gaze cutting through the crowd, and for the briefest second, his eyes find yours.

the breath catches in your throat, and everything else falls away. the crowd, the noise, the heavy press of bodies around you—it all dissolves, leaving just the two of you in the dim glow of the stage lights. he holds your gaze and in that moment, it feels like he’s playing just for you, like every note is a secret shared between you and him alone.

your heart beats faster, a wild, erratic rhythm that echoes the pounding of the drums. you know you should look away, pull yourself back from the edge of whatever this is, but you can’t. you’re caught, like a moth drawn to a flame, helpless to resist even as you feel the heat of it burning you alive.

the song builds again, the tempo picking up, pulling you back into the frenzy of the crowd. the moment is gone, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand, but the fire it sparked in you lingers, smoldering in the pit of your stomach. you try to shake it off, to remind yourself that he’s just another rockstar, that you’re just another face in the crowd.

but deep down, you know it’s a lie. because nothing, no one, has ever made you feel the way he does—like you’re teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying, something that could consume you if you let it. and maybe, just maybe, you want to let it.

the song ends in a blaze of sound, and the crowd erupts in cheers, their voices rising to meet the final, lingering notes. wonbin steps back from the mic, grinning wide, his eyes alight with the thrill of the performance. he gives the crowd one last look before turning away, and just like that, the spell is broken.

you’re left standing in the shadows, your heart still racing, the ghost of his gaze burned into your memory. the music fades, replaced by the dull roar of the crowd, and the world crashes back in around you, loud and overwhelming. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use.

you’re already lost, swept away by the current, and you know there’s no coming back.

“hey, you okay?” yunjin’s voice cuts through the haze, and you turn to see her standing beside you, a concerned look on her face. “you seemed a little... distracted.”

you force a smile, trying to push down the feelings that are threatening to overwhelm you. “yeah, i’m fine. just... caught up in the music, i guess.”

she nods, but there’s a knowing look in her eyes that makes you wonder if she can see right through you. “it was a good show,” she says, her tone light, but you can hear the unspoken question in her words.

“yeah,” you agree, your voice sounding distant even to your own ears. “it was.”

but as the crowd starts to disperse, the lights dimming, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, something has changed. and as you watch wonbin disappear into the backstage area, laughing with the rest of the band, you wonder if you’re ready for what comes next. because no matter how hard you try to deny it, to push it down, you can’t escape the truth.

you’re in love with him.

and that terrifies you more than anything.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the night stretches on, an endless loop of thumping bass, flashing lights, and the bitter tang of alcohol on your tongue. you’re caught in the current of bodies, the rhythm of the music a steady pulse that reverberates through the floor, through your skin, through your bones. the air is thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, a heady mix that clings to your senses, making the room spin just a little bit faster. 

someone hands you another drink—something clear and sharp, burning its way down your throat—and you take it without thinking, without caring. it’s easier to lose yourself in the blur of faces, in the haze of smoke and alcohol, than to confront the gnawing emptiness that lingers just beneath the surface, the one that’s been growing louder with each passing hour, each passing drink.

you’re supposed to be having fun. this is what you wanted, isn’t it? the wild nights, the carefree abandon, the reckless freedom that comes with living by west coast standards. if you’re not drinking, then you’re not playing. you laugh at a joke you don’t quite hear, your voice swallowed by the music, and someone presses closer, their hands too warm, their breath hot against your neck. you pretend not to notice, letting yourself be swept along, another face in the crowd, another body moving to the beat.

but no matter how hard you try, the emptiness persists, a hollow ache that no amount of alcohol or dancing can fill. because even here, surrounded by the very life you once craved, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing, that something vital has slipped through your fingers. and no matter how tightly you cling to this illusion of fun, of freedom, it doesn’t compare to the way you feel when he’s near, when wonbin is close enough to touch, to breathe the same air.

you spot him across the room, leaning against the bar with that effortless, almost lazy confidence that makes your heart stutter in your chest. he’s surrounded, as usual, by a flock of girls, each one vying for his attention, their laughter bright and sharp as glass. 

they’re drawn to him like moths to a flame, their eyes wide with admiration, their hands reaching out, touching his arm, his shoulder, his chest, as if they can’t quite believe he’s real. 

and why wouldn’t they be? wonbin is everything the west coast promised and more—beautiful, untouchable, a living embodiment of the wild, hedonistic dreams that brought you here in the first place. 

he’s golden under the dim lights, his skin glowing with a warmth that seems to radiate from within, his dark hair falling into his eyes in a way that makes you want to reach out and brush it aside. his lips curl into that easy, devil-may-care smile that you’ve come to associate with danger, with the kind of desire that leaves you breathless and aching.

he’s laughing now, his head thrown back, the sound rich and intoxicating, and the girls around him are eating it up, their eyes shining with a hunger that mirrors your own. 

one of them—a tall, willowy blonde with legs for days—leans in close, her hand resting on his chest as she whispers something in his ear. he turns his head slightly, just enough to give her a look that makes her blush, her smile widening as she presses herself closer, her body molding to his like she’s trying to become a part of him.

you watch, your chest tightening with something dark and painful, something you don’t want to name because it feels too raw, too real. 

jealousy.

 it wraps around your heart, squeezing tight, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. you take another sip of your drink, the alcohol doing little to dull the sharp edge of longing that cuts through you every time you see him like this, surrounded by people who don’t understand, who don’t feel the way you do.

he glances up then, his eyes scanning the room, and for a moment, just a brief, fleeting moment, his gaze lands on you. your breath catches, and it feels like time stops, like the noise and the lights and the crowd all fade away, leaving just the two of you in this suspended, fragile moment. his eyes, dark and unreadable, hold yours, and in that instant, you wonder if he can see it, if he can feel the way your heart races, the way your skin tingles with the memory of his touch, the way you ache for him with a need that’s almost painful.

but then he looks away, his attention drawn back to the girl at his side, and the moment shatters, leaving you cold and empty, the ache in your chest deepening into something almost unbearable. you want to look away, to turn your back on the scene playing out in front of you, but you can’t. you’re rooted to the spot, your eyes drawn to him, to the way his fingers brush against the girl’s arm, to the way she laughs and leans into him, her body a perfect fit against his.

it should be you. 

the thought comes unbidden, unwanted, and you hate yourself for it, hate the way it makes you feel—small, insignificant, like you’re just another nameless face in the crowd. but no matter how hard you try to push it down, to smother it with indifference, it’s there, pulsing beneath the surface, a constant reminder of what you can’t have, of what you’ll never have.

“you okay?” a voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you blink, turning to see yunjin standing beside you, her brow furrowed with concern. 

“yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “just... thinking.”

yunjin follows your gaze to the bar, where wonbin is now leaning in close to the blonde, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers something that makes her laugh, the sound light and tinkling like wind chimes. yunjin sighs, shaking her head slightly. 

“he’s always like this, you know. doesn’t mean anything.”

you nod, but the words do little to soothe the ache in your chest. because it does mean something, at least to you. it means everything. and that’s the problem.

“come on,” yunjin says, nudging you with her shoulder. “let’s get out of here. this place is dead anyway.”

you want to argue, to tell her that you’re fine, that you want to stay, but the words stick in your throat. because the truth is, you don’t want to be here anymore, don’t want to watch as wonbin wraps his arms around someone else, don’t want to see the way he smiles at her, the way he used to smile at you, back when things were simpler, back when you were just a girl with a guitar and a dream.

you nod again, letting yunjin lead you away from the crowd, from the noise, from the suffocating press of bodies. the cool night air hits you like a slap, sharp and bracing, and you take a deep breath, trying to clear your head, to shake off the lingering haze of alcohol and regret.

but as you walk away, the sound of wonbin’s laughter echoes in your mind, a haunting melody that you can’t seem to escape, no matter how far you go.

you find yourself in a quiet corner of the city, the distant hum of traffic the only sound in the stillness. the night is cool, the breeze carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the nearby ocean, and for a moment, you feel like you can breathe again, like the world has finally stopped spinning.

but even here, in the quiet, in the calm, you can’t escape the memory of him. it clings to you like a shadow, dark and heavy, following you no matter how hard you try to outrun it. 

you close your eyes, leaning against the rough brick of the building behind you, and let the night wash over you, trying to lose yourself in the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, in the coolness of the air against your flushed skin.

but it’s no use. every time you close your eyes, you see him—his smile, his eyes, the way he looked at you tonight, like you were just another face in the crowd, nothing more. it hurts, more than you want to admit, more than you can bear.

“you’re in love with him, aren’t you?” yunjin’s voice breaks through the silence, soft and understanding, and you flinch, your eyes snapping open.

“what? no,” you say quickly, too quickly, the words tripping over themselves as they leave your lips. “i’m not—i mean, he’s just... it’s nothing.”

yunjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you with those knowing eyes, the ones that see right through you, that see the truth even when you’re not ready to face it yourself.

“you don’t have to lie to me,” she says gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay to feel this way, you know. but you have to be careful. wonbin... he’s not the kind of guy who can give you what you’re looking for.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel something inside you crumble, something you’ve been holding onto for far too long. because she’s right. you know she’s right. wonbin isn’t the kind of guy who stays, who commits, who gives himself fully to anyone. he’s wild, untamed, like the music he plays, like the life he leads. and you? you’re just a girl with a guitar, lost in a world that’s too big, too bright, too much for you to handle.

but despite all that, despite the warnings, despite the pain, you can’t let go. because as much as it hurts, as much as it tears you apart, you can’t imagine a world where he isn’t in it, where you don’t feel this burning, aching, all-consuming need for him.

and that terrifies you more than anything.

“i know,” you finally whisper, your voice small and broken, the admission tearing at your heart. “but i don’t know how to stop.”

yunjin steps closer, wrapping her arms around you in a tight, comforting embrace, and you let yourself fall into it, let yourself lean on her because you’re too tired, too worn out to stand on your own anymore.

“you don’t have to do this alone,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “i’m here, okay? whatever happens, i’m here.”

you nod, swallowing hard as you blink back the tears that are threatening to spill over, and hold on just a little bit tighter.

the cold night air wraps itself around you like a second skin, biting into your exposed arms as you stand outside the club, watching your breath curl in the dim light like ghostly tendrils. yunjin’s voice is a faint echo in your mind, promising to be back soon, but even that has faded into the backdrop of distant party noise and the rhythmic crash of waves nearby. you’re left in the quiet now, the world softened by the fog that rolls in from the ocean, and the stillness presses on you, amplifying the chaotic swirl of thoughts running through your head.

the streetlights cast long, jittery shadows across the slick pavement, and the cool breeze carries the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, a reminder of the ocean’s relentless rhythm. you lean against the rough brick wall of the club, your arms folded tightly around yourself, trying to stave off the creeping cold. your breath forms little clouds in the air, merging with the mist that hovers above the ground, making the world feel like a half-remembered dream.

how long have you been out here? minutes or hours? time seems to stretch and distort in the quiet, your mind replaying the night’s events on an endless loop, a relentless loop of faces and laughter, of wonbin’s smile and the way he looked at the girls, the way he barely glanced at you.

the club door swings open, its rusty hinges groaning in protest, and you glance up to see your bandmates stumbling into the street, their laughter cutting through the quiet like a jagged blade, carrying a carefree, drunken energy that contrasts sharply with your own sense of isolation. 

hongjoong and gunil cling to each other for support, their arms draped around each other’s shoulders, their steps uneven and their laughter loud. minjeong follows behind, her expression a mixture of disapproval and amusement, though her flushed cheeks betray her own indulgences.

wonbin is the last to emerge, his movements smooth and deliberate, his posture relaxed as if the night’s revelry had done little to disturb his composure. his dark hair falls in expertly tousled waves, a natural charm that seems almost effortless. he surveys the scene with an amused smirk, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, his eyes flicking over each of you with a lazy, calculating gaze.

“no lady tonight?” gunil slurs, his words slightly garbled from too many drinks. he leans heavily against the wall, his gaze fixed on wonbin with a mixture of curiosity and drunken challenge. 

“you were definitely working it back there.”

wonbin chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that carries through the night air, and shakes his head, his amusement clear.

wonbin’s laugh is low and smooth, curling around you like smoke. he shakes his head, his amusement barely contained. “nah, not tonight.”

“maybe he’s finally developed a conscience,” minjeong quips, her voice tinged with both sarcasm and an underlying warmth, as though she’s enjoying the banter despite herself.

 wonbin’s middle finger flicks up lazily in response, drawing more laughter from the group, the sound echoing off the walls and mixing with the distant hum of the city.

“or maybe wonbin just wants some beauty sleep,” wonbin adds, his tone teasing as he leans against the van, the laughter still bubbling up from his chest. 

“we have rehearsals tomorrow and it’s extra hard getting the ladies out of my bed the morning after.”

the group sniggers in response, hooting and hollering at the joke, the sound warm and raucous, a stark contrast to the biting chill of the night. you stand apart, rolling your eyes at the familiar exchange, the chill seeping into your bones, making you shiver despite the alcohol’s lingering warmth.

wonbin’s eyes land on you, noticing the way you’re pulling the sleeves of your top tighter around yourself, and without a word, he pushes off the van he’s been leaning against and crosses the short distance between you. his approach feels deliberate, like a wave slowly crashing toward shore, unstoppable in its momentum and you can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation, mixed with a pang of apprehension.

“relax, princess, you know i treat my ladies with care” he says, his voice a low murmur, the term of endearment grating on your nerves but somehow soothing at the same time. he shrugs off his jacket with a smooth, practiced motion and drapes it gently around your shoulders. the fabric is warm, a stark contrast to the cold, and the simple touch of his fingers against your skin sends a shiver up your spine, more from the intensity of the moment than the chill of the night.

you pull the jacket closer around yourself, trying to absorb its warmth, and wonbin stands close, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating, like a wave crashing over you. his scent clings to it—a mix of cedar, smoke, and something darker, more intoxicating—and it envelops you in an invisible hold, making it hard to breathe, harder to think.

his fingers brush your arm as he pulls back, and that brief touch is enough to send a shiver down your spine, though you tell yourself it’s from the cold. wonbin steps back, his expression unreadable, and you try to shake off the tension building between you, but it clings, thick and electric.

you swallow, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself as if it could protect you from the storm brewing inside.

 “i’m sure they’re very lucky,” you reply, trying to inject some levity into your voice, but it falls flat, the words hanging heavy in the air between you.

wonbin chuckles, low and smooth, before turning away to join the others. they’re all piling into the van now, their drunken chatter filling the air once more, and you’re left standing there for a moment longer, watching him, feeling the weight of his jacket and the lingering touch of his hands like a brand on your skin.

wonbin gestures for you to get in first, and you hesitate for a moment, caught between the lingering ache in your heart and the sharp reality of the night before sliding into the seat next to yunjin and the doors close with a soft thud, sealing you all inside the small, warm space.

as the car pulls away from the curb, you watch the city lights blur by, the streetlights casting fleeting patterns of gold and shadow against the window. the world outside moves in a dizzying rush, but inside the car, there’s a strange, enclosed stillness that makes the space feel smaller, more intimate.

wonbin’s presence beside you is a constant, a magnetic pull that seems to draw you deeper into the whirlpool of your own feelings. he sits with an easy grace, his gaze fixed out the window, his fingers tapping a casual rhythm on his knee. 

the soft hum of the engine and the low murmur of conversation from the others blend into a soothing, almost hypnotic background, and you find yourself sinking further into the space he occupies, into the place where he’s the only thing that matters.

but with each passing mile, you sense the danger in falling even deeper for him. the city lights flash by in a blur, and with each passing second, you feel the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. you know, deep down, that this is a dangerous game you’re playing, one that could leave you shattered and alone.

you glance at wonbin, the soft glow of the interior lights casting a warm, golden sheen on his features, and you feel the pull of him like a tide pulling you under. his smile, the easy confidence in his posture, the way he seems completely at ease with everything—it’s intoxicating, and it makes you ache with a need you can’t quite define.

as the car continues its journey through the city, you find yourself wondering just how deep this feeling goes, and if there’s any way out. you know the night’s end will come, that the lights will fade, and the illusion will be over, but for now, you’re lost in the moment, in the dangerous allure of the man beside you, and the growing realization that the more you fall for him, the more you risk losing everything you’ve worked for.

and as the car moves through the city’s heart, you cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this night could be different, that maybe this time, you’ll find something real in the chaos, in the music, in the man who has you spinning in his orbit.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the early morning light filters in through the thin, gauzy curtains of your shared hotel room, painting the walls with a soft, golden hue. the room is still and quiet, save for the faint, rhythmic sound of yujin’s breathing, a gentle symphony of snores that fills the space with a comforting, if slightly intrusive, noise. you stretch slowly, feeling the soft, cool sheets clinging to your skin, and rise cautiously from the bed.

you move on tiptoes, each step a careful whisper against the worn carpet. the room feels like a cocoon of half-sleep, where the world outside is still wrapped in the dim embrace of dawn. yujin’s form is a shadow beneath the covers, her face serene and peaceful as she dreams away, oblivious to your early morning ritual. you pause for a moment, watching her with a mixture of envy and determination, knowing that you need to get moving.

you reach for your clothes, your movements deliberate and sluggish, as if you’re swimming through a pool of molasses. the fabric feels heavy in your hands, and you struggle with the buttons and zippers, the sensation of the cool cotton brushing against your skin grounding you in the present. the clothes seem to cling to you like a second skin, but you manage to pull on your jeans and slip into a simple t-shirt, the material soft and slightly rumpled from the suitcase.

as you bend to retrieve your earphones, you fumble with the tangled mess of cords, each knot a testament to the hasty packing from the night before. the task feels like an intricate puzzle, each twist and turn a challenge to your sleepy state. finally, with a victorious sigh, you manage to unwrap the mess, the earphones now ready to be your companions for the day’s solitary journey.

stepping out of the room, you’re met with the cool touch of the hallway air, a brisk contrast to the warmth of the room you just left. the corridor is bathed in soft morning light, the floor tiles gleaming with a polished sheen that reflects your weary figure. you walk slowly, savoring the quietude of the hotel, the distant hum of the city below an occasional reminder of the day ahead.

the streets are still wet with dew, the air crisp and cool as you make your way to the practice space, determined to test out a few new riffs before the rest of the band arrives.

the studio is a sanctuary of sorts, filled with the comforting scent of aged wood and the faint tang of metal. you set up your new black guitar, its sleek, dark surface reflecting the overhead lights in a way that almost makes it look like it’s alive. 

the instrument feels like an extension of yourself, and you run your fingers over the strings, adjusting the tuning with practiced ease, letting each note resonate through the room. the sound is rich and full, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that envelops you.

you’re lost in the rhythm of your practice when the door creaks open, and a familiar voice breaks through your concentration. 

“morning sunshine, you’re here early.”

park wonbin’s voice is a silky drawl, smooth and almost musical, carrying the same effortless charm that you’ve come to recognise all too well. his presence fills the room like a warm draft, the kind that makes you shiver and feel alive all at once. 

you look up, and there he is—wonbin, with his tousled hair and that infuriatingly perfect smile. he’s a vision of casual elegance, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, but the way he carries himself, the way he moves, makes him seem like he’s always center stage.

he strolls over with a confidence that borders on arrogance, his gaze flicking over your setup with a mix of curiosity and playful mischief. 

“new guitar?” he asks, his eyes lighting up as he takes in the sleek black instrument resting in your lap. “i love the black, it almost matches your soul.”

his voice is dripping with mock-seriousness, but there’s a genuine admiration in his tone that makes your heart skip a beat. he’s making a point of passing by right where you’re sitting, and before you can react, his hand ruffles your hair, the touch both familiar and irritating.

“very funny,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you try to brush off his teasing. your tone is flat, the coolness in your voice a shield against the warmth that his presence always seems to provoke. you don’t let your guard down, maintaining the cold, unimpressed facade that’s become second nature. it’s easier this way, safer, knowing that you’re not laying your heart bare for anyone to see, especially not him.

wonbin chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

“come on, don’t be so serious. it’s a compliment. and you know, it’s not every day I see someone who can outshine a guitar.”

you shoot him a look, trying to mask the way his words make your heart flutter. “and i’m sure you’ve seen a lot of guitars.”

“true,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “but not many as intriguing as you. what’s got you up so early, anyway?”

you shrug, focusing on the guitar strings as if they hold the answers to all your unspoken feelings. “just wanted to get a head start. thought i might try out some new things before everyone else shows up.”

wonbin raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “and here i thought you were just a bundle of mystery and cool detachment.”

“is that supposed to be a compliment?” you ask, arching an eyebrow of your own, trying to keep your voice steady.

“depends on how you take it,” he replies, his smile widening. “but i’d say it’s a pretty high compliment. after all, it’s not every day you meet someone who can be both enigmatic and talented.”

you want to retort, to say something biting and witty, but the sincerity in his voice stops you. the warmth in his eyes, the way he looks at you as if he actually sees you—if only for a moment—makes it difficult to maintain your usual indifference.

you turn back to your guitar, trying to drown out the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his presence feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. 

“well, don’t get used to it. i’m just here to do my job.”

wonbin’s laughter is soft, almost conspiratorial. “right, of course. but just so you know, your ‘job’ looks pretty impressive from where i’m standing.”

you glance up briefly, catching his eye, and for a second, the playful banter fades away.

“save the flattery for someone who might believe it,” you say, turning away to adjust the guitar’s settings.

wonbin watches you for a moment longer before pushing off from the doorframe, his footsteps light as he heads toward the practice area.

 “alright, alright. i’ll let you get back to your mysterious guitar-wielding ways. but don’t think i won’t be keeping an eye on you.”

you don’t turn around, focusing on the gentle hum of the guitar as it vibrates against your fingers. the room feels different with wonbin’s presence lingering, a mix of warmth and tension that makes it hard to concentrate. you can feel the weight of his gaze, even when you’re not looking directly at him, and it makes the silence between you both feel charged with an electricity that’s both thrilling and painful.

the door swings open with a cheerful creak, and the rest of the band starts to trickle in, their conversations and laughter blending with the sounds of tuning instruments and setting up equipment, a noisy contrast to your solitary practice.

hongjoong and gunil come in first, their laughter loud and brash, their footsteps heavy with the remnants of last night’s revelry. hongjoong claps you on the back with a grin. 

“hey, i thought you might have gotten here first. working on some new riffs?” he greets you with a pat on your back, a grin spread wide on his face.

“it came into my head this morning, thought i should strum it out before practice” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant and hongjoong nods in response, an understanding of the feeling.

“makes sense. gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”

gunil, with his usual boisterous charm used primarily to annoy minjeong, throws an arm around hongjoong’s shoulders. “i see you’re still the early bird. wish i had your energy.”

before you can respond, minjeong steps in, her hair still touselled from sleep as she gives you a small smile before turning back to the boys. 

“maybe if you spent less time being a loser online and actually tried to get some sleep you could be doing the same thing.”

“you wound me, my love,” he dramatically clutches his chest, warranting an eye roll from her, but there’s warmth there, an affection in the way she swats at his arm as they head toward the equipment.

you feel arms around your neck, but you don’t need to turn around to figure out that it’s yunjin, giving you a hasty kiss on your cheek before releasing you to respond to a question minjeong threw at her.

the session starts with a burst of sound, the studio coming alive with the mix of instruments and voices. you fall into the rhythm, your fingers dancing over the guitar strings, guiding the notes with a practiced ease. the music swells and contracts, a living, breathing entity that you shape with every strum and chord.

wonbin takes his place at the center, his energy a magnetic force that draws everyone in. he commands attention with his presence alone, his voice a deep, resonant force that weaves through the melodies like a thread of gold. he moves with a practiced ease, each gesture and glance imbued with the effortless charm that has become his signature.

“alright, let’s hit it,” wonbin says, his voice ringing out with the authority of someone who’s completely in control. “we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

you try to keep your focus, but the magnetic pull of wonbin’s charisma makes it difficult. he’s a storm in human form, and his every move is a reminder of the complex emotions you’re struggling to keep at bay. his gaze meets yours occasionally, a fleeting connection that sends a jolt through you, making it hard to concentrate on anything but the way he makes you feel.

the practice session rolls on, each song a test of your ability to stay grounded amidst the whirlwind of wonbin’s presence. you pour your heart into the music, letting the notes become a release, a way to channel the tumultuous feelings that threaten to overwhelm you. the guitar is your sanctuary, the strings your confidant, and as you play, you lose yourself in the music, if only for a moment.

the sound of applause and cheers brings you back to reality, the session ending with a satisfying crescendo. you look up to see the band members gathering, their faces flushed with the effort and exhilaration of a productive rehearsal. wonbin’s grin is a dazzling contrast to the fatigue etched on the rest of their faces, and you can’t help but be drawn to the way he stands, relaxed and confident, as if the entire world is his stage.

“great session, everyone,” wonbin says, his tone a mix of satisfaction and nonchalance. “let’s take a break and grab some lunch.”

as you unplug your guitar, the amplifier crackling softly, wonbin approaches again, his steps slow and deliberate. "you did great today. i’m guessing it’s the guitar?"

you smirk, unable to resist the playfulness tugging at the corners of your lips. "or maybe i’m a rock god, and everything i touch turns to gold."

his laugh is a quiet, disbelieving huff, but his eyes twinkle, and for a moment, his gaze lingers. "all this time, i’ve been in the presence of royalty. how lucky am i?"

"super lucky," you reply with a wink, trying to ignore the way his smile makes your heart race.

the moment stretches between you and before you can both continue, gunil’s exaggerated calls for food break the spell, and wonbin, with a final grin, walks away. you watch him go, his figure retreating with an ease that leaves a hollow space where his presence had been moments before. the air feels lighter, but the weight of his absence clings to you all the same.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the restaurant hums with life around you, the warm glow of overhead lights casting everything in a soft, amber hue. laughter bubbles up from nearby tables, the clinking of glasses and silverware adding to the symphony of sound. 

but all of that fades into a distant murmur as you watch the waitress, a whirlwind of charm, glide back to your table. her gaze lands on wonbin like a moth drawn to a flame, her smile bright and focused entirely on him. the way she leans over as she places his drink down, how her hand lingers just a second too long near his arm, makes something twist painfully in your chest.

“can i get you anything else?” she asks, her voice thick with syrupy sweetness, directed solely at him. there’s a playful edge to her words, like she’s daring him to ask for more than just a refill. 

wonbin leans back in his chair, his easy grin in place as he shakes his head, “we’re good for now, thanks angel.”

the exchange is brief, casual on the surface, but it digs deep into you, sharp and unrelenting. the jealousy seeps in slow, like poison, filling your veins with a quiet bitterness that you try hard to swallow down. 

you hate that it affects you this much, but it’s impossible to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, the constant reminder that wonbin is a star, and you’re just orbiting around his light. 

yunjin’s hand finds yours under the table, her fingers wrapping around yours in a silent gesture of comfort. she squeezes gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles, and when you steal a glance at her, there’s understanding in her eyes. she’s noticed—the way your posture stiffened, the quiet tightness in your jaw. she always notices.

minjeong, seated across from you, catches the shift too. her brow arches ever so slightly, her gaze flicking from you to wonbin and back again. but she says nothing, her silence a shield for you, offering you space in a moment where the walls feel like they’re closing in.

“you alright?” yunjin asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper, meant only for your ears. her concern is genuine, warm like a blanket wrapped around you on a cold day, but you force a smile, nodding as you grip your fork a little tighter.

“yeah,” you murmur, though the knot in your throat tells a different story.

the waitress lingers longer than necessary, making small talk with wonbin. you can hear snippets of their conversation through the haze—her asking about the band, giggling at something he says in response. each laugh she gives feels like a nail hammered into the growing ache in your chest. it’s irrational, you know that. but the jealousy doesn’t care about reason.

the conversations of your friends blur into background noise as you stab at your meal absentmindedly, your fork scraping against the plate with each mechanical bite. it’s a futile effort to mask the hurt brewing inside, but you keep chewing anyway, as if forcing yourself to eat will somehow erase the sinking feeling in your chest.

“you don’t like the food?” wonbin’s voice cuts through the noise, pulling you back to the present. his gaze is fixed on you, brows slightly furrowed, concern laced in his tone. you blink, realizing you’ve been staring at your barely touched plate, fork idly scraping against the ceramic.

“no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, picking up a forkful of food and shoving it into your mouth, even though the taste is nothing but bland against the whirlwind of emotions storming inside you.

“how come you don’t pay attention to me like that?” gunil teases from across the table, his voice playful but his question rattling something loose in your chest. your heart skips a beat as you glance up at wonbin, waiting, watching for his response.

“what do you mean?” wonbin shoots back, smirking. “i let you cuddle me yesterday. i even let you be the little spoon.”

the table erupts in laughter, the sound rippling around you, but all you feel is the dull weight of disappointment settling in your stomach. of course. of course, it’s just a joke to him. what did you expect? for him to treat you any differently than the rest? for him to see you the way you’ve been aching to be seen?

the rest of lunch passes in a blur, the conversations flowing around you like a river you’re not a part of. you pick at your food, pushing it around your plate, the clinking of your fork scraping against the ceramic the only noise you can focus on. 

minjeong keeps glancing your way, her sharp eyes picking up on every little detail—the way your shoulders slump, the tightness in your grip on the fork, the way you avoid looking at wonbin and the waitress. but she doesn’t press you. instead, she fills the silence with casual chatter, steering the conversation with hongjoong and gunil to keep the mood light, oblivious to the silent storm brewing inside you.

after lunch, the band decides to split up, each member heading off to explore the city. 

‘you’re sure you don’t want me to come?’ yunjin asks for the third time, her concern evident in the way her brow furrows.

‘i’m sure. the sauna is practically calling your name.’

you appreciate her care, but you need space, a chance to clear your head, so you reassure her—once, twice, three times—that you’re fine, and eventually, she relents, leaving you to set out on your own journey.

the city sprawls out before you, a living, breathing entity, pulsing with its own rhythm. the air is thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee from nearby street vendors, mingling with the distant smell of fried food, an irresistible mix of sweetness and grease. you let the city wash over you, each breath filling your lungs with the complex and layered aroma of urban life.

around you, the world hums with motion—cars push through narrow streets, their engines growling low, while people weave through the crowds, heads down, absorbed in their own worlds. some laugh together, their voices rising above the background noise like the vibrant splash of colors on a gray canvas. others move with purpose, brisk steps tapping out a beat that seems to sync with the traffic lights’ rhythmic change from red to green.

 but you? you’re aimless, walking without direction, letting the city lead you.

the buildings loom tall and worn, their facades cracked with the weight of time. but they’re beautiful in their imperfection, each one telling a different story—a hidden history locked behind iron railings and shuttered windows. a passerby brushes past you, the scent of lavender and rain trailing after her, stirring something in you. memories you can’t quite place. emotions you don’t want to linger on.

as you walk, the sky above shifts from its bright afternoon blue to the soft, golden tones of dusk, the sun dipping low on the horizon, painting the world in hues of amber and rose. the city is bathed in this light, casting long shadows that dance across the pavement as you make your way toward the river. 

there’s something about this time of day that always makes you feel like you’re suspended between worlds—the day slipping away, but the night not quite here yet. it’s a quiet liminality that you can’t help but be drawn to.

when you reach the bridge, you stop, unable to move forward. the view takes your breath away—suddenly, all the noise, the chaos of the city, seems to fade into the background, replaced by the soft sound of the river below. 

it’s not a large river, but the way it winds through the city gives it a kind of intimacy, as if it’s cradling the streets and the buildings in its gentle flow. you lean against the railing, letting the cool metal press into your palms, grounding you in this moment.

the water reflects the sky, rippling with streaks of gold and violet, shimmering like liquid glass. the breeze carries a hint of something clean, something fresh—like the promise of a new beginning, mingled with the earthy scent of the riverbanks. 

you close your eyes, letting the wind brush against your face, soft as a whispered secret, and for a moment, you feel at peace. it’s as if the weight you’ve been carrying—the heaviness that’s been lodged in your chest since lunch—has lifted, even if only for a few heartbeats.

there’s something about this spot on the bridge, overlooking the water, that makes everything else seem distant and small. maybe it’s the way the river seems to know no rush, flowing steadily despite the frantic pace of the city around it. or maybe it’s the way the sky opens up here, wider and more expansive than it feels anywhere else. you breathe in deeply, tasting the coolness in the air, and feel something inside you unfurl, like a knot loosening.

you think of wonbin, unbidden, his name drifting into your mind like a leaf floating downstream. the river reminds you of him in some strange way—his easygoing nature, the way he never seems hurried, always flowing through life with a kind of effortless grace. 

wonbin, who draws people in with his warmth, his laugh, his casual touch. you can’t help but wonder if he ever feels like this river—steady on the surface, but with currents below that pull in directions no one else can see.

as you watch the water ripple and shimmer, you think about how he can be both comforting and unsettling, like the river itself. you’re drawn to him, unable to resist, but there’s always this sense that if you let yourself get too close, you might be swept away, carried somewhere you can’t follow.

but here, on this bridge, with the wind gently tugging at your hair, you can almost forget about the complications. here, everything is simple—just you, the river, and the sky, vast and infinite, stretching out before you like a promise. you hold onto that feeling, let it wrap around you like a soft blanket.

the city moves on around you—cars continue to pass behind you, their headlights flickering on as the sky darkens, the murmur of distant voices rising and falling like the tide. 

but for a moment, it’s just you and the bridge, suspended in time. you watch the last of the sunlight glint off the water, and in this quiet space, you allow yourself to imagine that maybe things could be different. that maybe there’s a world where you and wonbin could exist without all the messy, complicated feelings in between.

but the moment passes, as it always does. you feel the weight return to your chest, pressing down, familiar and heavy. still, you’re grateful for this brief escape, this small slice of peace carved out of the chaos. it’s enough, for now.

with a soft sigh, you turn away from the river, the city’s energy calling you back. the streets are alive with neon lights now, glowing signs flashing in shop windows, casting strange colors across the sidewalks. the air has grown cooler, the scent of rain in the distance—just a hint, enough to make the evening feel electric, like anything could happen.

and as you walk back through the city, the noise and lights swirling around you, your steps are heavy as you make your way back to your hotel.

the hotel hallway is dimly lit, bathed in a soft golden hue from the overhead lights. it’s quiet here, the noise of the city reduced to a low murmur beyond the thick walls. your footsteps echo lightly on the carpet as you approach your door, pulling the earbuds from your ears, only to pause when you see him.

wonbin.

he’s leaning against the wall beside your door, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his head tilted back just enough that the soft light casts shadows along his sharp jawline. the sight of him, so effortlessly at ease, makes your heart lurch in your chest. he shouldn’t be here, not like this, not when you’ve spent the whole day trying to escape the lingering weight of him.

you stop a few paces away, unsure of what to say, what to feel. the hallway feels too small suddenly, like there’s not enough air. your fingers fidget with the edge of your jacket, a nervous habit you can’t seem to break when he’s around.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

he glances over at you, his gaze soft, warm in a way that makes your defenses falter. 

“just wondering what everyone was up to,” he says casually, as if standing outside your door at night is the most natural thing in the world. “seems like you’re the only one who left the hotel.”

you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “yeah, just needed some air. the city’s nice.” your words feel flat, hollow, compared to the tension simmering beneath your skin.

he pushes off the wall, taking a step toward you, and you feel the shift in the air between you. “and you?” he asks, his voice a little softer now, more careful. “what did you get up to?”

you hesitate, avoiding his gaze as you focus on the small scuffs on the floor. “nothing much. walked around. found a bridge over the river. just... cleared my head.”

“sounds peaceful.”

“yeah,” you say, your voice almost a whisper, because it was peaceful—until he showed up here, dredging up all the feelings you’d been trying to bury. you glance up at him, and there’s something in his expression that makes you pause, something almost hesitant, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“the waitress, the one we met earlier,” he says, and your stomach twists at the mention of her. “we just went for some drinks and stuff.”

you force yourself to nod, to play it cool, even as your heart sinks, the reality of who wonbin is—a man who floats effortlessly from one person to the next, always wanted, always admired—settling heavily in your chest. “cool,” you say, and it sounds so painfully detached that you almost wince at yourself.

“i invited her to the show in two days too,” he adds, and you  just offer a tight smile, biting back the words lodged in your throat.

“nice.”

the silence between you stretches, taut and fragile, and you can feel the weight of all the unsaid things pressing down on you. you wonder if he feels it too—the unspoken words hanging in the air like something tangible, something you could almost reach out and touch if you were brave enough.

wonbin shifts, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual, like he’s searching for something in your expression. there’s a flicker of something—hesitation? concern?—before he speaks again.

“you’re beautiful, you know.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from your lungs. your heart stumbles in your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s hope or heartbreak that surges through you. you choke on the reply, swallowing hard as you manage to get something out.

“what?”

he steps closer, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “there’s beauty in everyone,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours, “and i think everyone should feel content with the image that looks back at them in the mirror.”

his words hang in the air between you, confusing and heavy, and you’re left reeling, unsure of where this conversation is heading. “wonbin,” you murmur, your voice cracking slightly, “i don’t understand.”

he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “today, at lunch... i noticed you didn’t eat much. i—look, i know it’s none of my business, really, but food’s important, you know? i just... i worry.”

it’s the last thing you expected him to say. out of everything, out of the teasing, the flirting, this is the side of him that always catches you off guard—the part that notices, the part that cares in ways that seem too deep for someone who glides so easily through life. it’s this part of him that keeps you tethered to something you know you shouldn’t hold onto.

“i don’t have an eating disorder, if that’s what you’re getting at,” you say, your voice firmer now, but still tinged with the vulnerability he’s brought to the surface. “i just wasn’t particularly hungry this afternoon.”

the relief that washes over his face is so immediate, so genuine, that it leaves you feeling disarmed. “okay, good. it’s been on my mind all evening, you know?” he says, his voice soft, like he’s embarrassed to admit it.

there’s a strange warmth in your chest at the thought of him worrying about you, of all people. and yet, it hurts too—because this is who he is. he cares, but not in the way you want him to. he notices, but it’s not enough. it’ll never be enough.

“i appreciate it, though,” you murmur, your fingers still playing with the edge of your jacket, trying to keep yourself together. “it’s sweet of you.”

he smiles at that, a small, lopsided grin that sends a familiar ache through you. “of course. what are bandmates for, right?”

bandmates. 

the word feels like a knife twisting in your gut, cutting away the tiny, fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding onto. because that’s all you are to him. a bandmate. nothing more.

“right,” you echo, your voice barely audible.

wonbin watches you for a moment longer, and you can see the wheels turning in his mind, like there’s something else he wants to say, but he’s not sure how to put it into words. the tension between you is thick, the air charged with everything unsaid, everything you’re both too afraid to acknowledge.

but then, he steps back, breaking the moment. “anyway,” he says, his tone shifting back to something lighter, more familiar, “as long as you’re good, peace has been restored. i’m calling it a night.”

he flashes you one last grin, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. “see you tomorrow, rockstar.”

and just like that, he’s gone, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you standing there in the wake of his absence. the air feels heavier without him, the silence more oppressive. you release a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your heart still pounding in your chest from the whirlwind of emotions he stirred up in you.

you stand there for a moment longer, staring at the spot where he stood, the soft echo of his words still ringing in your ears. and despite everything—despite knowing that he’ll never see you the way you see him, despite the reality of who he is—you can’t help but feel that tiny spark of hope flicker inside you again, fragile but alive.

it’s dangerous, you know. but it’s there, all the same.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the new day dawns quietly, the early morning light filtering through the blinds of your hotel room. you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, last night’s conversation with wonbin still playing on a loop in your mind. 

his words, his teasing, and that moment of softness when he told you he noticed—when he worried. it’s confusing, this strange dance between hope and heartbreak that seems to fill every interaction with him.

as you rise and get ready, there’s a nervous energy buzzing through your veins. today is the last practice before tomorrow’s performance, and the air is thick with anticipation. 

but for you, it’s more than that. after everything that happened, after everything unsaid, you feel like you’re bursting with emotions, your feelings for wonbin spilling out of you in ways you can’t control. and the only way to channel it is through your music.

you arrive at the rehearsal space, guitar case in hand, notebook tucked under your arm, ready to pour your heart into the one thing that’s always understood you. music.

 it’s the only place where the depth of your emotions feels safe, where you can express the longing, the yearning, the pain without anyone truly seeing. even when the lyrics are about him—about wonbin—they’re wrapped in enough metaphor and abstraction to keep your secret safe.

the room smells faintly of dust and wood, with the sound of instruments being tuned filling the air. there’s a comforting chaos to it, the familiar noise of creativity in motion. as you set up your gear, you can feel wonbin’s presence across the room, laughing with yunjin, his voice carrying over the clatter of the drum kit. he’s always the center of attention, always so effortlessly charming. you steal a glance in his direction, and for a moment, your heart skips a beat. it’s maddening, this pull he has over you—how one look from him can unravel everything.

but you can’t focus on that now. not here. not when you’re about to rehearse. you sit down, opening your notebook, the pages filled with half-finished lyrics, scribbled thoughts, fragments of your heart. your pen hovers above the page, and before you know it, the words begin to flow again. your emotions surge, and you lose yourself in the process, writing about the ache in your chest, the way he makes you feel like you’re always on the edge of something that never quite happens.

you pour everything into the lyrics—the desire, the longing, the frustration of loving someone who will never truly be yours. every word feels like a release, like you’re cutting open your soul and letting it bleed onto the page. your fingers grip the pen tighter, your handwriting becoming more frantic, more intense.

it’s only when you hear wonbin’s voice that you snap out of your trance.

“who’s the lucky guy?” his voice is teasing, lighthearted, but the words make your heart stumble.

before you can react, he’s next to you, reaching down and snatching your notebook from your hands. panic flares in your chest as he holds it above your head, his eyes skimming the pages.

“give it back, wonbin,” you say, your voice coming out small, almost pleading. you reach up, trying to grab it, but he’s taller, and he holds it out of your reach effortlessly. his grin widens at your feeble attempts, a playful glint in his eyes.

“he must be someone great if he’s got you all flustered,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in his tone, but you can’t quite place it.

“wonbin, seriously.” your voice is barely a whisper now, embarrassment flooding through you as he begins to read the lyrics aloud.

“‘long dark hair, pink lips,’” he continues, his voice lilting as he teases you, and you feel yourself shrinking under the weight of his words. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your heart thudding in your chest as if he’s exposing a part of you you weren’t ready for anyone to see.

“stop embarrassing the poor woman and give her the book back,” minjeong scolds as she walks past, smacking the back of wonbin’s head. he yelps, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated pout.

“i was just looking,” he says, handing the notebook back to you. “she’s always writing so seriously, i wondered what her creative process was.”

you snatch the notebook from his hands, clutching it to your chest like a shield as you retreat to the other side of the room. your fingers tremble slightly as you shove the notebook into your bag, your heart still racing from the encounter. it feels like he’s peeled back a layer of you, like he’s seen something you didn’t want anyone to see.

“are you mad at me?” wonbin calls after you, his voice lighter now, like he’s trying to smooth over the awkwardness.

you don’t answer. you can’t. your emotions are too raw, too exposed. instead, you busy yourself with packing up your things, hoping that by avoiding his gaze, you can somehow hold it all together.

but wonbin isn’t one to let things go. you feel his presence behind you before he speaks again, his voice softer this time, more serious. 

“are you really upset with me?” he asks, and there’s a hint of genuine concern in his tone as he taps your shoulder.

you turn around reluctantly, meeting his eyes. there’s no trace of the teasing smirk now, just a look of quiet apology. he’s standing so close, and the air between you feels charged, like there’s something unspoken hanging in the space.

you sigh, because the truth is, you could never be mad at him. not really. whether he teased you, invaded your personal space, or had a knack for breaking hearts, yours included, it’s impossible to stay angry at him. not when his mere presence has the power to undo you completely.

“i admire your writing, you know,” he says softly, not breaking eye contact. “you always have the best lyrics. i really was just curious about how you come up with things. sorry if i took it too far.”

his apology is sincere, and for a moment, you see the side of him that pulls you in every time—the side that notices, that cares in his own way, even if it’s not in the way you want him to. his hand comes up, fingers lightly brushing the top of your head, a gesture that’s both comforting and familiar, and it sends a warmth through you that you can’t quite describe.

“it’s fine,” you mumble, looking down at your feet, your fingers still gripping the strap of your bag. “it’s no big deal.”

but it is a big deal. because no matter how much he cares, no matter how much he notices, it’s never enough. he’ll never see you the way you see him. he’ll never feel the way you feel.

wonbin smiles then, a small, lopsided grin that makes your heart ache. “good. i hate it when you’re mad at me.”

you manage a weak smile in return, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. the tension between you lingers, thick and heavy, but there’s nothing more to say. not now, not here.

the rest of the band starts filtering in, and the room fills with the sound of tuning instruments, conversations overlapping as the practice session begins. you try to push the encounter out of your mind, to focus on the music, but it’s hard when wonbin is so close, his presence a constant reminder of everything you can’t have.

as the rehearsal starts, you pick up your guitar, your fingers moving instinctively over the strings. the notes flow easily, but today there’s something more—something raw, something fierce. it’s like all the emotions you’ve been holding back are suddenly finding their way into the music, spilling out in every chord, every melody.

the lyrics you wrote earlier echo in your mind, and when it’s your turn to sing, you let them pour out of you. the words carry all the weight of your unspoken feelings—the longing, the heartache, the love you can’t express. it feels like your soul is on display, laid bare in the music, but at least here, in the safety of the band, no one truly knows what you’re singing about. no one knows that every word is for him.

wonbin’s voice joins yours in harmony, his guitar blending seamlessly with yours, and for a moment, it feels like you’re connected in a way that transcends everything else. 

the music is the only place where you can be close to him, where you can express everything you feel without fear of rejection or misunderstanding. and yet, it’s bittersweet, because even here, even in the one place where your feelings are safe, he’ll never truly understand.

the rehearsal continues, but as the hours pass, your emotions only grow more intense. every time wonbin teases you, every time he flashes that smile, it feels like another crack in the fragile armor you’ve built around your heart. and yet, the music becomes more powerful because of it. the more you hurt, the more you pour into the songs, into the lyrics, into every note you play.

by the time practice wraps up, you’re emotionally spent. your body feels heavy with exhaustion, but your mind is still buzzing, still racing with everything left unsaid. wonbin gives you a playful nudge as you pack up your things, his smile easy, carefree, like the day’s events have already slipped from his mind. but for you, they linger. they always do.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s a softness to his voice that makes you pause.

“yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile.

 “just tired.”

he nods, not pressing further, but his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if he’s searching for something beneath the surface. but whatever it is, he doesn’t find it. or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to look.

“see you tomorrow, rockstar,” he says with a wink before heading out, leaving you standing there, notebook clutched tightly in your hands.

and as you watch him walk away, you can’t help but feel that same familiar ache, the one that never seems to go away. because no matter how much you pour into your music, no matter how many songs you write, no matter how hard you try to move on, the truth remains the same.

you’re in love with someone who will never love you back.

and the music—your music—is the only place where that love can live.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the day of the performance arrives like a storm building on the horizon, an electric anticipation humming in the air around you. the venue is already packed, people milling about, chattering, laughing, the smell of beer and sweat mixing with the faint scent of perfume and leather jackets. the stage looms ahead, dimly lit for now, but you can already feel the weight of the spotlight on your skin, the pulse of the audience vibrating beneath your feet. your heart beats in rhythm with the buzz, the nervous energy thrumming in your chest.

you and the band stand backstage, adjusting your instruments, fine-tuning guitars, stretching fingers. there’s a quiet before the storm, a moment where everything is still, but you know it’s just the calm before the chaos. 

wonbin stands a few feet away, his back turned to you as he checks the tuning of his guitar. the sight of him is enough to make your stomach twist—his dark hair falls freely over his forehead, strands slipping into his eyes, and there’s a quiet confidence in the way he holds himself, like he was made for this moment. you’ve always admired that about him. his ease, his ability to command attention without even trying.

“you ready?” yunjin’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn to find her smiling, the excitement in her eyes mirroring your own.

“as ready as i’ll ever be,” you say, trying to sound confident, but there’s an edge to your voice, a tremor of something else—something deeper. 

because tonight feels different. heavier. there’s something lodged in your chest, something that’s been building since last night’s encounter with wonbin, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep it contained.

“don’t worry, we’ll kill it,” yunjin says with a grin, throwing her arm around your shoulders. her confidence is contagious, but it doesn’t quite reach the core of your anxiety. because no matter how well the performance goes, there’s a weight hanging between you and wonbin, something unspoken that you can’t seem to shake.

the moment comes, and you all take the stage. the lights flicker on, illuminating the faces of the audience as they cheer, their energy palpable. you grip your guitar tightly, feeling the familiar warmth of the instrument against your body. it’s a comfort, a lifeline. music has always been the only place where you feel like you belong, where you can channel the torrent of emotions inside you. and tonight, you need it more than ever.

the first chords ring out, the music taking over, and the world around you falls away. everything fades except for the sound of the instruments, the pounding rhythm of the drums, the pulse of the bass. you lose yourself in the music, pouring all of your unspoken feelings into every note, every strum of your guitar. it’s a release, a way to express everything you’ve been holding back. and for a while, it works. the music becomes your escape, your way of drowning out the noise in your heart.

but then there’s wonbin. he’s always there, lingering in the corner of your vision, impossible to ignore. he plays with an intensity that’s magnetic, the way his fingers move over the strings like it’s second nature, the guitar becoming an extension of him. a thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead, catching the light, and his hair falls messily into his eyes. there’s something almost untamed about him in these moments, like the music sets him free, strips him of all the layers and pretenses he wears so effortlessly offstage.

and then, just like that, he looks at you.

time slows, the world around you fading into the background as the spotlight seems to shine brighter on him, illuminating every detail. his gaze locks with yours, and it’s like the music takes on a different meaning. his lips curl into that grin, the one that makes your heart stutter in your chest, and for a moment, you forget where you are. it’s just the two of you, suspended in that electric moment, the crowd, the lights, the noise all falling away.

you pour everything into the strings beneath your fingers, strumming with a desperation you can’t quite control. every chord is a prayer, a plea for this moment to last just a little longer, for this connection, however fleeting, to mean something more. your chest tightens with the intensity of it, and you pray that he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble, the way your heart races. but he’s looking at you, really looking, and it feels like he can see straight through the facade you’ve so carefully constructed.

you lose yourself in the music, strumming harder, fingers moving faster as if you can escape the weight of his gaze. but it doesn’t work. he’s still there, still watching, still grinning like he knows exactly what’s going on inside you. and maybe he does. maybe he’s always known.

the song ends, the final chord ringing out into the air, and the crowd erupts into cheers, but you barely hear it. your chest heaves with the effort, your fingers aching from the intensity, but your mind is still stuck on that moment, that look. you glance over at wonbin, and he’s already turned away, his focus shifted, like it was nothing. like it always is.

the rest of the set passes in a blur of sound and lights, but your mind is elsewhere. your emotions are too raw, too exposed. every note feels like a confession, every lyric like a piece of your heart being laid bare. and when the performance finally ends, you feel like you’ve run a marathon, emotionally spent and physically exhausted.

but the night isn’t over yet.

you’re barely offstage before the others are already making plans to go out, to celebrate the successful performance. there’s a wild energy in the air, everyone high on the adrenaline of the show, arms thrown around shoulders, laughter spilling out into the night as you make your way to the club. you don’t have the energy to protest, not when hongjoong drags you along, insisting you come out and celebrate. you plaster on a smile, trying to hide the exhaustion, the emotional turmoil still swirling inside you.

the club is dark and loud, the music thumping through the speakers, vibrating through the floor. the smell of alcohol and sweat is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. the others scatter, disappearing into the crowd, already lost in the haze of celebration.

you find yourself at the bar, drink in hand, trying to numb the ache in your chest. you don’t know why you’re here, don’t know why you agreed to this when all you want to do is disappear, to escape the weight of your own feelings. but then you see him.

wonbin.

he’s surrounded by girls, as usual, laughing and flirting effortlessly, his hand resting casually on some girl’s waist. the sight of it makes your stomach twist, the familiar ache of jealousy settling in. you watch from a distance, the alcohol dulling the sharpness of your emotions but not enough to stop the pang of hurt that hits you every time he flashes that grin, every time he leans in too close to one of them.

it’s always like this. always. he’s there, right in front of you, but somehow always just out of reach. no matter how much you want him, no matter how much you try to bury your feelings, it’s like he’s always pulling you in, only to slip through your fingers again. and tonight, after everything, after the performance, after the way he looked at you—tonight it’s too much.

you down another drink, the burn of alcohol sliding down your throat, but it’s not enough to drown out the frustration, the heartache. the room spins slightly, the edges of your vision blurring, but there’s a strange clarity in your mind—a single thought that pushes its way to the forefront.

you can’t do this anymore. you can’t keep pretending, can’t keep holding back. you want him. and tonight, you’re done hiding it.

before you know it, your feet are moving, carrying you through the crowd, weaving between bodies until you find yourself standing in front of him. he’s alone now, the girls having wandered off somewhere else, and he looks at you with mild surprise, his usual easy smile slipping onto his lips.

“hey,” he says, his voice loud enough to cut through the music. “you okay?”

you don’t answer, your mind a blur of alcohol and desire, your body moving on its own as you take a step closer, your gaze locked on his. the distance between you disappears, and you reach up, your fingers brushing against his chest as you stand on your tiptoes, your heart racing, your mind screaming at you to stop, but your body doesn’t listen.

you kiss him.

for a moment, everything freezes. time seems to stop, the world around you fading into nothing as your lips press against his. he’s still at first, his body tense, frozen in place as if he’s processing what just happened. you can feel the confusion in the way he hesitates, the way his breath catches in his throat, but you don’t care. not anymore.

and then, slowly, he kisses you back.

his hand comes up to your waist, fingers curling around your side, pulling you closer. his lips move against yours with practiced ease, and it’s everything you imagined and more. there’s a heat to it, a spark, like a wildfire igniting between the two of you, and for a moment, you lose yourself in it. his scent overwhelms your senses, the familiar mix of sweat and cologne, and you’re drowning in it, in him and your mind goes blank, your body melting into his.

as the kiss ends, the silence between you is thick, like the air before a storm, heavy with unspoken words and lingering emotions. wonbin’s gaze locks onto yours, intense and searching, as if he’s trying to decipher the whirlwind of feelings swirling between you. for a moment, the world outside seems to blur, the neon lights and pounding music fading into the background, leaving only the two of you in sharp focus. the heat of the kiss lingers, not just on your lips, but in the space between you, like a promise that neither of you fully understands yet.

you try to gather your thoughts, to make sense of the chaos inside you, but the alcohol has stripped away your defenses, leaving you raw and exposed. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the deep bass of the club’s music, but all of it feels distant, irrelevant compared to the electric connection that still crackles between you and wonbin. the room spins slightly, the haze of the night adding a surreal edge to everything, but there’s a clarity in this moment that cuts through it all, a truth you can no longer ignore.

without waiting for doubt to creep in, you lean in again, driven by instinct rather than logic. the second kiss is not just an act, but a collision of need and longing, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between what you feel and what you fear. wonbin meets you with equal intensity, his hands finding your hips, anchoring you to him as if afraid you might slip away. the world tilts, the music and the crowd fading into a distant hum, until all that remains is the two of you, lost in each other.

his lips are warm, insistent, a source of comfort and urgency all at once. his breath mingles with yours, a shared warmth that blurs the lines between where you end and he begins. the grip of his hands is firm, but there’s a tenderness there too, a carefulness that belies the intensity of the moment. it’s as if he’s trying to hold on to something fragile, something that could shatter with the wrong move.

the kiss deepens, and with it, the connection between you grows, becoming more urgent, more undeniable. you can feel his heart racing against your chest, the rhythm of it syncing with your own, a shared pulse that echoes the emotions neither of you has dared to speak aloud. the heat between you is overwhelming, like standing too close to a fire, but instead of pulling away, you find yourself leaning into it, craving the warmth, the intensity, the clarity it brings.

when wonbin finally pulls back, just enough to catch his breath, his eyes are darker, filled with a mix of emotions that make your own heart ache. there’s desire there, yes, but also something softer, something that makes you feel both vulnerable and cherished. it’s a look that asks a question without words, a silent plea for understanding, for reassurance.

"are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper, carrying a weight of concern and eagerness. it’s a question loaded with meaning, with the potential for everything to change, and you can see the vulnerability in his gaze, the way he’s letting you see a part of him that he usually keeps hidden.

you swallow, the words catching in your throat, but you manage to nod, your voice trembling slightly as you say, "yes, i’m sure." it’s the truth, the only truth that matters right now, because despite everything—the chaos, the fear, the uncertainty—being here with him feels right in a way that nothing else has.

without another word, he takes your hand, his touch grounding you, steadying you as he guides you through the throng of people. the club’s lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colors, the pounding music a distant echo as you make your way outside. the cool night air hits your skin, a refreshing contrast to the heat that still lingers between you, clearing your head just enough to remind you that this is real, that this moment is yours.

you stumble slightly, the effects of the alcohol and the adrenaline making your steps unsteady, but wonbin is there, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. his presence is a steady force amidst the chaos, a reminder that you’re not alone in this, that whatever happens next, you’ll face it together.

"come on," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. "let’s get out of here." there’s a promise in his words, not of anything specific, but of something more, something that goes beyond the night, beyond the fleeting intensity of the moment.

you nod, allowing him to lead you down the street, your steps unsure but your heart racing with a sense of anticipation that feels almost electric. the city night is alive around you, the air buzzing with energy, with possibilities that make your pulse quicken. the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, the cool breeze carrying the scent of the night—an intoxicating mix of urban grit and something sweeter, more elusive, like the promise of something just out of reach.

as you walk, wonbin’s hand in yours is a constant, a tether that keeps you grounded as your thoughts swirl. there’s a peace in the quiet of the night, a stillness that contrasts sharply with the chaos of the club, allowing you to focus on what truly matters—the connection between you, the unspoken understanding that has always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

when you reach a quiet corner, the world seems to slow, the moment stretching out as if to give you both the time to breathe, to think, to feel. wonbin turns to you, his gaze sweeping over your face, and there’s a tenderness there that makes your heart ache in the best way possible. his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of doubt, of hesitation, but finding none.

"are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but laced with an urgency that matches the unspoken question in his eyes. he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, the touch so tender it nearly undoes you.

"yeah," you whisper, your voice barely audible, but filled with all the emotion you can’t quite express. "i’m okay."

he smiles then, a slow, almost hesitant smile that warms you from the inside out. "good," he says softly, his hands finding their way to your shoulders, grounding you with their warmth. "because i’ve wanted this—wanted you—for a long time."

the confession hangs between you, heavy with meaning, with the weight of all the moments that led to this one. you don’t need to respond with words; the look in your eyes says it all. before you can overthink it, he leans in again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both urgent and tender, a reaffirmation of everything you’ve both been holding back.

in that moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the connection deepening with each shared breath, each touch, each whispered promise. 

and as the night stretches on, drunken stumbles back to your hotel room, the hastened shedding of clothing, you lose yourself in that electric feeling, of the raw desire and wanting.

‘condom?’ wonbin asks, hovering over you, his necklace dangling conveniently over your eyes, hair loose and wild, falling over his eyes. you almost forgot to respond to him, captivated in how effortlessly he draws your gaze.

it’s not until you feel him tap your chin, his eyes peering into your soul, do you remember that he had asked you a question.

‘i’m on the pill. don’t need one.’

you’re sure that your sentences could have been more intelligible, but the desire coursing through your body, searing your insides and bubbling at your core had cut any chance of that happening.

‘like music to my ears.’

his head dips down to your neck, his lips soft against your burning skin, teasing you with light kisses as you squirmed underneath him.

‘wonbin,’ you pleaded, your thighs clenching as you look up at him, begging him to do what you had dreaming about for months.

‘patience, angel. good things come to those that wait.’

he continues his agonisingly slow teasing, the smirk on his lips practically plastered on his face, enjoying the increase of your neediness.

he took note of the way your breath hitched when his fingers dipped underneath your underwear, or when they traced small circles on your nioples.

he delighted in the way you bucked into his palm when his fingers finally entered you, a long whine leaving your lips as you throw your head back.

‘so needy. you’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

the feeling of his skilfully long fingers stretching you so well, hitting all of the right spots, renders you speechless, and your mouth hangs open, words unable to escape.

‘of course you have, look at how wet you are.’

it’s sinful, the noises that reverberate around the thin hotel room walls, your eyes practically reaching your skull as your fingers curl around his wrist, simultaneously pushing him away and pulling him closer.

‘you’re about to cum, aren’t you baby? you want to cum so badly, want me to make you cum?’ your thoughts are clouded, wonbin’s voice nothing but white noise as you desperately chase that feeling in your lower stomach, nodding repeatedly.

after a couple more strokes you come undone, thighs shaking as they close around his fingers, your head thrown all the way back as you miss the way he licks his lips, only growing harder.

‘think you can give me another one angel?’

as you lose yourselves in the quiet intimacy of the moment, you can’t help but cling to the hope that this night is just the beginning of something more, something lasting. for now, though, the simple joy of being here, in this moment with him, is enough, your sweaty bodies clinging to each other in a hazy swirl of lust.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

waking up feels like surfacing from deep water—your head pounds with every pulse of your heart, each thud sending waves of pain crashing through your skull. the sunlight that spills through the curtains is too bright, stabbing into your eyes like needles, and you groan, burying your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to escape it. your throat is dry, parched as if you’ve swallowed sandpaper, and the taste of stale alcohol lingers on your tongue, sour and bitter.

but despite the hangover, despite the discomfort, there’s a warmth that blooms in your chest when you remember last night. a soft smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a small, contented sigh, the memory of wonbin’s touch, his kiss, his whispered words still fresh in your mind. it feels like a dream, like something too good to be true, but the way your heart skips a beat when you think of him reassures you that it was real, that you took the leap you’ve been too scared to take for so long.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that it meant something, that maybe, just maybe, wonbin feels the same way you do.

with that thought in mind, you force yourself to sit up, the room spinning slightly as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. you press your fingers to your temples, trying to ease the pounding in your head, but it’s no use. the hangover is a stubborn beast, and it’s not going to let you off easy today. but you push through it, fueled by the remnants of last night’s euphoria, and after a few minutes of sitting there, breathing deeply, you manage to stand.

the first thing you do is check your phone, hoping for a message from wonbin, some acknowledgment of what happened between you. but there’s nothing—just a few unread messages from the group chat. your heart sinks a little, but you tell yourself it’s fine, that he’s probably just as hungover as you are and hasn’t gotten around to messaging anyone yet. still, a small seed of doubt plants itself in your mind, and you shake your head, trying to dislodge it before it can take root.

you glance at the group chat, eyes skimming over the messages. yunjin’s suggesting everyone meet for food in the hotel conference room, and your stomach grumbles in response, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since yesterday. the idea of food is both appealing and nauseating at the same time, but you know you need something in your system to soak up the lingering alcohol. besides, you’ll get to see wonbin, and maybe… maybe you can talk, clear up whatever uncertainties are creeping in.

so you pull yourself together, forcing yourself through the motions of getting dressed, splashing water on your face, and downing a glass of water in hopes of quelling the dehydration. each movement feels heavy, your limbs weighed down by the combination of hangover and nerves, but you push through, determined to keep the fragile hope from last night alive.

by the time you reach the conference room, the smell of food is already wafting through the air—greasy, comforting, the kind of food that’s perfect for soaking up a night of too much drinking. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you push open the door, your eyes immediately scanning the room for wonbin.

and there he is.

but he’s not alone.

the sight of him with the waitress hits you like a punch to the gut, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you freeze in the doorway. she’s draped on his arm, her body pressed close to his, her lips dangerously close to his ear as she whispers something you can’t hear. but it’s the way he smiles down at her, the way he laughs softly at whatever she’s saying, that twists the knife deeper into your chest.

time seems to slow, each second stretching out into an eternity as you stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. the warmth that had filled you just moments ago is gone, replaced by a cold, hollow ache that spreads through your chest like ice. the hope you’d clung to shatters, the pieces falling around you like broken glass, and you can do nothing but watch as wonbin slips further and further away from you, even as he stands just a few feet away.

he notices you then, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, and for a moment, you think you see something—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone too quickly, replaced by that same easy smile, the one that never quite reaches his eyes. he disentangles himself from the waitress, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle before she walks away, her hips swaying as she disappears into the crowd.

you want to run, to turn around and leave before he can say anything, before he can break your heart all over again, but your legs refuse to move. you’re trapped, caught in the web of your own feelings, and all you can do is watch as he walks toward you, his expression carefully neutral.

"hey," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the buzz of conversation in the room. "can we talk?"

you nod, unable to find your voice, and he gestures for you to follow him out into the hallway. the walls seem to close in around you as you walk, each step heavier than the last, and by the time you’re standing alone with him, your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

"about last night…" he starts, running a hand through his hair, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he’s struggling to find the right words. "i just… i don’t want you to get the wrong idea."

the wrong idea. the words hit you like a slap, and you flinch, the sharp sting of rejection cutting through you like a knife. you can feel your hands trembling, so you clench them into fists at your sides, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep from falling apart right in front of him.

"what do you mean?" you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. you already know what he’s going to say, but you need to hear it, need to hear the words that will crush whatever hope is left inside you.

he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looks away, unable to meet your gaze. "last night was… it was fun, and i’m glad it happened, but…" he trails off, and you can see the moment he decides to just rip off the band-aid, the moment he stops trying to soften the blow.

 "but it was just a one-time thing, you know? we both had pent up frustration that needed to be released. ii don’t want you to think it was anything more than that."

a one-time thing. the words echo in your mind, each repetition like a hammer driving nails into your heart. you knew it was coming, knew that this was always a possibility, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier. it doesn’t stop the pain, doesn’t stop the feeling of your heart being torn in two.

but you can’t let him see that. you can’t let him see how much it hurts, how deeply his words cut you. so you force yourself to smile, a small, brittle thing that feels like it’s going to crack and shatter at any moment.

"of course," you say, your voice trembling just the slightest bit, but you hope he doesn’t notice. "i didn’t think it was anything more than that." you scoff, trying to play it off as a joke, even though it feels like you’re choking on the words.

 "we were just having fun, right?"

he looks relieved, and it makes you want to scream.

 "yeah, exactly," he says, his smile returning, more genuine this time. "i’m glad you understand. i didn’t want things to get weird between us."

too late, you think, but you bite your tongue, nodding instead. 

"no worries," you say, trying to sound as casual as he does, trying to pretend that your heart isn’t breaking all over again. "we’re good."

but you’re not good. you’re anything but good. you feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re crumbling from the inside out, but you keep it together, holding yourself together with sheer force of will. because what else can you do? you can’t let him see how much he’s hurt you, how much you wanted more, how much you still want more, even now.

he gives you one last smile, a quick pat on the shoulder that feels more like a dismissal than anything else, and then he’s gone, walking back into the conference room without a second glance.

you stand there for a long time after he leaves, your mind spinning, your heart aching. the hallway feels too quiet, too empty, the silence pressing in on you from all sides, and for a moment, you think you might cry, right there in the middle of the hallway. but you don’t. you take a deep breath, blinking back the tears, and tell yourself to hold it together, to not let him have this power over you.

but it’s hard. it’s so hard. because no matter how much you tell yourself that it was just one night, that it didn’t mean anything, you can’t make yourself believe it. you can’t stop the memories from playing over and over in your mind, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he kissed you like you were the only person in the world.

but it was all an illusion. a fleeting moment of connection that meant nothing to him, while it meant everything to you. and now you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of what could have been, the bitter taste of

 rejection that lingers long after he’s gone.

you take a few more breaths, each one shakier than the last, trying to steady the whirlwind inside you. your chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, a black hole of emotion that pulls everything into its crushing gravity. you know you have to go back into that conference room, to plaster on a smile and pretend that everything is fine, that you aren’t shattering into pieces that will never quite fit together again.

 but the mere thought of seeing wonbin with that waitress—her lips close to his ear, his laughter a blade twisting deeper into your heart—is more than you can bear. it’s a dagger of reality, cold and sharp, cutting through the fragile threads of hope you had woven around yourself.

so you turn away, your feet heavy with the weight of defeat, and walk out of the conference room, leaving behind the clamor of voices and the sound of your own heart breaking. the laughter and conversation fade into a distant hum, as if the world is slipping away from you, leaving you in a void of silence and despair. 

the door to your hotel room closes with a soft click that echoes like a final nail in the coffin of your hopes, sealing you inside with the full force of your emotions.

the silence in the room is oppressive, pressing down on you from all sides. it’s as if the very air has thickened, suffocating you under the weight of your own grief. you collapse onto the bed, your body folding in on itself as if trying to disappear, to escape the relentless ache in your chest. 

you bury your face in the pillow, the fabric quickly growing damp as the tears spill out, hot and bitter, a flood you can’t control. the dam has broken, and the torrent of sorrow rushes out, drowning you in the waves of everything you’ve lost, everything you’ll never have.

you cry for the dreams that have slipped through your fingers like sand, for the love that you poured into him that was never returned, for the hollow realization that you will never be enough for him—never the one he chooses, never the one who makes his heart race the way he makes yours.

 the sobs tear through you, each one a violent convulsion that seems to rip you apart, leaving you gasping for air that never quite reaches your lungs. it feels like you’re drowning, dragged under by the weight of your own despair, struggling to stay afloat in a sea of unspoken words and shattered dreams.

when the tears finally subside, leaving you drained and hollow, you lie there in the suffocating quiet, staring up at the ceiling as the harsh truth settles over you like a shroud. 

wonbin doesn’t want you. 

not in the way you want him. 

the thought is a blade to your heart, each repetition cutting deeper, the wound bleeding out all the love you’ve been holding onto, until there’s nothing left but the numbness of reality. 

you can try to tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’ll move on, that you’ll find a way to let go. but the truth is, you know you won’t. you can’t. because you’re tethered to him by something more than just affection—something that binds you to him with an unbreakable chain, even as it drags you deeper into the abyss of hopeless love.

you’re caught in a cycle of longing and despair, a cruel loop that you can’t escape, no matter how much you want to. you yearn for a man who will never be yours, who refuses to be held down, who looks at you with eyes that see a friend, a companion, but never the love you desperately wish to be. it hurts with an intensity that leaves you breathless, a pain that eclipses all others, and yet you don’t know how to stop it. how to let go of the fantasy that keeps you tethered to him, even though it’s killing you little by little.

so you lie there, letting the pain wash over you, feeling it seep into your bones, until it becomes a part of you, something you carry with you always. because what else can you do? you can’t stop loving him, no matter how much it tears you apart, no matter how much you wish you could simply walk away from the wreckage of your heart. you’re left with nothing but the aching emptiness of unrequited love, a hollow void that echoes with the ghost of what could have been, of what will never be.

and that’s the cruelest part of it all—the knowledge that no matter how deeply it cuts, no matter how desperately you try to stitch the wound shut, you’re trapped in an unending loop, a carousel of heartache that spins endlessly, leaving you dizzy and disoriented.

 it’s like being caught in a storm, where the rain never stops and the clouds never part, and all you can do is shiver in the cold, longing for a sun that never rises. you’re tethered to him by invisible threads, frayed and worn, yet unbreakable. and the harder you pull, the tighter they bind, until you’re suffocating under the weight of a love that feels more like a curse than a gift. it’s this realization, the bitter taste of it on your tongue, that finally breaks you, sending you spiraling into the kind of tears that shake your very soul.

[cheer-nympho]

THE DUSTIN EXPERIMENT MOMENTS I THINK ARE CUTE OR NOTEWORTHY FOR YOUR FANDOM REFERENCE

Thread of moments from the official book, mainly Eddie info

Mainly Steve, Eddie and Robin or general character dynamics I think are interesting or cute, read this for fanfic help ig,

Copied from my thread on twitter- this book lays in the muddy zone canon wise BUT is officially licensed merch and signed off by the writers, enjoy!

QUICK HIGHLIGHTS: Eddie is canonically afraid of ducks, Eddie is not against Lucas being in basketball and is just worried about the kids driving each other away, Eddie jokingly flirts with male security guards

1. The jocks are SCARED of Eddie. They struggle to pick on him because they are afraid of him, and he can shut them up with ‘a look’

2. Steve picks Robin up from school to take her to her Family Video shifts so Dustin often tags along, and Stobin gossip the whole time

3. Robin is a BIG foreign films fan. She says art transcends language and Steve makes a joke that he struggles to care even when movies are in English. He took, and passed, French in high school

4. When teamed up and being serious, Steve and Robin give genuinely good advice out that is meaningful and ‘wise’. Theres a lot of fun banter with them in this second chapter, but they’re actually good at giving friendship advice to Dustin.

5. Patrick is genuinely nice, he welcomes Lucas in with open arms and a big wave- and its pissing me off having to hear all this “lucas was bad for leaving them for basketball” shit over again because he WASNT wrong and im annoyed the canon narrative tried to conclude that he was but anyway

6. Eddie makes a point of saying to not get the goths confused with the punks, and that youd learn that the hard way. He adresses his table as “ladies and gentlemen” even though there are no ladies… ‘as far as dustin can tell’

7. Unnamed freak is now apparently named Doug. Gareth is a thief, Jeff is a druid, ‘Doug’ is a barbarian. Mike is a D&D purist and thinks the expansions are pointless but lies to try and impress hellfire

8. FINALLY some outside canon acknowledgment that MIKE is the dm.

Eddie and Mike are described as having that DM gene that makes them captivating storytellers, Mike recounts a campaign to the hellfire table who listen on intently

9. Mike makes the pun “and he said ‘Beholder? I hardly Know’er!’” And the table of absolute dweebs laugh their heads off. Although Dustin is enjoying himself a lot, he thinks it would be better with Lucas

10. Eddies walkman is broken, and states he’d rather listen to Madonna that just silence when Gareth makes a joke.

Dustin offers to fix it and Eddie goes “no thats okay I got it” before repeatedly slamming it against the table.

11. Dustin and Eddie abusive dad bonding time. Dustin tells a story about how he took apart a radio piece by piece, and when Eddie comments that his dad would have ‘beat his ass’ Dustin states that his dad wanted to, but his Moms immediate reaction was to sign him up for science camp.

He states that, even though its not cool to say, he thinks his mom is awesome. A few months after the incident she divorced Dustins dad and moved them back to Hawkins, where she grew up.

12. Eddie made Dustin a metal mixtape to thank him for fixing his amp, with the note “Because man cannot live on Weird Al alone - Eddie”

13. Robin is trying to hit Steve in the head with a paper football while sarcastically scolding him for calling Eddie a ‘freak’

She then accuses him of being jealous of Eddie before hitting Steve square in the forehead with a rubber band

14. Steve and Robin immediately jump to Lucas’ defence, Steve calling “bullshit” on even the possibility of Lucas doing something wrong here.

He says Lucas is dealing with his own things, trying to figure himself out past popularity.

15. Eddie and Jeff are in a screaming match over who the better guitarist is: Tony Iommi or Glenn Tipton, and he’s effectively crawling across the table to yell in Jeff’s face,

Dustin immediately nopes out of that and goes to ask Robin for help, who is talking to ~Vickie~

16. Robin is the mediator in the boys friendship issues and has convinced them to try trust falling to make up again,and demonstrates it with Steve

Shes actually good at it, the boys have a bittersweet bonding moment where they realise theyre all just afraid of being left behind

17. Tension is alleviated when Steve reveals his greatest fear is the cartoon Turbo Teen

19. Eddie seems to have a secret, undiscussable fear of ducks. He says their eyes are enough to cause psychic damage and Dustin nites he looks serious.

So…Eddie has a dark past with a duck

20. More bad dad bonding. Eddie says the only good thing his dad left him was a sense of where the speed traps on highways are, and he notes that Dustin doesn’t mention his dad much.

He cheated on Dustins mom, and now Dustin has pretty much no contact with him.

21. While reassuring Dustin, Eddie admits he is afraid before every single performance. He says he isnt brave, isnt facing his fear- all he knows is that he just loves music more than he is afraid of everything else.

Which makes the master of puppets scene so much worse

22. The nerds at the science fair are also scared of how Eddie looks lmao, people move aside and almost create a path for him and Dustin while looking at Eddie sceptically-

The receptionist mistakes Eddie for Dustins dad also

23. Hes like, really afraid of ducks

24. Being left along for 5 minutes to babysit the duck Frodo, Eddie has amassed a crowd of nerds who he is telling scary stories to in his DM mode

A little girl asks “Mr. Eddie” if he’ll tell them more stories, and he says he will if she nails her presentation

25. Eddie, who was tasked with causing a distraction is dragged out of the hall by 2 guards while he says “Gentleman, if you wanted an excuse to feel my arms you could have just asked”

26. The kids (Lucas, Mike, Dustin) are surprisingly close to Robin! Dustin sees her as the best and most logical person to help them through their issues, and Lucas and Mike talk to her like any other member of the party,

Just some nice post s3 bonding stuff

27. When the party start fighting at the table about Lucas in basketball, Gareth tries to butt in and Eddie scolds him and tells him to keep out of it

Hes not against Lucas being in basketball, and tells Dustin to make up with him

DONE!! And heres some things I couldn’t manage to sum up in the same format, and some pages that I think are nice

[gabessquishytum]

So, I just listened to Shatter Me (the album) by Lindsey Sterling again for the first time in a while and it gave me such Dream vibes. So I came up with a little AU scenario (also I don't know any of her more modern albums at all, so sorry for the outdated reference):

Dream is an insanely good vilionist and is about to record his next album. His manager hired some people for the backround instruments, including a certain Robert "Hob" Gadling, who has played the drums in the backround for other famous solo performers in the past. Dream is just his newest gig.

At first, they don't get along at all. Well, noone really does with Dream. He constantly criticises eveyone, including Hob, demanding perfection. Hob's pretty annoyed and would have half a mind to quit if he didn't need the money. That is, until he listens to some of the tapes from their first attempts compared to more recent ones, that are closer to Dream's vision (even if not quite there yet, as Dream doesn't tire to remind them all). And suddenly Hob gets it. Dream's vision, the things he's critiqued them on all the time, if they could actually get it right this album would slap so hard. Hob notices that the instructions Dream gave him are so important because he wants the drums to be complimentary, to elevate the pieces, to make his violin melody all that more impactful.

Hob had almost forgotten that that's what it's supposed to be like. All the other big shots he's worked with were so focused on their own success, on being the most memorable part of every song, that Hob always felt they wanted his drumming just because a band's expected to have a drummer and because it makes it easier to stay on tact. But Dream... He envisions art. Sure, the violin will still probably be the most memorable part of these songs, but not because the other instruments get practically beaten to death by it; it's because they all support each other in a way that makes the melody that much more impactful.

Once Hob realizes that that's where Dream's harsh comments and nit-picky critisims are going, he doesn't feel so annoyed anymore. In fact, he suggests to Dream that maybe the rest of the group should hear what he heared and understand Dream's vision; maybe then they can truly get this where Dream wants it to go.

And well... now that they see more eye to eye, Hob realizes he's hopelessly doomed. Dream was already a sight to behold, these beautiful fingers moving in such quick percision, his elegant movements following the melody. Now that he's not constantly yelling at Hob anymore, he really has no choice but to fall in love. Especially since Dream turns out to not only be an artistic genius, but also quite lovely as a person. (Dream was surprised that Hob managed to understand his vision, and even more so that he was willing to try and get the rest of the crew on board after the way Dream had treated him. He decided to be a bit more compassionate with him after that. At first it was just small things like bringing him coffee or complimenting him when his drumming was especially good, but somehow it turned into non-dates, where they would sid at a café or go on a walk and just talk endlessly to each other.)

Don't know what it would take for one of them to finally confess

This is so beautiful, I adore these two as musicians and percussion is PERFECT for Hob.

I can totally imagine that Dream begins writing music to express his feelings for Hob. Intense, passionate pieces which shatter the heart and uplift the soul. Hob is mesmerised, daring to hope that he might be interpreting Dream's music correctly - Hob knows each note so intimately by now, he's almost sure that Dream is setting love into each and every page.

Watching Hob play his music, the declarations of his love, is like the sweetest torture in the world for Dream. He swears that he'll stop it but he can't resist. Nobody plays for him like Hob.

Maybe one day Hob is just like - "you love me, right? because i love you, every beat of your heart, every string on your bow" and Dream nearly collapses; all he can do is play a few notes on his violin and hope that they express his pain and ardor and LOVE.

And Hob very gently takes the instrument from him, puts it somewhere safe, and kisses him. It's a sweeter music than they've ever made together before.

[moonstrider9904]

Lose It

Grand Admiral Thrawn x Female Reader

Summary: As Governor Pryce's assistant, you've had to put up with a lot of things and meet a lot of stuck up imperials with flying colors, but when Grand Admiral Thrawn lands on Lothal, you find yourself stuttering upon your words, flustered, and invited to a gala dinner that'll define your career.

Tags/warnings: SMUT. 18+ adults only. Corporate struggles, Pryce being mean, first meetings, alcohol consumption, making out, PiV sex unprotected, fingering. This is my first time in a long while writing Thrawn, so sorry if any of this is ooc.

Word count: 8042

Playlist: Lose it by Oh Wonder - and its Jerry Folk Remix for the smut 👀

Read on AO3 | One-shot masterlist | Main masterlist |

With your eyes glued to the datapad, you felt as if caf would be the only thing to get you through that morning.

Sunrises on Lothal were beautiful, and yet, you were never able to enjoy them. Your desk on the seventh floor, a place relatively close to the much more humane office destined for your boss, was in a tiny reception room that had no windows; you'd have to walk a good kilometer inside the facility for you to get a glimpse of the outside world. You didn't mind the walking - it was always good for your mind whenever you felt saturated - but lately it seemed as if your boss had the uncanny ability to always demand something new from you whenever you resolved to walk out that door to do anything remotely human. Never being one to be superstitious, when it came to Governor Pryce, you wouldn't give her any more leverage.

You scoffed lightly at yourself. With the boss you had, it was a miracle the cup of caf you were drinking was actually for yourself and not for her. You had a little wager going on in your head to see what else that woman could take from you - so far, she'd already claimed your motivation and a good chunk of your faith in the Empire.

You regretted having Pryce on your thoughts when a notification pushed itself to the corner of your datapad. I'm not available, you thought to yourself, as if that had ever kept you from doing anything that was beneath you before, or worse, getting locked in a task that would absorb all your time and sucked the energy out of you like a leech. There never seemed to be an in between. You scanned the subject and, though you didn't hear alarms being set off in your mind, you did find your interest piqued.

URGENT: Imperial High Command Visit, Subject Classified. All imperial personnel directly reporting to levels SC6 and above must report to direct management for instructions.

And sure enough, you'd have no more peace for the remainder of the morning when you read that. You downed the rest of your caf and mentally braced yourself for what was to come. It wasn't uncommon for you to receive messages like that, but something big usually happened when you did, and you were used to finding out who or what it was about until the very last moments. It looked like it would simply be one of those days, so you grabbed your datapad and left your desk, making your way across the little reception room and into Pryce's office.

One thing you figured you could appreciate about Pryce was that there was never any beating around the bush, and it always made things a lot quicker, even in situations when it felt like you were having a band aid ripped from you. More like a piece of duct tape, but it was quick either way. And when you walked into her office, your back straight and gaze placed directly on your boss, donning what she would deem the desirable posture of an Imperial public servant, Pryce was already standing up from behind her desk with her blue eyes piercing into you.

Only she could make such a beautiful eye color look so menacing.

"You're here not two minutes after my comm was sent," Pryce commented. "I want that efficiency from you every day."

You were that efficient every day, but you weren't about to argue with Pryce about her short-sightedness.

"Put everything you were working with on hold for now," Pryce told you.

You didn't question the importance of the current events, but you never liked it when she told you to cast things aside to make room for her new wishes.

"I need you to send this out as a comm to all staff levels SC5 and below," Pryce handed you a drive, "and then I need you to make sure Congregation Room 2 is set to receive a minimum of seven people, but leave three extra chairs and make sure it's well stocked in refreshments. Put all my comms outside of lines 1 and 2 on standby, redirect comms from lines 4 and 6 towards you, I'm sure those are all things you can handle."

Pryce began walking past you outside of her office, leaving you to follow as you made a mental list of what she was asking.

"Do not answer any questions you're asked by anyone," Pryce continued. "At the most, tell anyone who wants to know to refer to the comm I'm asking you to send out. Now, in that hard drive you'll find the comm, two diagrams, a statement, and a final comm different to the first one which must be sent out only to levels SC6 and above - they are all in the order they're meant to be sent out and the time and date is encrypted in their properties. Stick to them like clockwork, and program anything you need ahead of time. We cannot afford mistakes, I hope I'm clear about that. Once you're done with these duties, find me. I'll need you at my side the whole day."

"Yes, Governor Pryce," you answered with your most professional tone.

Pryce stopped in front of your desk in the reception. "One more thing. Tomorrow night there will be a welcoming gala on the higher levels of the facility. I assume you have something to wear?"

"Ma'am?" You questioned, inevitably puzzled. You were open to many requests from Pryce, and while nearly nothing surprised you anymore, it really sounded like Pryce was inviting you to a fancy event.

"You won't be dancing and fine dining," Pryce sneered. "You'll be assisting me as well as the logistics staff for the event. And, I cannot repeat this with enough emphasis, we cannot afford mistakes. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," you answered again.

Pryce was about to leave the reception and finally give you room to work, but she stopped and looked at you again.

"Ah, and refill the caf pots for the entire floor, we're all going to need it," Pryce spat before finally leaving without so much as a thank you or goodbye.

Would you like me to refill the fat cats' caf pots before or after I send out a highly important, classified comm to the entire facility? It was all you could do not to roll your eyes. You didn't want any cameras catching you in the act.

Luckily, you'd gotten very good at prioritizing. The high commands could wait for their caf, and if they couldn't, they could very well brew it themselves. The first thing on the list was checking the drive Pryce had given you so that you could write out any comms and either send them or program them, so you plugged the drive into your computer. You found that one of the diagrams Pryce had told you about wasn't meant to be sent out, but rather, it was full of instructions for you. And according to those instructions, you'd have time to be a professional performing tasks worthy of her level before fulfilling a caf quest that was very much beneath you.

But the other diagram caught your eye - it was a command structure you'd never seen before. You knew many of the names on it, and when you read the one at the top, began to grasp the magnitude of what was happening at Lothal. It seemed Pryce wouldn't be the top authority on the planet anymore, she'd now be answering to someone who carried a title far more imposing than hers.

The diagram was meant to be sent out with the first comm, so you read the draft, and you didn't know whether you should panic, be excited, or hide from anyone who already recognized you as assistant to the Governor who would want privileged answers. Words like Command Structure Reformation, High Level Staff Transition, and Low-level Cost Reduction caught your eye. You'd heard whispers of new projects and seen the factories that were being built on Lothal from afar, and it seemed you were the one being tasked with telling the facility about that. But you had the hunch something like this would only leave everyone with more questions than answers. No wonder Pryce had warned you about people asking you things, but you doubted it was out of any effort to protect you. She'd essentially just asked you to keep from saying anything that might spill any secrets.

You sent out the first comm immediately and scheduled anything else for the day, including the comm about the gala—that one got you wondering if you'd at least be paid extra, but you had little faith in that. When you were done with that, you locked the computer and removed the drive, and you took your datapad with you as well for whatever came up. You were now headed towards Congregation Room 2 to oversee its preparations, hoping to swiftly fulfill the second part of your instructions for that morning, but as you were leaving the reception room and entering the main hallway, you were abruptly almost bumped into by Pryce herself, who rushed down the hall followed by three Imperial men in high-ranking uniforms. Despite her urgency, she stopped to glare at you.

"Do not tell me you're only just finishing the comms," Pryce snarled. "Hurry up and fill the pots! Are you trying to make the staff furious?"

Without any other acknowledgement towards you, Pryce and the other imperials continued on their way. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks with the words you couldn't say to her, such as how perhaps she forgot what it was like to do routine comm writing or basically any other task the commoner would have to do any day and how long some of those could take ever since she got a high horse and an assistant. But you also knew if you stood there pondering, you'd get yelled at again—the fact that Pryce had chosen to do that in front of others made your blood boil, but as much as you didn't appreciate being humiliated as "that aloof assistant" in front of anyone, you had things to do, lowly as they were.

Another push notification presented itself on your datapad, which you stopped in your tracks to look at.

From: Governor Pryce

On your desk I left a stack of binders for Congregation Room 2. Do not forget them.

You added that little detail to the list of things to keep track of.

With each pot of caf you filled, a tiny part in your brain wondered if anyone would notice if you spat in it. The thought amused you, but you also feared Pryce far too much to try any stunts like that. Something told you she'd notice you sabotaging a pot of caf even if she was on a different planet. You let your fantasies of getting away with mischief get you through that particularly unpleasant part of the morning and finally headed back to your desk for the binders from Pryce and then towards the congregation room, walking so fast you would run if you went any quicker. It was a miracle you didn't drop the binders in the middle of the hallway, and you were happy fate was apparently smiling at you that day to prevent any more embarrassment in front of Imperial high command.

When you arrived, you were pleased to see that the room wasn't a mess. The large table in the center was perfectly clean, with no traces of dust, and the chairs had already been pushed in and straightened out neatly. The room had that corporate smell to it that you both loved and hated, and it was so quiet that it was oddly peaceful. You liked the way the blueish-gray walls were embellished by the large paintings on the walls, one on each of the longer sides of the room. You wished you had more time to admire them both, one of the landscapes of Lotha, and the other one far more abstract with bright shades of orange, magenta, some yellow, and hints of gold on a cream-colored canvas.

You set a binder down on each spot of the table, and then you tested the light dimmers in the room. You then placed a bottle of water next to each binder, and finally, you brewed a pot of caf for the Congregation Room that you hoped would be your last, at least for that day. Still, you admitted you could use another cup of fully loaded black caf yourself.

For a while, the sound of the caf brewing was the only thing to fill your ears. You watched the rich, dark droplets falling into the pot and filling it, letting your mind get some sort of rest. You had the strange feeling that you'd been worked to the bone and yet you hadn't accomplished anything that day... that was a feeling you got very often in your job.

"Strange to see two very opposing art pieces put together in one room," a deep, male voice inundated your senses, rich and luxurious like the caf filling the pot in front of you.

Despite the voice's velvet qualities, you jumped up on the spot, startled, and you turned to face its source.

"I apologize, I did not mean to startle you," he said. He was a tall Chiss man in a white uniform, his profile frame facing you as he faced the painting of the landscape of Lothal's countryside. His posture was regal, with his hands placed behind his back, resting in lightly formed fists. "It would seem a more traditional choice to have paintings that are similar to one another, enough for them to complement but not cause any redundancy."

When he finished speaking, the man looked at you, his deep crimson gaze both gentle and penetrating on you.

"Would you agree?" He asked you.

You didn't have an idea of what to answer, and even if you did, you were stunned. You'd never crossed paths with someone like him before - his aura was intoxicating, and the fact that he had deemed you worthy of addressing spiraled in your mind. Any other imperial would have looked at you over the nose and deemed their time too important to waste on a mere assistant.

"I-I-" You paused to clear your throat, cursing your sudden inability to speak. "I have indeed seen that tendency in other places, just not here. Personally, I like the other painting a lot more."

Your mind began to race as you worried whether you were supposed to salute him or do anything, but it would depend on his rank. You figured standing up straight and not making a further fool out of yourself would suffice, but you looked over at the plaque over his chest just to be sure.

It wasn't a pattern or a rank you recognized. Had that man smitten you that hard?

He gave you the hint of a smile before turning around and looking at the other painting, the abstract piece, and he took his time to admire it. You wondered if perhaps you should offer him a cup of caf, ask him if he was there for the staff meeting, comment more on the painting... you had no clue.

But the silence was suffocating you, and you knew you wanted to hear more of his luscious voice. You looked at the plaque on his chest and took your best guess at his rank judging by the sequence of colors - you didn't get to be assistant to the Governor without memorizing imperial structure level well before.

"Admiral," you stammered minimally, "is there something I can help you with?"

Slowly, his frame turned towards you, his lips again curved ever so slightly. "It is Grand Admiral, actually."

You felt heat rushing to your cheeks - even your best guess based on your experience didn't save you from messing up in front of the greatest force of nature that facility had seen in a while.

"O-oh, I apogolize--er, apologize," you stuttered.

You wanted to scream, so you resorted to just doing it internally. It then dawned on you who this man really was based on his rank alone. The reason your morning had been so hectic was standing right there in front of you, watching you squirm. This was the man Governor Pryce would answer to from now on. Grand Admiral Thrawn. You straightened your back at the realization and bowed your head shortly before looking him in the eyes again, and much to your surprise, he seemed amused with you. Not in the high-and-mighty way, but rather, it was almost as if something about you was endearing.

"You may be at ease," Thrawn said. "I would like to hear your thoughts on this abstract piece. You said you prefer this over the other one."

You breathed in before speaking and hoped your language skills didn't fail you again, and you took just a couple of paces closer to him, allowing yourself to view the painting better.

"Well, I'm no expert," you warned.

"You do not have to be," Thrawn mused. "Appreciation of the arts can be enhanced by knowledge, but the true purpose of art is to produce sensations in the viewer. Any insight you may have to share is valuable."

You looked at the painting again and found it in yourself to relax. "I like the warmth of the colors. And their livelihood, too. It makes me think of freedom, and the gold flecks seem to speak about the beauty of that freedom, as well as the luxury of having it."

"This desire of freedom speaks to you?" He asked you.

You then realized you were talking about lacking freedom to an Imperial Grand Admiral, and you felt your already racing heart quicken.

"I'm grateful for my work and I have no complaints," you corrected despite your many complaints about your boss that morning, easing yourself back into what the painting produced within you. "It's just that... the bright pinks and oranges are hard not to notice in the middle of these gray walls... they can become confining after too many hours in them."

"Hm," Thrawn hummed. "I always prefer having a view myself. I share your sentiment."

You figured having a Grand Admiral's agreement on an art matter was the biggest compliment you'd get that day.

"Might I ask," you began, "what do you think of it?"

Thrawn side-eyed you, but the attitude with which he did it seemed pleased, as well as intrigued with you. He then looked at the painting again. "This color palette reminds me of a current I've been witnessing in none other but rebellious efforts. There is a certain diversity to it, as well as the clear nature of abstract art mirroring the rebellion itself. Your observations of the contrast of the color with the gray of our facilities and the need for freedom only confirm to me that I was not far off with my own initial interpretation."

You were dazed, and the need to speak more plunged into you like thorns.

"How interesting," you said with an airy voice. "For these sorts of emotions to be manifested to multiple people in a similar way."

"Yes," Thrawn said. "Though current context may have some influence on this... collective perception."

Before the conversation could advance, you heard the sound of Governor Pryce's voice approaching from down the hall, her words quick and frantic, clashing with your and Thrawn's aura like nails scratching smooth stone. Soon enough, Pryce appeared at the door of the room with a large number of Imperials behind her, and though she was relieved to find Thrawn there, you could tell she was displeased at the sight of you standing with him.

"Grand Admiral, please excuse the lack of hospitality," Pryce said as she glared at you.

"Not at all, Governor Pryce, I have been well-received," Thrawn said; you could have sworn you noticed him glance at you as he did.

Regardless of Thrawn trying to ease some of the weight off you, the last thing you wanted was to have Pryce suspect anything less than decent coming from you. But fortunately, you noticed Pryce scanning the room, hopefully noticing everything was set up exactly according to her instruction. And now that she had come to you, it wasn't necessary for you to go out and look for her like she'd told you earlier.

Pryce suppressed a scoff. "Yes, well, it appears this room has been prepared properly for your arrival." She then faced the rest of the Imperials behind her. "Please come in. My assistant will help accommodate you."

You understood the instruction and acknowledged Thrawn one last time before walking over to the doorway and directing multiple people towards their chairs around the table. Before Pryce took her own seat, she approached you and leaned in close to your shoulder - your mind raced with the question of whether she would congratulate or choke you.

"You are not to be left alone with the Grand Admiral again, do you understand?" She whispered, but the aggression of her tone was anything but inconspicuous.

"Yes ma'am," you acknowledged without trying to offer any explanation in return.

"Stay here at the back of the room," Pryce ordered. "Oblige to any request these officers may have. I don't want slip-ups."

"Yes, ma'am," you repeated.

"And this goes without saying, but none of what you are about to hear us discuss leaves this room," Pryce added. "This is of the highest confidentiality."

You nodded. "I understand, ma'am."

You knew Pryce was mad at finding you alone with Thrawn, but if she still kept you at that meeting, you had no reason to fear you'd be unemployed tomorrow. The meeting took hours, all through which you kindly obliged to whatever was needed from you.

And you felt crimson eyes on you all the while.

*

The morning after, bright and early, you arrived at your office and noticed a surprise on your desk. Pryce was nowhere to be seen, but on top of the stack of folders and datapads waiting for you to check on them, there was a bag over your desk with a delicate parchment on it that had your name written in ink. It looked large enough to hold a gown, and you remembered Pryce had mentioned something about you having an outfit for the welcoming gala you'd attend that night.

Pryce got me a dress? Employer review season must be coming up.

You pushed the jokes aside in your brain and decided to be more appreciative. Besides, it was far more likely Pryce would rather give you what she wanted you to wear before risking letting you make a poor fashion choice, thus surely rendering the welcoming gala a complete, unsaveable failure.

You took the parchment from the bag and noticed the other side of it had more writing on it.

Art deserves to be appreciated.

You felt your heart skip a beat and the oxygen leaving your head. That dress wasn't from Pryce, it was from Thrawn. It made you all the more motivated to unzip the dress bag and look at what was inside, and you felt your breath leaving your body when you saw the exquisite black fabric of the long gown. The outer layer of the dress was primarily lace, with sequins and beads very discreetly forming delicate flower forms every few inches. You knew it was high couture when your fingertips brushed the fabric, the quality evident under your touch—you tried not to think how much it cost.

Were you even supposed to accept a gift like that? You weren’t sure. It might not even fit, and even if it did, maybe you were expected to return it after the gala.

But who were you to refuse a request from a Grand Admiral? It’s not as if Pryce hadn’t told you to oblige to anything those Imperials the day before, and to your knowledge, that included Thrawn.

That day at work didn’t have you running up and down the facility like the day before, constantly required at Pryce’s side, beck, and call, but the workload didn’t stop. Between comms regarding structure changes, further details being given to the public, overseeing preparations for the gala and familiarizing yourself with the guestlist of the event, and the routine work you always did day to day for Pryce, you were hardly able to leave your desk.

But all that made the end of the day much sweeter, and when you were off your shift, you hurried home with the gown in hand. Quickly, you showered, dried your hair and styled it for the night, dolled yourself up with makeup and perfume, and at last, it was time for the dress. You were suddenly nervous about the dress not fitting, but when you tried it on, it slipped on you with ease and hugged your silhouette beautifully. The crop of the dress was perfect for your body type, and it accentuated your curves in all the right places.

Either Thrawn had someone investigate all your measurements to find the perfect fit, or he was able to eye you up and down and determine that for himself. Either way, your heart began to race. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention you were getting.

You grabbed a pair of shoes that went well with the dress and added some finishing touches to yourself, and you still had about an hour to spare before the time Pryce had asked you to be at the facility pre-event. You were out your door regardless. You figured, for an event like that, arriving sooner couldn’t hurt if only it meant having a bit more control over it.

As Pryce’s assistant, you’d been to the higher levels of the capitol a few times before for events of the sort, but you’d never seen the place decorated like it was now. The burgundy walls looked even more opulent with the warm golden lighting, and there were several tables laid out around a dance floor, each one decorated with similar burgundy, wine, and gold motifs with extravagant floral centerpieces and delicate glassware for each member that would occupy a spot in them. At the head of the dance floor there was an elongated table whose decoration matched that of the others, with exactly seven seats on it. Your chest fluttered when you glanced at the middle seat. Your day of overseeing preparations for the event had made you all too familiar with who would be occupying that spot.

You still had a job to do. You made sure the logistics team was spot on with last-minute arrangements, verifying there was enough food and wine for everyone who would be there. You went to confirm that every sound, music, and holo-projection worked properly and no one would be embarrassed on behalf of technical difficulties. Because of you, everything was spot-on well before any guests started arriving.

Timely as always, the first one to do so was Pryce. She donned an elegant gown, but as elegant as she looked, she still had that authoritarian air to her, rather than the aura of someone who went to enjoy herself. And she looked around the room not turning up her nose at anything; it seemed she was satisfied with your work for the time being. She walked up to you, and although you’d done a good job, you knew not to expect congratulations from her.

“Perform routine checks every fifteen minutes,” she instructed. “Light, sound, refreshments, staff—we need full stock at all times.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied.

It was only then that Pryce stopped and looked at you up and down.

“Where did you get a gown like that?” She questioned. “You look like a guest.” “It just happened to be lying around,” you answered. No way were you about to tell her it was a gift from Thrawn.

“Yes, well, good on you for matching the event’s elegance,” Pryce said. “I shall leave you to your duties. I need to receive the guests at the door, but you’ll need to take them to their places.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear Pryce had just complimented you in some way. Regardless, you obliged to her orders and powered up your datapad to view the seating charts, and soon enough, everyone began to arrive. You were grateful you’d chosen a comfortable pair of shoes for the night, otherwise your feet would have already been killing you from walking up and down the room taking everyone to their places. You were unaware of how much time had gone past, but it seemed like you’d successfully gotten almost everyone to their chairs. The next time you were at the entrance to receive your next guest, you glanced down at your datapad to get a clearer vision of how many seats were still empty.

You then looked up to find crimson eyes staring at you, and you were unable to control the smile that curved your lips. In turn, Thrawn’s gaze traced your entire silhouette, and the intoxicating scent of your perfume didn’t escape him. His faint smile held triumph; he was always pleased when his plans worked out according to his machination.

“May I lead you towards your seat?” You asked him.

He nodded and, to your surprise, Thrawn held out his arm bent at a right angle and offered it to you. You raised your eyebrows and looked at him, puzzled.

“A lady must never cross a ballroom such as this unescorted,” he said to you.

If you hadn’t been working that night, you already would have given out.

You obliged to Thrawn’s offer and linked your arm in his as you led him towards the long table at the top of the dance floor. It was hard to ignore the looks you were getting, and you were privy to the confusion in the eyes of many of the people who were looking your way, no doubt questioning themselves why such a lovely lady at the arm of the Grand Admiral was also clearly an employee. You were certain that if they hadn’t already seen you leading them to their spots with a datapad in your hands, you would have been mistaken for Thrawn’s plus one.

You reached the table and gestured at the middle seat, where Thrawn sat in all his regality. With a final nod of acknowledgement, you smiled at him and made your way back towards the entrance, aware of the fact that you swayed your hips slightly more than usual as you walked away.

Hours wore on. Your management of the event was spotless, and everything was on schedule. The food during dinner was warm, and no one was left waiting obscenely long for a refill of their drink. Speeches were made by the staff, including Pryce and Thrawn himself, talking not only about the supremacy of the Empire but also the great plans they had in mind for Lothal—but you’d already heard enough of that during the meeting the day before.

After dinner and all the formalities, the gathering turned more festive and people took to the dance floor to sway to the elegant string music. From that point on, the night also relaxed for you and the rest of the staff, as everyone was mostly just minding their own business. You stood at the corner of the room watching as everyone danced, and you couldn’t help but search for Thrawn with your gaze. A part of you hoped not to find him dancing with another lucky woman, but you shook the thought away. He wasn’t on the dance floor anyway.

In fact, you couldn’t spot him anywhere.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Pryce rushed to you, seemingly concerned.

“You need to get General Perkins some water, now,” she said.

You nodded and pulled your datapad out. “Getting a waiter on it now—”

“No,” Pryce interrupted. “No, the man is drunk out of his mind. I fear what he’ll do if he’s confronted by a waiter. You at least look the part of a partygoer.”

“O-okay,” you obliged.

“Hurry,” Pryce growled before walking off.

You partly understood the urgency; you didn’t want a drunk imperial on your hands either. You hurried over to the bar and filled two glasses with water and carried both on a tray with your data pad on the other hand. You tried to make your way around the dance floor, but everyone was gathered around the tables at the edges, and from afar, you noticed General Perkins already beginning to swoon in his seat, his eyes threatening to close as he laughed absently.

Yeah, no wonder Pryce had told you to hurry. The dance floor wasn’t as crowded anyway—you figured you had better chances going through it.

You came to regret your decision when, halfway across the dancefloor, another less than graceful Imperial general crashed into you. You managed to keep your balance and not fall, but your datapad was knocked out of your hand and slammed to the floor loudly. The water from both of the glasses splashed all over you, and the glasses shattered on the floor scandalously followed by the clanking of the silver tray after them.

Everyone around you took several steps back, leaving you exposed. The general who’d crashed into you disappeared without acknowledging you, and you were the sole center of embarrassment, feeling as the blood rushed to your face. You wanted to hide, but multiple pairs of eyes pierced into you, judging you, whispering amongst themselves words you didn’t even want to speculate.

Pryce rushed towards you and glanced at the scene before glaring straight into your soul.

“You’re fired,” she spat, and as she left, she gestured at two nearby waiters to clean up the mess.

Your chest heaved up and down as you processed what had just happened, and just as you were about to run away from the scene, you felt your hand being taken and an arm gripping swiftly at your waist. You gasped when Thrawn came into your view in front of you, holding you up despite what had just happened, and you could almost feel everyone’s soul leaving their body. Before Thrawn met your gaze, he looked over at the band and with a single nod instructed them to begin playing. When the music resumed, Thrawn’s gaze finally met yours, and he led you across the dance floor, spinning you and waltzing with you, becoming one with the music.

Your jaw dropped, and your eyes on him were dreamy. “Why are you doing this?”

He smiled at you, purposefully spinning the two of you more elaborately. “Dance, my darling. Dance.”

Exhaling all the tension in your chest, you smiled up at Thrawn and let him dance you away.

Around you, couples began to swarm to the dance floor once more minding the waiters cleaning up the shattered glass. In the second plane, you could hear the drunken general already making a mess, but that wasn’t your problem anymore now that Pryce had fired you. You simply let Thrawn lead the way, and when you weren’t dancing with him, you were at his side with your arm in his, holding a glass of champagne in your free hand that you never would have gotten as an assistant, and you actually found it in yourself to enjoy the evening.

When it was late, Thrawn led you outside to the courtyard. You both stopped and looked each other in the eyes—he towered over you, and you loved that. You smiled softly at him, eyes seemingly sparkling in the dark.

“Thank you for what you did back there,” you said.

Thrawn’s faint smile widened almost imperceptibly. “My pleasure.”

You looked down, blushing. “Thank you for the gown, too.”

Thrawn gave a low chuckle. “You look exquisite in it.”

A thought formed in the back of your mind at what he’d just said, and suddenly you found blood rushing between your legs at the idea of you being outside of the beautiful gown.

“Shall I take you home?” He asked you.

Your heart sank, but just as you were about to accept, you noticed Thrawn moving himself closer to you, his hand moving up to your cheek to gently brush your skin.

“Or perhaps… you would like to accompany me?” Thrawn suggested.

You knew you could say no, but every fiber of your body wanted to follow him wherever he could take you. Slowly, you nodded, desire already flooding your gaze, and the transition from the courtyard to his private quarters went by in a blur. You felt slightly out of touch when you stood in the opulent living room, unsure of what to do—you’d never done anything of the sort before. The place was absolutely beautiful, though, with a regal blue and silver color palette and a large window overlooking the entire Lothal skyline. The furniture inside was of the highest grade, and there were multiple paintings, crafts, and sculptures decorating the place. Not even in your wildest dreams did you picture yourself standing in a place like that, but regardless, there you were.

Thrawn gestured at the couch in front of an automatic fireplace that ignited when you sat, and he disappeared for a few moments only to return with two glasses of wine. He sat next to you, handing you your glass, setting his cup on the caf table as you took a sip from your cup. That was the best wine you’d ever tasted.

After a few moments in silence, Thrawn took your cup and placed it on the table next to his. His hands went up to cup your face where his fingertips could gently brush the hair growing out of the nape of your neck, and he leaned in to kiss your lips. You sighed into his touch and let him in. your hands brushed up his arms and past his shoulders, and your arms wrapped around his upper back. Part of you expected him to push forward and take you there on that couch, but you felt Thrawn standing and pulling you along with him, pausing his kiss to lead you across the room towards his chamber. The bedroom’s opulent aesthetic matched that of the living room, and when you both entered, you noticed Thrawn pressing a control on the walls that lowered a solid gray curtain over the large window and dimmed the lights.

It was then that your gaze fell on the large bed at the center of the room, causing you to whimper softly in anticipation. You heard Thrawn chuckle softly behind you as he approached you with his fingertips softly tracing up the sides of your arms, landing at your shoulders. He swept your hair away from your neck and you felt his breath fanning over your skin, flooding you with shivers in the best way possible.

“You are gorgeous,” Thrawn whispered before kissing you just below your ear. He trailed his kisses down towards your collarbone, stopping where the fabric of your gown began only to make his way back up. You sighed in pleasure as you relished in every tingling sensation left by his lips, and before long, you felt Thrawn’s fingers beginning to undo the zipper at the side of your gown.

You felt the fabric of your dress becoming loose on your body, and as Thrawn continued to lavish your skin, he carefully slipped the dress down your curves. Your body was now exposed, with the only item of fabric left on you being a delicate pair of panties. You turned around on the spot and faced him, watching as his eyes brushed through every inch of your body with hunger. His hands were now on your waist pulling you closer to him again, and he kissed your lips with a brighter fire than before. Your hands snaked up his chest and landed behind his neck, your fingertips playing with his skin just above the rim of his neckline. Thrawn looked handsome in his white uniform, but you wanted him to be naked too.

You wondered if he could read your mind, because as you continued to kiss, Thrawn undid the buttons of his blazer and he cast it aside, proceeding to remove the shirt that covered his skin. With a light moan, you let your hands roam free towards his trousers and undid the belt, button, and zipper, and soon enough, he’d lost all the clothing on his body. You felt his fingertips curling around your panties, spreading the fabric enough to pull it down and let it fall at your feet. His hands explored your curves before he led you towards the bed, letting you lie on your back and taking his place beside you, his broad frame hovering over you.

He kissed your lips again, and you sank into the mattress below as you felt your body shiver with his touch. Thrawn’s fingertips had found your inner thighs, tracing ever so softly and igniting your senses, prompting you to spread your legs nice and slow as he continued to tease the sensitive skin leading up between your legs. You felt your pulse come alive in your clit, aching for his touch, hoping he wouldn’t keep you waiting for so long. Thrawn had been such a gentleman ever since you’d met… surely he wouldn’t let you down when he’d already been doing so well.

Thrawn’s lips curved into a seductive smile, and finally, he traced a sole fingertip from your entrance and up your cunt, dragging the wetness over your sensitive flesh. You couldn’t help the ecstatic moan that left you, and Thrawn wasted no more time. With precision, he began to rub circles around your clit slowly, letting you feel everything. As your breath deepened, your body started squirming under him, a sight he welcomed with lust. His lips were on yours again, and you kissed him hungrily. Your pants became shorter with every moment that passed, already nearing your release.

But as much as Thrawn wanted you, he wouldn’t be impatient. He would take his time, do it right, the way he approached everything else. His fingers gave your clit a rest, making you whimper in the absence of his touch. Thrawn emerged from your lips and looked into your eyes as he took his fingers down and placed them at your entrance, sliding one slender, long finger inside you and curling it, pressing your sweetest spot. Pleasure instantly flooded your senses, and you felt as if you’d just had a secret revealed to you of the magnitude of the universe itself.

No one had ever made you feel that way.

You grind your hips against his hand, aching for more friction, and Thrawn obliged. The pace with which he fingered you increased just slightly, applying more pressure to set your mind ablaze, and the rest of his hand pressed slightly on your clit, giving you some very welcome sensations on the pearl of nerves. Your tiny whimpers escalated in pitch and in frequency the closer you got, with your hands gripping his hair behind his head, until soon you felt yourself tightening around his finger and your body quivering. Your whimpers became uncontrollable moans, each filled with burning ecstasy. Your head pressed back onto the pillow, and as your body shook, you felt your wetness dripping out between your legs as you rode out your orgasm, never wanting it to stop.

Before you were overstimulated, Thrawn retrieved his hand and pulled you towards him. Now he was lying on his back and you were sitting on the bed, panting to catch your breath. He pulled you closer, prompting you to get on top of him, and you stopped only momentarily to gasp at his erection, long and hard and ready for you. You placed your hands firmly on his muscular chest, steadying yourself, and you opened your legs and shimmied down until you felt his tip at your entrance.

A short moan escaped Thrawn when you slid yourself down on him. You were slow, taking in every moment you could as he stretched you out inside, painful and beautiful all at once. His length was fully inside you, and with a firm grip on your hips, Thrawn thrust up and down, beginning at a slow, luxurious pace. You threw your head back, moaning, then looked down to bask in the sight of his muscular build clenching and relaxing with his movements. You bent over and let your lips kiss whatever spot of Thrawn’s skin was in reach, and the new position gave you a mind-blowing angle for his length to lavish your inner walls, brushing past the spots he’d already left so sensitive from your previous orgasm. Thrawn’s pace quickened, nuzzling your face so that your lips could find his, and locked in a kiss, you continued basking in the bliss.

His hands then firmly grasped your ass and he turned you over on the bed, now on top of you. While Thrawn’s pace had initially been that of a gentleman, slow and at your service, you could tell he’d decided to let go of any bars holding him. His hips hammered into you faster, his teeth baring in a hungry grimace as a single low growl escaped him, and in return, you whimpered delicately as you let him have his way with you. Thrawn was moving faster than you ever could have thought possible for any man, but even that thought would be erased from your mind when you saw white. Your long, ecstatic moans filled the entirety of his quarters when your walls clenched around his girth and your body quaked underneath him, with his name and his rank escaping you loosely before those words became nothing but helpless little whines.

As Thrawn felt himself approaching his release, he lowered himself down on you to kiss your lips. You whimpered into him just as your second orgasm had died down, escalating obscenely quickly into a third one, the sensations peaking when your orgasm blended with his and you felt him release inside you before he relaxed his body on top of you.

After such an endeavor, you had no headspace left for anything but lying there beside him. You heard Thrawn whisper a few words to you, but you couldn’t make sense of any of what he said. The last thing you could register as you curled up on your side was the feeling of a blanket being draped over you and a pair of lips softly pressing a kiss to your forehead, and after that, you were done for the night.

Your sleep was dreamless, and when you woke up the morning after, you didn’t see Thrawn beside you. As you sat up, you felt a beautiful lingering soreness between your legs, and you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself as you remembered the events of the previous night, not just your time alone with Thrawn, but everything that led up to it. The curtain had been lifted from the window, and you saw outside that the sun was well up in the sky, and yet, you didn’t have a worry in the world.

You got out of the bed with the blanket wrapped around your body, and on the nightstand, you noticed a tray with a piece of bread, a glass of juice, and a tiny vase with a single red rose on it. You grinned brightly and felt your cheeks getting hot, and you reached for the little parchment that rested beside the plate of bread, smiling as you read the fine calligraphy.

Have a beautiful day. See you tonight.

You lay on the bed again, smiling with a dreamy sigh and holding the parchment in your hand as you let your mind wonder what you’d do with your newfound time and freedom until the night came and you could see your lover again.

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