#Beats & Pieces Big Band

[burlveneer-music]

Beats & Pieces Big Band - Good Days

Think of big bands and you’re most likely to think of the halcyon days of mid-twentieth-century jazz and the likes of Duke Ellington and Count Basie. This would infer that big band music is an obsolete format, a relic from decades of yore. Founded in 2008 and directed by conductor, composer, arranger, and producer Ben Cottrell, Beats & Pieces give the lie to that notion. With Good Days, their long-awaited third studio album, they show once again that big band music is a living, expressive thing, more than capable of continuing development in our own times. Put simply, there are things a big band say and do that cannot otherwise be said and done, and Beats & Pieces say and do plenty here, with exhilarating immaculacy and imagination. This ensemble swings, twenty-first century style. Good Days ranges emotionally from the funereal to the exuberant, the ecclesiastical to the profane, the pacific to the chaotic. Fleetingly, you think of Charles Mingus, Keith Tippett, Gil Evans, Charlie Haden’s Liberation Orchestra... But there’s also a post-rock undertow to many of these tracks which shows a consciousness of such contemporaries as Björk, Radiohead, or Everything Everything. Ben Cottrell : director Anthony Brown, Emily Burkhardt, Oliver Dover : saxophones Simon Lodge, Rich Mcveigh, Phil O’Malley : trombone Owen Bryce, Graham South, Nick Walters : trumpet Anton Hunter : guitar Richard Jones : piano/Rhodes Stewart Wilson : bass Finlay Panter : drums forest field-recording from Dählhölzliwald, Bern, 4 April 2020 train station field recording from Berlin Hauptbahnhof, 16 March 2016 bells field recording from Münsterplatz, Bern 26 July 2020 all field recordings by Ben Cottrell

[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.

[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.”

[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

[kimkaelyn]

"hey."

you tear your attention away from the black-and-white movie that's playing on the tv to look at your boyfriend of three years. "hm?"

katsuki doesn't say anything right away. you watch as he bites his lip, one of his nervous habits he does when he is trying to gain momentum to put forth actions. after a couple of moments of silence, he lets out a sharp tsk before tossing a tiny white box your way.

your boyfriend should have known better than to throw something your way, especially with no warning. your arms weren't fast enough to catch the tiny thing. it hits your head and lands on your lap with a soft thump on the blanket.

you both sit there in stunned silence for a couple of seconds before you laughed at your lack of reflexes. katsuki mutters something that sounds a lot like "shitty brat" before grabbing the box and places it in your hands.

"what's this?" you ask as you study the box. there are no hints of its contents on the outside.

"open it." katsuki urges you. you do as your told, and you gasp when you see the gift lying inside.

it's a beautiful, albeit simple ring. no big obnoxious stone that costs more than your yearly income multiplied. just a simple band with some small diamonds. nothing fancy.

"what-" you stutter as you continue to study the band. "is this a-"

"promise ring," katsuki quickly interjects before you start short wiring.

you smile softly as you look up at with. your eyes shine with adoration and so much love it makes his heart skip a beat. "i thought you didn't believe in this stuff," you softly inquire.

"i don't," he confirms. "but i saw it and thought about you so i had to get it."

you smile. you carefully take the ring out of the box and place it on your finger. a perfect fit. "i love it, kats. thank you." he hums softly in response. he places a tender kiss on your forehead as you admire your new piece of jewelry.

"what are you promising?"

"what?" katsuki meets your gaze.

"when you give one a promise ring, you are supposed to make a promise, hence the ring to solidify it." you tell him.

katsuki thinks for a moment before whispering, "i promise to one day get you a bigger ring." he seals it with a kiss to your lips.

Copyright © by kimkaelyn. All rights reserved. No plagiarizing, re-uploading, translating, or copying of any kind or on any platform of my writing. Please notify me ASAP if you see my work posted on other sites.

[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

[eunseoksimp]

West Coast ; Park Wonbin

Pairings: Lead Singer!Park Wonbin x Bass Guitarist!Reader

Genre: Angst, Songfic

Description: 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.

[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.

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging to support me ❤️

Back to my masterlist

[honnelander]

wedding bands

SURPRISE! 🤗 this is just a quick idea I had and wanted to write…. I still feel a bit weird about this and I might delete this at any point if I want to (just be warned!) if you don’t like real people actor fic, well I’m sorry, then this isn’t for you! please enjoy my other works then! (hate will not be tolerated) sorry, no taglist for this since this is a one-time thing. the picture above is what I envisioned when writing this. enjoy 🤗🫶🏼

WARNINGS: none

word count: 1.3k

pairing: Taz Skylar x reader

summary: Taz wants to marry you.

masterlist

“Let’s get married.” 

You glanced up from your dinner, a delicious meal that Taz had lovingly prepared for the two of you that night, like he always did, your brows furrowing, staring at him to make sure you heard him right. You were probably looking at him like he was speaking a foreign language. 

“Wait- what?” you asked after a few beats of silence. 

Taz, however, continued eating his meal unbothered, spearing a piece of asparagus with his fork, raising it up towards his mouth. “Let’s get married, tonight,” he repeated in the same casual tone, looking down at his plate, like he was discussing something as simple as the weather. “I mean- I love you, you love me, right?” A small laugh escaped his lips as he turned his gaze towards you, his blue eyes holding a spark of mischief within them, a small smirk dancing on the corner of his lips. “Let’s make this thing official,” he said, putting the food into his mouth. 

“Well- uh,” you started, looking down at your meal, at a loss for words. “Of course I love you,” you said quickly, not wanting him to doubt your affections towards him for even a second. “It’s just...” 

“Sudden?” he asked with his right hand in front of his mouth, fork in hand, voice muffled slightly from the food. 

“Soon,” you said at the same time. 

You both giggled at your answers, realizing you were always in sync with one another no matter what on earth you two were discussing.  

Taz swallowed, reaching for his glass of white wine. “Look, I know it’s sudden and seemingly out of nowhere, but,” he picked up the glass, lifting it up and bringing it to him, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and...” he looked at you, his bright eyes scanning your face as he sucked on his teeth for a second with a small smile. “I figured, why not? What’s stopping us?” 

You laughed breathlessly. “Uh, well, for starters, what about time? It takes time to plan a formal wedding.” 

“Who says it has to be formal?” he countered, taking a sip of his wine before placing the glass back on the table. “A wedding doesn’t need to be this big, whole production. It can just be with two people: you and me.” 

“Ok...” you relented slowly, trying to digest the whole situation. You pushed your food around with your fork absentmindedly, resting your head in your propped up hand. “But don’t we need a pastor or something? Or someone who’s ordained? To you know... make things official?” 

He shrugged. “We’ll go down to the courthouse tomorrow, get a judge to sign our certificate.” He picked up his knife to cut another piece of meat. “You know, make it legal and all that.” 

You put your fork down, both of your forearms resting on the table now as you watched him continue to eat. “And our vows?” you asked, trying to stump him. 

Taz continued cutting. “Easy,” he scoffed playfully with a good-natured smile. “We’ll just speak from the heart.” He looked at you, his smile morphing into a smirk. “And I can tell you how much I love you all night, if you know what I mean,” he winked. 

You blushed, averting his suggestive look as you looked to the side as you heard him laugh. You were quiet for a moment, the only sound filling the room was Taz’s silverware hitting against his plate. 

“What would we wear?” 

 “What we have on now,” he replied easily. “No need to get all fancy. We can, uh, save that for our vow renewal in ten years,” he said cheekily, his smile growing, as he quickly raised his eyebrows. 

That roused a laugh out of you, causing you to look back towards the love of your life, meeting his eyes. “Oh, so now we’re already talking about vow renewals?” you giggled. “One thing at a time, Taz.” 

His smile turned tender; his eyes filled with love as he kept looking at you. “What can I say?” he asked softly after a moment. “I’m just excited.” 

As you both held eye contact, you could feel the reality of his proposition become more palpable by the second. Taz was serious, he wanted to marry you.  

And you couldn’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t. You loved him, and he loved you. Taz Skylar was the love of your life and you wanted to spend the rest of your time on this earth with him, however long or short that might be. 

“What about wedding bands?” you asked quietly. 

He broke eye contact, shifting in his seat slightly as he looked to his right. “Yeah, about that- I had a crazy idea, and you don’t have to agree to this if you don’t want to, of course,” he quickly started, moving his hands slightly. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Do what? What’s crazier than a last-minute wedding?” 

Taz breathed out a quick, humorless laugh. “Ha, yeah, so, I was, uh, thinking...” 

“Yes?” 

“What if we got our wedding bands tattooed?” he quickly asked, like ripping off a band-aid, his shoulders becoming stiff as he braced for your response. A couple of quiet seconds ticked by, feeling like hours to him. “Now I know it’s crazy and all, but-” 

“I love it,” you said, quieting him instantly. 

He exhaled slightly, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. His shoulders relaxed as his trepid eyes found yours. “You do?” 

You nodded, your eyes watering as you looked at him with a closed lip smile. “Yeah,” you answered, your voice breaking slightly. “I love it. It’s perfect.” 

You always wanted to have a matching tattoo with him, both of you floating around the idea but never actually pulling the trigger, and what could be a better matching tattoo with him than a wedding band? 

He laughed quietly, a wide smile of happiness and relief overtaking his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah?” he asked breathlessly. His eyes started to mirror yours, unshed tears pricking at the corners. This was serious now; this was for real. He was going to marry you.  

And he doesn’t ever remember being this happy before. 

“G-good,” he said, his throat feeling thick suddenly. “There’s a shop not too far away, open late. We can go now.” 

You nodded and blinked, a few tears escaping your eyes and rolling down your cheeks as you tried not to cry. “Ok,” you whispered. 

“Ok?” he repeated in the same soft voice, his eyes full of wonder. 

“Yeah. Ok.” 

Taz let out a breath, his smile as wide as can be, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked down for a second, placing his utensils on the table before standing up and making his way around the table towards you. 

“Now, there’s only one question I have left for you,” he started, clearing his throat. He came to your left, getting down on one knee as he pulled out an engagement ring from his pocket. “Now I had this all ready to go, in case you didn’t like the tattoo idea,” he said, causing both of you to laugh tearfully.  

You put a hand over your mouth, swallowing thickly, the tears spilling over your cheeks quickly. 

He looked up, the most tender smile on his face, a look of pure, unfiltered love in his eyes. “Y/n, I love you, with all my heart. You are the love of my life and I can’t imagine doing this thing called ‘life’ without you,” his crooked smile deepened. “Will you do me the honor of a lifetime by becoming my wife? Y/n, will you marry me?” 

You nodded quickly. “Y-yes. Yes of course I will,” you answered, letting out a cry of happiness as you practically tackled him in a hug. “I love you,” you cried into his neck as he wrapped his arms around you. 

He laughed, enveloping you in a hug as he kissed the top of your head. “And I love you.” 

You pulled away from him slightly to look up at him and saw a tear roll down his cheek. “Now and forever,” you whispered. 

“Always,” he said before closing the gap and kissing you. 

[makethatelevenrings]

Day 2: Chastity w/ Jason Todd

Kinktober Masterlist

“One week,” Jason reminded you as he packed up his duffel bag. “It’s a simple in and out. No going off world.”

“Can I at least know where you’re going?” you asked as you watched him from the bed. He smiled, his full lips curving up in that gentle smile of his that made your heart beat just a little faster. Some of his dark hair fell across his eyes, but it brushed away as he raised his head to look at you. You sat in the middle of the bed, clad in one of his shirts, and let your fingers brush against the carbon fiber exterior of his mask. You understood why he needed to leave.

You just didn’t have to like it.

“Hey,” Jason said softly. You tore your gaze away from the scuff at the chin of his mask and met his eyes. He watched you with a tenderness only reserved for you and you reached out to cup his cheek.

“I know. I know I can’t know. And I know that you’ll be as safe as you possibly can. I just worry.”

“You’re cute when you’re worried.”

You scowled. “Fuck you. Now I’m not gonna worry.” You moved to pull your hand away but he laughed and pulled your palm to his lips, peppering it with kisses. The sensation tickled across your skin and you laughed, eliciting a grin from your big, scary man.

Jason released you so he could finish packing the last few items and place his duffle on the floor at the end of the bed. The red chrome of his helmet rested on the top of the fabric as a sharp reminder that you would be waking up to an empty bed in the morning.

“C’mere,” Jason hummed as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you into his lap. Your legs rested on either side of his hips and you settled comfortably against the strong muscle that lined his body.

“I’m gonna miss you, sweets,” he murmured. Jason pressed his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled you deeply.

“Gonna miss you more,” you said, your fingers scratching over his scalp and twined through his soft hair. “I hate not having you in bed.”

“I know. I know, baby. I hate it too. But it’s just one week. Seven nights and I’ll be home. And you’re going to be a good girl for me, right?”

His big, calloused hands drifted down until they came to rest on your ass. The only thing that separated his hands and your body was a thin piece of lingerie.

Jason had found these panties months ago when he was investigating a drug ring in a sex club. They had sensors sewn into the bands that would alert him if you tried to do anything other than relieve yourself. No touching. No grinding. No getting off on toys or pillows.

And god, it drove him crazy.

You readily agreed to the idea. You loved it when he took control. You loved knowing that if you disobeyed his orders, he would know and he would punish you. Could you last a week without any stimulation? Would the punishment be worth it if you broke his rules?

Jason had purchased a whole army of the damn things and they had their own box in the closet. You had plenty to wear throughout the week and keep an eye on you. You shivered a the thought of what he would do if you broke his rule.

“Yes,” you breathed your answer against his lips.

“Yes what, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” You sank into the kiss he enveloped you in and moaned against his mouth. You really wouldn’t be able to last one week.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 44

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part II

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Please share your screams in my ask or a reblog!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Laufeyson returns with a second drink. You still have your first, nursing it as you find your head spinning with the activity all around. As more guests stream through, raucous as they meet others they know, the stage hums and the speakers crackle to life. 

Bragi begins his set, a brief tidings for the event before he strums into a tune. You wiggle your foot to the beat, peering over at the full band behind the lead. It's all so big and bright.

You turn back, reaching for your glass, as Laufeyson draws from his own. He watches you over the brim, eyes traveling down your body, focusing on the movement of your foot. You still it and uncross your legs, setting your soles flat.

He puts his drink down, half-finished. You sit back and fold your hands in your lap, peering around evasively. He probably saw you slouching or was annoyed by your fidgeting. You blow out between your lips as the party blooms around you.

Voices thrum in ripples beneath the steady rhythms of the stage, hollers go up now and then, piquing your interest as you look over to see a group cluster. They stand around smaller tables framed by two chairs each. You can barely see those sitting at them moving small pieces around the board.

“Hnefatafl!” The cry goes up as Thor stands and the pieces scatter on the table before him. You quickly look away as his head pops up above his audience.

“An old game,” Laufeyson explains, “rather dry for an event like this.”

You raise your brows curiously. You’re almost tempted to ask him more but think better of it. He hardly seems interested. Distant thunks bring another roar from a crowd further down. You twist in your chair to see across the field large round boards set up. A man with blond hair hurls an axe towards the wood, embedding it. You flinch and face the table again.

“Chaos,” Laufeyson mutters.

“Yes,” you agree, your toe tapping on the grass until you stop it again.

You sink into a silence which exists only between you and him. The furor of the party crackles around you, circling you in a whirlwind. There in the eye of the storm, there is no sound. It is deafeningly hollow.

“Ahem,” the clearing of a throat and tap on your shoulder brings you around. Laufeyson looks over your head, fixing his posture as you face Odin, “hiding in the corner?”

“Not exactly, father,” Laufeyson says, once more taking up his drink.

“There is much to enjoy. Your mother’s put in so much effort, I’d for her to see you glowering like this,” Odin reproaches.

“I do not glower,” his son snips.

“Mm, yes, well, you are more than welcome to wallow alone,” Odin replies flippantly, “but you needn’t cast a cloud over others…” he shifts to face you, opening a hand to you, “might I be so humbled as to request a dance from the lovely lady?”

You look up at him and your mouth falls open, “dance? I don’t know… how.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I must take it slow,” Odin insists, “it isn’t so hard to learn.”

Laufeyson sighs and drains the last of his whiskey. He stands abruptly, “I need to top up.”

Odin eyes him tensely but doesn’t remark. He looks back to you, “you don’t need to sit in his shadow all night. One dance, fair maiden of Walpurgisnacht, I see you can barely contain yourself.”

You look down as his gaze falls to your foot, once more wiggling. You still it and accept his hand. You hope Laufeyson isn’t too upset. It is only his father after all, he can’t be too put out.

“Thank you,” you stand and let him lead you away.

Odin brings you amid the other dancers, on a flat white floor laid out over the grass. He guides you to face him and helps you place your hands before he hooks an arm around you. He’s gentle but firm in leading you, counting with the rhythm between directing you how to move your feet.

“That’s it, dear, you’re a natural,” he praises as you let the music guide you, “and a beauty. That dress is very becoming, though it pales on you. You look immaculate…” he continues to sway with you, “my son is a fool not to say it himself.”

“Odin,” you look past him sheepishly.

“It is the truth. You are glowing and he is playing the troll, secreting you away from the light,” he tuts and shakes his head.

“It isn’t my party,” you utter.

“You belong here,” he insists, “don’t you think otherwise.”

“I am the house manager–” you rebuff.

“You aren’t,” he says, “my son didn’t get his senselessness from me. No, that is bred of mistrust. Fear, truly.”

“Odin, it’s true–”

“If he says it, it cannot be,” he counters, “when he looks at you, he is not looking at a house manager. He will claim I do not know him but he is my son. I see through him, it is only a pity he looks in the mirror and cannot do the same.”

You stare at the button of his vest. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to. You’re too afraid to think it could ever be true. Yet how can you tell him the truth? That would be humiliating. You are only half-right, your son wants more of me but only to sate his worst urges. It isn’t sentiment, it is convenience.

“Pardon,” a voice has you tripping over your own feet but Odin keeps you balanced, turning you as another figure stands close, “father, may I… take over?”

“Ah, but we are having such fun,” Odin taunts and twists you away from Laufeyson again.

“Yes, it seems so,” Laufeyson says thickly, “perhaps the next song…”

“Oh, don’t be so mopey,” Odin stops you as he chuckles, “I was only trying to pep you up, yes? It’s a party.” Odin raises your hand and kisses it gently, “thank you, dear, for humouring an old man.”

He stands straight and lets you go. He faces his son but you cannot see his expression, only the way Laufeyson’s eyes gleam back dangerously. Odin departs and Laufeyson’s attention flits onto you. He takes a step forward, once more looking you up and down.

The music ebbs and a new song begins. The soft plucking begins, then the reedy tone of a flute. Mr. Laufeyson offers his hand and you accept it, awkwardly coming closer as he sweeps his arm around you, his hand stretched over your lower back. He looks down to place his feet with yours before he begins. He is lithe and graceful, you feel otherwise.

“This is your song,” he says as the melody comes clearer.

You tweak an ear as you follow it, then lyrics begin.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…” 

Your heart pulses in recognition. You smile towards the stage. You didn’t expect him to truly do it but it’s wonderful.

“I like it,” Laufeyson says, “it is very… whimsical.”

You turn your head straight, focusing on your footwork, careful not to trod his feet, “it is.”

He’s silent as you feel his gaze upon you, bearing down. He must be annoyed by how you follow his lead, uncertain in your body. How pathetic; never had a birthday cake, never had a dance. You look up and gulp shakily.

You almost stop dead in your heels as you see something less than agitated in his expression. He is fixated on you without a trace of chagrin. His hand shifts on your back, his other on your hip as you hold his shoulder and his upper arm. He is handsome in the dimming approach of the evening.

“When I said before that you look nice,” he begins, “I was remiss. You look… beyond anything I could ever put into words. You are magnificent, pet.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you stutter, “well, you look very handsome as well.”

“I am not looking for compliments,” he dismisses, “and I think I owe you more than that.”

You don’t know what to say. Is it an apology? You don’t know entirely what he means. He’s had three glasses of whiskey, just like that night, and in the morning, he was just the same as before. You won’t count on the kindness he finds at the bottom of a bottle.

A sudden flash makes you squeak. You look over as Yvonne smiles over the large lens. You give a nervous giggle and brace Laufeyson tighter. He sweeps you away from the camera.

“Tomorrow, we will talk,” he avows, “but we can enjoy tonight. It is Walpurgisnacht and it is a new beginning.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He winces and exhales, “can I be Loki for tonight?”

“Loki,” you echo, “yes.”

As the song ends, the heat speckling in your skin licks to flames. You don’t know if it’s being so close or his constant gaze or the thought of tomorrow and whatever you might talk about. You’re sweating and you're uncomfortable and you need a breath.

“Excuse me, um, I need the bathroom,” you gently pull away. 

He reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering on your hip as he points, “there, in the tents, I believe mother had facilities put up.”

“Thanks,” you offer a weak grin and step away from his grasp.

“I’ll be here,” he promises as you go.

You try not to hurry. You don’t want him to see how desperate you are to be away. It isn’t him, it’s you. This is all too much for you. It isn’t you. You’re not one of these people but they treat you like one. You’re just a poor girl born of cigarette ash.

You find your way to the tent housing the stalls. You take your time and try to collect yourself. Your nerves are tingling in your fingertips and where he held you; just along your lower back and your hip. It’s that urge that worries you, the one that made you think of resting your head on his shoulder.

You emerge and use the outdoor sinks set up in front of the stalls. You dry off and measure your breaths. You can do this. You go back down towards the fervour and as the night sets in, the large lights come to life and light the crowd.

You search the clusters of bodies. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? As you inch along the threshold, a shadow shifts to your right. You glance over but the figure disappears. You shake off the eerie sensation creeping down your spine and march forward into the tide of people.

You weave around bodies and tables, dizzy from the flurry all around you. You stagger as you’re nearly stampeded by a rowdy group of guests and you spin around to face a table in the far corner. There you find a scene that makes your heart plummet into your stomach.

You can’t stop yourself as you near the pair. Laufeyson, Loki, sits in a chair, two drinks on the table; his whiskey and another bright purple concoction. But beside him is Sif. She leans forward, her wrist clutched in his grasp as she whispers through the curve in her delicate lips. He stares back at her, eyes fiery, jaw locked.

“Loki, we had something good…” you hear her slither as you get closer. Her blue eyes dance over to you and her lips curl, “I still love you.”

She looks at him again and smashes her lips into his. He winces and turns his head, his gaze finding you as you stop, paralysed as you watch helplessly. You blink and swallow, wetting your lips as you bring your hand up to your sickened stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turn and race away on clacking heels. You don’t look back as you elbow through bodies, running without direction, without escape. You just need to be away from it. All of it.

You find the pathway into the garden, plunging into the brush as your heels wobble with each step. You stumble and grunt in frustration. You stop and bend to unbuckle the shoes, tossing them away before you hurry on.

You find the stone gazebo, lit only by moonlight, and throw yourself inside. You land on a stone bench and hang your head in the frame of an arched window. You deflate as you hunch over, trembling so much it hurts.

You won’t cry. Why would you do that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Mr. Laufeyson only said you looked magnificent then turned around to kiss his ex-wife. And why wouldn’t she? She’s much more than you’ll ever be. She fits neatly into their puzzle.

“Ah, little maid,” the gazebo darkens as the moonlight disappears as if a clouds passed over the nocturnal guardian, “what is the matter?”

You sit up and shudder as Thor’s burly silhouette limns in silver. You brace the edge of the bench and stand.

“N-nothing, I was only… having a break, I should head back–”

“It is peaceful out here,” he says, unmoving as you gesture around him. He fills the entire doorway.

“Yeah, but er, I should–”

“How do you like Walpurgisnacht? Are you having fun?” He asks, propping and elbow against the stone.

“Sure, I guess.”

“And did you play any games?” he sneers.

You falter and lean back on one heel. You have a bad feeling. You wring your hands as the air breezes in, a shiver rattling you.

“No…”

“That is too bad. This is a day of fun! Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“Please, Thor, I have to get back–”

“Let’s play a game,” he ignores your protest and steps into the gazebo, “I know a special game.”

“Thor,” you croak as you glance towards the windows. You see the lights above the trees and hear the muted noise of the partygoers and Bragi’s tunes. You look back to him as he takes another step towards you.

“You can be the mouse…” he says, “and I shall be the cat.”

“No, please, I don’t want–”

“You best be nimble, mouse. for the cat is hungry,” he growls as he looms closer, “and ready to pounce!”

He lunges and you jump back. Your shoulder hits the wall and you cry out. You turn and feel around, nearly falling through the opposite doorway as your feet slip over the stone steps. You stumble at the bottom, slipping in the grass as twigs and stones poke into your bare soles.

You hear him behind you, laughing as he makes a steady but easy pursuit. You sprint across the small field towards the row of brush, skirt catching on bramble as you dive into the wilderness. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away.

Your feet slip on moss as dirty sticks to your skin. You puff as you pump your arms, glancing back over your shoulder frantically. He isn’t running, but he is coming. You can hear him laughing.

You swerve around, towards the noise of the party. You just need to get back there. You need to find a path. You don’t know where you are, the further you go, the more lost you are. The noises fade further and further. Oh god, wrong way!

Suddenly, your toe hits something hard and you nosedive forward. You don’t have time to get your hands up as your face crunches into a thick trunk and you collapse to the ground. You roll over as you taste iron on your tongue. Ow.

You sit up and touch your throbbing nose. As you plant your feet to stand, you hear a rustle and suddenly, you’re pushed flat to your back. Thor snickers as he holds you down by your shoulders, straddling you beneath him as he huffs.

“Ah, I’ve caught you, mouse,” he taunts as you squirm and whimper, “now the cat must feast.”

[avocado-writing]

For nightingale, aziraphale, and Crowley, could you write something with them going on holiday or honeymoon to a museum or historical site, and remembering old times together? Maybe they discover one of them in the background of a historic photo or they’re mentioned in a piece of writing or turn up in a painting or a statue? I just need more of those 3 so whatever you feel like, dealers choice <3

aziraphale x reader x crowley (good omens)

third chapter of this. kissing you on the lips anon for requesting it.

rated M for light smut.

1.5k words.

if you like what I do, here’s my ko-fi!

Your marriage is a quiet little affair.

It has to be, really. Can’t have a big crowd wondering how three people are able to all wed each other. It’s hard enough miracling the registrar to not notice anything out of the ordinary, let alone worrying about having a bunch of guests second-guessing the technical legality of the thing. 

Luckily, it all goes reasonably smoothly. The registry office isn’t busy on a Thursday afternoon, it doesn’t take long to get in and out. Yes, all three of you sign these documents, that’s absolutely fine. Congratulations and I hope you have a happy future together.

Rings on fingers, plain gold wedding bands binding the three of you to each other. Chaste, meaningful kisses and wide smiles.

Being married to them doesn’t feel any different, but then again you suppose it wouldn’t. You’ve been together for longer than any human has ever been alive. You were all practically married anyway, getting the paperwork done was just… the cherry on top.

“Well, now what do we do?” you ask, stepping out onto the busy London street. Aziraphale and Crowley take a moment to consider this question, as if they hadn’t really thought about it either.

“Lunch?” the angel says, just as the demon replies “bed?”

You laugh, and the three of you end up doing one and then the other.

Crowley kisses you both hard the moment that the bookshop door shuts, pausing only to flip the sign firmly to ‘very closed’. You trap Aziraphale between your bodies, knowing how much he loves to be showered with attention, and strip off as you retreat through the nonfiction section to the well-loved sofa in the break room.

It feels like there isn’t time to go upstairs. It’s time to consummate this marriage here, now. 

“Come on, angel,” you hum as Crowley sheathes himself inside him, making Aziraphale’s eyes roll in pleasure, “like Geoff wrote, ‘In wyfhode I wol use myn instrument as frely as my Makere hath it sent’.”

Despite the overstimulation as you sink down on him, Aziraphale laughs. Crowley cocks an eyebrow.

“What on earth are you going on about?”

“Inside joke, I suppose,” you reply wickedly, before silencing any further questioning with a kiss across Aziraphale’s shoulder.

When you’re done breaking in the marriage bed - after you finish breaking in the marriage couch and then the marriage kitchen counter - the three of you lie together, limbs tangled, the two of them feeling you breathe. 

“You know what we should do?” you eventually pipe up, lost between twisting your fingers in Aziraphale’s curls and running your hand up the length of Crowley’s thigh.

“Look, I’m happy to go again, just give me ten minutes,” Crowley murmurs. You almost get caught up in it as the angel plants a kiss on your bare shoulder, but snap yourself back to reality before they can delay your train of thought further.

“No! - I mean, yes, but also, we should go on a honeymoon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale says, lighting up, “That’s a wonderful idea. I can’t remember the last time the three of us took a holiday together. One where we didn’t have to also do some work, anyway.”

“It was Stockholm, nineteen-seventy-five,” Crowley states without missing a beat. The two of you both look at him, and it clicks.

“Oh god, it was, wasn’t it?” you laugh. Of course. Was it that long ago?

“The Eurovision final! Goodness, how on earth did we forget?”

“Repressing painful memories?” the demon suggests. It was one of those trips he’d clearly not been very pleased about, but insisted his chaperoning was better than the alternative of letting you and Aziraphale run wild around Sweden.

“I can’t believe you had a perm for that whole decade,” you say to Crowley, who just groans and slings his arm over his face to hide.

“I thought it was very fetching,” Aziraphale reassures, squeezing his husband’s - husband’s! - hand. 

“Well, why don’t we go somewhere a bit closer to home?” you suggest. “Somewhere like, I don’t know, Edinburgh?”

“I like Edinburgh. Well, apart from one statue, but we don’t have to go and see it I suppose,” Aziraphale agrees. The two of you look over to Crowley. He lifts his arm just enough for you to see the sparkle in his yellow eyes.

You set off a couple of days later in the Bentley, boot packed up tight with suitcases (none Crowley’s, one belonging to you, the rest Aziraphale’s; he insisted he needed to bring at least twenty books ‘just in case’). With Crowley’s driving the eight hour journey takes about five, and soon you’re at your little bnb planning how you’re going to spend the week.

And it’s lovely. You do all the touristy things, the guided tours, the hidden gems, and slowly making your way around what feels like every pub in the city. You and Aziraphale eat a quite astonishing number of lunchtime finger sandwiches, and Crowley takes you out dancing to a little hole-in-the-wall joint he had a hand in founding a couple of decades ago. Your heart is full and you realise over and over again just how lucky you are to be able to spend your life with the two people you love most in this universe.

On the last day, you finally do the big one: Edinburgh Castle. You’ve been in there but only once, and that was a couple of hundred years ago. It’s changed but not as much as you thought: it’s nice to see the conservation work people are doing in old places like these. Saving little pieces of the past.

You’re walking through one of the little side corridors - a place you’re probably not meant to actually be on the tour, but one of your husbands has a way of making locked doors open and the other is very good at getting people to forgive you if you’re found going through them.

Up ahead they’re bickering. About what you can’t say. You’ve learnt to tune it out unless it’s about something actually important. Despite that you almost miss it, walk right past the bloody thing - but then you catch the flash of paint out of the corner of your eye and do a double-take.

Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god. You two, come here and take a look at this!”

Aziraphale and Crowley halt their quibbles and double back to stand at your side. They’re both as shocked as you are.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasps.

“Huh,” Crowley mutters.

“It’s us,” you state.

It is. An oil painting, ancient. The only description is a tiny plaque which sits beneath it in tiny lettering: a portrait of a gentleman and two ladies, c 1665. No more information is given, which is clearly why it’s been delegated to a back room rather than hung in somewhere more important.

But there’s no mistaking it: Aziraphale in his white jerkin and doublet, Crowley in a black dress with his hair down, and you in the middle. Dressed in rich colours, heavy jewellery hanging off you. Your lovers hold either one of your hands in theirs, the three of you looking out serenely towards the viewer.

“We commissioned this for your birthday in sixteen-sixty-five. Do you remember, Nightingale?”

You nod. Yes, you remember the two of them trying to surreptitiously get you to pose while someone caught your likeness in a sketch to transfer later to canvas. Portrait sittings were an exhausting thing and there was no way they were going to trick you into believing anything else was going on.

“I thought it was destroyed,” you whisper, gobsmacked. The three of you had lived in a little London townhouse around the time, when your relationship was still young. And yes, a birthday present it was: right before the great fire of London had broken out. You’d had to evacuate the city as quickly as you could, no time to save anything as unwieldy as a painting.

But clearly it hadn’t burned. Someone had saved it - or nicked it, more likely, before the blaze got to it - and now it ended up here. In this corridor. Where the three of you had just happened to trespass to find it.

“Miraculous,” Aziraphale breathes, and you can only agree.

“Should we try to get it back?” Crowley asks. “I’m sure there’s someone I can blackmail in this castle.”

“No. No, let’s leave it. I quite like it here. A little piece of us somewhere, preserved in time, you know? It’s lovely. Besides,” you turn to your husbands, “I get to have the two of you every day now.”

The three of you take a moment to let the idea soak in; and then you kiss in the quiet of the castle corridor. Happy. Looking forward to the future you’re now allowed to live.

“Now,” you announce after a beat, “I think we’d better get some lunch and then I’m going to go and graffiti that statue of Gabriel. You’re welcome to join me.”

“Oh absolutely,” says Crowley just as Aziraphale tuts “certainly not!”

You talk him round though, and by that evening, he’s doodled a moustache on the smug archangel’s marble face with a sharpie.

[mrkified]

THE REST OF THE NIGHT WAS A BLUR.

after the live performance you found yourself at the epsilon house with music blaring through the speakers in the middle of the room. the only music that seemed to play was dream’s but no one seemed to care — bodies were filling in the room and moving to the beat of the music.

you had to make sure you had a good time, you were sick of having your thoughts be filled with jake and the downfall of your relationship. you dragged giselle with you to find the kitchen and get something to drink. you were yearning for that burning feeling of alcohol to hit your throat. you finally arrived and grabbed two cups to fill with one of the many drinks on the counter.

“here let’s drink.” you turned to your best friend and handed her the cup. you downed it all in a few moments before giselle spoke.

“calm down! it’s not going anywhere!” she laughed as she grabbed your hands. “i know you’re upset right now but i’m going to make it my mission to make you have fun.” she slowly swayed your arms to match the rhythm of the song. “did anyone catch your eye yet?”

“not quite yet, i’m still scoping around but it’s kind of hard when your avoiding jake.” you sighed.

“what about donghyuck’s bandmates? they’re not off limits you know” she wiggled her eyebrows slightly. “that jaemin guy was pretty cute AND i saw another one look at you a few times”

“i think you’re just delusional”

“maybe i am and maybe i’m not, BUT that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. so go out there and go looking!” she gave you another drink and you downed it before walking out the kitchen and followed her advice.

you couldn’t remember the rest of the night, only bits and pieces of some guy that looked blurry. the only thing you knew for sure was that you woke up in an unfamiliar room trying to figure out what the hell went down after you left giselle in that kitchen and if you even wanted to remember.

ONE NIGHT ONLY — 4. i’m fr a freak

synopsis — three years since your falling out with lee donghyuck he has suddenly transfered to your college in hopes to make it big with his friends in his band. unfortunately for you, your unresolved friendship started causing problems between you and the people around you, especially since your best friend is his ex. so — why have you found yourself in his room with a raging hangover?

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TAGS; @j2upiters @nosungluv @manooffline @amrqxz @haechansbbg @odxrilove

[steddieas-shegoes]

hello again! here's an angsty little steddie thought for you, because I'm sad and i am putting my guys in angsty situations in my head to make me more sad because the brain is funny like that: Steve decides to swing by to visit Eddie after his shift. They've been hanging out a lot more lately,with Robin off to college and the kids preoccupied with school. It's something he looks forward to. He's been spending the day thinking bout the things Eddie says when it's just them. The way he tells Steve that people underestimate him, especially his intelligence. The jokes they share, the soft gazes over a blunt on the front porch. The best part of Steve's day. Truly the best part of his life, nowadays. Especially the soft moments they have together, where Eddie kisses his hairline with a hand resting on Steve's thigh. It's happened a few times but it never turns into a full fledged kiss, but he KNOWS it'll happen soon. He's about to knock on the trailer door when he hears Eddie chatting with his band mates, which is a surprise because band practice is on thursdays not wednesdays,but that's okay maybe he can get to know them a little bit-. "What are you even talking about, Eddie? you're practically drooling over Harrington every time he walks by" His hand freezes mid air and he blushes to himself. "Harrington? nah he is NOT my type." And that? oh. that's...not ideal. But, maybe he can switch up his style a little bit? He knows Eddie isn't the type to wear polos, that's. That's alright. "No way you're SUCH a liar!" "I'm not lying!" Maybe he's just trying to hide his crush?(Images flash in his mind of Eddie's hand creeping up his thigh, and his breath on his neck,before blushing and turning away. Placing his hands back onto his own lap. A soft smile and a blush high on his cheeks.) Maybe he's- "Okay shut up, I'll admit he's easy on the eyes. But dudes only got like two brain cells to rub together." Huh? But he told him monday that- ("You're so smart Stevie, they don't give you enough credit.") "I thought you hung out with him a bunch lately?" "Yeah,it beats watching wheel of fortune. It's funny to listen to what the king has to say, it's like talking to a door stopper." ("You always have something interesting to say.") The echoing laughter rushes through Steve's ears,grips his heart like a vice, before settling like a brick in his stomach. "Nothing behind those eyes!" (I always used to think your eyes were brown, Stevie. But there's green, and red!) Right. That's, that's. Hmm. That's. Go home. It's time to go home. "What was that?" Run back to the car. "Stevie?"Don't say anything. Get your keys get out TWOBRAINCELLS get OUT OF HERE YOU MORON. "Hey wait don't leave, did you uh overhear, of course you heard. God Steve I didn't mean it,I swear. i was just talking a big- I'm so sor-"Don'tlisten.Don'tcryyouidiot.STARTTHECARGETOUTOFHERE.ofcoursenot!ofcoursehedoesntwantyou!ofcoursehedidntthinkyouweresmart.stopcryinggohomegohomehedoesntwantyouherehedoesntwantyouatall.stopcrying.dryyour eyes(NOTHINGBEHINDTHOSEYES). just stop. Get out of here.

Hey

I’m holding your hand when I say this

how dare you (affectionate)

this broke my heart into 726251527382 pieces

in my head, Eddie follows him and begs for forgiveness and Steve makes him work for it because he’s not gonna let anyone in his life who won’t be all in even if it’s just as friends

Eddie does work for it. Harder than he worked to do anything else

he knows he fucked up so bad and just got carried away trying to get his bandmates off his back. he really genuinely didn’t believe anything he said but now he knows Steve thinks he did and he shouldn’t have even said it as a joke or exaggeration regardless of if Steve would hear or not

He even shows up the morning of Robin’s going away party to help run errands for Steve and set up in the rain that wasn’t in the forecast. Steve finds him crying on the back patio over one of the decorations that got ruined by the rain, and he apologizes a million times “I know it’s not enough it’ll never be enough but you have to know I wouldn’t do it on purpose I didn’t know there was rain coming and I would’ve kept it all inside” and then Steve is holding him and telling him it’s okay, all of it is okay

I can’t keep them sad for long it’s my most ridiculous trait

[bebacebe]

letter to my 13 year old self

ft. yuuji itadori!!

cw. lil bit of angst, crying, fluffy, reader is itadori’s girlfriend, insecurity, lowercase intended, mentions of possible burning.

-authors note-

plsplsplspls PLEASE feedback is very much appreciated!! reblogs and comments also help a lot!! my first fic/drabble ever, hope you like it!! xx

moving to japan, or really moving at all at such a young age is bound to be tough. but what didn’t help was realizing just how different you really were.

how your curls would make you stick out in a room full of pin straight hair, how when you did hit puberty it was different from the other girls. you were “too full” in some places, while the other girls stayed nearly flat as a stick. how your sun kissed skin was blinded by the surroundings fair and milky complexion, no matter how hard you scrubbed. you were different, and that was okay. but… as always, progress and growth comes with some off days. days where you feel like your 13 again.

it was one of those days again. where you’d feel too bizarre to be out with how you look. you figured you’d might burn your hair off with how many times you’ve gone over it with the straightener. barely managing to escape a third degree burn, you drop it in shock once yuuji bursts the door to your dorm open, his excitement just making you even more embarrassed.

“baby, gojo just gave us 15000 yen as pocket cha-” he nearly giggled in excitement before looking up from the band of colorful money, seeing you on the verge of breaking down, the straighter steaming next to you. in hindsight, you probably looked crazy, half your hair poorly straightened, eyes red and teary and cheeks rosy and wet. “what happened?” he asks worriedly, his smile dropped as he rushes over to you.

sniffling, you wipe your tears with the back of your hand, looking up at him pitifully. “i-i dunno. ‘m just tired of looking like this, y’know?” you mumble, looking into the mirror of your vanity and picking at your curls. he stares at you, confused, before squishing your cheeks in his big palm, turning your head up towards him. “no, i don’t know.” he stubbornly replies, causing you to roll your eyes. “wouldn’t i look prettier with straight hair? or… or a nice, straight nose?” you elaborate, voice muffled by your cheeks. he blinks at you, thoroughly confused, and even a little annoyed with the thought. “i don’t think it’s possible for you to look prettier.” he truthfully remarks, watching as you nearly laugh, removing his hands from your cheeks and turning your head before he stops you, cupping them again, this time gently and carefully.

“im being serious, y/n. why would you wanna look like those boring ‘ole girls anyways? their skin doesn’t glow like yours. their hair doesn’t bounce with every step, its so boring. even their smiles are boring. why would you wanna be boring when you can be you? and anyways, i literally have pink hair, but do you think im weird? or ugly?” he muses, rambling on about you with furrowed eyebrows and a serious expression.

you nearly burst out in tears again, smiling at his words as you coo his name lovingly, watching as his face immediately brightens with yours. he squishes your cheeks again, smooching your lips with a big “mwah!”, his smile widening as you snicker a “gross!” at his wet kiss. he lets go of your face, hands trailing down to your hands. “you’re different, not weird.” he finishes tying up your hair carefully to hide the straightened pieces, and this time you beat him to the kiss. he wipes your lingering tears with his other hand, pulling you up by the hand and interlocking his fingers with yours, a wide smile on both of your faces.

“now c’mon, nobara said we should spend this money before gojo realizes how much he gave us.”