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thedensworld · 2 months ago

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Lost Star | l.jh

Pairing: Producer Woozi x ex-trainee reader

Genre: First Love, Reunion, Second Change

Type: Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 14k

Summary: Jihoon had lost the star of his heart a long time ago. However, 11 years later, his lost star appears, and his heart never feels more conflicted.

Jihoon counted his steps from his new apartment unit to the convenience store with a slow, measured pace. The clock pointed to four in the afternoon, and all he needed was a single pack of ramen—something simple to soothe his mind. Soonyoung had visited the day before and deliberately left it off Jihoon's grocery list, citing health reasons with a smug grin.

"We're in our thirties now. Let’s eat healthier, Jihoon."

Did Jihoon care? Not really. He’d been going to the gym religiously for years. Ate vegetables and fruits after every meal like some disciplined monk. But sometimes—like today, when his brain felt sluggish and creativity hit a wall—he just wanted to boil a portion of ramen. Let the MSG fill his kitchen, fog up his windows, and trick his dopamine into working again. Sometimes, that salty warmth was all it took to unlock a melody worth recording on his phone.

So now he had to get it himself. Again.

Exposing himself to the daylight wasn’t the worst thing, he figured. One of the reasons he moved to this new neighborhood was because it was closer to the company building. Seungcheol had said the area was peaceful, and Jihoon agreed—at first.

That was before he saw you again.

Before the surreal gut punch of recognizing you behind the counter at the convenience store.

Before the awkward silence that stretched too long between two people who used to dream under the same roof.

He could walk to that store. The one where you worked. Pretend to be just another customer craving the nation’s favorite instant noodles. But his heart wouldn’t let him. Not after that accidental reunion. Not after your eyes widened just a little, then dropped just as quickly. Not after both of you pretended it didn’t happen.

For the past two days, Jihoon had been walking around with this subtle ache in his chest—a kind of guilt he couldn’t explain. Maybe it wasn’t his fault you disappeared, but somehow, the silence that followed still made him feel like an asshole.

Meeting you again was never on his to-do list for the year.

Not after eleven years.

Not after your sudden disappearance during the trainee days—when everything had felt like it was about to begin, and then you were just… gone.

But who would’ve expected you to work there too?

The further convenience store. The one Jihoon deliberately chose to walk to—solely to avoid seeing you again.

“Is it possible to work in two different convenience stores?"

He found himself asking that question to his manager, offhandedly, while they were on the way to a schedule a day after he saw you for the second time that week.

It haunted him.

Not in a horror-movie way, but in that quiet, persistent kind of way that made his chest heavy and his mind foggy. So much so, he’d forgotten how to make music.

He couldn’t even count the hours he’d spent staring blankly at his studio screen, letting beats loop endlessly without direction. Every time he sat down, memories of the trainee days swelled like echoes in the room. His keyboard—usually his safe place—suddenly looked like the old one from the practice room.

And just like that, he’d be back in time. Sitting beside you, both of your fingers grazing the keys, your heads low in shared concentration while chaos unfolded around you—Soonyoung falling over, Seungcheol screaming his puberty out, the usual mess.

“I think it’s possible,” his manager said. “With different shifts, I mean.”

“Why? You thinking of working at a convenience store now?” his manager joked, glancing over while keeping one hand on the wheel.

Jihoon let out a small chuckle.

He had too many zeros in his bank account for that kind of lifestyle—and far too little energy to immerse himself in a brand-new job culture. Honestly, just the idea of small talk with strangers all day made him tired.

“If you were talking to Dino, he might say yes to your suggestion, hyung,” Jihoon replied, resting his head back against the seat.

His manager laughed. “I know, right? But still, it’s the first time I’ve heard you bring up something so... not you. Lee Jihoon, behind a convenience store counter?”

Jihoon grinned, a little more amused than he expected. “Hey, I might be great at it. I was a hard worker during trainee days, remember? You forgot already?”

His manager—one of the oldest on the team, someone who’d seen Jihoon through his fiery teenage years and his stubborn perfectionist era—just let out a warm, knowing laugh.

“Trainee days must’ve been tough, huh?” he said after a beat. “You did well, Jihoon. Seriously. Good job.”

And for a moment, Jihoon didn’t say anything. The corner of his lips twitching up. Compliments always made him awkward—but coming from someone who saw the whole messy journey? It settled differently. Deeper.

“Hyung… do you remember a female trainee named Ji Y/n?”

His manager glanced at him, then nodded. “Of course. She was an ace. Everyone thought she’d debut for sure. But she just... disappeared. I always wondered what happened. Did the company drop her? Did you ever hear anything?”

Jihoon slowly shook his head, eyes shifting toward the road outside. A convenience store passed by in a blur, and for a second, his heart clenched.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Everyone asked around back then. It was just the four of us at first—me, Soonyoung, Coups hyung, and her.”

His voice softened at the memory, almost reverent.

Jihoon hadn’t realized it until recently, but somewhere along the way—after he debuted, after the whirlwind of success—he had stopped questioning your disappearance. The noise of the industry had drowned out the ache. He buried it under practice schedules, tour dates, and deadlines.

But the truth was...

Somewhere deep inside his heart, there was still a space carved out for the quiet longing.

A small, unspoken ache that whispered, Where did she go? Is she okay?

And now, after seeing you again—after all these years—he wondered if that ache had never really left.

Maybe you were the ghost that had always haunted him.

Back then, small Jihoon didn’t know what to do with himself during his early trainee days. Everything felt overwhelming—the routines, the expectations, the constant pressure to improve. But he was quietly relieved to find comfort in two people: an older boy named Seungcheol, and a same-age friend, Soonyoung. The three of them stuck together, quietly enduring every class, never once daring to complain out loud.

Then one day, a new face entered the frame.

The vocal instructor introduced her as a transfer trainee—someone with experience from a major entertainment company. They were told to learn from her. Study her discipline, her skill, her presence.

And that’s when you, Ji Y/n, walked into the green practice room with an assertive smile painted confidently on your face. Like you had no doubts. Like you already knew your path. Like the stage was already yours.

You glowed.

It wasn’t just your visuals—though Jihoon would admit, even then, you were an eye candy in the middle of their hard, exhausting days. But it was more than that. You had aura. The kind that lit up the room. The kind that made people look up when you passed by.

You shared generously with them—tips, stories, encouragement. You could sing. You could dance. You even rapped with surprising ease. Every evaluation, you impressed the supervisors without fail. And of course, everyone expected no less from someone who had come from a bigger company.

Jihoon remembered watching you from the back of the room, sweaty from practice, trying to hide the envy in his eyes behind admiration.

You were everything he wasn’t yet.

And everything he quietly wished to become.

Jihoon clearly remembered the day you casually mentioned that you were learning how to produce music. You said you’d picked it up from an older trainee at your previous company, brushing it off with a humble smile. “I’m not that good,” you claimed.

But to young Jihoon, Seungcheol, and Soonyoung, you might as well have been a genius. The three of them watched you with stars in their eyes, completely captivated. It was their first time witnessing someone actually create a song—piecing together melodies, layering harmonies, experimenting with beats—and it lit a spark in them. In Jihoon especially, something shifted.

“Did you learn it from G-Dragon of Bigbang?” Soonyoung had asked with innocent curiosity, eyes wide.

Everyone laughed, but Jihoon didn’t forget that moment.

Looking back, he realized—

That was the exact point when he started seeing you as a star.

Jihoon leaned back in his studio chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling as an old song played softly in the background. It was one he had produced years ago—rough around the edges, unfinished, but alive with memories.

He had sent nearly ten messages to Seungcheol earlier, pestering him about whether he still had the old folder filled with their trainee-day demos. And now, with the files finally playing through the speakers, Jihoon felt himself slipping into the past.

None of the tracks were perfect. Far from it. But each one carried a piece of who they were back then—ambitious, reckless, hopeful.

Seungcheol’s voice came in first, mid-puberty and full of effort. His rap stumbled a little, but the fire was there. Jihoon chuckled when he heard the word “Elevation” in one of the lines. How did teenage Seungcheol even know that word? Had he been reading dictionaries between dance classes?

Then came your voice.

Soft. Grounded. Not the kind of high-pitched perfection producers chased today, but something more—something real. There was honesty in your tone, a raw emotion that pulled him in even after all these years.

Jihoon closed his eyes.

Do you still sing like that?

Jihoon didn’t see you when he first stepped into the convenience store tonight. The last time he came, it was during the night shift—maybe this time, it wasn’t your turn. A small part of him felt relieved.

He walked through the automatic doors with the simple intention of grabbing another pack of ramen. A soft hum echoed faintly through the aisle, and as he turned the corner, he found the source.

There you were—crouched down, restocking shelves.

You flinched at the sudden awareness of his presence, nearly losing your balance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you coming,” you said quickly, bowing your head politely before walking away with a full restock basket in hand.

Jihoon parted his lips, wanting to say something—to stop you—but the moment passed too quickly. You were already gone.

He turned his eyes toward the rows of ramen, but his mind had long wandered. The image of you behind the convenience store counter was a stark contrast to the version of you etched into his memories.

You—once the ace trainee, confident and radiant, someone the instructors praised, someone the rest of them watched in awe—now stood beneath flickering fluorescent lights, wearing a clerk’s uniform and scanning barcodes. It was jarring. And it hurt in ways Jihoon couldn’t name.

“What is this?” Soonyoung pointed at the suspiciously large stack of ramen stuffed into one of Jihoon’s kitchen cabinets while he rummaged around for coffee.

With arms crossed and a judgmental stare, he turned toward the living room where Jihoon was sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to his phone as he mindlessly scrolled through the webcomic he’d been hooked on lately.

“What?” Jihoon lifted his head lazily, following Soonyoung’s gaze toward the open cabinet.

“There’s like… fifteen packs of ramen in here. Do you even eat these?” Soonyoung asked, brows furrowed in disbelief.

Jihoon nodded, eyes flicking back to his phone. “I do. Sometimes,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

Soonyoung tilted his head with a mix of annoyance and concern. “Didn’t I tell you to stop eating junk? What happened to eating healthy?”

Jihoon let out a soft chuckle, amused. “You sound like a wife.”

Soonyoung scoffed dramatically as he finally located the coffee powder and slammed the cabinet shut. “I’d make a great wife, thank you very much.”

He shot Jihoon a look as if daring him to disagree, but Jihoon just smirked, raising an eyebrow like he agreed—at least a little.

Soonyoung didn’t say anything after that. The kitchen fell into a soft quiet, broken only by the clinking of a spoon stirring coffee. Jihoon stayed on the couch, but his thoughts wandered.

He thought about his new, strange habit—buying a pack of ramen almost every night. Always just one. Never to eat. He let them pile up in the cabinet like forgotten mementos. He never said why. Because he knew the reason. And saying it out loud would make it too real.

“By the way…” Soonyoung broke the silence as he walked over to the couch, settling beside Jihoon with a glass of iced coffee in hand.

“The convenience store a block from here—”

Jihoon’s body tensed. His eyes shot up, and he sat up straighter, alarmed. “Why?” he asked, a little too quickly.

Soonyoung blinked, startled by the sudden reaction. “What’s with you?” he asked, puzzled.

Jihoon quickly shook his head, brushing it off. “Nothing. Just—keep going. What about the store?”

“I was just gonna say…” Soonyoung sipped his coffee, still eyeing Jihoon. “They started selling Kkokkalcorn and Matdongsan again—the ones we used to destroy during trainee days.”

Jihoon let out a soft sigh. The tension left his shoulders as quickly as it had appeared. He leaned back against the couch cushions again, suddenly feeling silly. For a second, he thought Soonyoung had seen you.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Cool.”

But the tightness in his chest didn’t fully fade. Because while Soonyoung was thinking about snacks, Jihoon was still thinking about you.

Jihoon raised his brows in confusion, standing still in front of the cashier counter. You had just slid a small bottle of vitamin drink across to him after he’d paid for what must’ve been his twentieth pack of ramen this month.

“You should start taking care of your health,” you murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.

He blinked. Did you really think he was eating all those ramens? Of course you did. Anyone would.

He took a quiet breath, a little too sharp, and grabbed the vitamin drink. “Thanks,” he mumbled, voice slightly rough as if it had caught on something in his chest.

With that, he turned and walked toward the door. His steps felt heavier than they should, dragging under the fluorescent lights and quiet pop music in the background. The clock behind the register read 2:04 a.m.—his work could wait. That wasn’t why he came tonight anyway.

He stopped just before pushing the door open, something tugging at him.

“You still sing?” he asked, without turning around at first.

When he finally looked back, his eyes met yours.

The question lingered in the air between you—simple, but heavy. Like it had taken him years to ask, and now that he had, everything might shift.

You looked taken aback by his question. “Me?”

Jihoon nodded slowly. “Yeah… do you still sing, Ji Y/n?”

Silence settled between you. Not awkward—just heavy, like the universe paused for a moment to let Jihoon hear himself say it. After nearly a month of seeing you again—glimpses, passing words, late-night convenience store visits—he had finally asked the question that had haunted him more times than he could count.

But you tilted your head slightly, your voice light, accompanied by a soft, teasing smile. “No ‘how are you?’ first?”

Jihoon huffed out a breath, half-laughing at himself, shaking off the embarrassment. Of course, that’s what you’d say. You were always that girl—calm, confident, casually radiant in your own way. You knew how to disarm people without even trying.

Taking a few steps closer, he gave in. “Okay, fine. How are you?”

This time, your smile softened into something real. “I’m great… How about you, Woozi?”

Jihoon’s heart clenched at the nickname. Not in a way that hurt—but in a way that burst something open inside him. Warm. Familiar. Breath-stealing.

Woozi. You were the one who gave him that name.

There was a phase when you grew close to some of the senior artists in the company. They adored Jihoon, calling him in a playful, affectionate tone that never failed to make you laugh during practice.

“Our Jihoon… Our Jihoon…”

“Our Jihoon got the step wrong?”

You’d mimic them with a teasing grin, and the other trainees would burst into laughter. Jihoon, on the other hand, could only lower his head, trying to hide the pink dusting his cheeks. No one needed to know just how much that nickname affected him.

“Uji?” Soonyoung, who had just proudly settled on his stage name ‘Hoshi,’ chirped excitedly, offering the shortened form of Uri Jihoon—Our Jihoon.

Jihoon groaned in frustration, clearly unimpressed. “Please, no.”

The room echoed with laughter, everyone amused by the suggestion—everyone except Jihoon.

But then your voice cut through the noise, calm and certain. “Woozi… sounds more sophisticated, right?”

Jihoon turned his head, catching the gleam in your eyes. You were seated cross-legged on the studio floor, marker cap between your fingers, looking at him like he was something more than just another trainee. Like you saw something already formed within him.

Without waiting for approval, you stood up, walked to the whiteboard, and uncapped the marker. With neat, confident strokes, you wrote the name.

Woozi.

Jihoon took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the slippers on his feet before slowly lifting back to where you stood behind the counter.

"I'm..." he started, arms falling open at his sides as if gesturing to his entire self—his tired eyes, messy hair, and the bag of ramen crinkling in his hand.

You let out a soft laugh at his little gesture.

"I'm still the same," he said with a shrug and a small, helpless smile.

He saw you glance down, a chuckle slipping from your lips as you bit back a smile, covering it with your hand. "That’s great," you said, voice warm, eyes flickering up to meet his.

Then you tilted your head, teasing lightly, "So... does ramen help with your music now or something?"

Jihoon exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "It’s not the ramen," he murmured, and something in his tone hinted that there was more to the story.

A gentle silence settled between the two of you, stretching just long enough for both your hearts to beat twice. Then Jihoon spoke again, voice quieter this time.

"I'm glad you're okay."

You nodded slowly, a small but genuine smile tugging at your lips. "Me too."

The soft chime of the door interrupted the moment as a new customer entered. You turned immediately to greet them, your professional smile slipping into place as you lifted your restocking basket again and headed toward the drink section.

Jihoon lingered for a second longer, watching your back before finally stepping out into the night—with a heart that, for the first time in a long while, felt a little lighter.

How could someone be this chronically offline?

Okay, Jihoon was, too—kind of. But not like this. He had social media, even if he barely posted, and his company profile existed with at least a few photos and a bio. But you? You were a complete digital ghost.

No record. No trace. No tagged photos, no mutuals, nothing.

Were you using a different name now? A secret username?

He rubbed his temples in frustration, eyes scanning the last of the open tabs before giving up.

Jihoon sighed heavily and dropped his head beside the keyboard, forehead grazing the cool surface of his desk.

He'd started to question if you were even real—or some elaborate figment from his overworked, nostalgic brain.

"Is she a ghost?" he muttered, his voice half annoyed, half amused, as he sat back up and began closing one social media tab after another.

Click. Click. Click.

With five tabs gone and zero results to show for it, Jihoon finally leaned back in his chair and returned to his work—though your absence lingered louder than any background noise.

The next day, Jihoon invited Hansol to his studio, letting him be the first to hear the song he had worked on the night before.

“It’s not perfect—it’s still raw,” Jihoon said, his voice quiet but edged with anticipation as he clicked the play button.

The room filled with the soft rise of synths, layered with ambient textures that pulsed gently through the speakers. Hansol raised his brows in surprise, the corners of his mouth twitching into an impressed smile. He began nodding along, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest of the chair.

“This is... very different from your usual stuff,” Hansol said, glancing over with interest.

Jihoon nodded slowly, already aware. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes focused on the screen even though he wasn’t really looking at anything.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I know.”

Hansol chuckled once the song faded out. “Last month you said you lost your sense. What’s this then?” he asked, amusement flickering in his tone.

Jihoon let out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe moving out sparked something. Change of scenery might’ve rebooted my creativity.”

Hansol pointed a finger at him knowingly. “Exactly! So, how’s the new house?”

“It’s great. Bigger space, definitely more comfortable for me. The cats are still going crazy trying to adapt, though.” Jihoon smiled faintly, eyes softening at the thought. “But I feel at ease. Finally.”

Hansol nodded, genuinely listening. “I figured as much. I was worried about you, hyung. Even Coups-hyung mentioned you asked the staff for old pre-debut folders. I thought, ‘Oh no, Jihoon’s really at his breaking point.’”

Jihoon chuckled, clearly entertained by Hansol’s concern. “Nah, not yet. I’m grateful it hasn’t hit the limit.”

“Good,” Hansol said, leaning back in relief. “Because if you go down, we all go down.”

Jihoon smirked. “Then I better stay afloat, huh?”

A heavy silence settled between them, stretching long enough to feel intentional. Jihoon tapped his fingers lightly against his knee before finally speaking, his voice low.

“Do you remember that one female trainee who just disappeared one day?”

Hansol’s expression shifted instantly. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “She was in the debut line. Y/n, right?”

Jihoon nodded slowly, eyes drifting toward the studio wall. “Yeah… I ran into her recently.”

Hansol straightened a little. “Seriously? Where?”

“At a convenience store,” Jihoon replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She works there now.”

Hansol looked genuinely surprised, his brows lifted. “Wow. That’s... unexpected.”

Jihoon didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to the floor, lips pressed together. “She looks the same,” he said softly. “But there’s something different too. I don’t know... It messed with my head a bit.”

Hansol tilted his head. “You talked to her?”

“A little. Nothing deep.” Jihoon rubbed the back of his neck. “But just seeing her again... it brought back more than I thought it would.”

Hansol leaned back in the chair, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “She was pretty much a celebrity back then.”

Jihoon gave a small scoff, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah… everyone knew her name. Even the vocal trainers talked about how fast she picked things up.”

“She had that vibe, you know? Confident. Chill. Like she didn’t need to try too hard,” Hansol added, his voice tinged with fondness.

Jihoon hummed in agreement, eyes lost in some far-off thought. “Yeah... she always felt like she was meant for something big.”

Hansol glanced at him. “So what happened? Did she say why she left?”

Jihoon hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I didn’t ask.” A beat passed. “And I don’t think she’d tell me, even if I did.”

Hansol didn’t push further. Jihoon’s voice had softened into something almost unreadable.

There were things Jihoon wasn’t saying. And maybe he wasn’t ready to.

Not yet.

Jihoon sat at the small table in front of the convenience store, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling as he waited for your shift to end. Earlier, he had walked into the store with all the courage he'd gathered since stepping out of his apartment. He needed you to hear the song. The thought had been haunting him for days, and tonight, he was being braver than he’d ever been.

“When does your shift end?” Jihoon asked, setting a bottle of Zero Coke on the counter.

“In twenty,” you replied, a little caught off guard by his sudden visit.

Jihoon simply nodded, paid with his phone, and grabbed the drink. “Okay. I’ll wait for you,” he said casually before turning on his heel and walking out, not giving you time to respond. He didn’t dare look back. He was too nervous to care how confused you looked.

Now, he watched from the table as you reappeared, changed out of your uniform and ready to go. You walked over holding another vitamin drink, setting it in front of him as you sat across the table.

Jihoon chuckled at the sight. “I don’t have those unhealthy habits anymore, Y/n.”

“So you eat your vegetables now?” you teased.

Jihoon laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m not that hopeless.”

You leaned back slightly, eyeing him curiously. “So what is this, Jihoon? What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulled out his earphones and plugged them into his phone. “You know I don’t do small talk,” he muttered, handing you one of the earbuds. “I want you to hear something. It’s rough, the lyrics are still nonsense, but… I want your opinion.”

You raised an eyebrow. “My opinion? You’re the one making a living writing songs, Jihoon.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Just listen first.”

“This isn’t your style,” you said once the song ended. Your voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a trace of something else—familiarity. Like you knew his sound, like you’d been paying attention all along. And something inside Jihoon stirred with quiet hope.

He nodded slowly. “It’s not. It’s yours.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t have a style, Jihoon.”

Without saying anything, Jihoon opened his phone and pulled up a SoundCloud profile. He turned the screen toward you. “This is you, right?”

There it was—your old stage name as the username, your song watermark sitting in the bio like a timestamp from a past life.

Your eyes widened. “You looked for that?” you asked, half laughing in disbelief. “You’re crazy.”

Jihoon shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe. But it was the only place I could still hear your voice.”

You stared at the screen for a second longer before looking up at him. “So… what’s your intention with all this, Jihoon?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the bottle of zero coke in his hand, thumb running absentmindedly along the rim. Then he looked at you, fully, like he was trying to read something in your face before saying it.

“I want you to sing it,” he said quietly. “For the demo.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jihoon took a deep breath. “I wrote it with your voice in my head. I don’t know why, but I kept hearing you. Not just any vocal—it had to be you.”

You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek. “Jihoon… it’s been years.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t even sung properly in—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “I just… I couldn’t let this one go. I need your voice to bring it to life. Even if it's just a demo.”

His voice was calm, but you could tell it was costing him everything to stay that way.

You looked at him again, brows slightly furrowed. “And after that?”

Jihoon hesitated. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, more out of nerves than amusement. “That’s very unlike you.”

“I know,” he repeated, softer this time. “But this… this just felt right.”

You looked at him for a long moment, the weight of shared history hanging between you.

Then your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers brushing against the condensation on your drink bottle. “I don’t know if I can, Jihoon.”

He tilted his head, watching you quietly. “Why not?”

You took a breath, but the words felt heavier than you expected. “Because music… it used to mean something different to me. It was everything, and then it wasn’t. And now, I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what I am with it.”

Jihoon didn’t interrupt. He waited, the silence around you stretching like a safety net rather than pressure.

You forced a laugh, more bitter than you intended. “You said you heard my voice, but I haven’t even let myself sing in years. I don’t know if I even like how I sound anymore. What if I’ve forgotten how to feel it?”

Jihoon leaned back, resting his arms on the table. “Then let’s just try. Not as a job. Not for the industry. Just you and me, like we used to.” His eyes softened. “You don’t have to be who you were. You just have to be honest.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers now picking at the edge of the label on your drink. “It’s complicated. You don’t understand, Jihoon.”

You stared at the old blue mp3 player Jihoon had left for you. Not a file sent through a messaging app, not an email attachment—just this little, scratched device loaded with his new demo. A relic of the past, almost stubborn in its simplicity. Holding it felt like touching a memory, one that pulled you back to a time when everything was filled with laughter and reckless dreams. No tears of regret, just passion.

With a quiet sigh, you set the mp3 player on the chipped table in your cramped studio apartment and shuffled toward the tiny kitchenette. The kettle’s hum filled the silence as you reached for another cup of instant noodles. You had lost count of how many you’d eaten this week. But counting anything had become pointless long ago—especially the years since your parents died.

You were eighteen. It was just another exhausting training day when the manager called you out of the practice room, his expression uncharacteristically somber. He told you, in a voice that tried to sound steady, that your parents had been in a car accident. Out of town. Fatal.

Shock was too small a word. You didn’t know what to feel, didn’t know how to react. You hadn’t been close with them—not in the way families in dramas were. No warm hugs, no heartfelt talks. Just the distant, dutiful exchanges of a family that functioned but never flourished.

Your uncle and aunt arrived in Seoul a day later, somber and silent. They promised to take you home to South Jeolla—promised you would return soon, that you could continue chasing your dream. But those promises were lies, whispered only to keep you from protesting.

Seoul faded into the rearview mirror, and so did your dream. What was once a life bursting with dance practices, vocal lessons, and late-night laughter with your trainee friends turned into the quiet humdrum of rural life. The city lights you once knew blurred into distant memories, and the path you’d so fiercely pursued buried itself with your parents.

You sought help from the company, but by then, everyone already knew. Knew your parents were gone, knew your uncle had taken over their business, and knew he’d cut off the funds your father used to send every month. Sympathy turned into avoidance. Promises of support dissolved into awkward silences. No one listened. No one reached out.

And so you were alone—alone with a dream that withered before it could bloom.

You didn’t finish school. Never went to college. No work experience worth mentioning. Your uncle’s family kept the business for themselves, never offering you a share, never once asking what you planned to do with your life.

"Life is so full," you muttered as you settled back at the table, snapping your chopsticks apart before stirring the steaming noodles. The warmth touched your lips, a poor but familiar comfort—the only warmth you’d felt in a long time.

"Full of shit." Your gaze drifted back to the mp3 player.

There was no way Jihoon was serious about wanting to hear you sing again. Not after everything. Not when you’d buried that part of yourself so deeply, you almost forgot it was ever real.

You went to Seoul without anyone knowing a year after Seventeen debuted. Covered from head to toe, you slipped into a crowded broadcasting show, watching them perform with the same intensity as always—driven, passionate, like nothing had changed. But for you, everything had.

As if fate couldn’t resist irony, you bumped into an old manager. His eyes widened, recognition breaking through his initial shock.

"Y/n?" he whispered, his voice tight, as though saying your name might summon a ghost.

You stood still, hands shoved deep in your pockets, your expression unreadable. "I heard the girls are debuting," you said simply, ignoring his question.

He glanced around nervously before grabbing your arm, pulling you aside. "You shouldn’t be here. The vice president is here."

"Can I talk to him?"

"What are you thinking? You can’t just disappear and then show up expecting to talk to him."

"Disappear? I didn’t disappear. Everyone knows what happened to me. They knew, and no one looked for me."

You found yourself humming to the demo Jihoon handed you. Your hand paused mid-motion, a soda can hovering just above the fridge shelf. You had listened to it, finally—maybe not much, or so you told yourself. But you listened until you fell asleep. And now, without even realizing it, you’d been humming it all day. The melody lingered, familiar and strange, wrapped in the warmth of guitar riffs and a band sound Jihoon rarely touched before.

Later, you caught yourself typing sentences into your phone’s notes. Drafting lyrics, deleting one word only to replace it with another, trying to fit them against a melody that seemed to cling to your thoughts. You were even considering a theme—the song didn’t even have one yet. What were you doing?

Jihoon stepped into the convenience store, the familiar chime signaling his entrance. He glanced toward the counter, but you weren’t there. Instead, faintly, from the back room, he heard it—a soft, almost tentative melody.

His brows knit together as he moved closer, ears straining to catch the sound. It was his song. And it wasn’t just playing—it was being sung.

He paused by the door to the storage room, not daring to move any closer. Your voice, clear and a little rough around the edges, wove through the notes with an effortless familiarity. You were humming the melody, occasionally mumbling words that you hadn’t quite settled on yet, but the sound was unmistakably yours.

Jihoon didn’t breathe for a moment, his chest tight. You didn’t even notice him, too caught up in the rhythm, stocking shelves while lost in the music.

A smile broke out on his face, small but undeniable. He hadn’t heard you sing in years, not since back when everything was simpler, when music didn’t feel like a burden.

Suddenly, you spun around, a soda can still in your hand, and froze. Your eyes widened, caught mid-hum, and Jihoon had to bite back a laugh at how startled you looked.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice betraying both surprise and a hint of embarrassment. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jihoon leaned against the doorframe, his smile soft but genuine. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, his tone low and careful. “You sounded... really good.”

You looked down, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s just—just stuck in my head,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant as you resumed stacking the cans.

Jihoon hesitated, unsure if he should push or let it go. But the chance felt too precious to pass up. “That’s a good sign, right?” he asked, stepping further into the room. “Means it’s catchy.”

You shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. “Maybe.”

Jihoon shifted his weight, trying to keep his voice casual. “Were you… coming up with lyrics earlier?”

You froze for a fraction of a second, fingers hovering over the last soda can. “Maybe.”

“Do I get to hear them?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes a little too hopeful.

You straightened, closing the fridge door with a soft thud. “No.”

He blinked, surprised by your bluntness, but there was no sting—just a quiet laugh. “Why not?”

“Because they’re not ready. They’re just… thoughts,” you muttered, crossing your arms, feeling defensive even though he hadn’t done anything. “They might not even make sense.”

Jihoon nodded slowly, stepping back slightly to give you space. “Okay. No pressure.”

But that only made you feel worse. You leaned against the wall, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s just… I don’t even know what I’m doing, Jihoon.”

“Writing lyrics, apparently,” he teased, but his voice was gentle.

You glanced at him, and the earnest look on his face melted away some of your frustration. “The theme… it’s about being there for someone. Like… promising to be there, even when they think they’re alone.”

Jihoon’s smile faded, replaced by a quiet understanding. He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. “That’s… powerful,” he murmured. “It’s honest.”

You bit your lip, hesitating again. “I don’t know if it’s any good.”

“I want to hear it,” he said, voice unwavering. “Even if it’s just a draft.”

You stared at him, searching for any sign of pity or insincerity. But Jihoon was just there, waiting—patient, unwavering.

Finally, with a sigh, you pulled out your phone, scrolling to the notes app. “Fine, but if you laugh—”

“I won’t,” he promised.

You stepped closer, handing him the phone. Jihoon’s eyes scanned the words, his expression shifting subtly as he read. His fingers lightly brushed the edge of your phone, his lips moving soundlessly along with the lyrics.

Seconds stretched into a minute. Then another.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were a little brighter, his voice softer. “Y/n… this is beautiful.”

You swallowed, feeling your chest tighten. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Jihoon whispered. “It’s… it’s everything I wanted the song to say but didn’t know how.”

You looked away, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Well… now you do.”

He chuckled, the sound light and almost relieved. “Now I do.”

And for a moment, standing there in the quiet hum of the storage room, it felt like you were back in a place where music was more than just sound—where it was a language, something only you and Jihoon could speak.

You sat on the leather couch in a studio, fingers twisted together, watching Jihoon work in his element. He hadn’t said much since you both arrived—just a few clicks of his mouse, a quiet hum under his breath, and the soft glow of the monitor lighting his focused face.

Your gaze wandered, from the cables snaking across the floor to the soft, ambient lights lining the room. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but you could feel the nerves crawling up your spine, your thumb unconsciously tracing the edge of your phone.

Jihoon hadn’t turned around, but you knew he sensed it. Maybe it was the way you shifted on the couch, or how your voice had gone quieter since you both stepped inside.

He paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Do you want some water?” he asked, not even turning, voice calm but carrying a gentleness that tugged at you.

You almost laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “A little.”

Silence settled again, but it was softer this time. He adjusted the volume of a track, listened, then leaned back in his chair.

“Y/n,” he said suddenly, and you straightened slightly. “Just sit there. You don’t have to do anything else.”

“I know,” you whispered, but the words felt thin against the weight in your chest.

He leaned his head back, finally meeting your eyes. “I brought you here because I want you to feel it again. Not because I expect you to perform.”

You swallowed, nodding, but you didn’t trust your voice.

“Besides,” he added with a gentle laugh, “I need you here. You have better taste in lyrics than me, remember?”

The tension in your shoulders eased, just a little. “You used to hate it when I nitpicked your lines.”

“Maybe I did. Or maybe I just hated that you were right most of the time.”

You smiled, leaning back into the couch, your fingers finally relaxing.

Jihoon turned back to his screen, but not before you caught the faintest look of relief in his expression. He wasn’t just working—he was making space for you, creating an atmosphere that felt safe, unhurried.

“Wanna try it?” Jihoon asked, casually, but his gaze was attentive.

Your heart skipped. “Sing it?”

He nodded, not pushing but not letting you hide either. “Just try. No pressure.”

You leaned back, taking a deep breath. “Okay… just… play the track.”

Jihoon adjusted a few settings, and soon the familiar sound of the demo filled the room. The gentle guitar strums, the soft beat—familiar yet new, warm and inviting.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers curling around the edge of the couch. And then, with a voice that felt shaky at first but gradually steadied, you began.

“Come stop your crying, it will be alright…

Just take my hand, hold it tight…”

Your voice wavered, but you pushed on. Jihoon’s eyes remained on the screen, but you could see the subtle way his head nodded, following your rhythm.

“I will protect you from all around you…

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

Jihoon made a few adjustments, lowering the instrumentals slightly, letting your voice shine just a bit more.

“For one so small, you seem so strong…

My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm…”

The nerves twisted inside you, but the words carried you. They weren’t just lyrics—they felt like a promise, a warmth you had missed, a memory that still lingered.

Jihoon’s hand reached out, his index finger tapping a small rhythm on the desk, a silent gesture of encouragement.

“This bond between us can’t be broken…

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

As you reached the final line, your voice softened, but it didn’t shake. It flowed.

“You’ll be in my heart…

Yes, you’ll be in my heart…

From this day on, now and forevermore…”

Silence followed, the track fading into nothingness. You barely realized you were gripping the edge of the couch until you felt the tension in your fingers.

Jihoon turned, a soft, almost amazed smile spreading across his face. “You’re still incredible.”

You looked away, feeling your cheeks warm. “It’s… it’s just a draft.”

“A beautiful one,” he corrected. “And your voice… it’s still there, Y/n. Stronger than you think.”

You bit your lip, a small laugh escaping. “I was terrified.”

“And yet, you sang like that.” He leaned back in his chair, his smile growing. “You wanna try another take? Just to warm up more?”

You met his eyes, a quiet spark of excitement finally breaking through your nerves. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, the soft glow of the studio lights casting a warm hue over his face. He was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest, eyes still on you. You expected another round of feedback, another subtle correction. But instead, he smiled—a slow, thoughtful smile.

“I think we should release it.”

You blinked. “Release? Like… as in, actually put it out there?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees. “We could release it as an indie song. No heavy promotion, just… something real. Something raw.”

“Jihoon, I haven’t sung in years,” you whispered, your fingers instinctively curling into your sleeves. “I mean… this was just—”

“Beautiful,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “This was beautiful. Your voice, the lyrics… it’s all there.”

Your lips parted, a hundred protests dancing on the tip of your tongue. The fear, the anxiety, the echo of all those years wasted, the bitterness of dreams abandoned—they all screamed at you. But beneath them was something else, something softer and far more dangerous.

Hope.

“What if…” you hesitated, your gaze falling to the polished floor, “what if no one listens?”

“Then it’s just a song we made,” Jihoon said easily, his voice calming. “But if someone does… if it reaches even one person, then it’s worth it.”

Your gaze met his, and you saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. No judgment, no pity—just that quiet, unwavering faith Jihoon always seemed to carry.

“But… it’s just a draft. It’s not perfect.”

“Then we’ll perfect it. We’ll record a proper take, polish the instrumentals, mix it right.” His voice grew animated, that spark of creative energy you knew so well lighting up his expression. “It can just be under a simple artist name—no big reveal, no pressure.”

You bit your lip, a nervous laugh escaping. “I don’t even know what name I’d use.”

“Then we can come up with one.” Jihoon’s grin widened, his excitement infectious. “Or we can just go with something simple. Y/n. Nothing to hide.”

Something in your chest tightened at that—your name, out there again, but this time without the weight of forced expectations or shattered dreams. Just you.

“You’re serious,” you whispered, a hint of awe slipping into your tone.

“I am.” He leaned forward again, his voice softer now. “You deserve to be heard, Y/n. Even if it’s just this one song. Even if it’s just this one moment.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, blinking quickly. You didn’t want to cry—not now, not in front of him. But you couldn’t stop the smile that spread slowly across your face.

“Then… let’s do it,” you whispered, barely trusting your own voice.

Jihoon’s smile softened, relief and pride mingling in his expression. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky laugh. “Let’s do it.”

The song was out—and it was a hit. More than just a quiet indie release, it spread like wildfire, carried by word of mouth and algorithmic whispers. People were captivated by the raw emotion in your voice, the honest lyrics, and the gentle but powerful production. It didn’t take long for listeners to notice the signature touch in the arrangement. Soon, word got out: Woozi of Seventeen had produced it.

Suddenly, you were no longer just a voice behind an anonymous track. Labels started reaching out, messages flooding your inbox with offers and promises. It was overwhelming, surreal.

Jihoon was there, calm and steady as always, sifting through the chaos with you. He recommended a label—one he trusted, one that would nurture your talent without forcing you into a mold. And you listened, handing in your resignation at the convenience store without a second thought.

Your world changed. You went from late-night shifts stocking soda cans to late-night sessions in recording studios. The label signed you, and they were careful, letting you be yourself, preserving the authenticity that made your first song a success.

And now, here you were, standing under the stage lights of a bustling university festival. A gentle breeze rustled your hair, the warm glow of the sunset casting an amber hue over the crowd. You sat with a guitar in your lap, the mic waiting. Nervous? Absolutely. But the moment your fingers found the strings, a familiar calm washed over you.

You played Jihoon’s song—no, your song. Your voice carried over the crowd, clear and heartfelt. People swayed, some holding up their phones, and you lost yourself in the music.

In the audience, Jihoon stood beside Hansol, his cap pulled low but not low enough to hide the proud smile tugging at his lips. His gaze never left you, watching every strum, every note you sang.

Hansol leaned over, his hands in his pockets, his voice a mix of honesty and admiration. “I thought you were going to give this song to Dokyeom hyung.”

“I was about to, for his solo.” Jihoon’s eyes softened, a quiet sense of satisfaction settling in. “But this song found its owner first.”

Hansol chuckled, his gaze shifting back to you. “I guess it did.”

Jihoon didn’t reply, but his heart swelled with pride, watching you command the stage with a quiet, soulful power he always knew you had. And he couldn’t help but feel like this was just the beginning—your beginning.

“I don’t know if you’re the type who likes staring at the stars.” Your voice teased Jihoon, a soft laugh lacing your words as both of you lay side by side on the rooftop of his place, the summer night sky stretching endlessly above. A gentle breeze rustled, carrying the scent of warm grass and distant city lights.

Jihoon had picked you up from a performance at a local music festival, a quiet but thoughtful way of celebrating the first anniversary of your debut. The night air felt cooler up here, the world below seeming a distant hum.

“I always enjoy nature,” Jihoon muttered, a hint of mock annoyance in his voice. “Wonwoo’s not the only one who’s romantic in our group.” But his expression betrayed him, a playful grin spreading as he turned to see you laughing.

“You sure? Because he sets the bar pretty high.”

Jihoon’s grin softened, his gaze wandering back to the stars. For a moment, a comfortable silence wrapped around you, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice a touch quieter.

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“Surreal.” You breathed out, the word slipping past your lips like a confession. Your fingers traced idle patterns on the cool rooftop surface, searching for words that didn’t feel cliché. “I don’t know, honestly. Everything was hard—very hard. I was just... surviving. Then suddenly, I woke up one day, and I was on stage, singing. Living my dream.”

Jihoon listened, his gaze steady, his silence an invitation for you to continue.

“But sometimes, it still feels like a dream I might wake up from. Like I’m just waiting for someone to tap my shoulder and tell me it’s over.”

“Then why did you stop?” Jihoon’s question was gentle, but it hit deeper than you expected.

You hesitated, watching a faint cloud drift across the stars. “Because it felt like the world I knew crumbled overnight. Everything I thought I’d always have just… disappeared. I thought my dream went with it.”

Silence settled between you two, the gentle rustle of the summer breeze the only sound. Jihoon’s gaze remained on the stars, but his focus was entirely on you.

“What happened back then?” he finally asked, his voice cautious, almost hesitant.

You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers nervously tracing the rough texture of the rooftop. “It was… well, you know, my parents died in an accident. The business went to my uncle, and they kept me there. I was… stuck. And the company didn’t reach out either.”

Jihoon turned his head slightly, concern darkening his eyes. “I… I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.” You tried to keep your voice steady, but a hint of bitterness slipped through. “I don’t know what the company told everyone, but once my uncle stopped funding them—the monthly support my father used to send—suddenly, I didn’t exist to them anymore. I wasn’t even a memory.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed, his expression a mix of anger and sadness. “That’s… that’s awful.”

“It was.” You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Being forgotten hurts more than losing everything else.”

You took a deep breath, letting the summer air fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. “Thank you, Jihoon.”

His gaze shifted to you, confusion flickering in his eyes. “For what?”

“For everything.” Your voice was softer now, carrying a weight you hadn’t meant to show. “There was a time when it felt like everyone had forgotten me. My family, the company… even the dream I once had. But you… you didn’t.”

Jihoon’s lips parted, but no words came out immediately. His fingers fidgeted slightly, a nervous habit you had come to recognize.

“I didn’t do much,” he finally murmured. “I just… I just gave you a song.”

“That’s more than enough.” A gentle smile tugged at your lips. “It wasn’t just a song, Jihoon. It was a reminder that I could still be someone. That I could still do something I love. And you listened. When no one else did.”

He looked away, staring back at the stars as if they had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Maybe.” You leaned a bit closer, your shoulder brushing against his. “But I’d rather give it to you than let myself think I did this all alone.”

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, a hint of warmth returning to his voice. “Well, I guess I can accept that. Just don’t forget that I’m still your producer. I’m allowed to be bossy.”

You laughed, a genuine, lighthearted sound that seemed to lift the weight from your chest. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between the scattered lyric sheets on the table and the two figures beside him. You were seated cross-legged on the couch, your phone in one hand as you scribbled words onto a notebook with the other. Seungcheol sat beside you, far too close for Jihoon’s liking, his shoulder pressing against yours as he leaned over, peering at your notes.

“Are you sure that line flows well?” Seungcheol asked, his voice a low murmur close to your ear, his hand resting casually on the back of the couch—dangerously close to your shoulder.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think it captures the feeling. But I’m open to suggestions.”

“Here,” Seungcheol’s fingers lightly grazed your wrist as he reached for your pen. “What if you say—”

Jihoon’s jaw tightened, and he reached over, pulling his keyboard closer with a faint, intentional clatter. “Let’s focus on the melody first. No point in perfecting lyrics we can’t fit to the music.”

You glanced up at him, your expression caught between amusement and gratitude, while Seungcheol just laughed, leaning back but making no move to create more distance.

“Of course, Producer-nim,” Seungcheol teased, though his tone was light. “I’ll leave the melody to the master.”

Jihoon’s fingers danced over the keys, the soft piano notes filling the room. But even as he worked, his eyes would occasionally dart back to you and Seungcheol. He saw the way Seungcheol would lean in, his hand sometimes brushing against yours, his quiet chuckles always a little too close. And you… you seemed oblivious, focused on your lyrics, nodding at his ideas, but never quite leaning back into his touch.

Still, it was enough to gnaw at Jihoon.

“I think this transition needs more impact,” he finally said, a little louder than necessary, his gaze meeting yours. “Y/n, try humming it with me?”

You perked up, nodding. “Sure.”

You moved slightly forward, leaving Seungcheol’s side as you walked over to Jihoon’s setup. He adjusted the mic stand for you, his hands lingering for a second, his voice softer now. “Just follow my lead.”

The melody played, and you hummed along, your voice blending seamlessly with his instrumental. As you sang, Jihoon’s tense shoulders seemed to ease, and the faint hint of a smile played at his lips.

Seungcheol watched, a knowing smirk crossing his face as he leaned back against the couch. “Wow, Producer-nim really knows how to bring out the best in his artists.”

Jihoon’s fingers paused on the keys, his gaze flicking to Seungcheol. “That’s the job.”

But beneath the calm expression, his focus never strayed from you.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving a quiet stillness in the studio. Jihoon leaned back in his chair, exhaling as his fingers tapped rhythmically against his armrest. He began to tidy up the lyric sheets scattered around, but his calm didn’t last long.

“You know, I should start charging for my acting,” Seungcheol's voice cut through the silence, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I mean, watching you go all stiff with jealousy was worth every second.”

Jihoon’s eyes shot up, narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Seungcheol laughed, casually leaning against the back of the couch. “The way you practically glared holes through me every time I leaned close to Y/n? The piano smashing was a nice touch too.”

“I wasn’t glaring,” Jihoon grumbled, shuffling the lyric sheets with unnecessary force. “I was focused on the work.”

“Sure. Because ‘Let’s focus on the melody’ wasn’t you screaming ‘Back off’ in music producer language.”

Jihoon’s cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink, and he spun his chair around, refusing to face Seungcheol. “You were the one being unnecessarily touchy. That’s a cheap move, hyung.”

“Cheap but effective,” Seungcheol sang, walking over to Jihoon’s desk. “I just wanted to see how far you’d go. Honestly, I thought you were going to throw that keyboard at me.”

“I considered it,” Jihoon muttered, his grip tightening around the edge of his desk. “Don’t push it.”

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning closer. “You should just tell her, you know. You’ve already done the hard part—writing with her, watching her grow, supporting her in the background. The only thing left is saying it.”

Jihoon’s shoulders tensed, and for a moment, his eyes softened. “She… has a lot going on. And I’m…”

“A coward?”

Seungcheol had known about Jihoon's little crush on you since predebut. It wasn't anything Jihoon ever said—it was everything he didn’t. The way his eyes would follow you just a moment longer than anyone else, how his usually stoic expression softened whenever you spoke, and how his rare laughter seemed to come easily whenever you made a joke. Jihoon never talked much, but when it was with you, his words seemed to flow a little easier.

But Seungcheol had kept quiet, just observing, thinking it was just a passing crush. After all, they were all young, chasing dreams, busy with practices, and dealing with the pressure of a debut that seemed just out of reach. Feelings were bound to get tangled.

It wasn’t until years later, when he heard Jihoon was producing a song for you—your first song, the one that became a hit—that Seungcheol realized it wasn’t just a crush. Jihoon didn’t just work on your song; he poured himself into it, perfecting every note, making sure the melody brought out the best in your voice. It wasn’t just a project to him.

So, one night, when the two of them were alone in the studio, Seungcheol leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Jihoon fine-tune your track for the hundredth time. The younger one didn't even notice him at first, too lost in his world.

“You like Y/n, don’t you?” Seungcheol finally asked, his voice calm but direct.

Jihoon’s fingers stilled over the keyboard, a faint hesitation hanging in the air. He didn’t turn around. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol chuckled, pushing off the doorway and walking in. “Don’t pretend. I’ve seen how you look at her. I saw it back then, and I see it now.”

Silence. Jihoon’s shoulders seemed to tense slightly, and then he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Seungcheol frowned, taking a seat on the couch. “You’re making her first song. You’re working harder on it than any other track you’ve touched lately. If that’s not a confession in itself, I don’t know what is.”

“She deserves something good. Something that works,” Jihoon mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with a pen.

“Yeah, because she’s talented. But for you? It’s more than that.”

Jihoon finally turned to Seungcheol, his expression unreadable. “What if it’s pointless? What if she doesn’t see me that way?”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You won’t know unless you try. And you know Y/n. She’s not the type to run away from something honest.”

Jihoon’s gaze dropped to the floor, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting his lips. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, maybe not by glaring at me every time I joke with her,” Seungcheol teased, lightening the mood.

Jihoon rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his expression now. “Maybe I’ll throw the guitar at you next time.”

“Sure, sure. But just so you know, if you keep pretending you don’t care, someone else might show up and make her fall for them.”

That thought alone seemed to light a fire in Jihoon’s chest, and Seungcheol caught it—the brief flash of determination in his eyes.

After that night, Jihoon began to change in ways that were almost too subtle to notice—unless you were paying attention. Jihoon was still Jihoon, calm and focused, but now there was a quiet sort of energy around him whenever you were near.

He started texting you more often—just small things, like asking if you got home safely after a late recording session or sending you a link to a song he thought you’d like. He listened intently when you spoke, his gaze never wavering, and his usual brief responses grew a little longer, more thoughtful.

In the studio, he would suggest a break whenever he noticed you seemed tired, even going as far as bringing you your favorite drink without asking. Once, he even swapped his hoodie with yours when you shivered slightly from the cold air conditioning.

You noticed it too. The way he would look up when you walked in, how his usually distant expression softened, or how he would stay in the studio a little longer when you were there, even if his part of the work was done.

One evening, as you tried to perfect the chorus of a song, your voice cracking slightly from overuse, Jihoon stood up and gently took your wrist. “Let’s take a break. Pushing won’t make it better.”

“I’m fine. I can—”

“You’re not a machine, Y/n,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “Come on.”

He led you out of the studio, the warmth of his hand lingering on your skin. Outside, the cool breeze swept across your face, and you sighed, leaning against the wall.

“Thanks,” you murmured, looking at him.

Jihoon nodded, but his eyes lingered on you, as if there was something more he wanted to say. But instead, he just stayed there, standing beside you in the quiet hallway, his presence alone enough to calm your nerves.

Seungcheol noticed too—how Jihoon’s attention seemed to orbit around you. He watched with a grin whenever Jihoon would get subtly annoyed if someone else got too close, how his friend seemed to naturally gravitate toward you.

“Man, I never thought I’d see Woozi being soft like this,” Seungcheol teased one day when you left to get water.

“Shut up,” Jihoon muttered, pretending to focus on his laptop.

“You’re not even hiding it anymore.”

“I’m just making sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, and I’m the president,” Seungcheol laughed. “Just admit it, you care about her.”

Jihoon’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flickering to where you stood by the water dispenser. “I do.”

“You should tell her.”

“Easier said than done,” Jihoon mumbled, but the way his eyes followed you spoke louder than any confession he could make.

The quiet hum of the studio equipment filled the room, a gentle backdrop to the creative chaos surrounding you. Papers scattered on the table, some scribbled with half-finished lyrics, others with scratched-out chords. You sat on the couch, your guitar resting against your thigh, and Jihoon was beside you, his laptop open, the familiar glow illuminating his focused expression.

You strummed a gentle melody, your fingers moving almost automatically, but your mind was elsewhere—specifically, on the way Jihoon’s gaze kept flickering toward you. He wasn’t obvious, but you’d known him long enough to recognize when something was on his mind.

“Let’s try it again from the second verse,” he said, his voice steady as always. But the way he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, felt different.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the slight flutter in your chest. “Okay, but I still think the transition feels awkward. It’s too sudden.”

Jihoon hummed, leaning back, but even then, his arm remained against yours, his warmth grounding you. “Then let’s smooth it out. Maybe extend the line or add a softer bridge.” His fingers tapped on the keyboard, adjusting the track.

You glanced at him, trying to focus on the work, but the closeness was impossible to ignore. “You’re getting really good at reading my mind, you know that?”

Jihoon smiled, a gentle, almost shy smile that you rarely saw. “Maybe I’ve just been paying attention.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You played the melody, humming along, your voice blending with the soft notes. Jihoon’s gaze didn’t leave you, his eyes tracing the way you lost yourself in the music.

“Your voice… it always suits this kind of song,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You stopped, cheeks warming slightly. “You think so?”

“I know so.” His tone was soft, but there was a quiet certainty to it. “You bring the lyrics to life. That’s why I knew this song was meant for you.”

Something in your chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you. “Jihoon, I—”

The door swung open, and Seungcheol peeked in. “Still at it? I knew you two would be here until dawn.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the closeness. Jihoon leaned back slightly, his expression returning to its calm, composed look. “Almost done. Just refining.”

“Of course.” Seungcheol grinned, stepping in. “But don't overwork her, Woozi. She still needs that voice tomorrow.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “I know. I’m not a slave driver.”

But as you tried to refocus, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth of his words—or the way his gaze had softened when he looked at you.

The door swung open again, and Soonyoung waltzed in, carrying two plastic bags that crinkled noisily. “Midnight snacks! I bring salvation in the form of tteokbokki and kimbap!”

“Finally,” Seungcheol cheered, abandoning his spot by the soundboard to raid the bags. Jihoon, ever the disciplined one, simply raised an eyebrow, though the faint smile on his lips betrayed his amusement.

“You two are gonna spoil her,” Jihoon muttered, but he didn’t stop you when you reached for a kimbap roll.

“Oh, please. She’s working too hard. A little late-night energy won’t hurt.” Soonyoung plopped down on the couch beside you, practically beaming. “So, what are we working on?”

Jihoon tapped on his laptop. “Just fine-tuning the second verse. Y/n thinks the transition’s too abrupt, and I agree. We’re trying to find a smoother flow.”

Soonyoung leaned forward, chewing on a piece of tteokbokki. “Why don’t you add a two-bar instrumental bridge? Something subtle, like a rising piano line to ease the mood?”

Jihoon’s eyes lit up. “That could actually work. Give me a second.” He started tinkering with the software, and the room filled with the delicate rise of soft keys, fitting perfectly between the verses.

“I’m a genius,” Soonyoung declared, looking smug. “I should get producer credits.”

“You wish.” Jihoon snorted, but he saved the updated version, clearly pleased.

As you sipped on a can of soda, feeling the comfort of the warm, slightly chaotic atmosphere, Soonyoung’s voice suddenly cut through, clear and casual—too casual.

“Didn’t you like him in the past?”

Silence. An absolute, crushing silence.

The room seemed to freeze. The soft hum of the equipment suddenly felt louder. You stared at Soonyoung, your breath caught, the half-chewed kimbap in your mouth suddenly dry.

Jihoon’s fingers, which had been moving so fluidly over the keyboard, halted mid-gesture. His gaze snapped to you, a mix of shock and confusion. Seungcheol looked up, a piece of tteokbokki half-raised to his lips, his jaw slack.

“I—What?” you managed to say, your voice smaller than you intended.

“You forgot?” Soonyoung looked genuinely surprised, blinking at the stunned faces around him. “I remember you told me about that on our way to the dorm. You thought Jihoon was cute—especially when he got all serious with his lyrics.”

“I—That was…” Your voice faltered, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I was young. We were all kids.”

“Soonyoung-ah,” Jihoon’s voice was a warning, but the redness creeping up his ears betrayed him. He still hadn’t looked away from you.

Soonyoung seemed to sense the tension he’d stirred up, but instead of backtracking, he leaned back with an amused smile. “Hey, I’m just stating facts. And now look at you two, making music together all over again. Feels like fate.”

You tried to focus on your food, each bite feeling heavier than before. Jihoon’s gaze flickered away, his attention returning to the screen, but his fingers hovered, unsure.

The warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. Jihoon’s eyes met yours once more—fleeting, almost shy—but in that glance, there was a question, a hesitant spark. And your heart raced just a little faster.

The chaos erupted like a wildfire.

You had just stepped off the stage after another successful performance, the bright lights still lingering in your vision when your manager rushed toward you, her expression pale. “Y/n… you need to see this.”

She handed you her phone, and there it was—a news article that had already gone viral. The headline screamed: "Rising Star Y/n Accused by Family of Theft and Runaway: The Truth Behind Her Past."

Your heart dropped. Your uncle’s name was right there, and his words were cruel and twisted.

“She stole from our family, took a large sum of money, and disappeared to Seoul. We tried to help her, but she betrayed us,” the article quoted him. He painted a picture of you as an ungrateful, deceitful child who had thrown away family for fame.

Panic twisted your stomach. Your manager’s phone kept vibrating, notifications pouring in—fans commenting, people demanding an explanation, other news outlets picking up the story.

“How… How could he…?” your voice was barely a whisper, your hands cold

“Y/n, we need to make a statement,” your manager urged. “We have to clear this up.”

Clear it up? What even was there to clear up? It was a complete lie. You knew the truth, Jihoon knew, but would anyone believe you over the man parading as your family?

Your mind spun with memories—the suffocating isolation back then, your uncle holding back your inheritance, his family treating you like a burden. You had nothing when you left, nothing but the tiny bit of courage you had left to chase a life they tried to take from you.

The staff members whispered, your phone buzzed incessantly. Social media was already flooding with comments—some defending you, others calling you a fraud.

Jihoon’s phone buzzed endlessly. Notifications flooded in, messages from the members, the manager, and even his mother, asking if he knew about the chaos involving you. His jaw tightened, a sense of dread clawing at his chest. He had just seen you hours ago, your smile bright after another successful performance. How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

He dialed your number, pressing his phone to his ear, but the call went unanswered. Once, twice, three times. Panic gripped him tighter with each failed attempt. He paced his studio, his fingers tapping against his thigh, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake.

The headlines were ruthless, and the comments even worse. People who didn’t know anything about you were already labeling you a liar, a thief. Jihoon knew better. He knew how you had struggled, how you had clawed your way out of the darkness they had thrown you into.

Finally, he grabbed his keys and stormed out. He wasn’t going to just sit there. He needed to find you.

As he sped through the city, he tried calling you again. This time, he called Seungcheol.

“Hyung, where is she? Did you get to her?” he blurted the moment Seungcheol picked up.

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol's voice was muffled, the sound of a car engine in the background. “Yeah, I have her. We’re heading somewhere safe. Soonyoung’s coordinating with the legal team, but things are blowing up fast.”

“Is she… Is she okay?” Jihoon’s voice softened, betraying his fear.

“She’s in shock, I think. Trying to stay calm, but you know Y/n. She’s… trying to hold it together,” Seungcheol explained, his voice quieter. “But Jihoon, she’s hurt. Her own family did this to her.”

Jihoon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles pale. “Where are you taking her?”

“To my place for now. It’s better if the press doesn’t know,” Seungcheol replied.

“Stay there. I’m coming.” Jihoon didn’t even wait for Seungcheol’s reply before ending the call, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator.

His mind raced, thinking of what to say to you, how to comfort you. But all he knew for sure was that he needed to be there. You weren’t going to face this alone. Not again.

When Jihoon stepped into Seungcheol’s apartment, the air was thick with tension. The lights were dim, and Soonyoung stood in the kitchen, whispering urgently into his phone. Seungcheol was by the window, his gaze shifting between the streets below and the silent figure curled on the couch.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting there, knees drawn to your chest, your face buried against them. Your shoulders trembled slightly, and even from across the room, Jihoon could see your fingers gripping the fabric of your pants so tightly your knuckles were pale.

“Y/n…” Jihoon’s voice was barely a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the room.

You didn’t look up immediately, but when you did, your eyes were glassy, lost. A faint, broken smile appeared on your lips, but it crumbled just as quickly. “Jihoon… I…”

Before you could finish, Jihoon crossed the room, kneeling beside the couch. He didn’t hesitate, reaching out to gently hold your hands, prying your fingers free from their tight grip. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

You shook your head, a choked laugh escaping you. “It’s not okay. They’re saying… they’re saying I stole from them. That I ran away with their money. That I… Jihoon, I didn't do that. I swear—”

“I know.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I know you didn’t. We all know.”

Your breathing was unsteady, each gasp catching in your throat. “But the whole world thinks… They’re calling me a thief, a liar. My own family did this… Why? Why would they—” Your voice broke, and tears slipped down your cheeks.

Jihoon’s heart twisted painfully. He had never seen you like this—so exposed, so lost. The woman who stood on stage, who wrote lyrics with such passion, who fought to rebuild her life, now reduced to this fragile state.

“They’re scared, or greedy, or just cruel. But none of that is your fault,” Jihoon whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears. “We’re going to fix this. I promise you.”

You stared at him, searching for something—reassurance, hope, anything to hold on to. “Jihoon… I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours, letting you feel his warmth, his steady presence. “You don’t have to know. You just have to let us help you. Let me help you.”

A quiet sob broke from you, and you leaned into him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. Jihoon’s arms enveloped you, holding you close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispered, “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Across the room, Seungcheol looked away, giving you both a moment. Soonyoung stepped out to the balcony, continuing his call but throwing a quick thumbs-up toward Jihoon. The world outside might be cruel, but here, you had them—people who knew you, who cared, who would fight for you.

Within hours, statements from both your label and Pledis were released, carefully crafted yet resolute in their tone. Your label firmly denied your uncle's accusations, clarifying that his claims were false and rooted in a personal dispute. They acknowledged the difficult situation you faced in the past, explaining that you were a young trainee who had to abandon her dreams due to unforeseen family circumstances.

Pledis, under the direct supervision of Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Soonyoung, released their own statement. They confirmed your history as a promising trainee who was forced to withdraw from debut due to family complications. They expressed regret that you had to leave under such circumstances but emphasized their support for you now.

The company stood by your truth, and it wasn't just words on paper. Seungcheol was the one who demanded the statement be released immediately, his voice firm and unwavering in the meeting room. Jihoon insisted on the wording, making sure every detail reflected the reality of your situation without exploiting your trauma. Soonyoung, surprisingly serious, went as far as personally reaching out to industry connections, making sure the narrative didn’t spiral out of control.

With their combined efforts, the public's perception shifted. Sympathy replaced doubt, and the comments under your social media flooded with support.

Alongside the official statements, photos of you with Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Soonyoung began to circulate on social media. Some were candid shots—Seungcheol playfully ruffling your hair, Jihoon walking beside you with a faint smile, and Soonyoung making exaggerated faces to make you laugh. Others were from studio sessions, showing you deep in conversation with Jihoon or Seungcheol leaning over to check your lyrics.

Fans started piecing together the connection. Jihoon, the genius producer behind almost all your songs, wasn’t just a collaborator—he was a steadfast presence in your life. Seungcheol and Soonyoung, who were known for their loyalty and protectiveness over their members, clearly extended that same care to you.

Online discussions swelled with sympathy. “If Seungcheol and Jihoon trust her, then I trust her too.” “You can see in their eyes they genuinely care about her.” “Jihoon produces all her songs—there’s no way she’s the person her uncle described.”

A week after the tide of public opinion began to shift in your favor, Jihoon arrived at your doorstep unannounced. The moment you opened the door, he stepped inside with quiet confidence, his eyes searching the small space until they found you standing there—alone, vulnerable, yet somehow still holding on.

He said nothing, letting the silence fill the room before slowly opening his arms wide. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a deep, unwavering embrace. Your body shook as the walls you’d built crumbled, and the sobs you had kept buried for so long spilled out uncontrollably. You melted into his chest, feeling like fragile glass finally cradled safely after a storm.

Jihoon’s arms tightened gently around you, his steady heartbeat resonating against your ear like a calming rhythm. In that quiet moment, his presence spoke louder than words ever could—he was here, unwavering and steadfast, ready to be the anchor you needed. No matter what had happened, no matter how far you had fallen, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jihoon’s hands slowly stroked your hair, his touch gentle and soothing as if trying to erase every trace of pain you’d carried alone for so long. He whispered soft reassurances, low and steady, barely more than a breath.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he murmured. “I’m here. We’ll get through this—together.”

His voice held no pressure, only quiet strength that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. As your sobs softened, you clung to him tighter, letting yourself finally rest, finally breathe. For the first time in a long while, you felt seen—not as someone broken or forgotten, but as someone worthy of care and love.

Jihoon held you like that until the world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the steady beat of two hearts healing side by side.

After a while, Jihoon gently pulled back just enough to look at you. The two of you settled on the worn-out couch, close but not crowded, the quiet hum of the city outside your window filling the space between you.

He studied your face with soft concern. “How are you feeling? Really.”

You hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. “Honestly? Still fragile. But... better, now that you’re here.”

Jihoon nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s okay to take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words wrapped around you like a shield, giving you the courage to admit the weight you’d been carrying, the fear that had made you shut down for so long. In that moment, sitting side by side, you realized maybe—just maybe—you could start to heal.

You looked down at your hands, twisting the edge of your sleeve nervously. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely steady. “For everything that happened—how I disappeared, how I pushed people away... especially you.”

Jihoon’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, none of that was your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“But I still feel like I should’ve done better. Stayed strong—for myself, for everyone who believed in me.”

He shook his head gently, eyes soft but firm. “You’ve been through so much. It’s okay to be human, to stumble. What matters is you’re here now, and we’re going to face this together.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, grateful for his steady presence. “Thank you... for not giving up on me.”

Jihoon smiled, a quiet promise in his gaze. “Never.”

Jihoon’s grip on your hand tightened just a little, his eyes searching yours with a seriousness that made your heart skip. He took a slow breath before speaking, his voice softer than before.

“Y/n, I’ve been holding this in for a while… but I can’t anymore. I like you. More than just a friend, more than just someone I want to help. I’ve liked you since before you even knew I existed.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession, your heart racing.

“I didn’t say anything because I wanted to be there for you, not add any pressure. But seeing you now, vulnerable and still so strong—it’s made me realize I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

He gave you a small, hopeful smile. “I want to be by your side. Not just as your producer or friend... but something more, if you’ll let me.”

Your breath hitched, and a heavy wave of doubt washed over you. You looked down, voice barely a whisper.

“I... I don’t know if I deserve this—deserve you. After everything I’ve been through, all the mistakes, all the pain... How could someone like you want someone like me?”

Your heart ached with a mix of gratitude and fear, the weight of your past pressing hard against the hope Jihoon’s words had sparked.

Jihoon reached out, gently lifting your chin so your eyes met his. His gaze was steady, full of warmth and certainty.

“Y/n, you don’t have to be perfect for me to want you. I see you—everything you are, everything you’ve been through—and it only makes me want to be by your side more.”

He smiled softly, his voice low and sincere.

“You deserve kindness, love, and a fresh start. And I want to be part of that with you.”

You searched his eyes, vulnerability and doubt still lingering in yours. “Jihoon… are you sure you won’t regret this? Being with someone like me—after everything?” Your voice cracked, heavy with the weight of all the pain and uncertainty you carried.

He held your gaze steadily, no hesitation in his eyes. Slowly, he shook his head, a gentle but unwavering smile playing at his lips. “Never. I’ve waited so long to tell you this. You don’t have to be anyone else for me—I like you exactly as you are.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached out and cupped your cheek tenderly. The world around you seemed to quiet as he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips met yours softly at first—warm, comforting—like a silent promise that he was here to stay, no matter what.

You melted into the kiss, feeling a fragile hope bloom inside you for the first time in so long. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And in that moment, that was enough.

His lips brushed against yours with a softness that took your breath away, gentle like the first drop of rain after a long drought. The kiss deepened slowly, tender but full of meaning, as if every unspoken word between you was being conveyed through this quiet connection.

Jihoon’s hand moved from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, steadying you, grounding you, letting you know he was there—completely present. You felt the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the faintest tremor of emotion in his touch.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was patient and sincere, like a promise that no matter how broken or uncertain your past had been, he wanted to be part of your future. Your heart hammered wildly as the kiss lingered, a delicate thread weaving your two souls closer in that perfect, fragile moment.

After pulling back just slightly, Jihoon rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours with a quiet intensity. His voice was soft but certain, carrying all the emotions he had kept hidden for so long.

“I love you,” he said simply, as if those three words held the weight of everything between you. “I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you, even when I didn’t say it. And I want to keep loving you—if you’ll let me.”

He gave you a small, hopeful smile, his hand still gently holding your face.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

The end.

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327 notes · View notes

midgarangel · 1 month ago

Note

Could I request more Cloud Strife x fem!reader? Pretty please! I really love the smut fics you wrote, especially the fic "plaything" the beginning was very cute. Sorry, this message is kinda long lol. Thank you!

ꗃ boyfriend | cloud strife ☁️

summary: cloud surprises you in more ways than one.

contents: nsfw! cloud x fem reader, fluff & smut, soft dom cloud, "good girl" he finally gives reader a pet name lol, rooftop sex, makeout session, praise kink, teasing, thigh grinding, p in v, clouds hard on himself, reader comforts him.

words: 3k

authors note: tysm for requesting more of them!! also no worries on the length of the ask, go in depth with it if you wanna i don’t mind lol. i hope you enjoy this one!! <3

—

The phone buzzed in the quietness of your living room. It was late afternoon, sunset imminent. The book you were reading had kept your attention all day. Setting it down on the coffee table, you picked up your phone.

soldier boy: Hey I have a question.

you: uh oh i’m scared

He reacted to your msg with a haha.

soldier boy: Is your buildings roof accessible?

soldier boy: It’s important.

What could he possibly be plotting. You thought.

you: yeah it is

you: cloud if you wanna come over you can come through the front door like a normal person :|

soldier boy: I know that. Just head up there in an hour.

you: ???

He didn’t respond after that of course. The suspense was killing you but you got up and did what you were told. It’s not like you hadn’t seen each other in a while. You saw Cloud at seventh heaven often. Just days before, you were all doing harrowing research and spending countless hours preparing for acts against shinra.

It puzzled you sure, but you were used to his mysterious, introverted ways. Going for casual, you play with the sleeve of your white blouse; throwing on a cream-colored sweater over top of it, partially because you know how much Cloud loves seeing you in that color.

An hour later you made your way up towards the roof. A light breeze blew by as you opened the door. Met with the sun finally setting, you looked around for him.

“Cloud? Are you up here?”

A pair of hands came in front of your eyes. You gasped, about to turn around on instinct until you heard the voice that belonged to the hands.

“Guess who.”

“Cloud!? You scared me!”

Turning around, you were face to face with the spikey haired boy. He was smirking, obviously enjoying how scared you were.

“Really? How did I scare the girl who beat the shit out of five grenadiers last mission.” He said removing his hands.

“That’s different!”

“Sure.”

Bantering with him was always fun but you were curious to know why he wanted to meet, especially up here.

“So what’s up? Is it something serious?”

Cloud shook his head no. Offering a tight lipped answer that shed zero light on his intentions.

“Just wanted to see you.”

“Well I know that silly, but why here? On my roof?” You laughed.

“Let me show you.”

He grabbed your hand and led you around the corner. To your surprise he had set up a little picnic spot. Fairy lights covering the railing of the roof, you instantly smelled the delicious aroma from the food he had brought. There were even flowers already in a vase. You wondered how he set all of this up so quickly.

“I-Is this for us?”

“Yeah. Well for you mostly. But yeah for us,” He continued, “I’m bad at this. Sorry.”

The smile on your face gave away how happy you truly were.

“Cloud this is so sweet…” You said softly.

He watched you look around, admiring everything. Your mouth must have been just slightly agape because Cloud breaks the silence by asking,

“So you like it?”

You shut him up with a quick and sweet kiss to the lips.

“You know the answer is yes, you’re only asking to hear me say it.”

He simply takes your hand with an innocent smile and sits down on the blanket. He gestures to the spot across from him, reluctantly letting go of your hand to let you sit.

Mentally checking off the checklist in his mind as the evening went on, he loved seeing you like this. Being carefree and enjoying yourself. Something he didn’t get to do often.

The rest of this time is spent in bliss. You insist on feeding Cloud more than once, knowing it’ll get him flustered. Always making sure to kiss his lips right after too; it’s impossible to resist.

The food was yummy, both of you mindlessly munched away with small talk being a constant between you two. Cloud said he had asked Aerith to help him make most of the dishes. He also sourced the flowers in the vase directly from her garden.

After a little while, both of you laid on the blanket staring up at the night sky. The stars on full display for once.

“Can I ask you something?” Cloud said as he readjusted himself. Propping himself up on his elbow.

You nodded, directing your full attention to him. Usually he was the one with intense eye contact, but you with your soft eyes waiting for him to speak, he couldn’t get the words out.

Even after years of knowing Cloud, he’s the most interesting, entrancing person in your life. You let him talk and he listens to your responses intently. Vice versa. He gets distracted several times, however, always lost in thought as he stares at you.

“Cloud,” you say with a small laugh, snapping him out of his trance.

Cloud blinks twice in succession, acting like he just woke up from a long sleep.

“Just a little nervous. My bad.”

Reaching for his face, you cupped his cheek. “It’s just me.” you say with a soft smile on your face.

He nods. Debating his next words.

“I’ve been thinking about us.”

Cloud cringes internally at how cliche it sounds but he doesn’t regret saying it.

“Me too.”

His eyebrows raise a bit. Relieved at your response.

“I want you. I-I want us to be together.”

You blush uncontrollably at his words. Thankfully, though, the sun has almost fully set, and your pink face is covered under the guise of the night.

“But I just don’t wanna disappoint you.” He whispers.

In his head, Cloud thinks he’s a failure. It stems from his traumatic past that you know all about. He feels too riddled with guilt and resentment so how could he be a good boyfriend to you?

“Cloud, you couldn’t possibly disappoint me.” You tell him very seriously.

He doesn’t verbally respond, too caught up in how caring and understanding you are. You really are perfect he thought. Instead he chose to gently slide his thumb across your lips. His eyes moving down to glance at the way they part, then back to your eyes. He moves his face a bit closer, stopping just in front of you.

Then he kisses you. His lips are sweet, and you crave them just as much as you had during your first kiss with him. Trapped in the tranquility of the kiss, he’s now holding your face to his own, desperate to keep your lips with him for as long as possible. He starts smiling against you as he feels you lean deeper into the kiss, and soon you’re a pair of giggling faces; but you stay in the position for a long while before finally breaking away.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask…”

“Really?”

“Mhm..you’re clueless sometimes.”

“You might be right.”

All that matters is washing away Clouds doubts with your love, securing him with your hand in his hair and his hand on your back. You kiss him like he’s your oxygen. With more fervor than you anticipated he mirrors your need while his hands pulled your hips even closer against his body.

His tongue begged for entrance, joining yours in a dance that let heat rush through your entire being. You started to rock your hips ever so slightly while breathing against his lips, It only took a few more moments until you felt a familiar hardness straining against his pants.

Your now boyfriend leaned back to look at you. One of his hands found your face and his fingertips began tracing along your cheek.

“So beautiful.” He cooed. “Am I still clueless?” He asked as his thigh grazed against your pussy.

The hunger in his eyes only grew when a timid sigh fell from your lips. He watched intently as you kept grinding against his thigh while the tension in your body only grew. His hardness twitched beside you as you used his body for your own pleasure.

The friction your motions created were making you desperate but it wasn’t enough for you. Cloud knew that too. He still wanted to see how long it would take you to start begging for him.

Fingertips were buried into the supple flesh of your hips, keeping you close to him as you started to struggle to keep moving. With your face buried into his neck, he could feel your hot, heavy breath against his skin.

It was too much and not enough for you at the same time. The lace of your underwear was soaked with your essence at this point, you felt like you might combust if you didn’t find release anytime soon.

“Please.” You finally whispered into his ear, desperate for him to take over. He chuckled as he leaned back to find your eyes.

“What do you need?”

The smirk on his face revealed that he knew exactly what you needed. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Please…I need you.” You begged, a playful look on your face.

He found your lips in a kiss, soft and sweet like a silent promise to always take care of you. When he motioned for you to sit up, you whined at the loss of pressure against your center.

Slowly, he began undressing you. The second your bra dropped to the floor of the roof his fingers began toying with your nipples. His thumbs brushed over your hardened peaks while he kissed you again.

“Are we doing this up here?” He asked in between kisses.

“No one really comes up here..at least I don’t think they do.”

“Let me lock the door just to be safe.”

When he came back, his hands were still on your breasts. Caressing them just the way he knew you liked. When his palms finally descended further down your body, a relieved sigh fell from your lips.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmured against your neck. “So patient with me.”

Hearing his praise aroused you even more and you could feel your desire dripping down your inner thighs. You knew it wouldn’t be long now until he’d let you feel him. He moved back to let his eyes roam over your body while he undid the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled and noticed a rosy shade spreading over his cheeks as he placed both of your shirts to the side.

When he finally revealed his upper body to you, you could barely take your eyes off him. Closing the distance once more, your hand dared to make contact with his cock. It became obvious that he struggled to keep up his demeanor. He was just as desperate as you were. Clouds eyes widened at your touch on top of his pants.

Unbuttoning them, you slipped your hand in. His hardness felt hot and heavy against your palm and his tip was already leaking when you began moving your hand. Clouds breath hitched right before a moan escaped his throat, a sound so sinful it almost drove you insane. He indulged in the sensation a few more moments before he took over the situation once more.

“Lay down.” He demanded with a firm tone and you did as he said.

However, when you lay down on the blanket he shook his head.

“No, I want you on your knees.”

You didn’t need further instruction to know exactly how he wanted you. You turned around, got on your knees ,and bent over, your forearms pressing into the thin blanket. Heat rushed to your face when you took in the position he wanted you in, aware of the view you gave him.

The feeling of your shorts and panties being pulled down had anticipation running through your body. He stood right behind you when he purred, “Pretty. I love seeing you like this.”

His hand made contact with your backside, grabbing your flesh before descending down to your cunt. Your glistening folds were so sensitive that your entire body trembled at the sudden contact. He let his fingertips glide through your slit before focussing on your already swollen nub.

“Dripping wet for me, aren’t you?”

You were already too far gone to even respond to that. A fit of moans fell from your lips and you buried your face into the makeshift pillow from your shirts to stifle the sounds. Clouds free hand found your hair and gently tugged on it to turn your head.

“Don’t hide those noises from me. I gotta hear what I do to you.”

When he finally entered you with two of his fingers, you couldn’t help but grind your hips back against his hand. He curled his digits inside you, pushing against your walls to finally help you fall over the edge. As much as you loved feeling his fingers inside of you, you were still desperate to feel more of him.

You needed all of him, all over you. It was impossible to wait any longer.

“Please,” you pleaded once more. “Please, Cloud.”

“What do you need, baby?” This time his question seemed genuine.

“I need you,” you mumbled. “Need you inside me.”

“I am inside you.” He teased with a playful tone in his voice.

“Nooo,” you whined, “I need your cock..”

The crudeness of your words shocked and excited the both of you at the same time. Cloud finally gave in, granting you what you had been begging for all along. He removed his hand and positioned himself behind you before he let his tip glide through your folds to cover himself with your arousal.

Then, without another warning, he pushed into you with one swift motion. He didn’t give you time to adjust to the intrusion, instead he instantly began fucking you with a ruthless pace. His hands gripped your hips to keep you in place. His fingertips were buried into your skin so deeply, you were sure to find bruises tomorrow.

“Feels so good every time” he groaned. “I’m fucking crazy for you.”

He gave you exactly what you needed, pushing into you over and over again until your mind was completely blank. You couldn’t think about anything but him, how he handled your body, how he filled you out so deliciously, how only he could make you feel so good. The pressure inside you grew as the outside air filled with your moans and the filthy sounds of your bodies colliding.

“Love it when I take you from behind, don’t you?”

“Yes!” you cried as you started dancing along the brink of euphoria. Even though you could barely take his forceful thrusts, you still wanted more. “Harder!”

He felt your walls tighten around him. With a few more skillful strokes he pushed you over the edge, feeling you pulsing around his erection as your orgasm washed over you. Cloud slowed down to let you ride out your high, watching how your entire body trembled with pleasure.

When he slipped out of you, he was still painfully hard. As pleasurable as this position was for the both of you, he craved your nearness more than to find quick release.

Cloud Strife was slowly becoming a romantic after all.

“Can you turn around for me? Please?” He cooed.

You did as he said and welcomed your boyfriend on top of you. His demeanor had changed when he entered you again, his motions were slower but still purposeful. His facial features were soft and his eyes filled with adoration for you. Your legs and arms wrapped around him to keep him impossibly close before capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

“Does that feel good?” You breathed against his lips.

He let out an unrestrained soft whimper. It looked like he was in heaven. The hold of your pussy had him wanting to say he loved you. Which would’ve been true, he does love you.

It didn’t take long for Clouds movements to get erratic as he got close to his own climax.

“I’m so close,” he sighed. “You’re incredible.”

You ground your hips against his, intensifying his thrusts. You kissed his lips once more before whispering,

“Come inside me.”

That was all it took for him. His body began quivering as he throbbed inside you, sharing his warmth with you until he had nothing left to give. After he caught his breath, he gently moved a strand of hair out of your face before softly kissing your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and finally, your lips.

You still held him close inside your arms, refusing to let him go just yet. Your bodies were still connected even after he had gone soft. Cloud tried to move but you didn’t let him, still craving to have him close.

“Just a little bit longer.” You sighed.

“I wanted this night to be perfect.” He whispered, his thumb rubbing circles into your hips.

“It was more than perfect, you did so well Cloud.”

As much as he wanted to belittle himself, he couldn’t. Not with your words and praise in his ear. He couldn’t let the negativity misguide him, he wouldn’t. With you finally by his side, he promised to be better.

He took a deep breath.

“Anything for you.”

—

AHH i loved every second of this. Got the idea to do a txt msg type of intro after seeing this post :p.

#cloud strife x reader #cloud strife smut #cloud strife imagine #cloud final fantasy #cloud strife #cloud strife fluff #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy series #ffseven #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy imagine #final fantasy seven #sephiroth #sephiroth smut #aerith gainsborough #tifa lockhart #midgarangel

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postvampirism · 2 years ago

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Help a recovering addict out!!!

Hey everyone, those who follow know some of my story. I’m Bat, queer autistic Latina who became addicted to fentanyl. The family member I used with turned abusive so I was forced to become homeless and quit my job (due to them being my supervisor) at the end of April. Couch crashed for a month then went into treatment end of May. My insurance fortunately covered my entire stay here so I had a roof over my head and food to eat but obviously have not been able to work while in treatment. I will be completing my 90 day residential program and transitioning to a sober living facility soon to continue treatment. I have tried to have ebt set up already but due to policy I don’t qualify till I actually go into sober living (in which I will have to provide my own meals) so I would have to go without food until my benefits actually could kick in 🙃 please help me out, this whole thing has been stressful bc I do not have any money rn… so if you truly want to help out an addict of color out this is my info

🔵: @FrewtBat

🟢: $FrewtBat

(Msg/send an ask for PayPal or zelle. Heads up my phone time is limited while I’m still in residential)

#just got off the phone with ebt and I’m crying from frustration rn #pls help me

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vodkaxtrenchcoats2 · 2 months ago

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INTRO POST!!

I got logged outta @vodkaxtrenchcoats so this is my new acc I guess

Everyone's favorite self proclaimed incel is here

Name: Uhh idrgaf. Viper or Grey ig. Maybe Evangeline if youre feeling quirky, but its one of the names of my OC's but who cares.

Pronouns: I still don't rlly gaf. Just assume tbh.

Age: Minor

Favorite cases: Artur A/Austria graz shooter (i am obsessed with him. i am THE Artur A #1 fan and defender.), Luke Helder, Colton Harris Moore (The barefoot bandit), Columbine, Academy Maniacs, Adam Lanza, Dollyflesh (hes a bit quirky but...its okay..💜 /j), Dylann Roof (i am NOT a kkk nazi loser), Andrew blaze, Elliot Rodgers, etc

TW!! I am mentally unstable but usually I don't post about it much, sometimes i make jokes that sometimes aren't appropriate, I'm autistic asf so uh yeah. Sometimes I reblog gore ig. Me and my mom have a complicated relationship (she has untreated bpd that she refuses to seek help for+I have a buncha mental issues so our relationship is constantly back and forth from super close to literally hating each other) so I might blog about that, I usually refer to her as Sylvia or Syl (her name). I also blog about sh'ing/suicide attempts/overdosing as a half joke way sometimes but not that often along with smoking/drinking.

Things you may dislike/like about me: I do consider myself pretty left leaning but I don't mind or care about interacting with people who are Republican/conservative, I'm also an f1 fan so sometimes I blog/reblog about f1 every once in a while, im kinda a theatre kid, m also a fan of the band Trueblood and other little garage bands ig. Sometimes I go offline for a couple days and suddenly come back. I also might quite possibly be the only tccer in my country. I LOVE getting dms/asks from my moots and people in general, I always follow back, so if you wanna ask me to unfollow you just dm me / feel free to block me if you don't vibe with me

Music: I listen to basically anything, but my favorites include Trueblood, flailing idiot, pierce the veil, Laufey, fried by flouride, lemon demon, 2015 Heather's the musical, Grimes, James Marriott. Might add more as I kinda like idk like more artists. I do like kmfdm and nin and Rammstein but I don't listen to them THAT often.

DNI: Antis, mean people ig, if you're trying to shove politics down my throat, constantly blogging about religion n stuff, pro-rape, I don't really mind interacting with people who have paraphilia or are pro/com/darkshippers unless you're actually hurting someone/trying to involve me, those clean girl lululemon basic mfs + I block freely

Weird little facts about me: I'm considered legally blind but tbh it's not that bad - I'm half Asian - Im homeschooled but by August I'll be in a vocational art school

Tags!!

#Viperyapping / Viperyaps - me yapping or rambling or ranting or whatever

#Viperart - Me and my drawings and art and whatever and stuff, might not post this that much but I plan to

#Vipertcc - me blogging bout tcc and stuff.

#Viperf1 / Viperf2 / Viperf3 / Viperf4 - me yapping about f1 n shi

#Vipersfanfics - might not post this a lot, fanfic tag, I wanna start writing fics but I'm too lazy idk

#Vipermusic - I do NOT make music but I will be blogging bout music I like like Trueblood or Flailing Idiot

#Viperoutfits - Sometimes I like posting my outfits n stuff but my phone/ipad camera is pretty shitty and I wanna keep myself at least a bit anonymous (I wanna get a job/into college in the future) but I might post my outfits ig

#Vipercvtsthemselves - $H "sfx" tag for ventings and photos of "sfx sh" that's very much totally 100% very much fake (iykyk)

I don't have a lotta friends here but I'd love to make more friends!! Msg me or smth if you wanna be friends ♥︎

#teeceecee #tccblr #tcc columbine #tcc tumblr #columbine 1999 #tcc fandom #dylan columbine #eric columbine #tc community #tcc dylan #f1 community #intro post #introduction #f1 fandom #trueblood #trueblood band #viperyaps #viperyapping

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sincerelyverena · 1 year ago

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Can you write for sub!Oliver? I'm so desperate seeing him squirming and whining😮‍💨

⟡⁺ RUN, BUNNY, RUN

oh hi guys its been a while ! never thought id manage to get this out but here it is, n i hope u all enjoy. ive missed each n every one of u (sorta) (joking). anyways im planning to lean in on the more multifandom aspect of my account, so youll be seeing a few different fandoms scattered around. nevertheless, give it a read! mybe itll be ur thing :] ty anon for this request, much love <3

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FEM!READER ‘beautiful, violent, vulgar.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver got what he wanted at a price.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐sub!oliver﹐dom!reader ﹐y/n catton﹐reader is a cougar ﹐oliver just cant get enough﹐reader is implied to be a shorty ﹐elspeth is a hoe﹐cunnilingus ﹐degradation﹐orgasm denial﹐marking kink ﹐lowkey blackmail ﹐farleighs there too!

ON THE HUNT FOR BETA READERS! MSG ME <3

He reminded you of a bunny, an animal.

Oliver Quick was reticent compared to the hearty, high conversation around the table that night. He was stuck out like a sore thumb in contrast to the Cattons, a family line of the prestigious. High on the grace of themselves and each other. Blissfully unaware of anyone or anything past what they offer to their inflated egos. And who were you, to make such unprincipled claims against family? Against blood?

Mother – Elspeth, as she insists all the children call her – had always made snide, discreet digs at you. Shielded with a manipulative curl of the whoreish pinks of her lipstick. Underneath those sly comments is a white-hot grudge, directed toward her only daughter of blood and the Catton heiress everybody just seemed to have forgotten about.

‘You only think of yourself.’ She says.

‘You only believe you’re superior because you abandoned the only people who’ll ever care for you.’

But they never cared for you. Not in the slightest.

You were the only descendant of the new-age family line that didn’t reside under the roof of Saltburn, causing waves in the circles of old money when you took your trust fund (and dignity) in a single palm and vanished to New Mexico.

Nevertheless, to maintain access to the trust fund, you have been spending the entirety of every summer with your bloodline you inherently disowned. Money was the bottom line, the bottom line of every transaction you make with your parents. Which wasn’t a problem in the slightest, considering in their eyes, how much you were worth was the only thing cardinal about you.

You had stayed summers long enough to recognize the twisted, Catton-branded pattern your brother, Felix, had fallen into. In your eyes, he wasn’t fit to be claimed the bloodline heir. His blood is unsavory and debilitated. During the presidency of his birth, Elspeth had been participating in affairs with men who would’ve directly tainted both the reputation of the family name. As well as the bloodline.

The crimson redness of your dagger-shaped nails clinks along the side of the thin wineglass in your palm. Those morals of clean blood had been hammered into your head for decades, no matter how much your mother preached her modernized values.

Elspeth was still the same harlot she was all those years prior.

The exact reason why instead of disturbance, thinly veiled amusement is masked between your hues as you witnessed Elspeth’s conversation with Oliver. The wrinkle of her eye crinkled furthermore with maliciousness, masked with honeyed words. Oliver reacts in a manner especially foreign to you. The apples of his cheeks pinken as Elspeth momentarily offers a palm toward the muscle of his arm, a singular touch as Oliver’s lips clamped together. Unable to respond for a beat of a moment. The cogs behind Oliver’s eyes turn and work soundlessly, having to be coorused by Elspeth herself to respond.

Oliver was a stark difference from Felix’s past pets, brought to the household each summer for the entertainment of all. You observe him thoroughly, without shame. Nobody would question you anyway, especially the Catton children. The food chain of the bloodline stands unquestioned with Felix toppling all competition. But you were there first, and the force of that power still stands.

All that you knew was that Oliver would be at the very bottom. A stark, white rabbit amongst the lions and wolves. The sheep's clothing they wear? Deteriorated.

And you’d die for a chance to snap your jaws around his neck.

Even though you were barely a decade older compared to the other descendants of the Catton name, your tastes in sexuality had simmered. You have had your fair share of flings, basking in sensual attention like how your younger relatives are receiving nowadays.

You’ve made the stark assumption that only a few strains of men and woman could cause that familiar warmth to unfurl within the depths of her core. But you were solely mistaken, as the cobalt hues of Oliver Quick met yours. They withheld the sweetest traces of caramel that caused something to stir. Something that caused the top of your bare thighs to squeeze together absentmindedly.

Oliver’s once-pinkened cheeks redden once again. He was the first to look away.

Run, bunny, run. The words bounce around your skull aimlessly, as if the density of your head were hollow. Your only set intention was the young man across the cherry-wood table, and how your lips curl upward at the thought.

An unmistakable atmosphere of tension ridged itself between the two. Unmistakeable enough for Oliver to virtually scramble from his chair with a lowly hinged creak as soon as the black-tie dinner was to be dismissed, disappearing into the estate’s foyer without another word. In the process, silencing the remainder of the table as they escape the metaphorical weight of their chairs.

‘Someone had to go.’ Farleigh snarks, expression feigning boredom.

Elspeth offers a scoff in turn, though the weariness of her hues twinkle with stuffed amusement. ‘Don’t be silly, Farleigh.’

On the other hand, Felix’s brow wrinkles. You tune out the roar of masculine voices and a battle of ego as the two relatives bicker over the treatment of their guests. The hypocritical bounds and leaps of their voices were enough for your meal of fancy, fickle steak and fluffy, mashed potatoes to churn in your stomach.

As much as Felix preaches for his adoration of Oliver Quick, the entire household – even the thinness of the estate walls – knows that he’s only a temporary fix to his hunger for the disadvantaged. Viewing himself as a saint, veiling the sin that reverberated inside. Even Felix is willing to slip unsavory words about Oliver’s history before their friendship, especially his mother’s drug addiction.

You shortly realized you were the only one who hadn’t uttered a single word about Oliver. Yet, at least. You were the only person under the Catton's roof. You’ve maintained formality, and politeness in the scarce cases of passing the salt along the length of the table. But there was nothing polite in the way the relentless azure of his eyes bored into your own, obstructing every value and moral you’ve ever known.

They always said curiosity would eventually kill the cat. The claws of your nails threaten to dig into the hitch of your thigh, deep to the point of drawn blood.

You needed to know about him.

The soles of your crimson-sheathed heels click against the top of the blemishless floorings. The space between your shoulder blades bur without missing a beat, bound to be from the hawk-eyes of Elspeth Catton and her descendants that followed. Nevertheless, you push past the judgment and persevere forward toward the same foyer Oliver had vanished into.

The double-storied entrance room was as grand as the rest of the estate. Dark

strains of oak are the main attraction, revealing the old-money origins of Saltburn. Jars of incense sticks decorate the occasional corner, the passionate white musk filling the atmosphere, tickling the back of your throat as you inhale.

The peace-brimming silence is sliced with a stressed rummaging from the door placed offside, shielded behind the wood-trimmed stairway. You prided yourself on minding your own business, but you couldn’t help but shuffle a tad closer. Enough to catch a glimpse of a singular bead of light, trickling out of the gap the door had made.

You cursed the thrum of your heels as you ventured closer. Hand strained against the top of the engraved door, sending strained words to the universe as you threaten to inch it wider and wider open.

All that secrecy disappeared from your body at the sight of Oliver Quick. It took you a few, prolonged seconds to recognize the young man amid the shadows. The sight of his scruffy, pale knees pressed against the ground. A crown of wavy, brunette locks shielded the focused curve of his eye as he rummaged through something. You couldn’t help it, fingers curling to widen the door a little more.

Creak.

Nothing could prepare you for what you witnessed before you. Even the panicked alarm that flares in the cobalt of Oliver’s hues goes ignored as he virtually snaps his head toward you. Amid his hands, various Catton heirlooms have gone untouched. Useless to some, priceless to others, and you guessed Oliver had made his mark on that.

‘What in the world are you doing with Aunty Start’s Apollo earrings?’

The words escaped you in a rush. Who knew that that your snow-white, innocent bunny had nefarious means within the Catton family? You exaggerate aunty’s last name, a slight teetering edge of glee trickling into you at the sight of grieving recognition that filled Oliver’s eyes.

You stepped fully into the doorway.

‘I wonder what Farleigh would think about that.’

Oliver didn’t take the threat lightly, notable by the slight shake in his voice. “You wouldn’t.” He insisted. His hands scrambled, and the box propped between his fingers slipped and clattered across the oak of the storage room’s grounding.

The sole of your heel slams against the bottom of the door, widening it entirely. You entered the room with a click of the underside of your shoes, reverberating throughout the suddenly too-cold, too-hollow room you found yourself in. The only sense of illumination is the light from the foyer, trickling into the suddenly too-compact expanse.

You crouched down. Knees hitting the base of the flooring similarly to Oliver’s own, barely a foot or two away. You could hear the tameness of his breaths. The sharp, panicked gasps and swallows that only made your lips twist upward. The threat was there, looming over Oliver’s head, choking him by the throat.

‘Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. You decide, Ollie.’

‘How–’

The length of your fingers curled around the curve of his cheeks, pressed into the slight hollowness that would follow. Silencing him in turn. The splinters of illumination from the doorway behind them manage to offer an iridescent glow toward the plumpness of Oliver’s lips as you squeeze half of his alluring face.

You hadn’t expected the first, proper interactions with Oliver Quick to wind up in his manner. But you have no intention to stop. The fashion in which his eyes bore into your own, gaze hawk-like as he stared down at you. Eyelashes fluttering. Pupils dilated.

A wave of awareness rolled through you at the sight. Those same splinters of warmth unfurled in the base of your abdomen.

‘What are you doing here, Oliver?’

Your digits eased around the sides of his face to allow him to speak. The cheeks you once grappled somewhat pinkened once more, face glowing under your undivided attention.

Oliver’s breaths grew slower and slower. As if your touch drunken him.

‘Felix invited me,’ his words were borderlining a whine, scrambling to explain himself. ‘For the summer.’

The base of your eyebrows drew together darkly. The amusement reverberating in your eyes dissolved into a slight annoyance. Your fingers traveled toward the curve of his chin, taking it into your possession in a rough matter it sends Oliver’s eyes to rounden in response. He was a sick, sick liar.

He corrected himself, in seconds. ‘For revenge.’

‘Revenge?’

Despite your concentration, you hadn’t realized the lack of distance placed between you and Oliver. The proximity is intoxicating. To the point in which you felt the soft exhale of his breath fan across the form of your painted lips. His scent disturbed the twist of white musk and dust in the air, catching you off guard.

You dipped your head further upward. A single breath away from his own.

Oliver’s words scrambled from his parted lips, each syllable trembling. ‘Revenge.’ He confirmed with a singular breath.

That singular breath that was virtually snatched away from him as you captured those plump lips with your own. A warm hum of pleasure buzzes throughout your body, sensations setting your nerves on fire as your mouth brushes across his.

You retreated into yourself momentarily. Ears perked up as Oliver drew in a sharp intake of breath, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with a glimmer of euphoria. He inched forward. A small movement that confirmed the lust that sparks behind his hues.

Honeyed heat circulated throughout your body as your lips locked with his own. Threads of that same heat were found within each movement of their mouths. Your cheeks burnt with stuffled anticipation.

A soft, strangled noise reverberates toward the back of Oliver’s throat as your hands enter the proximity of his caramel-like locks. Soft to the touch, feathery. The pads of your fingers curled against his scalp. Curling. Tugging. Kisses growing with heat and passion, further and further until Oliver was a mess between your two palms.

Oliver virtually whined as you pulled away. The lipstick you had carefully applied the hour prior smeared across the edge of your oh-so-swollen lips.

The pad of your thumb ran across the form of your mouth, the crimson red dirting the length of her digit. She pulled a single finger along Oliver’s lips, smearing the remnants of the lipstick.

‘And what are you doing with my family’s heirlooms?’ You inquired, words soft with sensuality. Masking it with a casualty as you press onward. Thumb pressed immensely into the dimple of his cheek, ruddiness staining the ivory of his skin.

Oliver leaned into her touch. ‘I was just curious, that’s all.’

You knew that there was a nefarious nature in his intentions. You removed your hand entirely and raised to your feet on two heels. The sound of your soles meeting the oak floor echoes out, bouncing against the walls as you approach an ancient, traditional desk. Draped with a translucent cover. It was considered to be as old as the estate itself, yet you had no problem sitting all over it.

Oliver watched in the process. Eyes rounded a remnant of a bashful doe. A spark of recognition appeared behind those eyes as you inclined a singular fingertip toward the space before you.

‘On your knees.’

You took a bound of pleasure watching as Oliver dropped before you. Those knees strained against the ground. Trickles of arousal unfolded in your abdomen, nerves set alight and anticipation fluid within you as he came eye-to-eye with the satin fabric that shielded your cunt. And it was hard to miss the stained wetness.

‘Y’know what? I don’t think Felix would be too happy if he–’

‘You can suck off my brother later, but you’re serving me now. Or everyone will know whatever betrayal you’re planning against them.’

Oliver choked back any other remaining protests. Witnessing as your undergarments rolled down your hips, down the curve of your thighs, sliding along your calves, and dangling from the top of your ankle. Exposing your womanhood entirely to him, your legs widened a little further.

At the sight, Oliver leaned forward. Willing to comply. A foreign, almost animalistic thirst reflects in the light of his hues. Only halted by a singular palm. Your fingers propped atop the strewn locks atop his head, restraining him from reaching the wetness he yearned for.

‘I’m gonna ask you this again, and this time you’re telling me the truth, bunny.’

Your words were slow. Diligently pronounced and purposeful with each syllable.

‘What are you doing with the heirlooms?’

‘I just need–’ His words escaped in fluent gasps. Your skin prickled as Oliver’s trembling breaths fanned your womanhood. ‘I just needed some dirt on Farleigh.’

‘Oh yeah?’

The length of a singular leg of yours gradually intertwined around Oliver’s shoulders. Your hand eased up as you nudged him closer toward you. He willfully allows you to guide him, nose practically touching the top of your mound.

His words continued with a shuddered puff, eyes virtually glazed over.

‘Something that’ll disappoint your parents.’ Oliver dwells upon his reasonings further.

‘And Felix?’

He nods.

‘You dirty, dirty dog.’

Those words only fuelled Oliver further. And before you could even consider knowingly degrading him once more, the searing heat of his tongue is pressed against the slickness of your folds. He works his mouth against your cunt, movements growing sloppier and sloppier as he basks in the sexual validation he receives. The length of your fingers find themselves in his hair once more, fluffed, brunette strands coddled around your fist as you squeeze your legs around him.

The pleasure that you receive from his mouth alone is indescribable. Honeyed, warm ecstasy maneuvers throughout you. That familiar space between your thighs aches, even as Oliver’s lips latch onto them. Merely fuelling the fire that runs hot underneath your skin, alighting your nerves on fire.

“Fuck…” You can feel him grin around you.

A finger shortly accompanies the consumption of his tongue. And Oliver’s fingers are undeniably long, pale fleshed worked down to the knuckle with the force of a few pumps. He adds another. Then another. Stealing a moan or two from the depths of your throat, forcing you to clamp your lips shut. If anyone walked in. Your cheeks burn at the thought.

You bucked your hips into his fingers as Oliver worked you open, curling into you without faltering. Plunging his digits into you, again and again until you were breathless. Calves curled around him, guiding him further and further toward your sensitivities. Welcoming his mouth back onto you once more.

Oliver’s lips latched longingly onto the little pearl lining your entrance. He murmurs sweet nothings into you, fingers easing their pace until you can only hear the subtle quickness of your heaving breaths. And his whispers. Whispers of how wet you are, and how much he longs to quench that thirst. Again and again. On his knees, basked in his most vulnerable state.

Just for you. Oliver both in time, curls his fingers and squeezes your bud. Unleashing a wave of fire that takes you by the throat, walls squeezing around the length as you come undone. Shockwaves virtually gripping you. Tremors guide you back from your high as both grunts and moans of approval escape you.

Oliver glows under the attention. He peers up at you, through the intensity of his thick lashes. Doe eyes blinking occasionally, innocently, as he pops those fingers into his mouth where he once tasted you. Suckling. Tongue flittering around the pad of his digits.

‘You’ve done that before, haven’t you?’ Your words were more of a statement than an assumption. The pulsing of your newfound arousal doesn’t show in the slightest, only glimmering behind the intensity of your eyes. You weren’t done with your bunny, not yet anyway.

Oliver’s fingers escape his lips with a reverberating pop. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

You reach downward briefly. Taking the lace of your panties with a single hand, guiding the garment around the base of your heels. Abandoning them on the dust-soaked floor. Those same heels meet that same grounding.

‘I didn’t take you for a fuckboy, bunny.” You practically spit, taking pride in how his eyes wobble slightly at the force of your filthy, filthy words. A short snap fills the room as you indicate your hand towards the oak tiles.

‘On the floor.’

Oliver doesn’t say anything less, finding his body sprawled out before you. Essentially submitting himself to you in the process, something that ignites that oh-so-familiar heat in the pit of your belly. You stand over him, relinquishing in how he stares up at you, willing for you to do anything to him.

‘Pants off.’ Your words are snappy and insistent. You almost feel like that spoiled little one you used to be as a child, one who would get anything you would desire. ‘You don’t need them.’

Oliver’s fingers work to untangle his belt, loosening the dark fabric of his pants. The material rolls down his hips, his hardness is immensely visible through the thinness of his boxers. The bulge accompanying the arousal that burns throughout your entire body, abdomen unfurling with that oh-so-familiar heat.

You drop down toward him, legs clamped down on either side of Oliver’s thighs. You are squeezing them somewhat. The curve of your palm cups the fabriced nature of his manhood, causing a soft moan to escape him.

‘[Y/N]...’ The broadness of Oliver’s hands grapple the frame of your hips, the warmth of his fingers curling around you. He virtually buckles up into you, against your bareness. A motion that causes your lips to curl up into a lazy smirk.

‘Repeat my name, bunny.’ The pad of your fingers tease the rim of his boxers.

Oliver’s breath shudders. ‘I’m begging, [Y/N].’

A gradual, mocking roll of your eyes overtakes you nevertheless as you tug the thick material down. They roll and crinkle along the bottom of Oliver’s thighs, allowing for him to spring out for full reveality. For you and you alone. A low whistle fills the emptiness of the room as you observe his girth. Oliver is virtually trembling under the intensity of your gaze as you curl a fist around the length of his shaft, taking delight in how he buckled into you.

‘Be patient now.’ The words escape you with a scoff as you feign annoyance.

Oliver quietens in your demand. Alas, as you position yourself above him, you can still hear the raspiness of his breaths and the pleasure you take in the stink of desperation high in the air. He buries himself into you with a singular thrust, merely forcing a soft groan at the initial discomfort at he fills you. Stretches you out. Your hips slap against his own as you buckle up and down across his length, Oliver mimicking your movements to a tee.

You arch into him, soft noises of pleasure escaping you as he manages to claw ecstasy from you with every singular thrust. Your inner walls clutched around him, causing Oliver to drop his head back, gasping your name out as if it were a prayer. As if he were on the verge of life and death.

‘[Y/N]?’

‘Yes?’

It’s odd how the two of you presented the conversation as if you weren’t rutting your entire life and soul into him. Onto him. Oliver continues to writhe around some more, arching himself into you, again and again. The whiteness of his cheeks is notably flushed with arousal.

‘I’m about to –’

You slow down your pace until you’re merely mounting him, the lack of movement causing a groan of sexual frustration to claw from Oliver’s throat. The side of your thighs squeezes around his hips for extra exaggeration as you proceed to speak, merely unphased, even as you are reaching your release.

‘Jesus, Ollie, don’t be so fuckin’ greedy.’

You scold through hitched breath and hushed moans. His girth is warm inside you, and something about that is so utterly pleasing.

‘You aren’t to come unless you’ve pleased me enough.’

The demand causes Oliver’s head to loll back with esteemed annoyance, but he doesn’t say anything. It merely prompts the width of his hands to press into your hips, beginning to rock himself into you. It steals a moan out of your lips, but the sight of his desperation is a sight of see indeed. You arch further into him as he ruts against the exact spot that causes you to see stars.

The length of your hand folds around the back of his neck. ‘Right there, bunny, oh, you fuckin’ beast!’

Closer now. Closer now.

‘Say my name, [Y/N].’ Oliver heaves with strained breath, holding back on his orgasm has done numbers on him.

You wack him across the back of the head.

‘That’s my line, dickhead.’

Alas, the words barely escape your lips as the boiling and bubbling dam within you snaps and crashes. You dissolved into nothing but pure pleasure. Nevertheless, whatever you had said, Oliver’s name played on your lips in something that bordered screams. Tremors of ecstasy fill you as Oliver continues to pound into you, guiding you throughout your orgasm in your most vulnerable moment.

Aftershocks spark within you as you go limp, pulling yourself together with heaved breath and glazed eyes.

‘Have I pleased you enough, then?’

Oliver’s voice is hoarse, tearing you out of your orgasm-fuelled trance.

‘It’ll do, bunny.’

But before, Oliver can even consider his release. You rise from your previous position, his girth sliding out of you with ease, glistening with your slick. You tug the fabric of panties around your hips and back in place, glancing in a dust-covered mirror as you adjust your appearance. To make it seem as if you haven’t spent the past half hour having the life sucked out of you.

‘[Y/N] –’

Oliver’s protests rise in the air, falling upon deaf ears as you proceed to exit the room itself. The bottom of your heels thud against the wood-slicked tiles as you reenter the dining room, hope in hand. Your wordless wishes are fulfilled at once at the sight of Farleigh, who is window-watching, wine in hand.

‘Farleigh, thank God, I found you.’

Farleigh turns his head, bringing his glass to his lips.

‘What now?’ He’s waving away your presence entirely, it is clear.

As much as you despise this half of the family, you maintain a clear mind.

‘Oliver was rummaging through your mother’s heirlooms. I suggest you go, now. Heed my warning or not, I don’t care.’

A look of suspicion flashes across Farleigh’s face. His lips part momentarily in question before he thinks otherwise. Smart boy. Setting his wine down and immediately dashing past you. A yell or two sounds out a moment later, and your painted lips quirk upwards in pleasure.

You knew what Oliver was up to. It was clear from the first day you laid eyes upon the household’s guest. But no. It wasn’t up to Oliver to wipe out the Cattons from existence, even though he’d be doing the filthy work for you. It was admirable yes.

But it was your job. A job you strived to complete.

You slip your hand into the slight pocket in the fabric of your dress. Pulling out a small capsule. Your eyes narrow down on the glass of wine, vacant on the table.

Starting with Farleigh.

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

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milkshakesmoothiee · 2 years ago

Text

BSD WITH RANDOM TEXT MSGS + HC's

FEATURED CHARACTERS: Osamu Dazai, Atsushi Nakajima, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Doppo Kunikida

TW: bad grammar? Also first post-- so it's probably a flop💀

PART 1

Osamu Dazai

dude seriously would never take anything you say seriously on text💀

"Osamu help I'm stuck on the edge of the roof..." "BELLADONNA😨WITHOUT ME?!" "OSAMU IM GONNA FALL. HELP ME." "For me right??" "SHUT UP--"

I'm convinced he'd never text you first but always call

"Osamu what do you need?" "Just wanted to say I love you~" ".... IM IN THE MIDDLE OF WORK."

If you don't work at the Agency, he's definitely calling you instead of working.

Atsushi Nakajima

It took him so long to get your number... He probably had to get help from Dazai🥺😭bad idea

You definitely texted first. He was trying so hard to find the right message to say at first.

After he got comfortable with what to say.... You definitely pulled out your weird card💀

"if you turned into a worm I'd still be the one sleeping on the left side of the bed.❤️" "I'm sorry-- what😟"

"YOU'RE MY BABY AND I LOVE😭😭" "thank you..?☺️"

Akutagawa

You know Akutagawa so well that it's obvious when you're talking to HIM and not his SISTER

"heyy" "Gin get off his phone💀" "Damn-"

Whenever you do text Akutagawa, the conversations get so bland fast💀

"BABY AKUTAGAWA😍" "yes?" "I LUVVVVV YOU❤️" "I love you as well."

Dude probably takes forever to text back😔 because he's busy fighting his boyfriend Atsushi

Doppo Kunikida

DAZAI IS ALWAYS SENDING YOU "black mail" OF HIM😭

He's definitely seen articles online and sent them to you...

SIR IS ALWAYS CORRECTING YOUR GRAMMAR. SO DAMN BORING.

"Kuni can you get sum food for me pwease🥺🙏" "Kunikida* some* pwease*." "OKAY DAD🙄"

You and Dazai are always planning something against this man💀 but it's okay. Because he loves you. So you won't die. But Dazai will

I made a part 2. It should be on my account

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nikethestatue · 1 year ago

Note

On the subject of the necklace- don't you think it was icky and cheap of azriel to regift elains gift to glee ? I mean in fae culture jewelry is meant to be seen as a big mate gift- something monumental in their culture . Very icky of him no matter how heartbroken he was to go and give something he planned and had made for elain to a random women. Then worst he uses the line meant for elain - a thing of lovely secret beauty for elain - to describe glee ? In the same sense... why does he care abt how her teal eyes will light up and why does he store that image in his chest where his glows softly ?? I don't want elain with a man who thinks of another women like this - thats just so gross. Especially after he hurt her by calling her a mistake- it drives the msg of her being a mistake home by regifting her gift to the ginger. It shows her it meant nothing to him. That's such a red flag thing to do. Even if the necklace doesn't reach glee....his intention to give it to her doesn't wash away. It's gross for him to give something sentimental to some airhead. He's saying that if elain doesn't want it ...he'll find someone who does want it. Also why did he think to give it to her a whole day later- that means he was thinking of her irrelevant training session the entire day. I support elriel buy sjm needs to make him grovel and coz now he stands as immature and tantrum throwing when things don't go his way at the first sign of trouble. Sure ppl can argue he's being nice or it's glees powers. If he's so nice and felt so pitiful for her why not get her a non sentimental non personal gift. Also I don't believe sjm will make an sa survivor- have weird luring powers. .. so I don't think she lured him into giving her the necklace. None of it makes sense. Wouldn't he see glee wearing if she received every day at training and think of elain ? Imagine how hurt elain would be by first being called a mistake and then see something that was meant for her on another women's neck

So I think you are being a bit harsh.

In terms of 'regifting'--I don't view what he did as 'regifting'. Regifting is conscious. Someone gives me a vase that I don't like. I keep it, knowing that I can give it away next Christmas. Christmas rolls around and I present it to Aunt Mabel. That to me is regifting. What Azriel did wasn't that. He didn't think in advance that he wanted to give the necklace to Gwyn. I don't think he thought of Gwyn at all after meeting her on the roof. We know he was at the snowball fights and trying to murder Rhys with ice and rocks. The day after, when Nesta saw him, he was aloof and angry and didn't talk. It's not like he sauntered over to Gwyn and started chatting her up, or began looking for the necklace on her neck. Or asked Nesta whether Gwyn mentioned receiving a necklace.

He wanted to give the necklace away--what't more, when he finds it in the pile of gifts, he still calls it 'Elain's Necklace'. He associates the necklace squarely with Elain.

He didn't go directly to Gwyn and presented the necklace as if he bought it for her. Not at all. He suggested a random name in addition to 'any priestess that might like it' to Clotho.

I also don't think that he called Elain 'a mistake'. He called what they were about to do, the kiss, a mistake. Obviously it's done for dramatic effect and causes Elain to return the necklace. THat's conflict. It's the same as Nesta telling Cassian at the end of ACOFAS that she doesn't want to see him ever again, and that she is not interested and that he should leave her alone.

The luring bit and Gwyn's SA--i really don't think that SJM is all that concerned about the optics of it. I don't believe it would be sexual luring and therefore, her SA is kind of irrelevant. I think it would be based on her powers, which she really can't just shut down. Whatever is happening with Gwyn and her siren/lightsinger situation--i don't know what SJM is planning to do with it. Like, not at all. I truly have no idea. But no, I don't think SJM would be stopped from writing something like that just because Gwyn was SAed.

Like SJM said--i think it was obvious. The conflict was set up and Gwyn's powers were hinted at again in the POV.

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justmeinatree · 2 years ago

Text

03 - the greatest show : all the coloured lights

Summary : a group of misfits, a mysterious leader, a string of murders, and a life on the road.

previous part /// jump to pt. 1

TW : transgender / bodily anomality misconceptions and hardships in victoria era europe

Word Count : 3.5k

Series Masterlist

GIF : unknown - msg for credit

she’s been exploring france for a few weeks now. or so she assumes. she’d stopped counting after day 6.

misses white was right, she loved france. she hadn’t been questioned once, just flowing with the crowds of people. night time was the hardest, as she doesn’t have a place to call home. so far, park benches have been her best friend, spending nighttime alone with her thoughts, sometimes wandering about to another town, sometimes too tired from her daytime exploring to bring herself to walk the long distances.

the time on her own, however, has taught her that there are different types of lonely. she’s always felt a level of loneliness, being the only person like herself, no one to speak to about her real problems and her real reservations and fears. alienation, if you will.

but now, with those fears and reservations gone, with her problems suddenly completely different, more along the lines of being physically alone. and now she knows what isolation feels like.

and although both can be described as its own version of loneliness, she’s spent her life dealing with alienation. but she was incredibly unprepared for isolation. usually with little emma by her side, or her mum or dad puttering around the house. she always assumed she’d love the silence of being totally alone. and well, now, she’s discovered that complete silence is mind numbing. she has too much time to fall into a deep spiral of thoughts.

which is right where she is tonight. it’s late. like late, late. it’s been dark for a long time now, her bum getting a bit numb on the hard wooden bench. looking up at the stars, thinking of how much she misses her honey bee. how much emma would love france.

but her thoughts are momentarily disturbed by the unnerving feeling that she’s being watched, the tiny hairs raising on the back of her neck. she chances a quick glance behind her, eyes met with nothing but the darkness of night, even darker under the cover of the tall trees.

she sighs, turning back around, shaking her head, gaze falling on the moon again. that is, until she hears a rustling sound, her body going rigid in fear, hearing the faint sound of a large inhale and a satisfied puff of breath.

“hello ?” she asks quietly, with as much confidence as she can muster. but she’s met with complete silence. nothing but the crickets to echo through the open field.

with her body still on high alert, little hairs standing on themselves, goosebumps erupted all over her skin, she decides that maybe this isn’t the best spot to spend the rest of her night.

her thoughts are confirmed when the breeze picks up just slightly, an eerie nip to the air, and a quick swoosh floating by her, making her skin crawl. without a second thought, she heads off, picking one of the paths at random, and walking down it.

she isn’t sure how far she’s walked, or how long. the major downside to not having access to any sort of clock, and relying solely on the sun and the moon. her attention is piqued though, as she notes a large array of tents and train cars, seemingly abandoned, in the middle of an open field. she also spots a small town in the distance, but is much too preoccupied by her discovery to really care.

she’s learned that no matter where you are, the town is fairly the same. homes and cobble roads, all converging down towards a town centre. businesses of every kind lining the outskirts, church standing tall and proud right in the middle.

this, however. an abandoned cluster of circus like tents and box cars. well, now, this she hadn’t ever seen. and she’s ecstatic.

could she have stumbled upon a place for herself to call home ? at least having some sort of roof over her head would bring a certain level of comfort. especially from the cooler nights and rainy days.

the closer she makes it though, she notices that it may not be quite as abandoned as she had assumed. and although she hasn’t spotted anyone per say, she does read over the poster that’s been tacked onto a post, at what she can only assume is the entranceway to whatever this was.

upon further investigation, and if she wracks her brain enough to figure out what day it is, this is for an event happening tonight. but what really catches her attention, is the large print, boasting the presence of an invisible man. because, how can anyone see him if he’s invisible ? and how on earth have they made an entire show about something you can’t see ?

but then, the word “freaks” also catches her attention, and well, she’s a freak isn’t she ? in her own way. a misfit, someone that’s nowhere near the norm. and so maybe, just maybe, she’ll wander back here tonight. see what the show is all about. what the people are all about. and most importantly, if maybe she can stowaway on this traveling event. she’s a freak, herself, isn’t she ? maybe she could blend right in.

waiting until the sun falls, she trudges her way back to that clearing, the scene in front of her much different than when she left it.

not a shred of evidence that this place once looked abandoned, as it’s now a hopping spot, people mingling about inside, a lineup outside waiting to pay the entrance fee. the tents and train cars now all lit up, each in different colours, casting the most rainbow like glow she’s ever been privy to.

from afar, it’s absolutely breathtaking. and the closer she ends up, the more in awe she becomes. she assumes the entire town is here, can’t imagine anyone ignoring the beautifully bright, multicoloured glow coming from the clearing.

she keeps to the outskirts, wandering around slowly, trying to find a spot for herself to sneak into. having been on the run, she has no means of legally purchasing anything. and luckily enough for her, she’s become fairly skilled at the art of pilfering, and breaking in.

and as awful as she feels every time she’s forced to resort back to her criminal ways, she’s always been reasonable. only taking the food she needs, not letting a bit go to waste. she’s not in the habit of stealing to ruin other peoples lives. it’s more along the lines of keeping herself alive.

although it doesn’t necessarily make it better, she hopes god can forgive her. hopes that her true good nature shines through, no matter what. and so she finds a spot, behind one of the tents to slither her way in, joining the crowd as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

with all of the action surrounding her, her eyes aren’t sure where to land. there were so many different places to go, each of them lit up in their own hue, with big words on top of each doorway. “oracle,” “bearded lady,” “games - test your luck,” “conjoined twins,” “beauty of burlesque,” and so on.

and well, for once, she’s attending an event without her parents. without people to force her to follow, or to force her to leave before she’s ready. so she takes full advantage. deciding to go into every tent, she doesn’t want to miss a thing. it was the most excitement she’s had in a long time.

a warm smile gracing her lips, eyes sparkling, she works her way through the loop of units, having the opportunity to see not only the tallest man, but then the shortest lady right next to him. completely awestruck by the sheer size difference, her gaze flicks from one to the other.

she hears the whispers around her, the way these people are talked about as if they were animals at the zoo. and for what ? because of their size ? she never thought she’d have much to sympathize about with the tallest man, but here she is. and being the sweet girl that she is, she sends them both a wave, and a friendly smile, before continuing on.

she ends up seeing all sorts of people, all of which were labeled as some sort of freak of nature, or so she keeps hearing from the towns people. it makes her heart crack with every whisper that gets carried to her ears. these people have done nothing wrong. they were born, and their bodies did something different. she can almost bet that they’re all much more kind and sympathetic than any of these “normal” people walking about, paying good money to gawk at humans that were most likely shunned for the same general reason as her.

as she wanders more and more, noting that people are starting to gather around the large tent in the centre, making her way there as well, wondering what the commotion could possibly be, she starts to think about god again.

she can’t possibly fathom that god, this being that’s supposed to judge you based on your good deeds, is quite pleased with the way the people that preach goodness, are treating humans that are just a wee bit different than they are. wasn’t jesus all about helping thy neighbour ? no matter what or who that may look like. how far we’ve seemed to come as a society.

but she wants to be adamant, she doesn’t hate god. how could she ? he brings her comfort, and peace, and love. especially in the moments she needs it most. but the older she gets, the more she starts to hate religion. none of it seems to make sense to her anymore.

on that note, her train of thought is quickly cut off once she enters the large tent, taking a seat. looking around, she notices that this is the only tent with different coloured lighting. swirls of reds and blues and pinks and oranges and greens, all lighting up the middle of the open ring in the middle of the tent. there are also an array of mirrors all around, a few photographers spread out in between.

and then, for a moment, the lights stop swirling, and all converge onto the centre of the open space, a tall man walking out.

he was gorgeous. she wasn’t sure she’s ever seen someone so downright beautiful. with chocolate coloured curls resting atop of his head, winding down just over his ears, piercing eyes, beautiful porcelain skin reflecting all of the colours in an almost shimmering glow. his clothes were extravagant, dressed in all white, surely as a way to reflect the different hues.

her jaw is slightly slacked, body buzzing, as she can’t seem to look away from him. and honestly, she doesn’t want to. she thinks that if she had to look at him for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t be missing out on much. her palms were sweaty and her heart was beating erratically, and is this what a crush is supposed to feel like ?

as his eyes flick up, looking around the crowd, gaze falling on hers, a small smirk taking over his features, she knows she’s been caught staring. she quickly snaps her mouth shut, looking away from him in sheer embarrassment.

she was nervous. didn’t want him to single her out. she’d dye of stage fright, she thinks. she’s never understood how people can stand up in front of hundreds of others, all eyes on them. it’s the most awful thing she can think of.

she chances to look back at him, thankfully his eyes wandering around again, before his arms lift, beckoning the attention of the room, everyone instantly going quiet.

“hello everybody !” and oh, he’s british too. “welcome to the greatest show. i’m harry, or as people like to call me, the invisible man,” he smiles wide, taking a twirl around the open ring.

well he’s not invisible at all, she thinks. she can very clearly see every bit of beauty, that god decided to bless him with. and for a moment, she’s never been more thankful to be looking at someone that very much isn’t invisible. that is, until her eyes fall on the mirrors behind him.

she can see the crowd, see the lights, see the different photographers. but as he moves and dances around, not a single mirror has picked up his figure.

how is he doing that ? how is the crowd reflected back in the distance, but he’s completely missing from the image in the mirror.

as his portion of the show continues on, she feels her heartbeat accelerate, her fingertips buzzing to find out more. she can’t fathom what she’s seeing, and based on the reactions around her, she isn’t the only one.

she thought she was intrigued when he came out, but she’s definitely intrigued now. even more so, when the photographers start snapping pictures, the flash blindingly bright in comparison to the coloured lights floating around the open space.

and once the photos start slipping out of the polaroid cameras, he’s not in any of them. as if this harry character wasn’t standing in front of her at all.

he rounds the ring, shaking hands with a few people, she assumes as a way to prove that he is real, and he is really there. but how can a man completely disappear ? almost as if light passes right through him. but it doesn’t, because she can see all the beautiful colours reflecting right off of him.

she hasn’t taken her eyes away from him for the entirety of the show, both in hopes that she can figure out how on earth he’s doing what he’s doing, and for her own pleasure, creating the most intricate mental image of him that she can.

as she watches him move around so gracefully, engaging with the crowd, making them laugh, making them ohh and ahh, she lets her mind wander. he really is the most gorgeous human she’s ever been blessed enough to see. and for a moment, she lets herself fantasize about what it would be like to cuddle up with him. what it would be like to be lucky enough to kiss him.

she knows it would never happen, could never happen. she’s not in the right body, and really, how could anyone love her in that way ? especially if she can’t really be the entire person they’d want in return.

but harry’s moment is coming to an end, the entire crowd standing to the feet, clapping and cheering, clearly enjoying the main attraction.

as harry’s eyes scan the audience, soaking in the moment of applause, his eyes lock on hers again, another little friendly smirk taking over his features. she quickly looks away, embarrassed to have been caught a second time. with a bout of paranoia, she swears that he can read her mind, must surely know that she’s dying of a schoolgirl crush on him. why else would he be looking at her like that ? twice no less.

but then, suddenly, all the lights go off, the entirety of the tent left in pure darkness. a sudden gasp from all the people around her. and just a moment later, they’re turned on again, harry nowhere to be seen, spectators sighing in relief, starting to flow out of the room.

as she exits the tent, the buzz around the grounds has grown exponentially, everyone ecstatically chatting about harry’s performance, trying to decipher how he does what he does.

her mind is reeling. she’s not sure what to focus on, the amazing performance she just saw, or the gorgeous man she was watching. because in both instances, she almost can’t believe her eyes.

she lets herself be stumbled around with the crowd, still making her rounds, her mind preoccupied with harry. he was such a mystery. she wanted to talk with him, wanted to spend some time with him. honestly, she finds herself gravitated towards him. a man she’s never met, she scolds herself, because really, she needs to calm down.

having no one to talk to, no excitement in her life, just slowly drifting through it all for weeks now, was probably catching up to her. maybe she was delirious. and that’s when her eyes flick to a tent, glimmering in purple light, “oracle” written over the entrance of the tent.

and well, she definitely isn’t one to ignore a sign. so she walks in, her senses invaded with purple, candles burning all around the small space, gemstones of a multitude of colours spread around, and a lovely looking young lady sitting at a table in the centre.

“hello,” she smiles, “i’m clara. clara the clairvoyant, come sit,” she hums, beckoning her over.

“clara the clairvoyant ?” she smiles, sitting in the chair opposite her.

“yeah, i know,” clara giggles, shrugging her shoulders. “to be fair, when my parents named me, they had no way of knowing what i’d become. it’s something i laugh about now. like the universe wanted to play a little joke.”

“i like that,” she laughs along with clara, enjoying the first tiny bit of cozy conversation she’d had in a long time. “i’m lady bug.”

“lady bug ?” clara hums, one eyebrow raised. “m’gonna assume that comes with a nice little story. maybe some time you’d like to share it with me,” she smiles, almost knowingly, as her hands reaching instinctively for one of her card decks, starting to shuffle the cards as they speak. “but for now, i’m assuming you’re here for me to tell you about your future ?”

“honestly, i was just toying with the question of how delirious i am,” she sighs around a laugh. “then i landed on your tent. figured it was a sign. i guess i’m here for anything. anything that feels right.”

“hmm, i like you,” clara murmurs, almost more to herself. but it makes her smiles none the less, hearing such a sweet remark. it’s been a very long time since she remembers being complimented. “alright, well, lets draw a few cards, see what happens.”

and so she watches. watches as the cards flow through clara’s hands, shuffling them so eloquently. something she’s obviously done time and time again. the wear and tear on the cards she was shuffling seemed to be a clear indicator of that as well.

as clara lays out a few cards, she hums, smiling, “you’re searching for home. you’ll be finding it sooner than you think. it doesn’t come without a price, though, does it ? you haven’t had the easiest past.”

“n-no,” she stutters quietly, “i haven’t. i’m looking fo-“

“happiness, acceptance, love,” clara cuts her off, adding a slight suggestive tone to the latter, a smirk as she makes playful eye contact with her. “you know, we’ve all been there,” she adds more seriously.

“we ?” she asks.

“all of us,” clara nods, waving her arms around. “everyone that’s a part of this show. we come from all over europe, searching for a place that would accept us, love us.”

“that’s what i need,” she whispers, hoping, praying, that this may be her way in. she liked clara. wasn’t getting any off vibes from her. and if she seemed to like this place enough to stick around, well, that’s a good sign, right ?

“are you asking to join us ?” clara asks, smiling, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“yeah,” she nods, adding with more vigour, “yes, i guess i am.” could it really be that easy ? did she just find herself a place to stay ? some company ? maybe even a friend ?

“great, well, lets go introduce you to harry,” clara quickly stands, excitement evident in her tone.

“wait. what ?” she asks, her heartbeat suddenly erratic at the mention of harry.

“oh, he kind of has to approve of you. he’s like our leader,” she explains. “not in a bad way, you don’t have to be scared. just that, well, this is his show. he’s the one that’s brought us all together. the one that’s given us a home.”

shit, she thinks to herself. well that’s that. there’s no way she’ll be allowed to join. she has nothing to offer. she must not hide her disappointment well, clara offering her a soft smile.

“really, lady bug, don’t be scared. he comes off as a bit of an asshole at first. please understand he’s very protective of everyone here,” clara coaches her, taking her hand, and leading the way to the set of train cars lining the back of the setup. “just be yourself, he’ll love you, i promise,” she smiles encouragingly, stopping in front of a specific cart, knocking on the door.

“come in.”

Part 4

……

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

tags : @daphnesutton @niallthebadboi @gorlsinmultifandoms @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @cc-horan

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles masterlist #harry styles series #harry styles x oc #harry styles x trans reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles writing #writings #justmeinatree

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