#murmurs in the august breeze

[sensitiveaangel]

working on my sophie hood in earnest again and the way the yarn is knitting up in this garter stitch is reminding me SO MUCH of glass gem corn!! both so colorful with smooth repeating bumps 🙂‍↕️

[honeyhaeya]

(🔐)🖇 ༘ ⋆"How to Date Discreetly"

' ╰┈ "the day that i met you i started dreaming"

' ' 박성훈 x fem!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Kingston (Faye Webster)

♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: idol!sunghoon x idol!reader, ice prince x reckless rookie, secret & established relationship, enemies to lovers (kinda), fluff, smut (2nd part) – MDNI, angst (minor), a pinch of comedy ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: NSFW WARNINGS ON CHAPTER 2 (no smut on this part) ! smut, slight jealousy (m), language, detailed explicit scenes, angst (minor), reader on the pill (birth control), mutual hate that’s just actually horny confusion, mild hate (online), – ugh, theyre so in love, its intoxicating ✩‧₊˚ wc: 6472 –1/2 (mini series) ੈ♡ a/n: lol this is peak delusion. dont like, dont read. also, im open for constructive critisism but fact checks or logical expected outcome are out of the picture, come on yall, this is fanfiction. also, wtf. shit, i really made this? hoon is so fucking adorable, argue with me if you disagree :p . uploading part two tomorrow 5pm kst :) part two is up and posted *^★ playlist: kingston (faye webster), lowkey (niki), august (taylor swift), soft spot (keshi), always (daniel caesar), best part (daniel caesar & h.e.r.), almost is never enough (ariana grande & nathan sykes)

dating was never hard for you.

you breezed through high school with a boyfriend for every semester, each one a lesson in love. you weren’t heartless—you did like them. maybe not enough to cry after the breakups, but enough to smile while it lasted.

you were living the easy life. pretty, popular, and always in love with something… or someone.

but all of that changed on a thursday afternoon.

you’d just turned down a free meal from your friends (and it was their treat, ugh) because your sister texted you, “buy the skincare stuff i told you about. only from that store near the station. they run out fast.”

so there you were, dodging pedestrians, phone in hand, a bit annoyed, very hungry.

you sighed, glancing at your screen for the third time—no calls, no new texts.

and then you noticed her.

a woman, maybe mid-thirties, blazer and red lipstick, standing across the sidewalk and watching you.

your brows knit instinctively. weird. you kept walking.

but then she followed.

“excuse me,” she said, heels clicking as she caught up to you.

you turned. “uh… yes?”

she smiled, like she already knew you. “sorry if this is random. i’m a manager at (-) entertainment. and… have you ever thought of becoming an idol?”

you blinked.

“me?”

“you’ve got the face. the vibe. we’re recruiting trainees right now. it’s competitive, but i think you have a real shot.”

you stared. was this real? was she legit?

she pulled out a card, glossy and gold-trimmed. it looked expensive. official.

“call this number,” she said. “auditions are still required, but… i can pull a few strings.”

and just like that, she walked away.

later that night

you sat at the dinner table, card on your lap, phone in your hand, still processing.

“what’s that?” your sister asked, peering over.

“uh… a manager gave it to me,” you muttered. “she wants me to audition. to be a trainee.”

your mom nearly dropped her spoon.

your dad blinked like he misheard.

“a what now?” he asked.

your sister grabbed the card, eyes wide. “no way. (-) entertainment? they’re huge. that’s, like, the company.”

“it’s probably fake,” you said quickly. “i mean, i haven’t even danced in public before.”

your mom smiled gently. “if it’s something you’re curious about… we’ll support you.”

“what if i’m not good enough?”

“then you’ll try. and if it’s not for you, you’ll walk away knowing you tried.”

your sister nudged your arm. “do it, loser. if you debut, i can brag about you.”

you laughed, but your heart was pounding.

a few weeks later, you stood backstage after your audition, heart thumping, palms sweaty.

the evaluator handed your file to someone behind them.

“she’s raw,” the woman murmured. “but i like her. give her the green light.”

that night, you got the call.

you were officially a trainee.

you were late.

again.

you burst into the practice room, sneakers squeaking against the floor, hair sticking to your forehead. seven other trainees glanced up—some sympathetic, some smug. the trainer didn’t even look surprised.

but he did.

sunghoon.

he was leaning against the mirror, arms crossed, black sweatpants, white shirt clinging to him like he’d already been at it for hours. perfect posture. flawless control. and the most judgmental eyes you’ve ever seen.

“this is the third time this week,” he said flatly.

you rolled your eyes, dropping your bag. “thanks for counting, mom.”

a snicker echoed from someone in the back. the trainer sighed.

“five laps. now,” she barked.

you groaned and started running.

sunghoon turned to the trainer. “i don’t know why you waste time on people who can’t take this seriously.”

you stopped mid-lap, heart racing for a new reason.

“excuse me?”

he glanced at you, cool and unbothered. “you heard me.”

“you don’t even know me.”

“i don’t have to. it’s obvious.”

you wanted to throw your shoe at him. or maybe yourself—how dare he look like that while being such an ass?

“you know, not everyone got trained with a silver spoon in their mouth,” you snapped. “some of us have to catch up.”

his jaw clenched. oh. that got to him.

“then maybe catch up quietly.”

later that week

“again!” the vocal coach yelled. “you're off tempo!”

you bit your lip, trying to hide how winded you were. sunghoon stood beside you, breathing steady, voice perfect, hair annoyingly perfect.

when the session ended, you stayed behind, muttering the chorus under your breath, trying to fix it. your body ached, throat dry.

“you’re holding your breath wrong,” he said suddenly.

you jumped. “oh my god—can you not sneak up like that?”

he leaned against the doorframe, arms folded again. why was he always doing that?

“i’m not sneaking. you’re just slow.”

“and you’re just insufferable.”

he walked over, stopped behind you.

“breathe here,” he said, lightly tapping your stomach. “not up here.” he tapped your chest.

you tensed. “if you’re going to insult me again, don’t bother.”

he sighed. not annoyed. tired. softer than you expected.

“look. i don’t think you’re bad. i just think… you’re distracted.”

you turned, suspicious. “and what would you know about me?”

he shrugged. “nothing. yet.”

your heartbeat did the most annoying little skip.

“for next week’s evaluation,” the trainer said, scribbling on the board, “you’ll be performing in pairs.”

groans. whispers. panic.

sunghoon raised his hand, calm as ever. “do we get to choose partners?”

the trainer gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“no.”

and then she said your name.

and then she said his.

dead. silence.

sunghoon’s head snapped toward you. you were already staring, wide-eyed, mouth open like someone just told you santa wasn’t real and sunghoon would be your new stepdad.

“what?” you said.

“no.” he said at the same time.

the trainer arched a brow. “you two clearly have chemistry.”

“hate-mistry,” you muttered.

“professionalism, park,” she said. “and you, too, y/n. if either of you screws this up, you’re both out of the showcase.”

that shut you up real fast.

day one of practicing together

you stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, glaring at him.

he mirrored you, looking about three seconds from snapping.

“you need to follow my lead,” he said.

“and you need to drop your ego.”

“i’ve been training for years.”

“cool, i’ve been dancing since i was five.”

“not the same.”

“let’s find out.”

music blasted through the speaker—some upbeat, sexy number that had no business making this situation worse.

and yet—you kept up. every move. every beat. matching him step for step, hips snapping, body sharp. when you spun and ended up right in front of him, close enough to feel his breath—

he blinked. stunned. just a little.

you smirked.

“not bad,” you said.

his ears went pink.

day three

you both ran the routine again. and again. until sweat dripped from your jaw and your hair clung to your temples.

the trainer clapped slowly from behind.

“didn’t expect that,” she said. “y/n—your control improved. and sunghoon, i’m glad you finally look like you're dancing with someone instead of against them.”

your lips twitched.

he side-eyed you. “don’t let it go to your head.”

you grinned. “you’re just mad i’m good.”

he didn’t respond.

later, as you wiped your face with a towel, he walked over—less guarded. still annoyingly perfect.

“you really haven’t trained before?”

you shook your head. “just picked things up. why?”

he hesitated.

“…you’re a fast learner.”

you looked up, surprised.

“and you don’t hesitate. most new trainees wait for permission to mess up.”

you blinked. “…was that a compliment?”

he smirked, turning away. “no.”

(yes.)

the music cuts. your breath is caught somewhere between your chest and throat. sunghoon’s hand is still on your waist. your head is tilted back, lips just barely parted—and his eyes are on you. unreadable.

nobody moves.

"are they dating or something?" someone whispers too loudly.

"wow?" another trainee mutters.

the trainer exhales like she just witnessed art.

“that…” she starts, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “was beyond what i asked for.”

you try to catch your breath. your body still buzzing from the adrenaline. from the dance. from him.

you don’t look at sunghoon when you mutter, “told you i wasn’t just a pretty face.”

but you feel it—how his grip on you lingers just a beat too long before he lets go.

you’re surrounded before you can even step off the floor. compliments, questions, stares—all of it buzzing in your ears.

“that was insane—”

“i didn’t even know she could dance like that.”

“how did they sync so well?”

“isn’t she new?”

you brush past it. you’re used to attention, sure. but this? this is different. this is real.

you find your way to a bench, just as someone flops down next to you.

“you’re kind of a show-off,” yeonjun says, nudging your arm.

you scoff. “jealous?”

“nah, just impressed. you looked like you were born on stage.”

you grin. “thanks.”

he pauses. “...but dancing that close to sunghoon? bold move.”

you roll your eyes. “wasn’t like i had a choice.”

across the room, sunghoon watches. sighing.

“you good?” jay asks, sipping his water bottle.

sunghoon’s averted. “he’s touching her.”

jay raises an eyebrow, finding you and a man together on a bench. “you mean yeonjun?”

“who else would i mean?”

jay blinks. “you do realize you sound like a jealous boyfriend right now?”

sunghoon scoffs. “i’m not jealous.”

“sure.”

“i’m not,” he repeats, harsher this time.

you pass by just in time to catch that last line.

you freeze. look back. sunghoon doesn’t see you.

but now you’ve seen him. and something about that look on his face—it doesn’t match the version of him you’ve built in your head.

your knee twinges wrong during a routine—small misstep, sharp sting. you hiss, stumble, fall back on the floor.

the door creaks open.

you tense—expecting a trainer or staff. instead, it’s sunghoon. of course it’s sunghoon.

“what the hell are you doing here alone?” he asks, stepping in.

you glare. “i could ask you the same thing.”

he walks over anyway. crouches beside you. “you could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“i didn’t,” you mutter, but the way you’re holding your leg says otherwise.

without another word, he grabs the first aid kit from the wall. wraps your knee like he’s done it a hundred times before.

you watch him. confused. curious. quiet.

“…you really care about this, huh?” he says eventually, not looking at you.

“about what?”

“training. performing. dancing.”

you shrug. “is that surprising?”

“a little.”

“why? because i don’t break my back trying to look perfect in front of the trainers?”

“because you make it look easy.”

you pause. “it’s not. i just don’t let anyone see when it’s hard.”

that makes him glance at you. just for a second. then—

“…you’re good, you know.”

you blink. “what?”

“you’re good. at this. i just didn’t want to admit it before.”

you laugh, breathless. “was that… a compliment?”

he stands up, tossing the bandage wrapper in the bin.

“don’t get used to it,” he mutters.

but he doesn’t leave.

and neither do you.

sunghoon was irritated. no—scratch that. he was pissed.

you were laughing at something yeonjun said, all wide-eyed and glossy-lipped, head tilted back like he just told the funniest joke in existence. maybe he did. maybe he didn’t. either way, hoon didn’t like the view from across the room.

he wasn’t sure what ticked him off more—the way your fingers brushed yeonjun’s arm, or the way yeonjun let them.

“you good?” jay asked beside him, noticing the stiff jaw, the tight grip on his water bottle.

“fine.”

a lie.

jay wasn’t stupid.

“you’ve got a weird definition of fine if it includes staring daggers at yeonjun’s face.”

sunghoon didn’t respond. just looked away. jay chuckled.

“she’s cute, huh.”

hoon scoffed. “please. she’s a walking red flag.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. too bold. too flirty. i don’t get how she always gets praise like that.”

jay grinned knowingly. “you mean, praise like she danced better than you yesterday?”

sunghoon gave him a flat look. jay laughed again. “man, just admit it. you like her.”

what he didn’t know was that you were behind the door, holding your breath. oh, you heard that. every word.

so the next day? you stepped on the gas.

“sunghoon,” you greeted, your voice all sugar and sin. “nice to see you glaring at me from across the room again. missed my face that much?”

his eyes narrowed. “you wish.”

“oh, i know you do,” you said with a smirk, stepping just a little too close. “you get jealous so easily. it’s kinda cute.”

“you’re delusional.”

“mm, maybe. but i’m also winning this little game we have.”

“what game?”

“oh, so you do admit we’re playing one.”

he didn’t answer. you leaned in, lips near his ear.

“catch up, sunghoon. or i’ll flirt with someone else again.”

the hallway was dark except for the faint glow bleeding under one door.

you already knew it was him.

you hesitated, then knocked—lightly, like a whisper.

inside, the music wasn’t playing. just silence. and when you opened the door and peeked in, you found him sitting with his back against the mirror, sweat-drenched shirt clinging to his skin, eyes heavy like they hadn’t rested in days.

he looked up. tired. annoyed, maybe.

“what do you want?”

you raised a brow. “aw, you missed me that much?”

he didn’t laugh. just huffed, dropping his head back against the mirror.

you walked in anyway.

“heard your team’s debut’s getting real close,” you said, plopping down next to him on the floor, knees brushing. “congrats.”

he didn’t respond.

you looked at him sideways, voice gentler now. “you okay?”

he nodded, but his fingers were twitchy—fiddling with his rings, bouncing his knee. anxious.

“you don’t look okay.”

he let out a breath. it shook a little.

you leaned forward, peeking at his face. “when was the last time you even slept?”

“don’t remember.”

you reached into your bag and tossed him a mini water bottle. “hydrate, superstar.”

he caught it, glanced at you. “why are you even here?”

you shrugged. “i could say i was worried. or that i heard music earlier and came to see what you were working on.”

you paused. “but honestly? you looked like a kicked puppy lately. i thought i’d put you out of your misery.”

he snorted. actually snorted.

progress.

you beamed. “there it is! that cute little laugh.”

“wasn’t a laugh.”

“was a laugh,” you said firmly. “i have excellent ears. dancer ears. and that? that was a giggle.”

he shook his head, hiding the smile pulling at his lips.

you fell quiet for a bit. then, in a softer voice:

“must be scary. having everything come at you at once. pressure. cameras. fans. and barely anyone who really knows what you’re going through.”

his jaw tensed.

you leaned your head back, mirroring him.

“i think about it sometimes. how that might be me in a year or two. training ‘til i drop. debuting and... still feeling alone.”

you glanced at him. “but hey. at least you’re not alone right now, right?”

sunghoon turned to you.

your face was relaxed. you weren’t being kind out of pity. this wasn’t charity. it was just... you.

for a second, he forgot about everything else.

“you’re really annoying, you know,” he mumbled.

“and yet you look like you’d die without me.”

he looked away, but not before you saw the smile he tried to hide again.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the hallway was loud again. busy. debut-season chaos in full swing. managers barking schedules, stylists dragging suitcases, trainees practicing lines and formations in every corner.

you stood off to the side, sipping banana milk like you were just background noise.

“look alive, rookie,” someone called, nearly bumping into you.

you gave a lazy salute. “yes sir.”

just another day of not being noticed.

sunghoon passed by with his group—a cluster of stylists, staff, and busy energy. he didn’t look your way.

not that you cared.

but you didn't see the way he glanced back at you.

“people come and go,” you muttered, raising your banana milk like a toast. “that’s showbiz, baby.”

and then you tripped on a suitcase a stylist must've left there, you didn't see or too distracted to notice.

the banana milk went flying. your knees nearly kissed the floor. and when you looked up—sunghoon was right there.

of course he was.

he blinked down at you, eyebrows raised, and said nothing.

you, sprawled like a tragic mop, just smiled. “hi.”

he blinked, eyebrows raised. “you good?”

you held up the now half-empty drink. “well, the banana milk isn't.”

he bit back a smile. “that’s your third time tripping in front of me this month.”

you raised a brow. “you count my embarrassments now?”

“it's starting to feel intentional.”

you got up, brushing yourself off. “please, if i were trying to get your attention, i’d go bigger. maybe a cartwheel. or a dramatic monologue.”

“the floor dive was convincing.”

you smiled. “i like to keep it original.” then, a little quieter, “you’ve been busy lately.”

his smile faltered just slightly.

you waved it off. “no, seriously. you’ve got fans and press and a glam team. i’ve got... banana milk.”

“sounds like a solid support system.”

you laughed, but your smile faded when he glanced down the hall. his team was already moving.

“you should go,” you said. “hair and makeup’s waiting.”

he hesitated. “you sure?”

you nodded. “go be famous.”

he looked at you like he wanted to say more. but then he just nodded, and walked away.

you watched him leave. then looked down at your shoe.

still sticky.

“tragic,” you whispered.

a few days later

the vending machine blinked angrily at the girl in front of it.

the girl—probably thirteen, maybe fourteen—had her tiny fists clenched and was glaring up at the machine like it had insulted her ancestors.

you crouched beside her, trying not to laugh. “did the evil robot eat your money again?”

“yes!” she huffed. “i pressed the peach drink but it gave me black coffee! that’s not even close!”

you gasped, clutching your chest. “that’s betrayal. you’ve just been betrayed.”

“i don’t even like coffee! It tastes like burnt sadness!”

you dramatically nodded. “we must avenge you.”

she grinned. “you think I can sue?”

“only if you’ve got a lawyer. or at least a really angry eonni (older sister) .”

she tilted her head. “you’ll do.”

at that moment, you kicked the machine gently (totally just a little tap, you’re not trying to go viral for violence). and... silence. the drink didn't fall. awkward.

the little girl snorted, holding her laugh with all her might.

you smiled, laughing under your breath and kicking the vending machine again, a little love tap and—miraculously—the peach drink clunked down into the bin.

both of you screamed.

“victory!!” “you’re a vending machine master!”

you laughed. “told you i can save you.”

a low chuckle behind you made you freeze.

you turned, slow-motion style, to see sunghoon standing there with a water bottle. heeseung stood beside him, sweaty from practice and grinning.

heeseung gave a thumbs-up. “iconic vending machine diplomacy.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “burnt sadness, huh?”

you stood up straight. “i—she didn’t mean—”

“she meant it,” the girl said proudly, sipping her drink. “she says it tastes like regret in a cup.”

you stared at her, betrayed. “you were supposed to have my back.”

sunghoon laughed. like, really laughed. the kind that made your stomach twist a little.

“didn’t know you were mentoring now.”

you shrugged. “somebody’s gotta fight for the little ones. didn't know you were keeping tabs on me now.”

heeseung grabbed his drink, still chuckling. “i’m hanging out here more often.”

sunghoon lingered, eyes still on you. “you’re good with kids.”

you blinked. “oh.”

he smiled, soft and small, before heading off. “try not to start a vending machine riot next time.”

you stood there, stuck.

the girl tugged your sleeve. “...you like him, huh?”

you looked down at her. “no idea what you’re talking about.”

she narrowed her eyes. “peach tea never lies.”

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

“i feel like i keep seeing her everywhere lately,” sunghoon said later, on their way back to the practice room.

heeseung gave him a look. “more like you keep noticing her.”

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. just stared ahead, thoughtful.

heeseung nudged him. “you’re smiling, dude.”

sunghoon wiped the smile off his face immediately. “no, i’m not.”

“you’re so obvious.”

he didn’t say anything for a while.

but later, he’d find himself glancing down hallways a little more. wondering if banana milk girl would be there.

just... wondering.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

you hadn’t cried in weeks. not since training got serious.

but tonight? the moment the studio door clicked shut behind you, the tears came.

your hands were sore. your voice was gone. and no matter how hard you trained, you still felt behind—like everyone else had a head start and you were just catching up, slipping on a treadmill that wouldn't stop.

the mirror felt cruel. it always did when you weren’t at your best.

and then—

a knock. soft, careful.

you wiped your face fast, spinning around like nothing happened. “practice room’s full. try the one on the second floor.”

“already did.”

your breath hitched.

sunghoon stood in the doorway, hoodie pulled over his head, cap low. casual. unbothered. he should be prepping for stage performances, meetings, shoots—life after debut.

but he was here.

you blinked. “aren’t you like, super busy?”

he shrugged, stepping in. “don’t tell my manager.”

you let out a small laugh. it cracked.

he sat beside you like he belonged there. like no time had passed.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he said softly.

“i’ve been busy.”

“so have i.”

you didn’t say anything.

he nudged you. “talk to me.”

you bit your cheek. “what’s there to talk about?”

he looked at you, really looked at you.

“you’re scared.”

you looked away. “i’m not.”

“you are.” he reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered just a second longer. “i was too.”

you met his eyes. they weren’t teasing or smug. just... warm.

“hoon, i’m the last trainee to enter and they expect me to keep up with girls who’ve been doing this for years. i feel like i’m constantly proving that i deserve to be here.”

“you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“except everyone.”

he took your hand—held it. his thumb brushed yours like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

“you think i didn’t feel the same before i debuted?” he asked, voice hushed. “you think i don’t still feel like that sometimes? like i’m faking it, or like i’m not enough?”

you stared at him.

“you’re more than enough,” he said. “you were the only one who saw me before all this. let me be that for you now.”

and just like that, the tears were back. but you didn’t hide this time.

you leaned into him. he let you. his arms came around you like a shield, like home, like this was always meant to happen.

“this doesn’t mean i’m falling for you or anything,” you mumbled into his chest.

he smiled against your hair. “sure. and i’m not hopelessly in love with you either.” it was a lie.

ONE MONTH LATER

your body ached. your shirt clung to your back. the playlist on the studio speakers had looped for the third time now, but you weren’t done yet. not even close.

you wiped sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, hair tied up haphazardly like your last brain cell had done it for you. two turns, down, pop—reset. again.

then the studio door opened.

you blinked, already preparing to snap at whoever thought now was a great time to interrupt—only to freeze.

sunghoon.

cap on. mask half-down. that dumb post-debut glow still clinging to him like glitter. he looked like a k-drama lead showing up in your lowest moment with no right to be that good-looking.

you squinted. “are you... lost?”

he didn’t smile.

he stepped in, quiet. closed the door behind him. took a breath.

“go on,” you said, gesturing vaguely at your unfinished choreo. “you came to judge my pirouettes or what?”

he scratched the back of his neck. “actually…”

pause.

“i wanted to ask you something.”

you raised a brow, waiting. arms crossed. heart racing.

“do you...” he hesitated, then stepped closer. “wanna go out with me?”

you blinked.

was he out of his damn mind?

you looked down at yourself. hair in chaos. sweat-drenched shirt. left sock halfway sliding off. “like... right now?”

he laughed softly, but there was a nervous tremble to it. “no. i mean... soon. when you’re free. like, a real date. just us.”

you stared at him. the air felt too quiet.

he looked serious. almost nervous. not like the usual sarcastic, biting sunghoon who annoyed you daily—this was the one who held your hand when no one else was looking. the one who showed up when you were breaking.

you let out a long sigh, walking past him to grab your water bottle. you took a sip. gave him a look.

“sunghoon,” you said flatly, “you realize i’m one month away from possibly debuting through a televised hunger game for trainees, right?”

he gave you a sheepish smile. “yeah.”

“and you’re busy being an idol or whatever.”

“also yeah.”

you raised an eyebrow. “then why now?”

he didn’t flinch. “because I like you.”

…

you stared at him. like, really stared. and god—he was really standing there. asking you out while you looked like a dehydrated noodle. and it should’ve been dumb. it should’ve been ill-timed.

but he meant it. that was the stupid part.

you sighed again, dramatic. wiped your face.

then, you looked up at him with a small smirk.

“fine,” you said, shrugging. “one date.”

his eyes lit up.

“but if it sucks, I’m ghosting you.”

“deal.”

you narrowed your eyes. “and you’re paying.”

“always.”

“and no kissing—unless I say so.”

he grinned. “so you will say so.”

“shut up,” you muttered, tossing your towel at him—and missing.

ONE WEEK LATER

first secret date

you almost laughed when you saw him.

cap pulled down low. hoodie up. mask on. sunglasses too. like he was about to rob the convenience store instead of take you on a date.

he looked left, then right. then spotted you.

and you—well.

you were in simple jeans, a tucked white tee, lowkey makeup, and your hair done just enough to look effortlessly good. no flash. no glam. just enough to look soft and gorgeously dangerous.

sunghoon blinked under his cap. “wow.”

you tilted your head. “wow?”

“i thought we said casual.”

you smirked. “i am casual.”

he blinked again. “casual doesn’t usually knock the air outta someone’s lungs.”

you bit your lip to hide the smile. “then breathe better.”

he laughed under his mask, tugging it down slightly as you both started walking. he had chosen a small side street near the han river, early evening, sun soft in the sky. not too crowded. not too exposed.

it wasn’t fancy. no candlelit tables. no bouquets. just two kids sneaking time together between a debut and a dream.

and somehow, it was perfect.

“are you really allowed out?” you asked, nudging him. “i don’t wanna be the reason you get exiled from your group.”

he scoffed. “i’ve snuck out for worse.”

you squinted. “like what?”

“like ramen.”

you cackled. “you’re risking your career for cup noodles?”

“if they’re spicy enough, yeah.”

you rolled your eyes, but your hand brushed against his as you walked. he noticed. he didn’t say anything—but he didn’t move it away either.

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

later, on a park bench near the river

you sat next to him, knees barely touching. the sun had dipped lower now, painting the water gold.

he was quiet.

so were you.

until—

“you know,” he said, “i wasn’t sure this would work.”

you looked at him.

“i’m busy. you’re about to be busier. and all the pressure—fans, survival shows, cameras…” he exhaled. “we’re barely even normal people anymore.”

you nodded slowly, biting your lip. “so… why’d you ask me out then?”

he looked at you.

“because even when I’m not sure about anything else… I’m sure about you.”

you blinked.

okay. rude.

he was not allowed to drop lines like that while you were emotionally vulnerable, sweaty from practice last night, and wearing your second best sneakers.

you tried to play it off, heart punching your ribs. “you’ve been practicing that in the mirror, huh?”

he grinned. “nah. you’re just that inspiring.”

you stared at him, lips twitching.

then, casually, you reached over and hooked your pinky with his.

that was it.

that was all.

he squeezed gently.

after the date — back at the dorms

you got a text. just as you slipped into the trainee dorm’s hallway.

sunghoon: home safe? you: just got in. you? sunghoon: still outside. walking around like a loser who just got his crush to say yes you: you are a loser. but like. a cute one i guess sunghoon: say that again i’ll screenshot it you: goodnight, hoonie sunghoon: night, pretty girl.

you stared at the screen, face flushed.

then threw your pillow at the bed and let out a scream into your blanket.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

you barely made it through the last eight-count. your legs were jelly, your ponytail was falling apart, and your throat was screaming for water—but more than anything, your brain was fried. you didn’t even notice someone step into the practice room until you heard a low, familiar voice.

“psst. trainee of the year.”

you turned, and there he was.

sunghoon.

with a hoodie pulled up and a mischievous glint in his eye… holding a snack-sized bag of chips and a chocolate bar like they were illegal contraband.

you blinked. “hoon—what are you doing here?!”

he smirked. “looking out for someone who forgot how to rest.”

“i’m on a diet,” you whispered, eyeing the chocolate like it was your long-lost lover.

he stepped closer. “then pretend i didn’t bring snacks. just come with me for five minutes.”

you followed him to the vending machine hallway—dead center between the boys’ and girls’ dorm floors. no cctv. no trainers.

just buzzing machines, flickering fluorescent light, and the sound of your heart thudding louder than it should.

he leaned against the wall, opening the chocolate and breaking off a square.

you stared at it.

“i said i’m on a diet.”

“i said i don’t care.” he offered it again.

you took it. obviously.

a beat of silence passed. then another. you sighed.

“i’ve never dated someone in secret before,” you mumbled, fingers fiddling with the wrapper. “do you think it’ll work out?”

sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

“I’m actually an expert in secrets…” he said, tone suddenly lower, softer.

he leaned in, closing the already-small space between you.

“...especially dating.”

your breath hitched.

he was close—too close—his scent all cozy detergent and warm skin, his lips ghosting a little too close to your cheek.

“i’ll teach you how.”

you were in the middle of laughing—like, full-on cracking up with the other trainees in the dance room. someone made a joke about one of the trainers being secretly in love with their reflection, and you had tears in your eyes.

you didn’t even realize your phone buzzed until you were finally alone, tying your hair up again, everyone else already off to shower or sleep.

sunghoon: u free? sunghoon: dance room. come before i fall asleep on the floor.

you stared. then blinked. then immediately bolted.

the second you opened the door to his group’s practice room, you saw him sitting there on the floor, back against the mirror, head tilted up like he’d been waiting hours.

he looked up.

“hey.”

just that one word and you were melting. it’s been weeks. actual weeks. and yet, there he was—same hoodie, same tired smile, same boy who made you forget how to breathe.

you walked in slowly. “so you miss me, huh?”

he scoffed, but the smile said it all.

“i’m not gonna lie. i might’ve forgotten what you looked like.”

“rude.”

“well, i remember now.” his eyes swept over you.

you rolled your eyes, trying not to combust.

you sat next to him, shoulders barely touching, and it was quiet for a second. not awkward. just… warm.

“you’ve been working hard,” you said quietly.

“you too,” he murmured. “i see it in the practice logs.”

you raised a brow. “you stalk me?”

he smirked. “maybe.”

he stood up a little while later, stretched, then turned to you again.

“come here.”

“why?”

“just—” he waved you over.

you got up, brushing imaginary dust off your sweatpants. “if you prank me, i swear—”

“i’m not. just come.”

he walked backward, tugging you gently by the wrist until you both slipped behind the tall mirror divider that split the practice room—probably put there for storage or stage simulation. barely any light. no one would check there.

you opened your mouth to ask what is this, but he was already leaning in.

and then—

footsteps.

two voices. familiar.

heeseung. jake.

you froze. sunghoon cursed under his breath, then pulled you closer—closer—until your back hit the mirror and his body shielded you completely.

your heart did a full somersault.

“shhh,” he whispered, breath fanning across your ear. “they’re just grabbing their stuff.”

heeseung’s voice echoed faintly. “you think sunghoon left already?”

“probably. dude’s always staying too long.”

you held your breath, heartbeat racing. he was so close. his hands rested on either side of your head, and he kept glancing down at you like he might actually—

once the door shut and the voices faded, silence fell.

you stared at him.

he stared right back.

then he grinned.

“i wasn’t gonna kiss you, you know.”

“…right.”

“…but now i kind of want to.”

you raised a brow. “you sure about that? we haven’t even had a second date.”

“so?” he whispered, leaning in again. “we’re behind a mirror. does it count?”

you were this close to shoving him playfully, but your breath hitched when he tilted his head just enough.

his lips brushed yours.

soft. tentative.

dangerous.

but then you kissed him back.

just once. quick. stupid. electric.

you pulled away with a shaky breath. “you’re so annoying.”

“you like it.”

“i hate it.”

he grinned. “i’ll teach you how.”

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the call started with you lying flat on your bed, hair down, face fresh from a shower, hoodie oversized and barely clinging to one shoulder.

“you look tired,” you mumbled, frowning into the screen.

sunghoon was on his dorm bed too, hair pushed back with a headband, cheeks still flushed from rehearsal. “you look pretty.”

you blinked. “that’s not the point—”

“but it’s true,” he said, smiling. “also. i am tired. i miss you.”

you flopped your head dramatically against your pillow. “ugh, i miss you too. stupid idol schedules.”

he laughed. then sighed. then just stared at you for a second longer than necessary.

the silence was comfortable. until your phone buzzed.

you glanced at the notification. trainee gc.

someone: you looked cool in practice today someone else: your form’s improved a lot lately and then: wanna hangout sometime? just chill, talk about training n stuff?

sunghoon raised a brow. “who’s that?”

you snorted, a little too amused. “hm? just the group chat.”

“your phone’s lighting up a lot,” he said, too casually.

you tilted your screen to the side, showing the flood of not-so-subtle messages.

sunghoon squinted. “that guy. the one who complimented your jumps last time. he’s the one who sent the hangout thing, right?”

you blinked slowly. “hoon. are you jealous?”

“no,” he lied, immediately, like a liar.

“you so are.”

“i’m not,” he repeated, suddenly invested in adjusting the blanket on his lap.

you smirked. “you’re sulking.”

he didn’t respond.

“hoon~”

“i’m just saying,” he said, voice all pouty now, “he doesn’t even stretch properly before practice. what does he know.”

you wheezed.

“oh my god.”

“i’m just—i’m just watching out for you, okay?” he said, flustered, biting his lip. “i don’t like how they act around you.”

you rolled onto your back, giggling into your sleeve.

“you’re adorable.”

“no, i’m serious,” he grumbled. “i can’t even talk to you in public, but they’re out here throwing compliments like confetti.”

you peeked at the screen again. his lips were pursed. eyes narrowed. sulk level: maximum.

you reached out like you could actually pinch his cheek through the screen.

“you know you’re the only one i want to hear compliments from, right?”

his gaze softened.

“...really?”

“really,” you said, smiling. “but also, you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous. not gonna lie.”

he hid his face in his hoodie.

“stop.”

“never.”

you grinned.

“hoooon,” you whined through the screen, “can’t you just teleport here? like now? please? i’ll pay.”

he snorted. “what with? ramen and protein bars?”

“yes.”

he smiled, soft and lazy, eyes crinkling. “i wish i could.”

“me too.”

your voice had dropped, just a little. tired. yearning. and his fingers twitched like he wished he could reach through the screen and pull you into his chest.

but then—

“hyung! dinner’s ready!”

jungwon’s voice, right outside his door.

sunghoon groaned, rolling onto his side with a quiet, “just five more minutes!”

“are you still on call with y/n?” jungwon asked, then cracked the door open like he already knew the answer.

sunghoon quickly angled the phone to his chest, like a whole dad caught texting his crush in middle school.

but jungwon just leaned in and waved toward the screen. “hi, y/n!”

“oh my god,” you said, hiding your face with a hand, laughing. “hi wonnie.”

then sunoo appeared in the hallway too, leaning over jungwon’s shoulder. “tell her i say hi too!”

“i did already!” jungwon argued.

niki popped in last, chewing on something. “you’re not slick, hyung. we all know you’ve been heart-eyes emoji for like, three months now.”

sunghoon nearly died on the spot.

“get out,” he hissed.

“we’re going,” sunoo grinned. “but don’t kiss through the screen or anything. the wi-fi’s lagging.”

and they vanished.

you wheezed. “your roommates are literally chaos.”

“they’re menaces.”

“but cute menaces.”

“fine,” he mumbled, trying not to smile again. “but i’m the cutest, right?”

“you’re the cutest and the hottest.”

“and you’re the reason my heart’s doing cardio without moving.”

you blinked. “that was so cheesy.”

“i know,” he grinned.

a few nights later – secret car hangout edition

he picked you up in a manager’s car, hoodie low, cap on, mask covering most of his face. when you slid into the front seat, your eyes met and for a second neither of you said anything.

then you both burst into giggles like schoolkids sneaking out past curfew.

“you’re insane,” you whispered, shutting the door.

“you’re prettier in person,” he whispered back.

“you’re biased.”

“i’m in love.”

you froze. blinked. stared at him.

he blinked back, wide-eyed. “i mean—i—i said that out loud, didn’t i.”

you bit your lip, suddenly warm.

“yeah,” you said. “but… same.”

his hand reached for yours between the seats. fingers laced. thumbs brushing.

you two just sat there for a while. soft music playing. headlights passing. the world rushing around you, but in here, time stilled.

“you’re leaving again tomorrow?” you asked.

he nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “fanmeet. then music show. then filming.”

“you’re everywhere.”

“except here,” he murmured. “with you.”

your heart tugged.

“then make the most of tonight.”

he turned to look at you.

eyes locked.

“yeah?” he whispered.

you nodded.

then you climbed over the center console like it was nothing, and next thing you knew, you were on his lap, hoodie and all, faces close, lips brushing. giggling quietly, almost getting caught when a van drove past and made the headlights flash inside.

you kissed like the world didn’t know.

you laughed like no one could hear.

and when he pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, breath warm, he whispered—

“i’ll teach you how.”

then just like that, you two were back to kissing. he kept a hand on your chin to angle your head in the perfect position. his tongue slipping in your lips, tasting you like he'll never get a chance to again.

and that's when you two made out recklessly in the car, breath heavy, and in love.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the survival show started before either of you could even process it.

you were waking up at 5 a.m., rehearsing until midnight, crash-napping in dance studios, living off energy drinks and willpower.

sunghoon was across the world—london, tokyo, la, award shows, en-oclock, fanmeets, and endless nights of soundchecks.

the phone calls slowed.

the messages became one-word replies.

then one-sided.

then nothing.

but not because you stopped caring.

it was just life.

it was debut season.

dreams were happening in real time.

you both were flying so fast that you didn’t even realize you were flying past each other.

months later

you were back. not just in seoul, not just in the same time zone—but here.

and you were debuting.

you made it into the final group.

four girls. you were the visual, the ace, the one people couldn’t stop looking at.

and the moment you saw his name pop up on your schedule—same venue, different floors—you knew.

you had to see him.

so you did.

your steps were slow but steady. nerves in your chest like fireworks waiting to go off.

he looked up when you entered the hallway. paused.

you smiled.

his mouth parted. just a little.

then you ran—fast, too fast—and wrapped your arms around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear again.

his arms came around you instantly. like muscle memory. like home.

“i made it,” you whispered into his chest, voice trembling.

he didn’t say anything at first. just held you tighter.

then—

“i know,” he said quietly.

you blinked up at him.

and he smiled, eyes a little glassy, cheeks a little pink. “i saw every performance.”

you laughed through your tears. “you did?”

“mhm.” he nodded. “even the boot camp episode. and your level test. and the one where you cried after your vocals cracked—”

“shut up.”

“i cried too.”

“shut up.”

“i saved the fancam.”

you slapped his shoulder, but your grin couldn’t be wiped off.

“and i saw yours,” you whispered, pressing your palm to his chest like you could feel all the places he grew while you were away. “every award. every encore. every fancam. you were so… amazing.”

“you too,” he murmured. “we both made it.”

and for a second, it didn’t matter that the world was watching.

that you had bodyguards and managers and contracts now.

that there were rules and rumors and cameras always watching.

because right here, in this small hallway of a massive building—

it was just the two of you again.

“missed you,” you said.

“teach me how to get over you,” he whispered.

and you shook your head.

“no,” you whispered back. “i’ll teach you how to keep me.”

a/n: posting part 2 tomorrow 5pm kst ! if you want to be tagged, please reblog so you can be added (that would help me much too hh). i already have a reserved taglist, so if you want to register, just click my forms :>> loveyallsosomuchh

chapter 2 is posted !

<to read next chapter tap the underlined>

taglist: @kpoplover-19 @kpoppiesofinternet

[realmsb4rbie]

summertime sadness.

pairings ; jj maybank x female reader

warnings ; angst , cursing , i don't know exact dates of his death so i made it up , mentions of using weed , dying.

[ 07/06/20 ]

"can you not press the camera to my face, please?" jj mumbled, a lazy smile on his face even though he was trying to be serious. you only chuckled, capturing his sweet, relaxed and handsome features in your retro camera.

"you're makin' me regret that i got you that, sweetheart." he added, but you only pushed his blonde hair away, smiling. "get up sleepyhead." you murmured.

"no." he turned his head away from the camera. you shaked your head at his antics, sitting on his back and recording his face from the other side. "jesus," he chuckled.

you laughed softly, laying on his back and turning the camera so that it can film both of you, your cheek pressed to jj's head. he looked like he was smashed under you, altough your weight bringed nothing but comfort to him.

"you're gonna be a pain in my ass with that thing, i get it." he joked.

[ 15/07/21 ]

"you guys see that stupid blonde over there? yeah, that's my man." you mumbled to camera with a grin, filming jj doing stupid stuff on his surfboard, laughing and being the annoying yet fun self he is.

your boyfriend had this effect where all of the pogues acted like they were annoyed by his antics, but couldn't live without him anyways. especially you, you were his favorite person, he annoyed you more than anyone, yet you wouldn't be able to live if he didn't do it one day.

"y/n!" he yelled, making the whole beach hear. you didn't mind, dating jj meant you slowly lose the feeling of being shy. you zoomed camera, watching his smiling face more close now, waving at you.

you waved back behind the camera. "this is for you!" he yelled, doing a backflip on the surfboard, getting in the water.

"yeah, that's mine." you whispered, giggling.

[ 01/08/21 ]

"not that again," he groaned softly, smiling as you pulled out the camera to record the sweet moment you both had.

it was a lazy august morning, where jj crashed over at your place because he couldn't stay away from you too long, and you both woke up together. he was all cuddled up on you, the fan in your room creating a small breeze so that you guys could at least get some air in the boring warmth.

"you got this cam for me to film us, j." you giggled, playing with his hair as you recorded both of you from up, showing your smile and his body layed on you.

"yeah but i didn't thought you'd do this often." he chuckled, looking at the camera and squinting his face in mock disgust. you pinched his cheek, smiling.

"well, you often make me wanna remember our moments forever." you murmured, and he melted.

[ 13/08/21 ]

"we're high as fuck," jj chuckled when you opened your camera to record you guys getting wasted in twinkie, just the two of you, in the quiet night.

"i can't even open my eyes properly," you laughed and he joined you, resting his head on your shoulder. "you managed to open the record, that's good." he said.

"hi guys," you murmured with a slight groggy voice like you just woke up, showing the joint in your hands that jj rolled skillfully. "another day, another weed, but this time it's kiara's stuff."

"she makes the best weed, i swear." jj mumbled, taking the joint from you after you got a drag, taking one himself. you giggled when he blowed to camera.

"you guys should get high with us." he joked.

"what if we show this to our kids?" you murmured, and it was just a thought you had with your high mind. yet, it warmed jj's heart.

"y'think our kids will be saints? all sober n' shit?" he said softly with a cheeky grin. "nah baby, that's not my gene."

[ 05/06/22 ]

it was a bonfire night at the chateau, everyone drinking, smoking and having fun. the star of the night was of course, your boyfriend jj.

you opened the camera and began recording him singing songs, with his whole heart, pointing you at the romantic lyrics.

"who even showed you taylor swift?" sarah laughed next to you, drinking her beer under john b's arm.

"you ask?" you giggled, and it made everyone laugh.

"what? i'll be a swiftie for my girl," jj grinned, blowing you, and the camera, a kiss.

[ 15/08/24 ]

"hello folks, this is jj recording to my amazing girlfriend's camera." jj grinned and waved, recording himself from a low angle, yet he still looked pretty.

he was in your room, in your bed while you worked in the shop today, probably helping kiara organize things. his elbows were on his knees, his signature hat on his head.

"there's been a lotta shit goin' on, so she couldn't record for a while." he explained. "we stayed in an island, john b and sarah lost their dads, i found out that my father wasn't my blood father, and i had kook origins." he raised his brows and laughed at the irony of it.

"and now, m'gonna search some gold with my biological dad, which is ironic, i guess." he grinned.

"but, i jus' wanted to record this for my lovely kids in the future, and for my sweet girl to watch if somethin' happens to me." he smiled, yet it was a weak one.

"baby," he murmured. "you live a life you don't deserve in sake of me, and m'sorry that lovin' me has brought you many problems, and we couldn't be a normal teenage couple." he scratched the bridge of his nose.

"n'that we fought with guys who had guns instead of goin' surfing and punching kooks." he chuckled. "but.. i wouldn't wanna do this with other people y'know? you're my favorite person in the world, and m'selfishly happy that we've been through a lot at least together."

"wow m'bein' too sentimental, and it would be really awkward for you to watch this if some dramatic shit didn't happened to me," he chuckled, clearing his throat.

he looked at the camera like he was looking at you, all puppy eyed, his baby blue's shining and his smile so wide and geniune. "m'about to head off to help groff, and i don't have much time to talk more about my undying feelings for you, but jus' know that you're the best thing happened to me. and even if we can't become a kook, i'll happily die as a pogue as long as i got you."

he kissed the camera, grinning. "love from papa j." he winked, closing the record.

[ 18.34 ]

your tears dropped to the screen, and your fingertips caressed his smiling face. you guys made it alive from morocco, expect the guy you loved more than anything.

it was like they took a part from you, his own fathers betrayal turning your life in a living hell in minutes. jj was the dead one, yet you didn't felt like you were living. in the end, which one was the hard one anyway? leaving, or staying?

you opened the camera for one last time, your puffy and red lips, red eyes from crying reflecting in the screen, showing how much of a mess you were.

it was the last time you'd use this, because you lost the one person that made you feel alive, and so happy that you wanted all of your memories to stay forever.

[ 20/08/24 ]

you sniffled, and your tears falled to screen, your voice being a weak whisper. "i love you jj."

༝༚༝༚

[ilguna]

☼ say it like you mean it (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; over time, you’ve learned his techniques, and you’re really not entertained by it. if he likes you as much as he says he does, then why does he just say so?

warnings; swearing,

wc; 3.2k

--

The summer heat has finally decided to catch up with District Four it seems, and it only took until mid-August for it to do so. It’s not gentle by any means, either. All you’re doing is getting ready for the day, and it feels as if you live in a tin can smack-dab in the middle of the desert. 

This house is small enough as it is, the last thing you need to be baked alive in it. You think your mother is on the same train of thought that you are, because she’s opened every single window in hopes that a breeze will roll through. 

You find her in the kitchen, fanning herself with a thin book, boiling a pot of water on the stove to loosen up the metal for the hooks that are laid out across the dining room table. You would just use a torch to make the hooks easier to bend, but you weren’t cleared for a permit since the house is flammable, and it’s in a fairly nice neighborhood.

So, you have no choice but to use water, even though it’s more time consuming. Between you and your mother making hooks, it’s getting harder and harder to make the Peacekeeper’s deadlines on time. It would be just a little bit easier if you had one more person to help, but then you’d be given a bigger workload.

“How long are you planning on being out for today, honey?” Your mother asks, pausing her fanning long enough to look your way.

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.” You tell her, gathering the bags of hooks to place into your tote bag. “Just a few errands to run and I’ll collect what I need for my hooks along the way. Once I drop them off at the docks, I’ll come straight back.”

She nods, “PLease be careful when you speak to the Peacekeepers, you can’t afford another warning.”

“I will be.” You say, turning your back to her. 

You pull the tote bag onto your shoulder, rolling your eyes. It’s not your fault the Peacekeeper’s are a bunch of sensitive wimps—none of them can take a joke. All you did last week was tell them that you may or may not see them the following day to make the drop.

This resulted in several Peacekeepers being sent to your door in the morning to escort you straight to the docks to deliver your hooks. When you tried to tell them that you weren’t being serious, you were met with a citation, but really it was just a warning. If you get another one, then you’ll be taken into custody until they think you’ve learned your lesson.

Talk about ridiculous, right?

“Love you, mom.” You murmur, opening the front door, hand reaching to push the screen door out of the way before you even see it.

“I’ll see you soon, honey.” She says back, her footsteps fading away.

Your hand comes into contact with cloth, hand squishing into whatever it is. You yank your hand back, as if you’ve just touched the hot stove, eyes peering around the door. 

As soon as you see who it is, your shoulders drop, worry leaving you in an instant. Your face twists at the sight of Finnick, leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. You begin to dread what the rest of your day is going to look like, if he’s here already.

Usually he has enough courtesy to give you a headstart before ruining your afternoon.

“Please, not this today.” You groan, pushing past him to get out of your house. You pull the front door shut with a slam, heading down the steps without waiting for him to say anything.

“Good afternoon.” He muses, following behind you. He must not shut the screen door, because you can hear it squeal as it swings back into place. “You don’t want me here?”

“I wouldn’t mind as much as I do if you weren’t so annoying. How long were you waiting out there for?” You ask him.

“Long enough to hear your mom ask you to be careful.” He says, taking long strides to catch up with your pace. “Which she won’t have to worry about, because I don’t plan on leaving your side today.”

“Of course you don’t.” You sigh, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

He ignores your comment. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“I’ve spent all week trading for fishing lure while you were in the Capitol, so I’m picking it all up today.” You tell him.

“What’d you trade them with?” He asks. “If you’d waited for me—”

“I don’t need you to negotiate for me, Finnick.” You shake your head. “I’ve been doing this since we were in school, I know how to get what I want without being scammed. Besides, I didn’t have time to wait for you, the Peacekeepers wanted the new hooks as soon as possible, and you weren’t here when the request came in.”

“How long ago?”

‘A week and a half ago.” You reach into your bag, pace slowing to go up to the first house. 

“You still didn’t answer my question on what you traded them for.” Finnick comes to a stop, back to the door so you have to look at him.

“We paid for some of them, and on some of the others I offered specialty hooks.” You tell him, going up to the house. 

The man that lives here answers the door after the first round of knocks, a smile on his face. You hold a polite conversation with him, while you unravel the cloth that covers the hook you made. He wanted it purely for decoration, since he’s been long-retired from being on the boats. He gave you the rest of his lure for free, no strings attached.

“Have a good afternoon.” You tell him, waving before you go back down to Finnick.

“How much did you pay?”

You really hate it when he gets on a roll with the questions. You’re not sure why it matters how much you paid for the lure, in the end you’ll be making a bigger profit with the Peacekeepers. And people don’t really have a need for lure when the Capitol provides good hooks for them in the first place. They just want something for them so they’re able to afford an extra meal.

“Not much.”

“You’re making more than what you paid, right?”

You stop walking, turning to Finnick. “Do you really take me for an idiot?”

He stares at you. “No.”

“Then why are you asking me questions like that?” You tilt your head. 

“Because I don’t want them to take advantage of you, (Y/n). You do a lot for the docks, whether these people know that or not.”

“I’m aware of that. And I don’t care if they appreciate my work. I’m just doing what I have to in order to survive. It’s not a huge deal.” You tell him, starting to walk again. “I’d rather prick my fingers a hundred times with the barb than have to deal with the boats.”

“You wouldn’t have to deal with either if you let me take care of you.”

Your face scrunches up at the thought. Once for the fact that he just said that to you, and twice for the idea of being supported on his Capitol money, which you despise. He earned his dollar of his money by beating the Hunger Games at such a young age, you’ll admit that.

But you’ll never come to terms with the person the Capitol has turned him into. 

The old Finnick—the one you grew up with before he got reaped—would never have said half of the things he does to you. His flirtatious comments are constant, they’re everyday, and they’re borderlining disrespectful. You’re not sure how many times you’ve told him to quiet it, and he never listens.

He’s not laying it on as thick today, but that might have something to do with what you said to him before he got on the train in July. You’d met him at the station after the reaping to wish him luck, because he’s still your friend, and he made a joke about taking you to the Capitol with him and showing you what luxury is.

You felt disgusted at the suggestion, because he should know that you’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than in the Capitol. You backed away from him, and with a shake of your head, you told him that you’d never go there, much less with him. You left the train station after that, not bothering to give him the goodbye you usually do.

You hate the fact that he’s required to mentor the tributes. You think it’s a good idea, because Finnick broke the record for the youngest victor, but the person it turns him into… it’s just gross. He used to be friendly, funny and courteous, and a couple of years ago he changed. 

There were no signs, one year he went to the Capitol to mentor, and a month later he came out this insufferable Capitol brat. It only got worse when he mentored Annie Cresta, causing her to win the Games two years ago. Ever since, he’s been cocky, as if the world owes it to him.

You’re sick of dealing with it. Especially when it lasts for months, and by the time he seems to be getting better about his attitude, it’s Hunger Games season again. The cycle is never-ending.

“That’s nice, Finnick.” You mutter, pace quickening, as if you’ll be able to leave him behind.

“What?” He asks, as if he’s clueless. “It’s true. If you were with me, you’d never have to worry about half the things you do.” He begins to catch up with you. “There’d be dinner on the table every night, you’d have access to hot water in the winter, you’d be able to buy anything you want. You could’ve woken up in an air conditioned house today.”

“While that all sounds nice, I don’t want a life like that.” You tell him, eyes on the ground.

“Why not? Everyone wants a life like that.” He throws his arms out, you can tell by his shadow. “And I want to give it to you.”

“Because that means nothing to me.”

“Nothing?” Finnick asks. “So you’re telling me you don’t like the necklaces and jewels and—”

“Finnick!” You shout, irritated. You stop to look him dead in the eye. “What you’re doing isn’t working on me. I will never fall for the facade you put on for the Capitol.” You place a hand over your heart. “It’s all an act, and you need to give it a rest.”

Finnick’s face has dropped. “(Y/n), I mean everything I say.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” You throw a hand out. “Your lines are rehearsed. How many other girls have you talked to like that and believed it?” 

“I don’t talk to other girls, (Y/n). I’m not interested in them.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Finnick stares at you for a long moment. “What can I do to prove to you that I do actually want you.”

“You can’t figure that out on your own?” You roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? Have you ever listened to anything I’ve said?” When he doesn’t speak, you wave your hand. “Just go, Finnick. I’m sick of this, really. I got stuff to do and you’re slowing me down.”

Finnick looks down at the dirt, making a face. “All right.”

You watch as he walks off in the direction of Victor’s Village, looking like a kicked puppy. As soon as he hangs his head, you close your eyes, tilting your head back to take in the sun. You have half the mind to call him back and apologize, but you are running behind.

You turn to continue down the street, heading for the next house. You really hope he doesn’t give up entirely because of what you’ve said, you just want him to listen to what you’re telling him. 

It’s not like you don’t enjoy his company, because you do. He’s your favorite person to hang out with when he’s not being uptight. You think that if he were to ask you to be his girlfriend properly, you’d say yes, but you want it to be real. This doesn’t feel real, with the expensive jewelry, the money, the constant presents. It’s insane. 

You try to be quick to get done within the next hour, paying several people back for their kindness. You barely make it in time to the docks before they shut down for the rest of the day. While the Peacekeepers trust your handiwork, their Head Peacekeeper likes to inspect the hooks to ensure they’re good quality.

You’ve never had a hook sent back.

You tuck the money from the Peacekeepers into your bag, taking your time heading home. You’re sure mom has lunch ready, and most of her part of the work creating the hook has to be done by now. You’ll just need to attach the new lures and sharpen the barb.

When you make it home, it’s late afternoon. The front door and the screen have been opened to their max capacity to allow fresh air to enter the house. You pass right through the doorway, thinking nothing of it, until you come to a stop in your kitchen.

Finnick is leaning against your countertop, inspecting a hook you made last night. “Have you two ever considered opening up a shop closer to the dock? That way you don’t have to walk as far.”

“We have, but it’s expensive next to the dock. We know we’d probably make the money we need, but we can’t know for sure.”

“Have you considered a pop-up?” 

“A stand?” Your mom asks, considering it for a moment. “No, but I’m sure if we tried, the Peacekeepers would deny the permit, like they’ve denied everything else we’ve requested.”

“I’m home.” You tell them, mood fading. “I thought you went home, Finnick.”

“I did, but then I came here to wait for you.” Finnick says. “You should go and put on something more loose and comfortable.”

“For what?” You ask, setting your tote bag down by the door.

“Don’t worry about the details.” Finnick smiles. “I’ve got it all planned out.”

“I don’t have the time. I’ve got hooks to do.” You shake your head.

“Oh, leave them.” Your mom says, winking at you. “I’ll take care of it. The stove has been burning hotter lately because of the heat, I was able to get most of my work done. I’ll get you started.”

“I can’t have you do all the work.” You reason.

“(Y/n), you need a break.” She tilts her head down at you. “Go get changed. You can enjoy a proper day off for once.”

“Mom.” 

“Now, (Y/n).” She tells you.

You look at Finnick, a little upset by the fact that he’s ruined your plans for the rest of the day, but you know better than to argue any further with your mom. You pass them to go to the back of the house, where your small bedroom is. You swing the door shut with a single push, sitting down on your bed as you stare into the closet.

He said something more loose and comfortable—but you’re already wearing that. A regular shirt, a baggy pair of pants that once belonged to your father. You wish he’d given you more details.

You stand back up, mindlessly swiping through your tops before you stumble upon a tank top with thin straps that you haven’t worn in a while. You pull it off the hanger, throwing it over your arm as you turn to the small pile of jeans and shorts that line the wall. You crouch down, picking through them, finding a nice pair of light blue shorts that’ll reach your mid-thigh. 

You change quickly, throwing your previous clothes into the hamper, retying your shoes. When you join your mom and Finnick back in the kitchen, they both seem pleased with your choices.

“I’ll see you later this evening, honey.” Your mom tells you, touching your shoulder. “Finnick will take good care of you.”

You look at Finnick, who has a brighter smile on his face. He hands you your tote bag, which is no longer empty, like it had been when you dropped it off by the door. Now, there’s a neatly folded thin blanket inside. 

“Where are we going?” You ask Finnick, weirded out.

“Nowhere you haven’t been before.” He tells you, motioning for you to leave first. “Thank you, Ms. (L/n).”

“No problem, Finnick.” She waves.

The walk with Finnick is mostly quiet, not a lot of conversation is exchanged. You feel the need to apologize for what you said to him earlier, but you were just expressing how you felt, again. If he would just listen to you, then there wouldn’t be a need to be so straight-forward.

He brings you to the beach, under one of the few palm trees, where he lays out the blanket from the tote bag. Which reveals a couple of snack boxes underneath, containing fruit, crackers, spreads and juices. You stare at Finnick, wanting to tell him you’re not interested in experiencing the Capitol, when he completely takes you off-guard.

“Welcome to our first date.” Finnick laughs, “Sit, please.”

“A date?” You ask, pulling off your shoes to sit on the blanket. “Usually you have to ask the girl out first.”

“I would’ve, but you were already mad at me. That’s why I asked your mom for help.” He smiles. “Sorry, by the way, but I couldn’t let you be after what you said.”

You can’t help it, now. “I’m sorry, Finnick, I just—”

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it. Your mom explained it pretty well, actually.” He sits beside you, popping open the lids on the boxes. “I know where you’re coming from, and I know most of it is because of a rumor.” 

You nod, agreeing. 

“It started in the Capitol.” He tells you, shaking his head. “And as much as I hate it, I can’t escape what they say about me, so I’ve stopped trying. But I want you to know that I don’t talk to any other girls. You are the only one I talk to, because you’re the only one that’s stuck by me after my Games.”

“I’m your friend, Finnick.”

“Not everyone saw me that way.” He says. “They either stuck around because I was rich or left because I was a Capitol darling—a status I can’t help. They labeled me that way.”

“Oh.” You murmur.

He pauses for a moment, looking out at the water. “There’s a lot that happens in the Capitol when I go every year, and it’s partly why I act the way I do, and I’m trying to work on it.” He then looks back at you, taking your hand. “But I’m serious when it comes to my feelings about you, (Y/n). I really do like you, and I would like you to be my girlfriend.”

You stare at him, heart pumping in your chest, “I would love to, Finnick.”

He gives you a smile, “I thought you’d say-so.”

[halfway-happyyy]

friends, i'm running away with a thought here, so join me if you will-

you and frank attending a wedding together. but it's not just any wedding, it's curtis's wedding, and he's chosen frank to be his best man.

and it's a little awkward at first, right? curtis knows how much pain frank's been through, and he almost doesn't ask him at first. and when curtis finally confides this information to frank, his first reaction is astonishment.

curtis is easily a one in a million guy. the truest, most considerate, strong man he knows, and there could have been dozens of men to choose from, yet his decision landed on frank. and frank couldn't have been more honoured.

and the fact that his friend had considered why frank may not feel comfortable participating only solidified his decision to say- "curt, my man, it would be an honour to stand by your side in August."

frank had sat you down a year into your dalliance - when things began to go from leaving the odd item at his place, to pretty much staying there full time- and he had been honest with you when he said that he had no intentions of ever marrying again. that to do so would be like a betrayal to Maria and the kids. and you had understood every word completely. you were (and still are) entirely content just to be in his realm. that was simply life with frank; the good times outweighed the bad ninety percent of the time.

and yeah, parts of the leadup to the big day had been hard, but you had been prepared for it. and you never pushed frank, always making yourself available if he needed to talk, but never forcing it.

so the day finally arrives, and you'll never get over the sight of frank (or curtis for that matter) in their dress blues. how beautiful frank has always been to you, even if his brows furrow and his face slips into a frown when you mention it.

it's a gorgeous wedding: small and close-knit, one of those days you wish you could press between the pages of a book to keep forever. you don't miss the glitter of saltwater in frank's eyes when he offers up the rings or the way they twinkle when he signs the certificate.

when dinner is finished and the speeches have been made, (frank's had tears streaming down your face from sadness and laughter), he meets you out back by the string-lit gazebo for a breather.

"you were wonderful in there." you muse.

he's back in the suit you'd brought earlier that morning, and it strikes you then that he still has the ability to leave you breathless after all this time together.

his warm hand along your spine causes a shiver to wrack you, and he instinctually shucks his jacket off and drapes it around your frame. he leans in close, that his stubble tickles the outer edge of your ear, and murmurs, "i would be remiss if i let another second go by tonight without telling you how breathtaking you've looked all day."

your cheeks warm at that, and you turn to face him fully, placing your hands around his waist. girl from the north country comes on in the barn and flows out towards you on the light evening breeze.

"dance with me kid." and because you've always had a hard time denying him anything, you allow him to gather you in his arms. "ya know, sometimes i wonder what this would look like," he swallows hard, and it's so quiet that you almost miss it. "for us."

your gaze travels to his, and in the low light around you, his umber irises are ablaze with a fire you seldom see.

"as beautiful as this all is, and it is, we don't need it frank."

and they're not just words. frank, from the moment he made it clear that he wanted you in his life for good, has provided for you in every way imaginable. a simple piece of paper could never change that.

he traces a fingertip down your cheek. "if i ever did want to propose... what would that look like?"

"i honestly haven't thought much about it."

he elicits a short, breathless laugh. "humor me, kid."

you sway in silence a while longer, reveling in the feel of him beneath you. how strong, warm, and capable he is. inhaling deeply, you finally say, "in theory, a simple blade of grass from our backyard, wrapped around my finger, would do nicely frank."

someone calls your names, and he steals a quick kiss from you before you both head back in.

a couple of weeks later, you stir awake from a deep sleep to an empty bedroom. a note on the pillow next to yours reads,

gone to grab eggs and coffee,

be back soon.

ps- this blade of grass reminded me of you, so i plucked it from our backyard this morning.

a million mornings, kid.

in frank's scrawling handwriting.

love pours into you then, like sunshine through a stained glass window.

[deansbeer]

between constellations ྀི ・ BABY!CLARK KENT. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ library

୨୧ synopsis. you love space, stars, and galaxies—so much that you barely notice when clark catches you mid-fall, utterly unfazed.

୨୧ warning(s). none! | fluffy fluff | space rambling | mentions of tripping | starlight's light based abilities | clark being a lil cutie pie.

୨୧ word count. 1296

୨୧ kari notes. it was time i did my part and share this little with yall for me and bree's baby <3 we love her and her quirks oh so much :') her in roller skates with stars on it was just too cute of a detail not to add !!! i also did some light research to make sure that the astronomy in this was accurate (???) so i'm sorry in advance to all the astronomy girlies, if any of this is incorrect <3

the world outside your window is quiet, wrapped in the deep indigo of night. the only sounds are the faint rustling of leaves in the cool summer breeze and the occasional chirp of crickets hidden in the grass. the air smells of late august—warm earth, freshly cut wheat from the nearby fields, and the lingering scent of your mother’s lavender-scented laundry detergent clinging to your pajamas.

you’re tucked beneath a soft quilt, propped up by a collection of pillows, your small hands gripping the edges of your favorite teddy bear as your mother’s voice carries through the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

her tone is warm, gentle, like the softest whisper of the wind through the corn stalks outside. she reads with practiced ease, her voice rising and falling in a familiar rhythm as she turns the page of A JOURNEY THROUGH THE STARS—one of your most treasured books. the worn edges and slightly creased corners are proof of how many times you’ve begged her to read it to you.

you already know everything about the words printed on these pages. you could recite them in your sleep, and yet, you still hang onto every sentence as if it’s the first time you’ve ever heard them.

“and so, the stars were born,” your mother reads, her voice soft and full of wonder, “burning bright in the endless fabric of space, their light traveling for millions of years before reaching us here on earth.”

your lips curl into a small smile, your heart swelling with something warm and familiar.

stars. light. space.

your entire world.

she reaches the end of the chapter and closes the book gently, smoothing a hand over your hair before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“alright, starlight,” she murmurs, her voice laced with affection, using the nickname clark had given you. “time for bed. sweet dreams, my love.”

you blink up at her, already feeling the weight of sleep tugging at your eyelids. or at least, that’s what you want her to think.

“goodnight, mama,” you whisper, your voice small and warm with feigned drowsiness.

she lingers for a moment, brushing a few stray hairs from your face before finally standing. with a soft sigh, she turns toward the door, her footsteps quiet against the wooden floor.

you listen carefully, waiting, your breath caught in your chest as she moves down the hall.

and then—silence.

you wait a little longer, just to be sure.

when you’re certain she’s far enough away, you let out a tiny sigh of relief and reach under your pillow, fingers closing around the cool, smooth cover of your newest treasure.

THE WONDERS OF THE UNIVERSE.

even the title makes your chest flutter with excitement.

you sit up slowly, careful not to make a sound, and prop the heavy book open on your lap. the dim glow of your bedside lamp isn’t enough to properly read by, so you do what you always do—what you can do ever since you discovered the strange, shimmering power that now lives inside you.

you reach out a tiny hand, palm open, and let the light bend and shimmer at your fingertips.

a soft, golden glow spills across the pages, specks of light swirling like tiny fireflies in the air. it’s warm, comforting, and familiar—your own little piece of the cosmos resting in the space between your fingers.

your breath catches as the soft glow illuminates the first page, revealing a breathtaking illustration of a spiral galaxy.

“the andromeda galaxy,” you whisper, your fingers tracing the delicate swirls of stardust.

your eyes are wide, drinking in the beauty of it. the way the light from a billion stars twines together, stretching across the vast expanse of space. you read the tiny caption beneath the image, your lips barely moving as you murmur the words aloud.

“the nearest galaxy to the milky way, only 2.5 million light-years away.”

your little heart thumps with excitement.

only 2.5 million light-years.

to anyone else, that number would seem impossibly large, an unfathomable distance. but to you, it’s close—so close, you almost feel like you could reach up and touch it.

you flip to the next page, then the next. nebula, galaxies, exploding stars—an entire universe alive within the pages of your book.

you don’t even notice how late it is. you don’t realize how heavy your eyelids have grown until the book starts to slip from your grasp.

you blink sluggishly, forcing yourself to stay awake, but the warmth of your blankets, the soft hum of your powers, and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat lull you into submission.

with a reluctant sigh, you close the book, tucking it safely back under your pillow before settling under your blankets.

your eyelids droop, the golden glow at your fingertips dimming.

and as sleep finally pulls you under, you dream of galaxies dancing in the sky.

the next morning, the air is crisp, the scent of damp earth and fresh-cut grass filling your lungs as you step outside. the sun is still low in the sky, painting the world in soft hues of gold and pink.

you tug on your backpack straps, your roller skates gliding smoothly over the pavement, the tiny stars on them shimmering in the early morning light.

beside you, clark walks with easy strides, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he’s always been taller than you, always had that steady presence that makes you feel like nothing in the world could ever really go wrong.

you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your book clutched tightly in your hands as you flip through the pages, barely paying attention to where you’re going.

“clark!” you spin toward him, nearly shoving the book in his face. “this is the andromeda galaxy! it’s the closest galaxy to the milky way—our galaxy—at 2.5 million light-years away! can you believe that?! it’s basically our next-door neighbor in space!”

clark blinks at you, his lips twitching into an amused smile. “that’s… really far away, starlight.”

“not in space terms!” you insist, flipping the page dramatically. “and look! look at this one! the whirlpool galaxy—it has a companion galaxy that it’s pulling in with its gravity! isn’t that awesome?”

you’re so caught up in your excitement, in the sheer wonder of it all, that you don’t notice the rock in your path.

your skate catches.

the world tilts.

but before you even have time to process the fact that you’re falling, a pair of hands grabs you, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

your book wobbles in your grip, but you barely even falter, immediately turning back to clark with wide, starlit eyes.

“and this one!” you continue, flipping to another page without missing a beat. “the sombrero galaxy! it’s got this really cool dust lane and a super bright nucleus—”

“wait—hold on—” clark interrupts, brows furrowing. “you almost just ate dirt a second ago. are you okay?”

you blink up at him like you don’t understand why he’s even asking.

“yeah?” you answer easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “why wouldn’t i be?”

he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head with a laugh, letting go of your arms.

“you are so weird, starlight.”

you just grin, a front tooth of yours missing, unbothered, flipping to another page.

“okay, but listen to this—did you know there’s a planet made entirely of diamonds?!”

clark sighs, but there’s fondness in his voice when he says, “of course there is.”

and just like that, you’re back to rambling, your skates rolling smoothly over the pavement as clark walks beside you, listening to your endless fascination with the stars.

he thinks you shine brighter than any galaxy ever could.

៸៸៸ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @honeyryewhiskey@ultravi0lence14 @abox-of-rocks @deanswidow @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @beausling @stereotypicalbarbie @bejeweledinterludes @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @sunsbaby @jjmbbg @freeluigihesbae @unfortunate-brat @a-lil-pr1ncess @starzify @notsocoqquete1 @deerlysacred @severe-mental-illness

[olxvvxa]

stolen heat | joost klein x f!reader, ski aggu x f!reader

☆ summary: you're in a very stable and happy relationship, but sometimes a few too many words can mess with your head.

☆ warnings: mdni, rpf, cheating, angst, public sex, smoking, drinking, cursing, remember it's pure fiction!!

☆ wc: 5.5 k

☆ a/n: wanted to write something like this and I finally had the time to do it. please forgive me if it's lame ;)

the evening was muggy and the city lights reflected off the damp cobblestones of the street, creating shimmering reflections after the recent rain. the air carried the scent of summer dusk, mixed with the aroma of heated concrete and cigarette smoke, drifting lazily in a nearby alley. Aggu held you firmly by the hip; his hand rested there as if it was its natural place. you felt the warmth of his touch, which contrasted with the cool breeze softly brushing against your skin.

bar, to which you were heading, was already teeming with life outside. through the open door, fragments of loud music, laughter, and conversations spilled out, merging into one chaotic clamor. the neon lights illuminated your faces, giving them a somewhat surreal, multicolored glow. you quickened your pace when suddenly, the door swung wide and someone emerged from inside with a drink in hand, swaying slightly and almost bumping into you.

„man, watch out,” said Aggu half-jokingly, half-irritated, shielding you with a subtle movement of his body.

the stranger only muttered something under his breath, turning away before disappearing into the darkness of the street. August, never taking his eyes off you, grabbed your hand and led you inside. there, you found hot, stuffy air, filled with the smell of alcohol, sweet perfume and a tightly packed crowd. people moved to the beat of the music and lights created flashes of bright smiles and shadows on their faces. you breathed out softly.

„I just wonder, how our friends are doing?” Aggu said with a smile, leaning closer to your ear to speak over the music. his tone was casual yet slightly provocative, as if he wanted to make sure you were having a good time.

„I think, they’re fine…” you gave him the most dazzling smile you could muster at that moment. he brushed your cheek lightly, then began guiding you toward the bar, deftly weaving past small groups of people standing in random spots, as though he'd known this place forever.

you noticed that the bar was exceptionally crowded that night. you felt eyes sliding over your figure, but with August by your side, you felt nothing but safe at that moment.

you both took the free seats you managed to find somehow and Aggu leaned casually against the counter, throwing the bartender a laid-back gesture.

„so, what are you drinking tonight, sweet girl?” he asked, turning his head toward you. his voice was low, almost drowned out by the pounding bass that filled the place.

„you should already know the answer to that,” you replied with a smile, tilting your head slightly to the side. your eyes met his, which for a moment, seemed more intense than he intended. Aggu let out a soft laugh, as though your response amused him.

„the usual. got it,” he murmured, giving the bartender your order.

you turned away for a moment, trying to spot your friends, but the sound of a glass being placed in front of you pulled you out of your trance. you took a sip of your drink, feeling how the familiar taste provided a moment of relief in the overwhelming heat. August was still watching you and his smile, though gentle, seemed to conceal something more - something you sensed, but couldn’t yet define.

„maybe, we should find the others?” you asked after a moment, once again fixing your hair, which was slightly disheveled.

„ah, alright…” Aggu replied with a wider smile „I’m sure, they’ve really missed us.”

he stood up, extending his hand toward you. for a moment, your gazes locked again, and in his eyes, you noticed a slight tension, as if he was waiting for something to happen. maybe, he felt the same way you did - that there was something different about this night. you took his hand, letting him lead you through the crowd once again.

„where are they?” you asked, looking at him with slight bewilderment, still not seeing any familiar faces in the massive group of people „we’re not that late, are we?”

„they’re probably in the other part of the room,” he replied, barely raising his voice above the music „come on.”

at every step, people were chatting, sipping drinks, and the whole scene seemed full of energy, pulsing with an unrestrained urge to have fun. you managed to get past groups of people dancing nearby, when you finally heard the familiar, raspy voices coming from one of the booths.

„there they are!” Aggu said, then quickened his pace, leading you toward the sounds. before you reached them, you felt his hand tighten around yours, as though he wanted to give you extra reassurance in all this chaos. your legs began to tremble slightly - not from fear, but from that strange, electrifying mix of excitement and adrenaline that filled the place. after a moment, you recognized familiar faces greeting you both.

„well, well, look who finally decided to show up!” came Stuntje’s boozy voice as he suddenly wrapped you in a hug so tight, it was like he hadn’t seen you in years. his embrace was full of joy, and though the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke hanging in the air was a bit overpowering, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

„oh, baby, you always know how to welcome me!” you replied, laughing quietly. at the same time, you noticed a hint of uncertainty in his hug - the strength of Aggu’s presence right beside you, still holding your hand.

„I see, something really important held you up if you’re this late,” someone teased from deeper in the group.

August let out a quiet laugh, looking at you and then at the others. he was silent for a moment, deciding how to phrase it, then finally sat on the couch and pulled you close, so that you ended up sitting on his lap without a word. his hand settled naturally on your waist and he gently stroked your back, as though trying to ease the tension in the air.

„we had… some private matter to take care of,” he said, flashing a playful smile at your friends and your cheeks instantly grew warm.

sitting on his lap, you felt his hands on your waist and that delicate touch reminded you of the odd energy that had been sparking between you for a while. the rest couldn’t fail to notice it - their gazes moved back and forth between you and him.

you’d been together for three months now, yet some of them still couldn’t hide their curiosity, looking for clues that might explain why there was something between you, that no one could ignore. your relationship didn’t have a standard, drawn-out beginning. instead, everything fell into place so naturally, that it was hard to believe, how quickly it all came about.

it was Joost, who introduced the two of you one day. maybe, that was, when you first felt this was something you just had to try. Aggu was intriguing - his demeanor, his confidence and his casual manner that never felt arrogant, immediately caught your attention. his playful remarks, how easy it was to talk to him and how effortlessly he made you smile, all led to you spending more and more time together.

you felt it after just a few of your first meetings: there was something you couldn’t explain, but you knew it was there. every day brought tiny gestures, that went beyond friendship - his looks, the light touches that seemed small, yet felt so significant. and when you spent your first whole night together, talking about everything and nothing, you realized it wasn’t just friendship anymore.

and then, when that moment arrived - when your gazes began to meet under different circumstances, in different situations - everything became clear. the smile that lit up your face every time you spotted him in a crowd, the hand that accidentally found its way into yours, the look that held you captive for a moment - those were the instances that made it impossible for you to turn away.

sitting on his lap now, however, you felt strangely uneasy. an uncertainty washed over you, one you couldn’t explain. the tension in the air grew, not only because of the group’s stares, but also because something inside you had started to change. the feeling that had been building for days wouldn’t give you any peace.

you took a sip of your drink, feeling how suddenly all attention shifted from the two of you to someone else. Joost appeared at the table, holding a beer in his hand. his steps were confident, though weighed down by something you couldn't quite pinpoint. before sitting down, he exchanged a smile with Aggu, patting him on the shoulder.

„what's up, man?” he said, then turned his gaze to you. his face wasn't wearing its usual smile, replaced instead by something that resembled cool indifference. for a moment, he looked at you as though deciding what to say, but in the end, he simply nodded, as if it was the most ordinary gesture.

he didn't even try to greet you with words. he just took a seat beside you, placing his beer on the table. still, his eyes kept drifting back to you, even though he said nothing. you were certain something in him had changed - the way he was looking at you, as if trying to uncover something he wouldn't speak aloud. even though you were still friends, you felt a weird feeling hovering between you.

you felt an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach. have you done something wrong? it's true, that you hadn't been spending as much time together as before, but you still wanted your relationship to be like it used to be. something in Joost's behavior made you uneasy, as though there was an unspoken cloud hanging in the air, but you couldn't quite grasp what it was.

you knew that something was different. maybe it was because of his gaze, which met yours for a moment - cold but filled with something more, something that might have been… anger? or maybe it was simply the fact that you still couldn’t forget, how close you two used to be. now, sitting there, Joost seemed especially bothered by something.

your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Aggu’s hand sliding up your thigh. you felt a wave of warmth spread through your body at his touch. you turned more toward him and your hands instinctively found the back of his neck, pulling him closer. his scent, the warmth of his body - everything about it made it impossible to focus on anything else. your lips met in a wet kiss and you pulled away a moment later.

your heart raced and your breathing grew shallow. the kiss, though brief, left you with a feeling you couldn’t ignore. you looked into his eyes, searching for some kind of answer there, but instead you only felt a rising uncertainty.

you stared at him for a moment, but before you could gather your thoughts, you heard that familiar voice of Joost. his presence suddenly felt overwhelming.

„lovebirds, find yourselves a cozy spot, but please, not right here in front of everyone, please?” he said, his voice laced with mild irony, and his eyes, though cool, tracked your every move.

you felt the tension growing. for a moment, you held your breath, feeling your heart race with nerves. his words were meant as a joke, but in that moment, they seemed charged with hidden meaning.

you glanced at him, then at Aggu, who let out a light laugh in an attempt to ease the situation. still, there was something in his stupid gaze - perhaps a shadow you spotted there, that told you he also felt uneasy. there was something in Joost’s behavior you couldn’t understand, but you sensed the whole situation was starting to slip out of control.

„whatever, I need a smoke,” you said, carefully getting up from your boyfriend’s lap. you tried hard to keep your thoughts from spiraling, but the chaos in your mind was overwhelming. reluctantly, you looked at Joost, whose eyes you still felt on you.

„how about some shots, people?!” someone in the group called out, trying to break the tension of this weird situation. the others murmured their agreement and a few people began heading toward the bar. Aggu looked at you with curiosity on his face, but he said nothing, simply watching you closely.

„do you want me to go with you?” he asked quietly, raising his eyebrows slightly, as if he wanted to give you space, but also, didn’t want to leave you alone.

you felt a strange, indescribable sensation growing inside. fear? excitement? maybe both. either way, you wanted to escape the situation for a moment. you needed a breath of air.

„no need, go with the others. I’ll catch up later,” you said, trying to sound confident. you looked at Aggu, who didn’t move at first, still wondering, whether you really wanted to be alone.

he merely nodded, giving you a slight smile, though his eyes revealed that he noticed something was off. after a moment, without another word, he walked away to join the rest.

„I’ll go with you,” the blond guy spoke up after a pause „I’m not in the mood to drink more tonight anyway.”

you glanced at him, feeling a little uneasy, but said nothing. you only nodded slightly and started heading toward the back exit, aware of his gaze on you. even though you wouldn’t admit it, you felt relief that you wouldn’t be alone, that someone had chosen to stay by your side. ever since Joost entered the room, you’d sensed that something was shifting in the air, that the energy between you was taking on a strange, incomprehensible form.

you went outside and Joost pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket, took one out and offered it to you after a moment. you looked at him briefly, unsure of what to say, but finally nodded and accepted.

„thanks,” you said softly, lighting it and drawing in the first puff of smoke, which immediately enveloped your senses and calmed them.

Joost stood beside you, lighting his own cigarette, but he didn’t speak right away. for a moment, there was silence between you - only the sounds of the city and your breathing filled the background.

„what’s up with you?” he asked at last, looking at you. his voice was gentle, yet still distinct in the quiet.

you knew, he couldn’t fail to notice the change in your demeanor, that strange atmosphere that had suddenly arisen between you, even though you were friends. you fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words, but instead you only lowered your gaze and took another drag of smoke.

„I guess, I should be the one asking you that...” you replied somewhat sarcastically, lifting your gaze to him. you felt something rough in your voice, that you could no longer fully hide.

Joost held your gaze for a moment and his face seemed to harden. he didn’t respond right away; instead, he blew out a stream of smoke toward the sky, staring into the darkness for a while.

„I don’t know, what you’re talking about,” he finally said, but his voice sounded different than usual - more subdued, with a trace of something that hadn’t been there before.

he went quiet again, his gaze fixed on the space behind you, as though he was avoiding your eyes. it seemed he was trying to keep a lid on something - whatever was about to surface - but in his eyes, you could still see that unspoken answer you longed to hear.

„there’s really nothing going on,” he finally said, but his tone was too soft, too unconvincing. you felt an unspoken presence hovering between you, waiting to break free.

„I don’t believe you,” you replied, looking at him with a hint of irritation „Joost, just... don’t be childish. I know something’s off 'cause you’ve been acting weird around me all night and now you want me to believe, you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

your words hung in the air. Joost blinked, as if colliding with a reality he’d been trying to avoid. the calm you usually saw in his eyes was replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. you watched him carefully, hoping to catch some clue about what he was really thinking.

„can’t you just tell me now?” you asked, feeling your hands tremble slightly „what’s this game all about, huh? why are you hiding from me like this?”

he sighed deeply, his gaze shifting to the side for a moment.

„maybe, I don’t want to tell you?” he said quietly, as if trying to conceal his words, though they rang loud in the hush that surrounded you.

„I really don’t understand...” you answered, still staring at him with an expectant look that made it clear, you wouldn’t back down „we’re friends, Joost. I have no idea, what’s going on, but I’m not giving up until I get an answer, you know?”

the silence that followed was almost tangible, the atmosphere suddenly so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

„sometimes...” he began, then hesitated, unsure whether to continue. he looked at you for a moment and then sighed „sometimes, things aren’t always what they seem,” his words lingered in the air, leaving you suspended in uncertainty. you could feel something unspoken circling around you, something, that was bound to come out eventually.

„what do you mean?” you asked, unable to conceal the tension in your voice any longer. you studied him intently, hoping to glean some hint from his expression, but his face remained unreadable.

he drew a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts, but something in his posture betrayed that he was holding something inside, something that refused to emerge.

„never mind,” he began again, but this time, it seemed like the words were stuck in his throat. after a moment, he looked at you, and a certain shadow appeared in his eyes.

„I don’t know, what’s happening to me,” he finally added quietly, as though he was at last freeing himself of a heavy burden „I shouldn’t be telling you this, but...” he paused „I- I've always wanted there to be something more between us than just friendship.”

your heart stopped for a moment, your mind filled with a storm of thoughts. you struggled for any words, but all you could do was stare at him, surprised and thrown off course.

„what-?” you began, but you couldn’t finish because what he was saying made no sense. this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

„you know, you’ve always been someone special to me,” he added quickly, trying to explain himself, but his voice now sounded bitter „it’s just... I never knew, how to tell you.”

you felt your heart beat faster. what you heard made no sense at all.

„and why are you doing this to me, now?” you managed at last, your words hitting like a blow. the tension that had held you in place, exploded suddenly, mingling with a wave of confusion and anger. you looked at him, feeling your heart thump erratically, trying to break free from your chest.

„this isn’t... this isn’t the right time for this,” you went on, your voice cracking near the end of the sentence „why now? why at this moment, when everything is already so complicated?”

there was something in his expression that made you feel, as though you were standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to step forward or back. your heart pounded and your head buzzed with questions that had no answers. and there was that uncertainty, like a shadow, a darkness spreading through your thoughts.

„do you think, it’s easy for me to watch the two of you almost every day?” Joost burst out. his voice held something more than sadness - it was frustration, as if these words had escaped at the moment he could no longer keep them in „I know, you’re with Aggu, I know, your relationship makes sense, but that doesn’t change the fact that… that I wanted something too.”

you stared at him in silence, feeling your heart clench with emotions that had no way out. what he was saying, wasn’t easy to accept, but you couldn’t ignore what you felt in that moment - the strange sting of regret spreading through your body. you didn’t know how to react, what to say to make sense of it all, to avoid hurting anyone in this chaos.

„but I can’t... I can’t return your feelings, Joost,” you said softly, sensing a hint of sadness on your face „it’s not what you think. I can’t give you what you want.”

„you can't or you don't want to, y/n?” Joost asked with a slight edge in his voice, searching for some loophole in your answer. he looked at you intently, his gaze giving you no chance to escape that question, from this moment, that suddenly became unbearable. you fell silent for a bit, trying to collect your thoughts once again.

„Joost, it’s not like that... come on,” you began, but there was uncertainty in your voice. the tension in the air between you intensifying.

„either way, I have nothing to lose,” he said, moving closer, and his voice grew soft, almost pleading „I understand, if you don’t feel the same, but… maybe, give me a chance to prove it to you.”

the uncertainty, that had been present for so long, now seemed to overwhelm all your thoughts. you struggled to control the whirlwind of emotions, but at last, you felt your resistance start to melt away. there was something in his bearing, in that look of his, that made it impossible for you to say “no.”

without another word, he came even closer. you felt his warmth as he stood right beside you, looking at you in a way you could no longer ignore. your cigarette stubs had long since been abandoned on the cold concrete. you no longer had any doubts and with every second in this silence, that uncertainty vanished, replaced by something more intense.

then his hand found its way to your neck and his lips brushed yours in a kiss that was hesitant at first, but grew more passionate with each moment. you began to feel his touch flowing through you, losing yourself in the feeling that had been building up throughout the conversation. and though you tried to resist somehow, you finally felt yourself give in.

deep down, you were grateful, that you two were off to the side now, where there were hardly any people around. the distant lights of the bar cast gentle shadows on your faces. the air between you felt thicker than before, as though the unspoken emotions had suddenly become too heavy to bear. you looked at him, a battle raging in your mind - reason telling you one thing, while your heart and body screamed something else.

„Joost, we can't…” you whispered between kisses, attempting to hold back your own hesitation, but he only moved his mouth down to your neck, so you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin.

„tell me, you don’t want this and I’ll go," he replied quietly, but you heard desperation in his voice, as this was his last chance „we’ll go back inside like nothing ever happened.”

you said nothing and though your hands wanted to push him away on principle, they ended up resting on his chest, searching for support. he was so close that you had nowhere to retreat and the tension that had built up between you for so long, now finally began to find release.

his hands gently, yet firmly, took hold of your hips, pressing you lightly against the cold wall behind you. you looked into his eyes, seeking an answer, but all you saw was a spark that instantly ignited something in you. before you could react, his mouth found yours again.

the kiss was fierce, charged with that elusive energy that had gripped you both for so long. your thoughts ceased to exist for a moment. Joost’s hands slid higher, gripping you tighter, as if he feared you might disappear. you didn’t protest; your body, almost independently of you responded to his touch, to this moment you’d been avoiding for so long.

your fingers laced themselves into his hair and your heart hammered wildly, trying to find its own rhythm in the chaos unfolding. Joost pulled back for an instant to catch his breath, his eyes, darker than usual, fixed on your face.

„tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice low and raspy, his breathing uneven.

you wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in your throat. your gaze lingered on his lips and a wave of warmth coursed through your body. instead of answering, you pulled him closer yourself, giving him the response he needed.

his hands found yours, lifting them gently above your head, pinning them against the wall to make sure you wouldn’t run. you felt his lips on yours again, hungrier and more demanding, and your body responded to his every move.

quiet moans escaped your mouth as Joost pressed his crotch against you. his body pushed harder against yours, your breaths becoming short and ragged. the soft sounds you couldn’t hold back only seemed to spur him on. his hands, still holding yours above your head, were firm, but held an odd tenderness - like he feared this moment might vanish in an instant.

his hips began moving with a slow confidence and the heat of his body seemed to seep through your clothes, blurring every boundary between you. you felt his lips leave yours to travel down to your collarbone, leaving wet traces that sent shivers of pleasure through you.

„Joost…” you whispered his name quietly, almost pleading, though you weren’t sure what you actually wanted - begging him to stop or never to stop at all.

another faint moan slipped from your throat as his hips shifted, sending a spark through your entire body once again. Joost looked directly into your eyes - his gaze was so intense, almost hypnotic, as though he was trying to read every emotion on your face. his breathing was fast, unsteady, and the warmth of his body was almost overpowering.

„I need you so fucking bad,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips along your neck, leaving damp kisses in his wake „I’ve always needed you.”

your hands, still pinned above your head, twitched, wanting to break free, but you didn’t have the strength to do it. his touch was everything you wanted in that moment, even though somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this shouldn’t be happening.

„please… please, do something,” you whispered desperately against his mouth. you saw something flicker in his eyes, as though he had been waiting for this moment, for that tiny request that gave him permission. the hand that had held yours above your head, slid downward, brushing your shoulders and collarbones, then finally found your waist, pulling you even closer.

slowly, his hands began to explore your body and your fingers came to rest at the nape of his neck, gripping a little tighter, seeking support. there was no turning back now - only him, his touch and that unspoken need burning between you both.

his hand soon found the soft skin of your inner thigh under your dress and after a moment, you felt his fingertips graze your panties, pushing them slightly aside. you needed him, right then and there.

his lips left yours, traveling along your jaw and down your neck again, planting hot kisses that sent shivers down your spine. your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, encouraging more, though your mind still flickered with the awareness that this was crossing a line.

your hands finally moved to his belt, unfastening it with a few quick motions. your breaths intertwined, mingling in the space between you. you undid his pants and took his hard length in your hand.

„oh, fuck…” he moaned „so goddamn needy,” was all he managed to say in that moment.

his hands lifted your thighs, making you wrap them around him. in that moment, you felt even more strongly how much he wanted you. the wall behind you was cold, but that only heightened the contrast with the fire that was burning inside you. every movement, every touch felt like it was setting you ablaze, filling you with a mix of excitement.

after a short moment, you felt him suddenly move inside you. his lips lingered by your ear, releasing a ragged breath that mingled with yours. in the half-light, you could only make out the outline of his face; a narrow beam of light from a distant streetlamp fell on both of you, painting shadows on the wall. the sound of music from the bar reached you faintly, as if it belonged to another world, and now only this moment mattered - your quickened breaths, the warmth of your bodies, his quiet moans.

his hands tightened their grip on your thighs. you felt every nerve in your body respond to his touch - a mix of lust and overwhelming pleasure. your heart pounded like crazy. somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this shouldn’t be happening, yet every movement Joost made and the bliss coursing through you effectively drowned out that thought. you felt a wave of forgetting wash over you - only he existed, his touch, his rapid breath close to your neck.

his movements became more deliberate and with each slow thrust, you felt a surge of warmth pulse through your body. a low moan escaped your lips, blending with the muffled sounds of the night. every brush of his skin against yours seemed to heighten the tingling sensation coursing through your veins and an unmistakable urgency wove itself into the air around you.

Joost caught your gaze and his hand slid up your side, fingers splayed to take in as much of you as he could, lingering at the curve of your waist. the moment felt both endless and fleeting, as though time had slowed just enough for you to memorize the rise and fall of his chest, the small tremors in his muscles, the rapid thudding of your own heart.

„you’re so beautiful, when I fuck you like that,” his voice was hushed, ragged, as though any louder sound might shatter the fragile intimacy. he leaned in to capture your mouth in a needy kiss. you responded with the same hunger.

there was a heady mix of desperation in each movement. every time he pulled you closer, it was as though he wanted to merge all the space that remained between you, to reassure himself that you were truly there. your legs tightened around his waist and you found yourself lost in the rhythm you created together - fierce, then gentle, fierce again.

you arched your back against the wall, a soft sound escaping your lips as the pleasure built up, a heat just beneath your skin. Joost shifted his weight, angling himself to bring you closer to orgasm. with each shared breath, you could sense how close he was to losing himself as well. his forehead pressed against yours and for a moment, you both just breathed - eyes closed, hearts pounding in unison - before the next wave of movement carried you further.

„look at me,” he murmured, voice unsteady. opening your eyes, you found his gaze locked on you, pupils dark with desire, but also brimming with something more than raw lust. there was a reverence in his face, a quiet question, one that asked if this was real, if you were truly here.

in a heartbeat, you felt the swell of release rise inside you, spreading like liquid warmth through every limb. your nails dug into his shoulders and the tension, that had been coiling within you, finally snapped. you heard your own voice, husky and breathless, merging with his low groan.

in the aftermath, all the tantrum stilled. your breathing came in shallow gasps, chest rising and falling as you clutched at Joost, your bodies still together. the world outside, for a brief moment, felt far away. nothing, but the soft hum of city lights and the lingering echo of music in the distance.

with one last gentle press of his lips against yours, Joost allowed a quiet exhale to escape, releasing all the pent-up yearning he had carried until now. he rested his forehead on your shoulder, arms still snug around your waist, neither of you quite ready to break that connection. it was in this hush that you felt the weight of what had just happened.

„what the fuck have we just done...?” was all you could say.

[stvrrlau]

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚.

⤷⤷ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 taehyun misses home. or maybe he just misses you.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.ᐟ childhood!friend!taehyun!⋆fem!reader!

𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.ᐟ drabble, bittersweet romance, conflict????? taehyun is lowkey a beige flag at some point, angst if u close ur eyes, childhood friends au, possibly a pt 2??

𝘴𝘵𝘷𝘳𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴.ᐟ IM FREE IM FREE IM FREEEEEEEEEEEEE but anyways here is my 2nd gift 2 u guys as a thank u 4 53 (now 54) followers thank u 4 supporting me and i hope u enjoy my works 4 a very very veryyyyyyyyyy long time bc i am NOT leaving u >:3 REBLOGS+LIKES+COMMENTS APPRECIATED!!!!! wrd count۶ৎ 617

​🇭​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​ , ​🇱​​🇮​​🇧​​🇷​​🇦​​🇷​​🇾​ .

YN 

taehyun left for the city years ago—chasing his dreams of music, desperate to escape the boring, quiet life i had adopted for myself.

but he was back. just for the weekend. or more.

———

           𝐈𝐓 was a warm august evening—like any other.

but it wasn’t.

because, there stood, the one person i thought i would never see again. there stood the person i used to run around barefoot in the forest with, who would push me on the swing a little too hard, who would kiss my hand when i fell over.

there stood the one person who i thought i loved.

until he left.

left without a word, without a message, not even a goodbye. and now he was back.

taehyun leant against the oak tree—that same oak tree we used to climb—his pink hair ruffled slightly by the wind. the faint creak of the swing, that same swing we had once begged our parents to attach to the branch of the tree, echoed through the silence.

it’s not like i heard it though—my ears could only focus on the sound of my heart pounding in my chest.

tentatively, i took step after step forwards, worried this could just be another dream of taehyun’s long awaited return.

but taehyun turned to look over his shoulder, reassuring me that this was real, his expression one of surprise, before a smile broke out onto his face.

“yn. i can’t believe it’s you.” taehyun whispered, almost as if he was scared i would disappear if he spoke too loudly, as i finally stood before him. taehyun had stood up properly, no longer leaning against the oak tree of memories, his pink bangs covering his eyes slightly as he towered over me.

“you’ve changed so much.” he murmured, his voice still soft.

“i could say the same about you.”

taehyun’s gaze faltered for a moment, but he didn’t look away.

“you’ve grown into your features. you’re just as beautiful as i remember—maybe more.”

slowly, like a predator stalking his prey, he lifted his hand, brushing a strand of my hair away from my eyes.

“i’m back—yet you still look at me with that same wistful look.” he whispered.

i didn’t say anything—because i knew it was true.

the silence stretched between us, not awkward, but heavy, filled with the time we had lost, and the memories of the past.

my gaze drifted down the pebbled path, surrounded by overgrown grass, leading into the shadowed forest, that same forest we would run into after school, giggling and screaming. the leaves of the trees fluttered gently in the slight breeze. the swing creaked again.

“i don’t know how many times i’d imagined you coming back.” i said softly, my gaze never leaving the path that led to a thousand childhood adventures.

taehyun didn’t respond right away. i turned to look at him, our eyes meeting. he just stared at me, like he was trying to remember something—or trying not to forget.

“i used to imagine you’d be here when i came back,” he finally said, his tone softer now.

i swallowed.

“i used to imagine you never left.”

taehyun parted his lips—just slightly—but didn’t speak.

instead, he stepped closer—close enough for me to breathe in that scent that always seemed to linger around him, that same scent that made me crazy. that same scent i would move closer to at the dinner table. that same scent i used to nuzzle closer to in the middle of the night.

that same scent that still seemed to remind me of home.

but what would home even look like now? taehyun had changed—as have i—but, why did he still feel so familiar?

“what if i stayed?”

[ecliptide]

‎‎‎ HAYSTACK'S WHISPERS !

‎‎‎ countryside!reader & farmworker!rafe

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, piv, virginity loss, unprotected sex, pet names, dirty talk, body worship, cowgirl. ‎‎‎ ﹙ man! i feel like a woman! ﹚

A sheen of sweat glistened on Rafe’s arms as he continued stacking bundles of hay in the barn. His muscles flexed with each lift and toss, straining beneath sun-kissed skin. The white tank top clung to his body, streaked with grime from the morning’s tractor work, the hem slightly frayed. His silver chain bounced lightly against his chest, brushing against the dark curls of hair that peeked from the neckline.

Though it was barely past noon, fatigue already tugged at his limbs. He’d been up since 4 a.m. — milking, feeding, hauling — then diving into the heavy labor of the barn. A few quick breaks and a strong cup of coffee were all that had kept him going.

August bore down on him like a cruel mistress — smothering, relentless — soaking his skin in sweat and dragging rough groans and muttered curses from his throat. And yet, the way he pushed through it — jaw tight, eyes burning with determination — made her thighs clench with desire. She watched him from the barn doorway, the tray of iced jasmine tea trembling slightly in her hands. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as he groaned again, the sound raw and masculine, vibrating straight through her.

She pressed herself against the wooden frame, half-hidden but unwilling to look away. Her breathing quickened. She shouldn’t be feeling this. He was here to work. Nothing more.

Still, her restraint wavered.

“ Hey. ” she called, her voice soft and uncertain, like a breeze brushing the edge of something forbidden. Rafe turned, his broad shoulders relaxing just slightly at the sight of her. His gaze roamed slowly, taking in the sundress clinging to her frame, the cowboy boots, the delicate flower curling like a secret around her calf.

“ I brought you some iced tea. ” she said, her voice just a touch breathless. A flush crept into her cheeks as he stepped closer. Up close, he looked even more devastating — damp curls, sun-flushed skin, chest rising steadily with the weight of his work.

“ Thanks. ” he murmured, reaching for the glass. His fingers brushed hers — and lingered. That single point of contact sent a jolt up her arm. The heat between them had nothing to do with the weather now. Her breath hitched. His slightest touch unraveled her composure. She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “ You look… hot. ” she said, then immediately cringed. God, that sounded awful.

But Rafe only smirked, slow and crooked. “ Yeah? You don’t look so cool yourself. ” The silence that followed pulsed with tension. Then, almost without thinking, she leaned in, her face tilting toward his. He closed the distance, cupping her jaw with rough, warm hands — his movement instinctual, almost reverent.

Her eyes shimmered in the light filtering through the barn slats. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. That delicate dress hugged her curves just enough to drive him wild. It was too much; he wasn’t made of stone.

Their lips met — tentative at first, tasting the moment. But it deepened fast, molten and desperate, like the sun had sunk into their skin and sparked something dangerous. The kiss burned with something they didn’t understand — maybe the heat of the day, maybe the fire in their chests. When they finally pulled apart, her breath came in shallow gasps, fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“ This never happened. ” she whispered, her voice shaky. Rafe smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His eyes lingered on her swollen lips. “ But it did. ” he said quietly. “ Don’t you remember? The lake. Cotton ball. ”

His hands slid to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, stroking it gently. He could still taste raspberries, her chapstick, and a hint of jasmine from the tea she’d brought him. “ Then I guess we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again. ”

But they both knew — it would. Everything took its own course, and soon after, she found herself lying on top of a haystack. Her sundress was nowhere to be found, tossed somewhere only Rafe knew the direction of. His mouth placed kisses on her bare shoulder and neck, following the path of freckles. Her scent was like the sweetest poison, somewhere between happiness and desire.

As her chest rose and fell, Rafe’s hand slid under her back and lifted her up, tossing her to the top and sitting her on his lap. “ The hay will scratch your back, sugar. It will itch. ” he whispered in her ear as he continued exploring the bare skin of her back. The sun peeked from behind her fragile figure.

She was also sweating. Her tights straddled his lap as she slowly ground herself against him. Rolling her hips in slow motions, up and down, toward and back. Little circles, eights. Sweet sounds escaped her mouth, echoing in Rafe’s mind, getting tattooed in his frontal lobe.

“ Please. ” she whispered. Her palms pressed against his shoulders as she lifted herself and, with little impact, fell back onto him. Her white panties were completely soaked, ruined. She felt so dirty but, at the same time, so desired. The way his eyes took in the sight of her was so satisfying, as if she were a candy he wanted.

As she pleaded, Rafe couldn’t help but smirk. He grabbed her hips and rolled them against his bulge. She let out a little moan. Desperate. Filled with need and desire. One of his hands unbuckled his belt, then he slid his pants down. His face was buried in her chest, his nose buzzing against her breasts as he placed small kisses there. Rafe pushed her onto him, her velvet walls stretching around his cock as she dived in, slowly taking him inch by inch. “ Shit, honey, so tight. ” Rafe hissed, grabbing her hips even tighter and causing little bruises on her hip bones. Her head fell back while his kisses traveled up to her throat.

“ Mmmphh. Rafey. ” she moaned softly, her lips parting as he started to thrust in and out. The pace is slowly building up. He admired her. How she reacted to unknown before pleasure. How her body tensed and relaxed under his hands. How she sometimes trembled with his thrusts. How her breasts got in sync with her own movements.

“ Quiet baby girl, no need to make your father know, right? ” he nipped at her neck, her teeth dived into her lips again. Trying to muffle down the sounds as their hips met with greater intensity. Soon the thrusts were more calculated. Making her squirm and shake. “ No. No. ” she moaned at tension building in her lower stomach. Her tights clenched around his hips. “ Stop. ” 

“ You’re okay baby. All okay. ” Rafe cooed and stroked her ribs with his thumb. Trying to get her familiar with the feeling of climax building up. “ You can let go, I got you. ” he lifted himself a bit and kissed her temple. His hands rubbed her lower back in circles as she was falling apart. He knew she was panicking a bit when something unexpected was happening to her body right now. But it would take a good wave on her.

She left out a whimper. Her head fell to his shoulders as he continued the thrust. Her nails scratching his skin as the knot in her stomach was undoing. “ Oh my- “ she breathed out. Her body tensing at the peek, he kissed her cheek in reassurance and her trembling body felt its whole weight on him as he spilled into her womb.

“ You did amazing, sweetheart. ” he praised her and brushed the hair out of her face to catch sight of her. “ So good. ” he punctuated his words with a tender kiss on the corner of her mouth.

She clung to him, still experiencing the aftershocks, but he remained by her side. He always will. He showered her in affection filled kisses. He needs to be close to her.

© ECLIPTIDE

[kathlare]

fading distractions

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando's night in Ibiza takes an unexpected turn when his actions with Magui lead to an emotional slip-up.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

August 16th, 2024 - Ibiza, Spain

The dim light of the hotel room flickered on as Lando stumbled through the door, his arm slung lazily around Magui’s shoulders. Her laugh was high-pitched and tipsy, echoing through the room as she leaned into him, the scent of her floral perfume overpowering the faint saltiness of the ocean breeze that clung to his skin.

Ibiza had been... well, exactly what he expected—loud clubs, overpriced champagne, and long nights that blurred into hazy mornings. Tonight had been no different. Martin Garrix had absolutely killed his set at Ushuaïa, and the afterparty was predictably wild. Lando had spent the night surrounded by friends, bottles, and a sea of attractive people who seemed to drift in and out of his orbit. Magui had been one of them.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. Hell, she wasn’t even someone he thought about when she wasn’t physically in front of him. She was just... there. Convenient. Fun. A distraction.

Magui kicked off her heels as she collapsed onto the plush sofa, her legs draped across Lando’s lap as he sat beside her. She reached for the hem of her dress, adjusting it slightly, her movements slow and deliberate. Lando leaned his head back against the couch, his body buzzing from the alcohol and the hours of dancing.

—You’re so quiet,— Magui purred, running her fingers lightly over his chest. —Thinking about the race already?—

Lando chuckled softly, his words slurring just enough to betray his intoxication. —Not even close,— he murmured, his accent thicker than usual.

Magui smirked, shifting her position to straddle him. Her hands slid up his neck, her lips grazing his jawline as she kissed a path toward his ear. Lando’s hands rested on her hips, his grip loose, his mind not entirely present despite the suggestiveness of the moment.

She tilted her head, her lips trailing down to his neck. Her kisses grew more heated, and her nails pressed into his skin as her movements became more insistent. Lando closed his eyes, his head tipping back as a soft sound escaped his lips.

—Amelie...—

The name fell from his mouth like a reflex, unbidden and unmistakable.

Magui froze.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, the heat between them dissipating like smoke. She pulled back, her expression a mix of shock and fury.

—What the fuck did you just say?— she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting.

Lando’s eyes snapped open, his drunken haze clearing just enough for him to realize what he’d done. —Shit,— he muttered, sitting up straighter. —I... I didn’t...—

Lando’s heart skipped a beat as the reality of his slip-up hit him. He blinked rapidly, trying to steady his breath, but the damage was already done. Magui was standing now, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with a mix of confusion and anger.

—What the fuck, Lando?— she repeated, her voice trembling with irritation. —Did you just say her name? While I’m here?—

Lando ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. The word “Amelie” still echoed in his mind, his mouth dry. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as the tension in the room grew thicker, suffocating.

Lando exhaled sharply, his mind scrambling for the right words to make this all go away, but nothing came. It was like his brain had short-circuited, caught between the haze of alcohol and the shock of his own slip-up. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, but hearing Magui’s voice, feeling her hands on him, and then… Amelie.

He cursed under his breath, attempting to meet Magui's eyes, but she was looking at him like he’d just slapped her.

—Magui, I...— Lando started, his words faltering. —It wasn’t... it’s not what you think.—

Her hands shot up in disbelief. —Not what I think? Really? Then what the fuck was it, Lando?— Her voice was sharp, louder now, her words dripping with frustration. —I’m sitting here on your lap, and you call out someone else’s name? What the hell is wrong with you?—

Lando opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He was panicking, his stomach turning, feeling a sharp pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the situation itself.

—God, you’re fucking insane!— Magui yelled, pacing a few steps away. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, clearly furious. —I don’t care if you’re drunk, that’s not something you just do. That’s not something you just say.—

—I...I didn’t mean it,— Lando muttered, standing up abruptly, his legs a little wobbly from the booze. He reached out to her, but she slapped his hand away with such force that it made him flinch.

—Are you seriously going to tell me you didn’t mean it? Are you going to tell me you’re thinking about her while I’m here, with you, right now?— Magui was almost yelling at this point, her words coming faster, the anger in her voice making Lando wince. —You know what? Fuck this.—

Before he could say anything else, Magui grabbed her purse and threw it over her shoulder, her body tense with fury.

—I don’t need this shit,— she spat, walking toward the door. —You’re a fucking idiot, Lando. And I’m done. Call me when you’ve got your shit together.—

Lando opened his mouth to stop her, but the words died in his throat. He stood frozen in the middle of the room, watching her slam the door behind her. The sound reverberated in his ears like a punch to the gut.

What the fuck just happened?

He didn’t even realize he was standing there, hands clenched into fists, until he noticed his breathing had become shallow and uneven. He let out a long breath, collapsing back onto the sofa. His head was spinning, the mixture of alcohol and a wave of emotions he wasn’t prepared for crashing over him.

—Fuck,— he muttered, his hand going to his face, rubbing his eyes as if that would somehow make everything make sense. But it didn’t.

Lando sat there for what felt like hours, the silence of the hotel room suffocating him. The whole situation with Magui had been easy. Casual. They had fun, they didn’t complicate things. But now, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.

What was it about Amelie? Why had her name slipped out like that? It was a name he hadn’t spoken in months, not since the last time he saw her.

He remembered the way things had ended. She’d been busy with Wicked, throwing herself into her work, and he’d felt ignored, pushed aside. That had been the excuse he’d used when he’d started talking to someone else—someone like Luisinha. That relationship, too, had been a mess, full of things unsaid and feelings that didn’t belong.

But now, he was here, alone in a hotel room in Ibiza, with Magui gone and his head a mess. The one thing he couldn’t get out of his mind was Amelie. The way she used to laugh, the way she’d look at him when they talked, the way she made him feel… like he wasn’t just some driver to her. He remembered the times they’d spent in the virtual world, playing games together, talking about stupid shit, and then—what? It was so much simpler then.

He dragged a hand through his hair again, frustrated. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did her name keep coming up?

But maybe the real question was: why hadn’t it stopped?

Lando leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the thoughts. But even in the haze of alcohol and confusion, he knew one thing.

It wasn’t just Amelie he missed. It was everything they had. The closeness, the ease, the connection that had been so fucking easy at first. And then it all just... stopped.

But the real question lingered in his mind as the room fell silent again. Why had he called out her name just now?

He ran his fingers over his lips, biting his bottom lip in frustration. —What the hell was that?— he muttered to himself, his words barely above a whisper.

Lando was left there, alone, still feeling the weight of the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he was more pissed off at Magui or at himself.

The room felt colder now.

Amelie had always been his weakness.

[sensitiveaangel]

youtube comment that is ravaging my mind rn

[buckysouvenir]

souvenir

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day one of the valentine’s day collection 2025, yay!!! i hope you find this as fun as i do.

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

New York, back in August.

The air was thick with heat, the kind that settled on your skin and made the city feel alive. You stood on the 10th-floor balcony, watching the smoke curl into the night sky, the distant horns of taxis and the muffled sounds of laughter from the streets below blending into something strangely soothing.

Then there was him.

You watched him from the doorway. Bucky Barnes, leaning against the railing, his metal fingers tapping absently against the edge.The light breeze rustled his hair, the strands falling into his eyes, but he made no move to fix it. Instead, he turned his head slightly, gaze catching yours. His wild blue eyes locked onto you like you were something worth memorizing.

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, the warmth of the evening doing nothing to stop the chill that ran down your spine when he looked at you like that. There was something about the way his gaze lingered—not just admiration, not just desire, but something deeper. Something that made your heart stutter in your chest.

You tried to look away, tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted into knots, but it was impossible.

"Come here," he murmured, voice low, rough.

And God help you, you did.

The night air wrapped around you as you crossed the balcony, the city lights flickering in the reflection of his metal arm. You leaned against the railing beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

The elevator ride to the suite was a blur of stolen touches and muffled laughter.

His fingers found your wrist first, a barely-there brush against your pulse before he traced up your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You shivered, though it wasn’t from the cold.

You reached out before you could think better of it, your fingers grazing over the back of his hand. He stiffened slightly at first, but didn’t pull away.

“Stay,” you murmured. “Just for tonight.”

When the doors slid open, you barely made it two steps into the hallway before he turned, fumbling for the keycard while you pressed up against his back, your breath warm against the back of his neck.

“Patience, doll,” he muttered, though his own hands were anything but steady.

The second the door clicked open, everything unraveled.

His lips found yours before you could take a breath, urgent and desperate, like he needed to make up for lost time. You melted against him, fingers tangled in his hair as he backed you into the room, knocking over something—maybe a lamp, maybe his resolve—before he finally pinned you against the wall.

Kisses in every corner. The bed forgotten.

Bucky was methodical, precise in battle, but here, with you, he was reckless. Hands roaming, mouths searching, bodies pressing so close you thought you might dissolve into him completely.

He whispered your name against your skin, like it was the only language he knew how to speak.

And when you gasped his in return, he sighed, as if that was all he needed to hear.

Later, wrapped in nothing but sheets and moonlight, you watched him reach for the bottle of wine sitting on the nightstand. A Bordeaux from 1993—something expensive, something older than some of the scars on his body.

He poured two glasses, but before he handed you one, he paused.

“Keepin’ this one,” he murmured, setting it aside, fingers tracing the rim thoughtfully.

You arched a brow. “For what?”

His lips quirked, but there was something softer beneath it. “A souvenir.”

Your breath hitched.

Because, deep down, you already knew—this wasn’t just another night. It wasn’t just another city, another warm evening in August.

This was something neither of you had ever had before.

And the way he looked at you then—the way his eyes burned like Egyptian blue, pulling you under—made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, Bucky Barnes had finally found something he didn’t want to leave behind.

#taglist: @cjand10

[fadingdaggerr]

sumpta sanguine (18+, mdni)

part 1 | part 2

pairing: agatha harkness x gn!witch!reader

summary: stuck in her ways, lost in your vision | 4.4k

includes: domestic fluff but the red flags are waving, blood magick!reader, angst, more angst

warnings: description of injury (brief), mentions of blood/death, description of illness, brief smut, afab reader (no chest description), fingering (r receiving)

translation: tolle hunc dolorem et restitue hoc corpus (latin) - take this pain and heal this body

note: i literally rewrote the entire last two sections bc i had a dream about this fic. it’s been rotating in my brain for weeks and i suddenly redid 70% i swear

August 1752

Hot air brushes through the trees, finding its way into the stuffy walls of the cottage. Not a single room could spare you of the suffocating heat. With all the windows and the door open, there is a small reprieve in the farthest back room, but most definitely not in the kitchen where you find yourself perched at the window.

Clumsy footsteps smack against the wooden floor behind you, a body toppling into the back of your legs. Turning to look down, a mop of brown curls and big blue eyes peer up at you. Hands grasp at your legs, tugging at the cloth of your rolled up trousers, a grabbing motion directed towards you.

With an exaggerated oof, you lift Nicholas into your arms, leaning back against the counter to sit him on your abdomen. His chubby hands fly to the strings of your shirt, fiddling with them with furrowed brows. Before you can even ask, he looks up at you.

“Mama?” He asks, staring you down as if he is trying to read your mind.

You smile, freeing one hand from under him to push a rogue curl from his face. With a gentle touch, you stroke his cheek with the back of your index finger, “Mama will be home soon, my sweet. Before the sun goes away.”

“When?”

Chuckling at his insistence, you lean into his space. His nose scrunches in time with yours, ever similar, and you cannot help the way your laugh becomes a giggle. “She will come home, Nicky,” you whisper, “she will always come back for us.”

This seems to calm his mind, immediately crushing himself against your chest in relief. The warmth of his body makes you feel woozy, but you refuse to let him down until he asks, or rather, wiggles free. Sweat lines your brow as you stand there, eyes closing as you savor the cuddles as long as they will last. Swaying gently side-to-side, you walk around the house, hoping the passing breeze will cool you.

The rest of the day, Nicholas stays glued to your side. When the heat grows too much for the toddler, he spends his time two steps behind you, watching your every move with his full attention. As you prepare dinner, you let him pick out the prettiest flowers from the bunch to make a new bouquet for the table. His murmurs of pu-ple and bwoo are music to your ears. Every time to try to sneak a peek at his choices, he tries to cover your eyes with his tiny hands.

By the time that you had completed dinner, and were finally able to look at your son’s choice of flowers, the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees. Both of you look at the window every now and then. Pursing your lips, you hope that Agatha returns before Nicky is to go to bed. He will never sleep without a good night’s kiss from both of you, each kissing a cheek with a loud smack of lips.

Worry does not even have a chance to take root when steps come up the wooden deck. The sound is enough to have the toddler whining, begging for help down from his perch. With quick hands, you scoop him up and place him on his feet. Little legs carry him with urgency to the door, breathing fast with excitement.

“Oh, my baby! It’s been ages, you’re practically a man now!” Agatha’s voice rings into the house, a muffled chuckle passing her lips as she tucks her face into Nicky’s hair.

Holding him on her hip, she finally meanders into the kitchen. Finding you leaned over the counter, she wraps her free arm around your waist, cheek squishing against your shoulder.

“Hello, my love,” she whispers, nuzzling her nose against you.

You hum, dropping your head to rest against hers, “missed you today, my heart. I trust it went well?”

“Always does,” she answers through an exhale. “Not a knick or scratch, I promise.”

Her words, no matter how much you believe them, do not stop you from reaching a hand around to check for yourself. The beat of her heart finds you easily, a balm to any anxiety you will ever have, steady and calm. Not even so much as a pinprick can be found, and the breath you were holding is let go.

Agatha stays there for a moment, soaking in the comfort that is you and Nicky. There is solace in your cool skin, drawing the exhaustive heat out of her own body. After a moment of solace, she peels herself off you, taking Nicky with her to change into nightclothes.

You and Agatha listen with small smiles as Nicky babbles on about what his stuffed rabbit had gotten up to today. Fern had fed the goats and fetched water, both of which were obviously not you. Chuckling at his antics, you push his spoon into his hand a little more, urging him to eat. Talking through every bite, he continues on the recount of your day. It was early into his rambling days that you realized why Agatha never asked you about the day, always waiting for your son to share it all.

As the sun disappeared and the crickets began to sing, the little boy had become limp on your lap, barely playing with Agatha’s hair anymore. His weight grew heavy, Agatha sensing it too as his fingers stopped fiddling. Sitting up from her spot resting against your legs, she turns to rest her chin on your knee.

Bedtime? She mouths. You nod, standing carefully and cradling the toddler. Walking to the farthest back room, you gently lay Nicky in his bed. Squatting down on either side of the bed, the two of you press a kiss to each of his cheeks.

“G’night, my sweet boy,” you whisper, walking backwards out of the room. It is hard to look away from him, the same every night. A piece of your soul out there, just in the other room, but still far enough to ache. You keep his door open, letting the air flow and to keep him within sight.

The wear of the day tugs you and Agatha to your own shortly after. Bare against the sheets, a pale leg drapes over your body, the warmth seeping in.

“Must you?” You question with a joking tone, the tips of your fingers dancing over her skin.

Agatha sighs in comfort, “I must. You’re an icicle and I’m sweltering.” Her nose brushes against your shoulder. The coolness once bothered her, fearing the worst of your health, but she realized in time that this was just you. Gone were the warm hands that held her close in that flowerbed, now she has the cold hands that temper the fire within her.

Turning your head, you press a kiss to her head, “perhaps that’s why I melt when you’re around.”

Agatha lets out a snort, nudging closer to you. Reaching lamely, you grab the edge of the sheet and throw it over you both. Turning onto your side, you let Agatha wrap herself around you. Your fingers trail up and down her spine, counting her breaths as they brush your neck. An arm wraps around you, nails circling the jagged scar that sits beneath her hand.

—⛤—

November 1754

The market is the most peaceful this time of year. Cold enough that few dare to venture outside, but warm enough to not yet suffer snow on the ground. Hand-in-hand, you and Nicky trail through the stalls. Small containers of goat’s milk and herbs you collected before autumn ended are all you have to trade. Hunting has never been your strong suit, but dressing the animal is another thing entirely. The pelts had been enough so far to give your son warm clothes for the winter, but none for you or Agatha.

Pulling slightly, Nicky tries to direct you towards a table of toys and instruments. Tugging him back to your side, you release his hand to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“Stay with me,” you murmur, looking over a table of fabrics. The four-year-old sighs, leaning against you with a pout, staring off at the object of his desires.

Hugging your legs, he pleas, “I jus’ wanna look. Can I, please?” He draws out the last word, batting his lashes. His mother’s son, most definitely.

“Look, don’t touch,” you relent. Pressing a kiss to his head, you watch him run off.

Looking back at the fabrics, you pull out jars of milkweed and blue iris. The woman running the table eyes them, then her table. Folding up some, she shoves it your way and grabs the jars from your hands. Wordless exchanges are your preferred mode of conversation, giving the people what you know they need for what you know your family needs.

Rolling up the wool, you shove it into your bag. Clipping the satchel shut, you are disturbed by yelling at the other end of the market. From the toy table, a woman yells, three others running after something. A flash of brown hair and a giddy smile passes by, all too familiar.

Immediately, your feet carry you in the direction of Nicky and his pursuers. Hopping over logs, the boy bolts in the direction of your home, just past the treeline. The women never stop chasing him and neither do you.

Your knee aches numbly as you run, making you want to slow down, but with lost sight of the boy, you refuse. As you crash through the trees, your small cabin comes into view. A flash comes from the windows, a blurred mix of orange, pink, and blue, fading into purple. Scrambling up the stairs, you catch yourself in the doorway.

The bag on your shoulder drops to the floor of the cabin, the one you had only moved into in the early autumn. Three bodies lay on the floor, shriveled and sunken, grey and gone. In front of them all, Agatha. Her hands stretched before her, the purple magick swirls around her fingers. A sickly sweet smile crosses her lips, eyes closed in satisfaction.

Blue eyes pop open, suddenly aware of your presence. Her hands drop, moving to step over a body to close the distance between you. Noticing the worry in your features, she cautiously reaches out, warm hands on your face.

“Are you okay?” You murmur, knowing the answer already. A soft kiss presses to your cheek, lingering for a moment, letting you feel the safety. With the sureness of it, you pull away, eyes searching for the boy.

Sat on the stoop, Nicky’s back faces you. Rounding him, you squat down, hand on his knee. Refusing to meet your eyes, he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, a whistle in his palm. Your thumb brushes over his knee, feeling a small, tacky spot. Pulling away, blood sticks to your fingers. Carefully, you pull his pant leg up, seeing a large scrape across his skin.

Quickly, to not let him see, you slice your palm across a loose nail, letting red tears fall. Pressing your hand to his knee, you close your eyes. “Tolle hunc dolorem,” you whisper, “et restitue hoc corpus.” Repeating the words, you feel your hand warm, and your knee tingles, skin ripping. Holding your breath, you force yourself to not react. Pulling your hand away, all you see on Nicky is a small scar, one that will disappear with time. You place a soft kiss to his knee, rising and ruffling his hair as you walk back into the house.

As you look around the house, Agatha’s refusal to meet your eye is obvious. Taking in a deep breath, you grasp Agatha’s arm, hauling her into your bedroom with crooked steps.

“You made him do this,” you assert. “You used our son as bait.”

She rips her arm from your grasp, “I did not! All I asked is that he tell me if he sees someone, not to bring them to me.”

Your brows furrow, eyes widening, “he is four, Agatha. A mere suggestion from you is as good as a command. He has no place in this.”

“Is he supposed to never know magick? To never know what we are?” Agatha’s hands rest on her hips, making herself bigger. Blue eyes bore into you, a useless intimidation in your view.

“Do not play that game with me,” you step closer to her. “Nicholas is not a toy to draw in those wretches, he is a child. Our child, Aggie.”

The crack in your voice is a shock to you both, not having realized the tears swelling in your eyes. All you can feel is a burn, in your eyes, in your knee, in your heart. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to rid yourself of the thought. Though with every blink, the image of your son being chased is burned back into your mind, hardly fading and ever present.

Defensiveness rolls off Agatha’s back at the sound of your voice, hands dropping to her side. Without a second thought, her arms wrap around you, hand cradling your head as the other rubs your back. You stand stiff in her arms for a moment, but the overwhelming comfort that is Agatha takes you in, and you relax completely against her.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she whispers, lips brushing your ear. “I will not involve him, not even with a whisper. He will know purple, not red.”

Clasping your arms around her, you bury yourself in her neck. Breathing her in, you try to focus on her pulse. The steady thrumming, for the very first time, does not soothe you as well as you had hoped. “Get rid of them,” you murmur, “and don’t let him see.”

In an extra effort to show her apology, Agatha makes dinner, letting you cuddle with Nicholas in front of the fire. Eyeing from her spot at the counter, she watches you twirl Nicky’s hair with one hand, the other hand resting on his previously injured knee. You took it from him so quickly, noticeably hiding a little limp in your step now. The fact alone makes Agatha squirm with guilt, looking away.

When bedtime comes, she does not allow herself within his room and stays in the hall. Pressing a lingering kiss to his temple, she brushes a stray hair behind his ear. The boy stirs, rubbing his head against your shoulder, “g’night, Mama.”

“Sweet dreams,” she whispers, taking a step back. Carrying him as if he weighs nothing, you disappear into his bedroom. Agatha stays for just a moment longer before going to your shared room.

Laying Nicky down, you bring the blankets up to his chin. Rolling over to face you, his eyes crack open, “are you mad at Mama?”

His little voice makes your heart squeeze, fighting the frown that tries to make its way on your face. You place a hand on his shoulder, rubbing with your thumb, “only a little, but that’s not for you to worry about. I will always love Mama, even if I’m upset with her right now.”

“Are you mad at me?” He is even quieter now, as if he is scared to ask.

You take a deep breath. Tears burn at your eyes, and you pray the cover of darkness does not let him see. “Nicholas, I could never be mad at you,” you say gently. “Today, I was scared. And I need you to promise me that you will never do something like that again?”

Sticking your pinky out, you feel a smaller one wrap around yours. You rise slowly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You are my blood and bone, Nicky. All I want is to keep you safe.”

“I promise,” he whispers, voice muffled as he shifts against the pillow.

With a low good night, you slip out of his room, leaving the door open. Walking back to the main room, you scour the floor for any remnant of earlier events. Not a scratch or so much as a hair. Sated, you slowly make your way to your own room.

On her own side of the bed, Agatha tries and fails to nonchalantly fake read her book. Wordlessly, you undress and lay down facing away from her. Reaching out, you cover the flame on your side of the room, shadows filling the corners. They crawl faster as Agatha’s own candle goes out behind you. Shifting in the sheets, you feel Agatha press against you, skin warm in contrast to yours.

A pale arm wraps around your middle, fingers tracing against your stomach. Her lips find your shoulder, trailing lazily with soft kisses. As her teeth graze over your skin, her hand slips lower and lower.

You can feel the tension gnawing at you with fading anger not far behind, yet your eyes shut almost instinctively. The thrumming of her heart fills your mind, beating in time each wet kiss pressed against your neck.

“Agatha,” you say through a breathy whisper, teetering on a moan. Lithe fingers brush over where you need her most, but she does nothing to soothe the growing ache she so easily caused. You attempt, poorly, to sound more stern, “Agatha.”

She shushes you, hand moving to knead at your thigh, trying to manually remove the anger from you. How she can calm you as easily as she vexes you will forever be a mystery. A shiver runs through you, which Agatha acknowledges by nudging you with her nose.

“Please, my love,” she presses her lips to your neck. Her warm hand slides from your thigh to your center, and at the hitch of your breath, she faintly smiles. Another kiss to your neck, “forgive me.”

A firm press against your clit forces you to bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut. Her saccharine words and addictive touch turn you to putty in her hands. Your hips roll against her, searching for more friction as you grow wetter. At your invitation, her fingers move in slow circles. Thighs quivering as they open, you give her control as you lean back further into her body.

Leaving your clit, her fingers slip through your folds, the tips probing your soaked entrance. With the whine that passes your lips, she sinks two fingers into you, palm rubbing deliciously against your still aching clit. Her agonizingly slow pace quickens as your hips chase a different speed. Pumping her fingers, she lets you ride out the pent up tension on her hand.

The soft clench of your inner walls alerts her to your approaching orgasm, lips reconnecting with your neck. Every scrape by her teeth and gentle nibble makes the fire in your belly grow, the curl of her fingers tightening the coil further.

Your blunt nails dig into her arm, all your effort focusing on not making too much noise. Curling tightly, the tips of her fingers reach that spot that makes your vision turn white, hips rutting faster to chase the feeling. Forcing the heel of her palm harder, the pressure sends you over the edge with a silent scream.

Warmth fills you, slowing your hips, closing your legs to trap her there. Shaking pants pass your lips, eyes slowly cracking open. You feel soft pecks against your sweaty neck, barely there, but grounding. Finally letting her hand free, she slowly pulls out of you, and you have the fight whimper that crawls up your throat at the loss

Lolling your head back, you watch Agatha bring her fingers to her lips, eyes flickering shut at your taste. Reaching up, you pull her hand from her mouth, cupping her face. Drawing her down, you whisper, “I meant what I said. Today will never happen again.” She tries to speak, but your hazy glare shuts her down. “Just nod or shake your head,” you command.

With a stiff nod, she tucks herself into your touch. Removing your hand, you grab her own to wrap her arm around you, pulling her flush against your back. Settling against you, you feel her hold you tighter than ever as you fall asleep, anger snuffed out, replaced with a distant longing.

—⛤—

April 1756

Early in the morning, with the sun still hiding, you felt the bed shift. Groaning, you tug the blankets more into your side, subconsciously seeking warmth as Agatha leaves the bed. Tip-toeing around the bed, she presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” she mutters against your skin, another kiss placed there.

“My heart,” you murmur, slurred with slumber.

You do not hear her shaky breaths, or the creaking of doors. Faintly, you feel two kisses press to your cheek, small and wobbly. But the sniffles do not reach your ears, nor does the crying after the front door shut.

When the sun rises and the birds begin to chatter in the trees, your body stretches under the covers. A grunt passes your lip at the stiffness of your thighs, a pleasant and light ache. Squinting eyes opening to sunlight filling the room and you flop over onto your back, turning your head expecting to see your beloved. What you find instead is an empty bed and cold sheets.

Sitting up, you immediately wrap your robe around your frame, flying through the house. Shoving open the door, your son’s room is empty, his blankets still pulled back. Only Fern the bunny sits on the pillow. The kitchen and sitting room are empty. The yard is filled only with goats and chickens.

Running back into the house, you frantically look around for something, anything. All you find is silence and nothingness. Alone with your thoughts, a bunny, and a piece of paper on the table. Slugging over to it, you read the best you can with tear-blurred vision.

My dearest love,

It’s what must be done to extend his time. We know what is left is borrowed, and we cannot divine when it runs dry. I wish nothing more than to take you with us, but apprehension will not give us more time. And my love, you are too gentle for what is demanded of us.

I’ll pray to the Divine Mother that you shall find me again, for you seem to have a talent for it. It is one of your many, my sun and stars. My heart will forever beat in your name.

Yours in every way,

Agatha

And in messy, but legible, writing below, a message that sits heavy on you.

I love you to the moon and back. And Fern.

Your Nicky

The weeks that follow are filled with sorrow and turmoil. Every township gave nothing, not a sound or a rumor. The nights were nothing but nightmares within short bouts of sleep. Your body felt weaker by the day, feeling similar to a sensation from years ago.

A gnarly cough rips through your throat, unforgiving and sharp. Your chest aches with each one, gripping the counter in front of you as you sway. Looking up into the mirror, you examine your appearance. Skin ashen and eyes sunken into dark circles, you truly looked beyond recognition.

Not once in over sixty years had you been sick, not even an allergy. Your whole body seemed to repel illness and injury, healing and curing with every beat of your heart. The illness that has consumed you in the passing weeks has only confused you. All remedies you knew did not so much as soothe your ailing.

In the market, you force a cough down, not letting it slip. Any sign of illness was assumed to be deadly here, and the people were unforgiving. As you wait for the wave to pass, to eavesdrop on passing strangers, hoping for anything.

Five, ten, fifteen people pass before anything is worth your time. But then, two women walk by slowly, deep in conversation.

“I’ve heard it, it’s true,” the one in a light blue dress says excitedly, “the Witches’ Road. It promises glory for those who dare.”

The one in orange scoffs, “it’s nothing but a song, Violet.”

Standing from your spot, you try to follow. You knew exactly what song they spoke of, it was one of your own, written together through the seasons with a sweet little boy and his captivating mother. Yet now, it was something to sing to yourself in times when grief claws at you.

Stumbling slightly, you catch up with the women. Falling in line, you hope you do not look desperate.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but were you speaking of the Witches’ Road?”

The one in orange speaks first, eyes firm, “yes. And what of it?”

You raise your hands in a show of no harm, “I merely ask where you heard of such a thing? Was it close by?”

Violet interrupts her friend, “it was at a tavern some days back. This adorable little boy was singing of it. Quite well, if I’m to say so.”

Her comment tugs at your heartstrings, a small smile crossing your cracked lips. Your little song bird. It’s replaced by the unsureness in her declaration of time. If they were only speaking of this now, it should not have been too long ago. How close you must be, yet you feel you are far.

“Are you well? You seem…” Violet trails off, concern flooding her features.

“Come with us,” the other says. “You’ll be among your own. I’m Margot, that’s Violet.”

Nodding, you walk in line, letting them practically hold you up on either side. They lead you through town, to a cottage at the edge. Neither ask many questions, just speaking quietly among themselves as they work around you.

Nightfall comes, and you tuck yourself into the small sofa, graciously accepting the several offered blankets. The warmth of the blankets and dying fire tug you into a reluctant sleep, tearing at your sickly mind. Slowly, the rubbing of the stuffed rabbit ears ceases, your hand going limp at your side. Dreamless and dark, it is a heavy slumber.

A dense, ice cold feeling rips through your veins, seizing your heart. Eyes flying open, you sit up to grip your chest, fear flowing as you wake in confusion. Struggling to get up, you fall onto the floor, scratching at your shirt to reach your skin.

Pressing your palm to your neck, you feel your pulse, steady and normal. It is a jarring difference from the pain and unsettling feeling around you. Your heart breaks as you come to realization. Hollow. You feel hollow.

Looking up towards the window, over the hyacinths on the sill, you are greeted with the sight of the moon. Your only companion stares back, capturing your entire attention. A ringing in your ears replacing your ragged breaths. One voice, many unified, echoes behind the static.

Only one, they said. No other.

title translation: sumpta sanguine, latin - the blood taken

note: as always, feedback is appreciated! especially with something like this because it’s not like my previous works. let me know if y’all would be interested in me continuing this <3

[vennilavee]

happy birthday to my sweet cancerian prince iwaizumi hajime, enjoy this quick, sad drabble that may or may not have a part 2

Tanned skin suits Iwaizumi, you think. The sun clearly agrees with him, his skin golden in the twilight. He looks at you with knowing eyes. Like he could sense your tender gaze on him already.

He’s been here with you in California for school, but neither of you has spoken about the end of the summer. When he’s supposed to go back home to Japan in August, just after your birthday. 

But home has been California for the last few years. You knew this wasn’t permanent and that he would leave as quickly as he came. You didn’t expect him to mean this much to you. He’d call you stubborn if he could hear your inner monologue. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

It’s his birthday week, though. So you keep your mouth shut and enjoy watching the ebb and flow of the Pacific Ocean in tune with the setting sun. 

“This is nice,” he says quietly. His voice almost gets drowned out by the sound of the waves. By the sound of you kissing him when he’s still here.

“This is the millionth time we’ve been here,” you deadpan.

“So? It can’t be nice even if we’ve been here a million times?”

“I didn’t say that,” you say lamely.

“It’s always nice. Even better with you,” Iwaizumi replies. He’s always doing that, always saying things so matter of factly as if there’s no room for doubt. His eyes turn to you, filled with such a devotion that you look away with heated cheeks and don’t reply.

Iwaizumi gathers you in his arms, a quick question of whether it’s okay, and rests his chin on your shoulder. It’s so easy to sink into his arms despite the turbulence of your mind. He’s so warm, he smells like your favorite cologne- being in his arms nearly makes you forget about the impending ending of your relationship as you know it.

He kisses your temple, then your cheek. It’s light against your skin, barely there. But enough to make your belly flutter. You allow yourself the reprieve of leaning your head against his shoulder, swaying lightly with the breeze. It floats through your hair, dancing and caressing your skin as if it can hear what you’re thinking. What cruelly sits in the pit of your stomach even on Iwaizumi’s birthday. You can’t even fake it, just for one day.

Iwaizumi kisses your lips this time and it quells your racing thoughts, just for a moment. Because the shape of his lips on yours feels like home, even though home for him is 5000 miles away.

Iwaizumi never asked for much. You were always enough- he didn’t ask you to surprise him with a birthday visit from Oikawa Tooru, Matsukawa Issei or Hanamaki Takahiro. He didn’t ask you to throw him a surprise party. He didn’t ask you to spend every day of his birthday week with him. But you did, because that’s what you do.

When you’re in love, that’s what you do. When you’re afraid to let a love with its inevitable ending go, that’s what you do. 

He can sense your wistful gaze on him as Oikawa teases him about something or the other. Iwaizumi isn’t really paying attention to him, he’s more thinking about how the space next to him feels empty without you there. You’ve been hovering but not quite landing next to him, where you belong.

He looks up, sending you a look with a raised eyebrow. You shrug and he beckons you to him with a tilt of his head. You give him a soft smile and gently pad over to him. Sitting next to him on the couch and curling into his hold when his arm instantly wraps around your shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmurs to you, playfully pushing his forehead to yours, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say throatily, “I’m good.”

He doesn’t believe you, but still squeezes you to him. Ignoring the teasing of his friends, ignoring Oikawa’s shout of indignance, ignoring everyone except for you.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, not really, when you tell him that you need to talk to him. The summer is nearly over, and you’ve spent more time missing Iwaizumi than you have enjoying his presence while he’s here. You know this, but you can’t help it. 

It’s nearly August, nearly your birthday, and you break up with him.

You don’t realize how much you hate yourself for it, not until months later. When the memory of your birthday is tainted by you being alone and crying, crying, crying. You can’t stand it, can’t stand yourself, can’t stand being without him. But he’s back in Japan now. You made him leave you, after all. His words ring clear in your head-

“You made the choice without me,” Iwaizumi says hollowly, tears dotting his eyes. He wants to reach for you, but he stops himself. You’re hurting him, but he still wants to comfort you.

Another reason that he’s better off without you.

“I don’t want to hold you back-”

“Hold me back?”

“You were always going to go back home, Hajime! A seventeen hour time difference makes no sense, and you’re so young, you’ll be fine, you’ll move on-”

You’re trying to convince yourself that it’s the right thing. But your words stutter, your throat catches, and your face is wet.

“Stop it,” he whispers brokenly, “Just stop it.”

No matter how much he fought you, fought for you, you didn’t budge. Stubbornly, in a whirlwind of self-sabotage, you remained steadfast. Despite wanting to be with him even if it meant long-distance, even if it would test you both… You ran away from it. Ran away from him.

You’re twenty years old when you lose the love of your life.

[slutz4fanfic]

Okay lately I’ve been in a Joel miller kick. Idk why but here we are. I’ve been thinking of writing a short little thing about Joel miller, main character’d dad is Joel’s best friend. A slow burn, angst, a more quieter main character, age gap, smut, all the goods. Here’s what I got so far…thoughts ??

The cicada hummed in the heavy Texas heat as I’m sitting on the front porch swing, my bare feet grazing the worn wood beneath me.

It’s late summer in Austin, the air is thick, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the faint tang of barbecue smoke from the cookout my father had earlier today. I can hear my father’s laughter boomed as he drinks and jokes with his oldest friend, Joel…Joel Miller.

Joel has been a constant presence in my life for as long as I can remember. Him and his daughter Sarah. He’s my dad’s best friend, partner in bad jokes and long-winded stories, Joel always had a way of commanding a room. Joel carries himself quietly, assured, rugged in a way that felt effortless. Him and dad are not only best friends but they’re business partners together. They work together doing construction/contractor type jobs.

“Honey why don’t you come inside?” My mom sticks her head out of the house calling me. “I will, Im just enjoying the late August breeze” I smile at her.

My mom has soft blonde hair, bright blue eyes, always a calming energy. My mother and I look nothing a like. I have my father’s dark curly hair, his dark brown eyes, and tan skin. But people say I have the same calming energy that my mother has. At least I got something from my mother, my mother is the most beautiful woman on this earth…but I guess I’m a bit biased.

“Alright honey don’t stay out here too late” she says before closing the front door.

I don’t only want to enjoy the late August weather, but frankly being around Joel makes my head spin. The past year I’ve developed this stupid, stupid, school girl crush on the man. I know I shouldn’t, I know how wrong it is. He’s 20 years older than me, my dad’s best friend, practically family. But it seems every time he comes around, I found myself drawn to him, my heart fluttering leaving me breathless.

His strong jawline dusted with salt and pepper scruff, his dark hair kissed by streaks of some silver. Then his voice, slow and smooth with that subtle Texas drawl that just stays in my stupid head long after he’s spoken.

The screen door creaks open causing me to glance up. Joel stepped out, a beer in hand, his worn flannel shirt rolled to his elbows. His sharp dark eyes catches mine darker ones. I can see the tired under his eyes, but he has a small lopsided grin.

“Thought I’d find you out here darlin” his voice low and warm. He leaned against the porch railing, faintest hint of a drawl curling around his words. “You always were one for the quiet”

His words make my stomach jump, the idea that Joel knows me. Knows how I think, what I like and don’t like.

Get it together Violet. It’s Joel, of course he fucking knows you. I’d tag along with him and my dad with everything since I was 7. Rides in Joel’s old pickup truck, fishing trips out by the lake, even just watching them fix whatever needed fixin’ . “Guess I like the way it feels out here” I murmur my voice soft.

Joel tipped his head a bit, his gaze feels like it’s studying me. “Can’t blame you for that. Feels like the rest of worlds a thousand miles away, doesn’t it” he sips his beer.

I nod my head, fingers curling around the edge of the swing. His intense gaze lingers and the weight of it sends a slow flush creeping up my neck.

He sank onto the swing beside me, the wood creaking under his weight. For a moment neither of us spoke, the stillness between us only filled by the cicadas.

"You're real quiet tonight" Joel's voice low. "Something on your mind?"

I glance at him,my teeth can't help catch my bottom lip thinking of my response. "Not really. Just...thinking"

"About?"

I hesitate, my fingers tracing the edge of the swing "nothing important"

I can feel him studying me again. Something he does often. He eyebrows furrowing in the process. He didn't push it, but the look in his eyes wasn't buying it. "You know you can talk to me, right kid?"

I feel my heart squeeze at his words, at the gentleness in his tone. I want to tell him everything- that I've been thinking about him for longer than I cared to admit, that my chest ached every time he smiled at me lately. But that's crazy talk, and I'd drop dead before I even think of doing such thing. 

Instead, I simply respond quietly "I know”.

Joel nodded, leaning back on the swing. I know he can feel this tension coming off me. He knows me.

"Violet" he says after a long pause, his voice softer now. "You sure you okay?"

I know he means well, he's genuinely concerned. He's like a second father to me for Christ sake. It's not his fault the past few weeks I've been keeping my distance from my dad and him. I mean I used to hang with my dad and Joel all the time, just enjoying their presence, joking with them every weekend- even if it was getting them beers and watching the rangers game.

"Yes just been workin lot" I murmur finally glancing up at him. That’s not a full lie, I’ve been working a lot at the bakery saving up to move out my parents. "Hmm" he huffs eyeing me down softly. "Well leave all that workin like a damn dog to your dad and me" he gently places his calloused hand on my knee. I tense slightly at the action not expecting it. I feel the air suck out of my lungs. I hope he didn’t hear me.

His hand gently rubbing my knee in a calming manner but it feels like my skin is on fire just from his touch.

"Okay" I breathe out in a breathless whisper. "Good girl" my bottom lip naturally finds my teeth again as my gaze instantly looks down at his praise.

"Joel! Get in here! I need someone to back me up on this !" My dad's voice booms shattering whatever the hell this moment is. I feel his gaze still on me for a beat longer before he squeezes my knee and stands to his feet "better go save him from himself" I can hear the chuckle laced in his voice. “Don’t stay out here too late, it’s getting chilly”

I smile to myself at his comment, it's known my dad usually will put his foot in his mouth especially with my mama. I watch as he goes back in the house.

I let out a shaky breath, I set my hand on my chest feeling it beat fast against it, hoping it’ll help settle my erratic heart. Good girl. His deep, southern draw still rings in my head.

"Get it together Violet. It's just Joel" I mumble to myself taking another deep breath. I shake off the nerves standing to my feet. My bare feet making the boards creak from underneath me and I open the screen door.

The smell of my mom's candles going and the voices of all three them going on about something stupid im sure my dad said.

"There's my girl" my dad's smiles, his eyes catching on mine. I look at the trio in the living room, my mom sipping on some wine sitting against my daddy. Joel sitting in his usual spot when he comes over, on the small love seat across them.

"Got a little chilly out there" I say softly. "Well get out that dress of yours and join us kid" my dad's says before turning his attention back to Joel. I glance at Joel really quick trying to steal a look but it seems his eyes are already on mine. I move my gaze quick and go up the stairs with a blush dancing on my cheeks.

This is just a quick draft of the first chapter..but id love feedback and/or ideas from you guys :)

Skylar xx

[levellyscorner]

Reserved for Members only (Country Club! Steve Harrington x Fem! Reader) Prt 3

Summary: Steve Harrington is a walking cliché—rich, tan, bored, and dangerously charming. He drives a vintage roadster, smells like sea salt cologne, and has never been told no in a language he understands. Hawkins Country Club is his kingdom, and he rules it in boat shoes and a smug grin. Girls swoon. Dads nod. Staff talk. And Steve? Steve coasts.

Until she shows up.

Perched in a white lifeguard chair with sunburnt shoulders and zero patience for trust fund theatrics, she’s not charmed. Not impressed. Not remotely interested in whatever lazy flirtation he’s offering that day. Or is she?

Triggers: Power Imbalance (Wealth/ Class difference), Workplace boundaries blurred, Peer pressure. Alcohol.

A/N: so I may have wrote this at work again instead if being productive. Sorry summer romance wins every time.🌊💭

“August slipped away into a moment in time”

The beach was quiet, the party a distant hum high above, softened by jasmine-laced air and the hush of the tide rolling in. Down here, it didn’t feel like part of the club anymore. Just moonlight, salt, and the faint glint of broken shells scattered like stars across the sand.

She stood at the edge of the shore, heels in one hand, toes pressing into the cool grit beneath her. That black dress, short and sharp and so perfectly out of place here, fluttering in the breeze, the white slip beneath catching light like foam on the tide. Her hair, once carefully smoothed, had been tousled by the wind, and a lock of it stuck lightly to the gloss at her cheekbone. She looked like a painting someone had left too close to the edge of the frame something beautiful in danger of being smudged by the sea.

He spotted her from the edge of the dunes and stepped onto the sand. “You disappeared,” he said softly. “I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.”

“I didn’t say you were.” She didn’t turn, just looked out at the water like it might give her a better answer than he could. “I just turned around and you weren’t there.” He took a few more steps, stopping beside her, close enough now that their shadows blended together. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything,” she said, her voice low. “Seemed like you were doing fine without me.” He didn’t rise to the bait. “You think that’s why I came out here?”

“I don’t know why you came out here,” she said. “But you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “I wanted to.” She shifted her weight slightly, digging her toes deeper into the sand like it might anchor her. “You didn’t owe me that.” He looked at her, the edge of his profile lit faintly by the moon. thigh. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just left.” She gave a small shrug. “Felt like the right move.”

“For who?” he asked. She didn’t respond, but the silence after was shaped like an answer. The tide eased in and out at their feet, soft as breath. She shifted her weight again, like standing still too long made her restless. “Sometimes it’s better to leave before someone gives you a reason.” He nodded slowly. “And you figured I’d stay where I was. That I wouldn’t notice.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A gust of wind caught the hem of her dress again. She caught it absently with one hand, like she hadn’t noticed. “I’m not really the girl who stays for the fireworks,” she murmured.

Steve’s voice stayed quiet. “You didn’t have to stay for them. You could’ve stayed for me.” The waves came in again, higher now. The hem of her dress fluttered against her thigh, her bare feet sinking slightly deeper into the sand. She didn’t say anything. “I don’t belong up there,” she whispered. “You know that.” He crouched down, brushing his hand across the sand, till he picked up a smooth, flat stone. Rolling it between his finger before tossing it into the waves, watching it skip once before disappearing into the tide. “I thought maybe if I looked the part, it’d be easier. But all it did was make it worse.” She confessed her arms tightening around her frame.

He stood slowly, brushing his palm on the back of his pants. “You don’t have to try to be like them.” Her gaze flicked toward him at that, “That’s not why I asked you to come.” There was a brief pause as his eyes shifted away towards the horizon. “I asked you because you don’t make things easy. You don’t pretend to be impressed. You don’t tell me what I want to hear.” He paused again shrugging lazily. “You make me think harder. About what I say. And call me out when I say something stupid. I like that,” he said finally, quieter now. “That you don’t let me coast. I wanted someone real for a change.”

The tide whispered up the sand and slipped away again as the words hung in the air between them, not heavy, but deliberate. Real, like it mattered more than it had any right to at a party full of polished smiles and practiced charm. The moonlight caught in the angles of his face, softening the sharp edges, turning his profile into something almost too sincere for the kind of boy who usually thrived up there. His tie was slightly askew, blazer long since ditched, cuffs rolled carelessly to the elbows. He looked like he should’ve belonged in that world, but here—barefoot beside her, hair mussed by the same wind that had unraveled hers—he didn’t look so polished.

He looked honest.

He glanced down at the tide curling around their ankles, then back at her. “Next time,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question, “we skip the party. Something more your speed.”Her eyes flicked toward him, skeptical and amused. “My speed?” She replied in mock offense. “Yeah.” He nudged a shell with his toe. “You know—no dress code. No champagne towers. No ambient jazz playing from a hidden quartet.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly holding back a smirk. “And what exactly do you think my speed is?” He shrugged with a lopsided smile, “I think you’ll light up more when you’re not trying to shrink yourself into a room that doesn’t deserve you,” he said, plainly like he hadn’t just handed her something dangerously close to earnest.

She huffed a quiet breath, more a smile than a laugh. “You’re awfully confident there’s gonna be a next time.”

“I’m not,” he said easily, digging his toe into the sand. “But I’m hoping.” They both stood there soaking in the silver moonlight, and salt air till finally she turned to him.“Alright then,” she murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Say there is a next time. What would it look like?” His mouth tugged into something that wasn’t quite a grin, but close. “You tell me.”