#electric wire fell

[general-george-washington]

chicken wire isn't predator proof bc it's very easy for raccoons to stick their hands in and grab a bird but it has also stopped my neighbors gsd who went running at it

It bends easy but it doesn't break easy

[holybibly]

Bunnies, I wondered if you missed me as much as I missed you?

Today's unholy hours. You're riding on Wooyoung's pretty face.

Wooyoung moaned hoarsely, pressing your pretty pussy so close to his face as if his life depended on it, his finger pads digging into the soft skin of your thick thighs hard enough to leave a purple haze that would remind you for weeks of that euphoric moment between you two. 

You'd always loved how possessive and rough Wooyoung was with you, especially when he fucked you, turning your body into his own artwork with hundreds of bites, scratches, and bruises. Maybe it wasn't exactly normal, or maybe you were a little biased towards that type of guy. Who knows? His behavior in the bedroom created a perfect dissonance with his usually playful and chaotic nature, each time overwhelming you with contrasting how different he could be. One moment Wooyoung would be kissing the palms of your hands and gently stroking your cheek, and the next you would be sitting on his face, riding him like a thoroughbred stallion, while his firm grip held you in place. 

Just like now, as Wooyoung's long tongue caresses your moist, silky folds and his nose rubs against your swollen, sensitive clit, and further stimulating it with a little kitten lick and hot kiss that he gives your pussy as your hips roll over his handsome face. 

Your fingers tangled in the disarray of his raven silk strands, tugging lightly at the soft curls, occasionally scratching his scalp with your fingernails, causing him to make deep, hoarse moans of pleasure, drowned out by the loud, obscene noise of his greedily eating your cunt. 

Your eyes, half closed with bliss, lowered to his face, or rather the part of his face that wasn't hidden by your thighs, which encircled his head with a seductive but suffocating grip. A shiver of pleasure ran down your curved spine as your eyes met the lustful, pleasure-glazed gaze of his dark fox eyes that penetrated you. The intensity of that gaze was so powerful that you wanted to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment. Your head was thrown back, your kiss-swollen lips fell open in a loud, melodious moan of his name, and your eyes rolled back into the back of your head as Wooyoung's hot, plump lips closed around your clit, drawing it in his mouth and sucking sweetly on that little lump of nerve. The sensation was so strong, it was like bare electrical wires touching your naked skin. It made your hips jerk slightly, and more of the viscous, sweet fluid spurted from your quivering hole and flowed directly into Wooyoung's mouth. 

Open-mouthed kisses streamed over your swollen labia, the tip of his nose sliding over the moist, glistening skin of your pussy, following the trail of his tongue until his long, hot appendage slid into your silky folds, swirling back and forth. The soft rustle of the creamy satin sheets tingled Wooyoung's ears as soft white noise mixed with melodious moans escaped your lips as his nose pressed especially hard against your throbbing clit and the tip of his tongue entered the narrow, oozing hole, licking the silky walls of you from the inside.

Your muscles burned with tension, but you ignored it as the glass-sharp pleasure coursed through your body, eclipsing any other pain but sexual pain. You gripped the headboard of the bed with your free hand, trying to balance your weight over Wooyoung as you could no longer trust your legs, his name tumbling from your lips like the sweetest prayer, making his fingers dig harder into your thighs, the crescents of his nails digging into your skin until it bled. The quiet, husky moans of his name were a spell that enchanted him, making him serve and worship you like a goddess. All Wooyoung could think about at that moment was how he could give you the most amazing orgasm possible.

Your moans grew louder, as did the speed of his tongue. The wet slurping sounds echoed in Wuyong's ears as he relentlessly fucked your tight hole with his tongue, slurping the sweet nectar of your cunt like a hungry man. He fucked you mercilessly with his tongue, while his nose ran firmly over your clit, doubly stimulating you. His foxy eyes watched as you slowly collapsed under the movements of his tongue as droplets of sweat rolled down your body, sliding down your seductively succulent curves as the heat of pleasure spilled over your body in a hot flush. Your soft, voluptuous thighs were pressed against the sides of his head as you rode his face, rubbing your wet cunt over his mouth, nose, and chin, smearing your juices over his cheeks and high cheekbones, and making his hard cock twitch painfully. He was as close to orgasm as you were. 

"Oh God, Wooyoung!" You cried out loudly as your orgasm ripped through you in a blinding explosion of sensation; your nails dug into the skin of his scalp, delivering Wooyoung a mixture of pain and pleasure that rippled through his entire body down to his cock. Your entire body shook in slight convulsions as the shockwaves of pleasure continued to roll over you one after another. Wooyoung's strong arms guided you through your orgasm, supporting your weight and finally laying you on your back, your hair scattered across the satin of the soft pillow like a silk fan.

A pair of familiar, mesmerizing fox eyes gazed lovingly at you while the rough pads of his fingers soothingly stroked up and down your thigh. Your hand found his face, cupping his smooth cheek and gently running the pad of your finger over the beautiful mole under his eye. Wooyoung wrinkled his nose playfully, turning his face so that he could kiss you on the palm of your hand, and his hot hand squeezed your thigh. 

"Next time, I'll eat you until you pass out from pleasure, baby. I'll never be able to get enough of you." Wooyoung leaned down to your face and kissed your lips sweetly. As his tongue entered your mouth, you could taste your own juices, and the heat of excitement washed over you again. 

"Hmm, why don't you do it now, Woo? Make me faint with pleasure, my pretty boy." 

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat Chapter 11: the trap snaps shut

masterpost

Five vans peeled into view, rocketing around the curved road fast enough that they visibly tilted through the turn. They all bristled with weaponry.

Cass felt her lips press into a faint line. She glanced at Dannybaby: scared. I knew it. Here they are.

They didn’t have to talk about it. The three adults stepped out and put their backs to ring Danny, facing outwards to the threat.

“Shoot the racks,” she commanded. The mounted weapons. She didn’t like that. She pulled out a batarang herself and squinted to find her aim. The construction? Sloppy. Exposed wires. Weakness.

A gun cocked. “Aye aye, captain.” Jason hefted a gun in each hand and started shooting as the vans screeched to a stop in a circle around them. Bang! Sparks flew where he hit. Cass and Dickiebird did the same with quieter precision, slicing wires and leaving projectiles sticking into the metal monstrosities. Electricity sparked. Just in time: machines whined as they were powered on. One gave out with a huge bang!  The van attached to it jolted as the machine punched a huge dent into the roof. White smoke floated away, clouding the nighttime scene with a chemical stink.

“Whoa,” Danny breathed.

She felt a twinge of satisfaction.

Jason hit the last set-up with a bang! Bang! Then his foot scuffed across the pavement to knock against Danny’s. Check, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re little.

“They’ll come out!” Danny warned.

He was right. Doors clicked unlocked all around them and men in white suits piled out, futuristic looking guns aimed at the little group. 

She felt a twinge of disbelief. “Can’t shoot,” Cass said. No way. So dumb. They were in a circle. Friendly fire, new concept to losers??

They shot. She hit the ground in a roll and trusted that everyone else would. They did. She turned her head to see that one agent was down from friendly fire. There was no blood as he was lifted off his feet and blasted backwards against the van he came out of.

“Ghost scum!” howled one of the suits.

“We knew it!” 

The victory in their voices set her blood boiling. Cass launched herself to the closest opponent and took him down with a nasty hit. She whirled on the next one, two mean hits. Go, go, clear the area! She heard feet scuffling and weapons whining as they fired, fired, fired on the boys.

She took number 4 down as the smoke was starting to clear. She heard a pained oof from the center, where Jason and Dickiebird were blocking Danny.

“Jason!” Danny said. He sounded very young. “Oh, shit.” Cass cast a frantic glance over at his posture and sucked in a breath even as she bulleted towards the next opponent. Determined. I have to do this. Here we go! 

No, no!

Jason was down. Dickiebird was darting between Jason and the man actively firing. Danny was pale. He opened his mouth. He put his palms out. He flashbanged. 

She blinked away stars and slammed a man’s head into a van before he could aim at her. Slam, slam, drop. She stole another glance. Danny was- Danny had white hair now and he was flashing green light at their enemies. Hm. She couldn’t afford to watch. Cass bared her teeth, angry. 

Air sizzled: GIW firing wildly. Guns fired: Jason was still conscious. Danny yelped: what? 

Cass didn’t dare look more. She moved faster than Batman could ever, brutally taking down these criminals with disdainful ease. They had nothing but numbers and lasers. 

Green shot past her vision. She traced it back: Danny! Her eyes went wide. Wow. He had some kind of organic blast, like Starfire. Very useful! 

 It wasn’t enough. Danny screamed. She heard him hit the ground. Sizzling.

She howled, wordless with fury. She tackled the next agent and cracked his head against the pavement. Only two more. She flung a batarang down the barrel aimed at her and then yanked the weapon away to brutally jab the air out of the agent’s diaphragm. Cass tossed it at him as he fell. Solid thunk. It hit his head.

The last man tried to say something, white teeth flashing in the gloom. Her ears were closed to it. The only language she spoke right now was violence. She used it to get him down and wrench him into zip ties. She could hear Dickiebird talking his soothing sounds at Danny baby. Cass wanted to go there. Cass wanted to soothe him. She wanted to see his hurts. 

But she had to secure the area. She rushed around to the groaning and crying men she had put down. She immobilized them. The foolish ones tried to get up as she approached. The smart one (and there was only one) held his hands out, eyes wide in the night. He talked at her. Beseeching, reasoning, she just doesn’t understand. You’re like me. Not like them.

Cass snarled. She understood just fine. She pressed his face into the ground harshly, fingers digging into his jaw. “Shut up,” she gritted out. She left him with effort, ignoring the mean impulse to smack him. 

All the boys were on the ground. There was no blood. Eyes open. Not dead.

Something in her gun unclenched.

Dickiebird looked up at her from where he was supporting Jason, sitting halfway with a grimace as he holstered his guns. Hands shaking. “He’ll be fine!” Danny pressed his body against Jason like he was trying to absorb his body heat. His hair was black again and his eyes looked tired. “He, uh, it’s shock,” Dannybaby babbled. She knelt to rub at his back, silently encouraging the explanation. “They basically zapped his ecto, stopped circulation. It should start up again in a few minutes and he’ll feel fine.”

“Get off,” Jason grunted. He shoved at Dickiebird. Weak. “I feel fine.”

Lie.

“I feel drained,” he admitted. “But fine. Just weak. I can stand.” He struggled to stand, biting his lip. He swayed only slightly. “Man,” he cursed under his breath. Jason cast an unhappy look at the 14 agents groaning on the ground, on their bellies like the worms they were with hands ziptied at their backs. “Not my best showing.”

“Next time, you could dodge,” Dickiebird suggested lightly. 

“You’re lucky it got him and not you,” Danny snapped. “Didn’t you see that guy go flying?”

Tense. Dickiebird paused. Smile. Soothe. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “It’s fine, Danny.”

“None of this is fine!” Cass swiveled her head to make sweltering eye contact with the scumbag who was cutting in. He was bold, for someone with his cheek digging into the rocks and cement. “By the authority of the US Government, you are required to submit these ecto-entities for testing and capture into our custody. Release us, or face dire consequences!”

Cass looked at him. She felt hate. Disdain. You’re nothing, you’re a worm to me. 

“They’re telling the truth,” Danny whispered. “It’s, uh, it’s legal.” He looked haunted. He rubbed at his chest: some memory of sharp pain.

Dickiebird snorted and slung an arm over Danny’s narrow shoulders. “Maybe by US laws, but Oa has jurisdiction that supersedes. This was a clear case of assault.” He gave an unpleasant smile. Big brother. Big angry. Guard dog at the door. “I’ll make a call.” 

The next minutes felt very long. Cass pressed Danny’s face into her shoulder so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with the fallen agents. She stroked his hair with her free hand, boiling inside with fury. 

Dickiebird called. A Green Lantern answered: coming.

They waited. Jason said he felt better. His body said: mostly better. But strange. They ignored the threats and complaints from the GIW men on the ground.

Hal Jordan came, with one more Green Lantern that Cass didn’t know. He gathered up prisoners in a green veil. He talked with Dickiebird. He nodded, and left.

“I wanna go home,” Danny said quietly. “But I think that we need to get Jason to my doctor. He’s really not right. It’s… It might be time sensitive.”

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 3 - "Okay, show me."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

"So… first time getting kidnapped?"

Tim blinked at the teen that was tied to a wall right across from him. He marveled for a a moment at how similar the two looked and even thought that he could see how the other teen could have gotten mistakenly kidnapped in his place. Though if they had already kidnapped him then why did they end up kidnapping him again?

"No, getting kidnapped kinda comes with the name and status." Tim finally answered and the other kid nodded sagely as if he understood. "Usually they are a little more incompetent."

He moved his wrists a little causing the strange silver bracelets they had slapped on his wired before chaining him to the wall so that they would cause a rattling noise, making the other teen look at them with a raised eyebrow.

"So first time getting kidnapped by the GIW then."

"GIW?"

"Guys in White, or well Ghost Investigation Ward, a government organization." The other teen explained with a shrug. "Usually they are incompetent. Aside from a couple of burns from getting shot, this is the first time they actually managed to chain me in a while. Normally they would have messed up by now but it's interesting that they even manage to nap you too."

Now Tim raised an eyebrow. That was news to him. To think there was a governmental organization that was actively abducting civilians for who knows what. Damn, he could see how B would not be happy once he told them about that.

"Sorry btw." Tim blinked up at the other teen in confusion, who chuckled in return. "They probably kidnapped you thinking you were my double or something. We look similar enough for them to think that."

"Wait…" Tim's eyes widened in realization. "They kidnapped me because I look like you? Not the other way around?"

"Uh yeah, why would I be kidnapped because of you?"

"Tim Drake-Wayne. Does that ring a bell?" Tim huffed only to watch how the other teen furrowed his eyebrows as if deep in thoughts before shrugging.

"In fact no it doesn't. But I don't keep up with high society, it helps pissing of the fruitloop whenever he drags me to 'meet important people' and I actively call them false names no matter how often he introduces them."

Tim's eye twitched. While that is fun, this was also the first time he met someone who hadn't heard of his name before in some way or form. In the end just let out a sigh.

"So what now? We wait to get rescued or will they release us after some time?" Well he had already tipped off his family, so it was probably only a matter of time until one of his siblings burst in to play knight in shining armor. He just hoped it wasn't Jason again, or he wouldn't shut up about having saved him for another month.

"Oh we can wait, but they won't release us. It's probably better if we get out on our own."

"Really? And how do you plan for us to get out of the handcuffs?" Well Tim did have a lock pin hidden in his jacket and some small sized tools stuffed into the sole of his shoes but with his hands chained above his head it was a little difficult to get them. But his feet were not chained so with just a bit of body twisting he could-

"Oh the handcuffs are no problem. They can be easily removed by overloading them."

"Overloading?" Tim arched an eyebrow, now the cuffs did not look like your normal brand he can admit that but how was the other going to do that unless he had some secret electric tool stored on him.

"Yea, overloading. It's pretty simple. These look like the same Brant they tried to cuff me with a year ago. It's funny how they look like they haven't learned a single thing in all these years."

"Really now?" Tim stared at the other teen unimpressed. "Okay, show me. How are you going to overload them with no tools around?"

"Easy." The other teen smirked at him and Tim's eyes widen as he saw the others hands emitting a green light before the cuffs on his wrist sparked and then fell off. Okay, noted the other teen was a Meta.

"My name is Danny by the way." Danny grinned as he rubbed his wrists before getting up and walking over to Tim to do the same to his cuffs. Tim rubbed his his own wirsts, carefully examining them for any time of injury only to look up just in time to watch Danny reach into his own chest. With wide eyes he watched Danny sticking out his tongue while one of his hands was going through his body as if he was looking for something.

"Aha! I knew I stuck them in my body somewhere for a situation like this!" Okay there was so much to unpack from this sentence alone but before Tim could even ask a single question Danny pulled out a lockpick set from his chest and proceeded to pick at their cell door.

"I have so many questions." Tim muttered, still watching the other teen.

"Well I can probably answer some of them once we are out of here. It's the least I can do after you get kidnapped because of me." Danny grinned as the lock he was working on clicked and he swung the door open. "Wanna talk over some coffee? You look like you need some."

"This is definitely not what I expected when I said 'show me'." Tim muttered once more walking passed Danny out of their cell, eager to leave this place.

"Yea well that the more civilian friendly things I can do." Danny followed with a grin. "Though I do have some other tricks I could have used too."

"You talk like a hero." Tim thought aloud, eyeing the teen and how they were holding themselves. Nothing about this teen screamed innocent civilian anymore, well aside from the obvious Meta abilities. He also marbled about the fact that they basically just walked out of the warehouse they had been holding. Huh looked like these GIW guys were really as incompetent as Danny had mentioned earlier.

"Yea, well I am a retired Hero." Great now Tim got more to look into in regards to Danny. Oh that reminded him, he probably should tell his family that he was no longer kidnapped… but that could probably wait until after he got his coffee with Danny. What was the worst that could happen? Red Hood storming an empty building. Oh well, it would be a good exercise for his brother then.

[anakur]

Cuddling him would include... (Featuring The Main 4 & Butters)

🌹| A/N : My first post ^^ I'm glad to have finished it though I am a tad bit worried over my characterisation of them. Guess that's just how I am haha

🥀| Warning(s) : slight nsfw implications- mostly parents' assumptions, but also during the last part for Kenny

Stan ⋆ ˚｡⋆🎧˚

Listening to music. Sharing earbuds or earphones. Especially when his parents are arguing (or if Randy is just... Being Randy)

You two are cuddling, as you look up, you see Stan with his earbud in hand, listening to the noise outside his room. He sighs before turning to you. He presses you closer to him as he turns up the volume on his phone. You wrap your arms around his neck and he closes his eyes, relaxing at your touch.

Smells like weed. Because,, Tegridy Farms.

Wears his beanie when you're cuddling. You take it off and he gets grumpy. Kiss him on his forehead in conciliation and watch as he gets that stupid Charlie Brown grin on his face.

The first few times you cuddled in Stan's room, he cleaned it up beforehand but after the first few times, he stops. Not to say his room is dirty, just, you may find an empty bottle on his nightstand, some clothes tucked underneath his bed or a hoodie draped over his desk chair, threatening to fall.

At some point Stan may get up to move it but it only ends up falling, so he leaves it on the floor. Next time you come over its still there (he swears he picked it up eventually and it just fell again)

The first time you two were cuddling he spent the majority of the cuddling session with his face pressed into the crook of your neck or your shoulder. You found it sweet. He was flustered, because in actuality he was trying to fight the urge to vomit. Eventually he has to excuse himself for a moment. Felt he messed up and ruined the moment, but his heart skipped a beat when he came back to see you waiting for him with open arms.

Kyle ⋆ ˚｡⋆📚˚

He finds drooling to be a bit gross, even though he knows it's not something you control. In the beginning of your relationship he will wake you up to tell you that you were drooling. Reasurres you it's fine when he watches you get embarrassed. Later on in the relationship, he'll just grab a tissue from the box on his nightstand and wipe it off himself.

It's what he keeps his tissue box there for. nothing else

Has to keep the door open, because his mom tells him to. Although his dad is a bit more lenient about it.

Sometimes when you forget about it, Ike will come into the room- having announced himself by a short knock at the door- as he stares at his phone and simply tells you:

" Mom says to keep the door open. "

Ike then proceeds to leave it wide open

" Close it halfway. "

He's already gone.

Kyle's the one who gets up to do it, leaving the door ajar. Everytime. Doesn't make you get up. If you ask for a glass of water, he'll also get it for you (and give you a forehead kiss). Don't abuse that power though, once you overuse it he'll start making you get it yourself.

Will not fall asleep when you're playing with his hair, but, he does feel very comfortable in that position

Says very sweet mushy stuff to you and gets embarrassed when he realizes you were awake the whole time. He trails off and stops talking.

Pushes you away playfully if you ask why he stopped or tell him to continue talking.

If you're watching a movie and cuddling, with a blanket covering you both, especially if it's dark outside and the lights are turned off, Sheila eyes you suspiciously when walking by. Staring particularly onto the blanket on your laps, covering you both waist down.

Kenny ⋆ ˚｡⋆🗑˚

Finds it cute when you drool. He'll chuckle and wipe it off.

Keeps his door closed. Hates it when you can hear his parents arguing. He would offer to share his ear phones but they're not in the greatest condition. Electric sparks flying and exposed wires. So, bringing your own pair would be very much appreciated.

Whispers mushy things to you when you're asleep. When he notices you're awake, he switches it up and starts saying dumb things just to make you laugh. Hears you give in and start giggling and he grins, acting surprised as if he had no idea you were awake.

When Kenny's household becomes too loud, he'll take you outside and lay on the grass together. Makes up constellation names.

It's the middle of the night while you're both sprawled out on the bed. You're sleeping and he's awake. He listens to the sounds outside the window and your breathing. When he hears you moving, he looks over and gently pets your hair, telling you to go back to sleep. His voice quiet and gentle.

be prepared for waking up and having Kenny casually mention he got morning wood

Cartman ⋆ ˚｡⋆🍫˚

Liane asks him to keep the door open but she's very lenient about it, by simply mentioning it as she walks by Cartman's room.

Also will bring you two snacks

Cartman is the type of person to tell his mom you're hungry, when, in fact, he was the one who suggested getting something to eat.

Flabbergasted when his mom turns to you asking what'd you'd like to eat.

Tries to cut you off, suddenly switching to 'we'

Smells like food.

Unlike the other guys he does NOT clean up his room beforehand. I believe however, his room is clean for the most part.

You had to nag him to clean his bed. Yes, his sheets are regularly washed and his bed gets made (both by Liane), but he eats in his bed. Which leaves some crumbs, that stay even after he 'sweeps them off' with his hands.

Imagine Liane's utmost surprise to see her darling son, Eric, on the bathroom floor, with his bed and pillow covers, squinting at the instruction on his phone. He mutters some swear words, before finally turning to her for help.

So the next time you come over, he had cleaned his bed hours before you came and restrained himself from doing anything on it until you arrived.

Actually gets pissed when you don't mention or even notice how clean his bed suddenly has become.

On second thought, he realized you probably will not praise him on a such a basic household task. But c'mon at least acknowledge it.

Lets you lay on him, sometimes.

He's watching some dumb videos on his phone as he had gracefully allowed you to lay your head on his shoulder.

You ask him to turn down the volume.

Fights the urge to not be a dick about it, and not raise the volume.

Begrudgingly he reaches for his headphones.

Once you fall asleep, he starts rubbing your back slowly. Immediately yeets his hand away when you wake up.

Doesn't want to deal with you waking up, even if he himself had also been awake.

" Eric... " you mumble, opening your eyes.

" Go to sleep. " he pushes your head down, as gently as you'd expect him to, onto the pillow.

" But I want water... "

" No. "

" ... What do you mea-"

" If you drink water you'll end up pissing yourself while you sleep. In my bed. "

"... That's not how it works. "

He then proceeded to press you into his chest.

" Fucking sleep. "

Butters ⋆ ˚｡⋆🌼˚

His parents definitely have him leave the door of his bedroom wide open. Not just slightly open. No, fully open. So, the cuddling has to be kept at a modest level.

Just sitting next to each other with some space in the middle between you both.

If his dad walks in, he'll stare at you, as to make sure nothing suspicious is going on.

If his mom walks in, she might remark how nice it is to have you over, asking if you two are comfortable and reminding to keep the doors open.

Holds your hand. Either your fingers are intertwined or he plays with your fingers as you talk, or just lay there in comfortable silence.

Falls asleep first, despite his attempts at staying awake, to make sure you sleep peacefully. However Butters is the one who wakes up first, so you just have him staring at you for a couple of seconds before realizing it may have come across as creepy and apologising for it immediately.

When you traced your finger along the scar on his face, he like squeezed his eyes shut at first. But then next time you ask before doing so, and he relaxes into it. Now he melts when you do it.

Would brush his fingers through your hair, no matter its length. But if his fingers get stuck he freaks out and thinks its his fault.

[yandere--stuck]

Imagine confessing to Joker that, sometimes, you do feel a bit crazy. He'd been wheedling it out of you for hours now, continuously and obviously guiding you to the idea that there had to be something special about you to catch his eye. Something about you that stuck out like a sore thumb, and not just to him. Something innate about you that drew him toward you.

“There has to be something, my dear,” Joker had said. “I don't exactly attract the most normal company.”

You tried noncommittal answers at first. Really, the only person who'd know why he'd fallen for you (so he claimed) would be him. And hadn't he claimed to know everything about you already? God only knew how he'd gotten your information, but it didn't surprise you considering the man holding you captive. Even still, The Joker kept pestering you for your thoughts. Your mind was just so fascinating to him. 

So, you relented, even if just to appease him. You watched his grin widen, and the smile reached his eyes as they crinkled in delight. The clown hanging onto every word. 

Sometimes, you did feel crazy. Like the world didn't really make sense. Everyone else had a set of instructions on how to navigate the world that you never got. How did everybody else know how to start a conversation without a shock of anxiety washing over them? How did others have the ability to get up out of bed when you couldn't find the strength to? How did anybody find consistent meaning and purpose in their lives.

Even when you tried to pretend to be like them, it fell apart so quickly. It was so hard to keep on top of things. So hard to stay organized and stable and motivated. And you were so aware of the act you were putting on. So was everybody else, you were sure of it. You were sure they could tell, as if they thought of you as something not quite human and just something pretending to be. Something to tolerate until it crawled back to where it came from, another failed attempt to infiltrate their ranks.

You didn't even know what made you stand out to The Joker of all people - especially for anything outside of a murder attempt. You purposefully tried not to stand out. It made it harder to detect how different you were so long as you kept your emotions and thoughts close to your chest. No chance for embarrassment if no one ever got close enough to embarrass you again. 

Joker raised a hand to stop you, resting his hand on your shoulder. The green of his eyes held surprising softness before flashing with mischief.

“How about we give those fools something to really be scared of?” The Clown flashed a grin, raising a small contraption in his hands.

“What the Hell is that?” You blurted out.

The metal thing was the same size and shape of a small ball, painted an acidic green and electric purple. Wiring covered the thing, either wrapped around the outside or sprouting up like weeds from within. A small LED display screen was centered in the middle, left blank.

“A bomb,” Joker grinned. “I figured it'd be thematically appropriate.”

“Get that thing away from me!”

“Oh, come now, it's not even armed.”

As if to prove his point, Joker tossed the bomb aside, letting it roll across the floor. He paused for a ment, raising a hand to his chin in thought. Then, he seemed to light up, snapping his fingers. 

“Oh, of course, you'd want to deal with ‘em up close and personal!” Then, with a flourish, Joker pulled a gun from seemingly out of nowhere. He threw his head back as a chorus of laughter erupted from within. 

“Stop!” You spluttered, backing away. “I don't want to hurt anyone!”

Joker stayed put and simply blinked, brows furrowing. He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because- because you can't just hurt people! It's wrong.”

“No, it's what they told you is wrong,” The Clown's hands balled into fists. “They force you to play by their rules, then punish you for losing at a game you're not designed to win. They wear you down to the bone and know you won't fight back, so they get to walk all over you."

“That's not true.”

“Don't lie to yourself, Darling. I'm saying this all to help you. I want to help you finally fight back. Everything you've gone through has all been leading to this moment.”

“I can't,” You held your ground. “I won't.”

The Clown stared you down. His eyes held an emotion you couldn't quote register. He wasn't frowning exactly, but he certainly wasn't smiling.

You nearly jumped when Joker suddenly crossed the room. The sound of his footsteps mirrored the thundering of your own heartbeat. It muffled all thoughts as electric panic ripped through your veins and left you petrified in place. Not like you could escape, anyway.

You tried to calm your breathing, but hot, panting breaths kept escaping you, chest rising and falling erratically. You could hardly keep yourself composed enough to look him in the eye. And when you did, somehow it was worse than expected. The expression on his face and look in his eyes wasn't one of murderous intent. Not one of rage. Hell, he didn't even look disappointed.

No. His expression was one of pity.

He swept you into an embrace. One arm curled around your back, hand still holding his pistol. You could feel the cold of the metal pressing against the small of your back. Another hand came up to push your head closer to his chest. 

Joker lamented. “Oh, my poor little maniac. It's so sad to see what they've done to you. If only I had saved you sooner.”

You didn't respond, hoping the excuse of being smothered into his jacket would be enough for him to not demand a reply. You felt the slow rise of Joker's chest pressing against you, then sank back as he exhaled a sigh. A gloved hand petted at your head soothingly.

“You're just like Bats, you know,” he said. “These barriers you put up for yourselves are so small, but you give them so much power. And I just don't understand why.”

You paused, giving yourself time to think before mumbling into the fabric of his jacket, “Because it's the right thing to do.”

When you glanced up at him, the look of condescension on the Clown's face was nearly enough to forgo any ideas of self-preservation or pacifism. Nearly. The last thing you'd want to do is prove him right.

“They're never going to see you as normal, you know that, right?” He pressed. “You'll never really be one of them. Like a square peg trying to squeeze itself into a round hole. I don't see why you're so caught up in silly things like morality when it clearly hasn't helped you yet. It certainly doesn't seem like a concern for any of them.”

You didn't want to talk about this anymore. You didn't want to think anymore. You just wanted to find some cold comfort in the embrace of another. 

A pair of lips pressed against the crown of your head. You flinched in his hold, burying yourself further into his grasp. Maybe you could just disappear. 

“It's so sad to see you sabotage your own potential like this,” The Joker continued, voice taking on a lighter tone. “But it's okay. I'm here to take care of you. And I'll keep taking care of you until you can become who you were always meant to be. Because I love you, I really do.”

Yeah, right.

Still, you wished he made it harder to believe otherwise.

[sirfrogsworth]

We moved into this house back in the early 90s. We bought it from an old man named Fred Salmo. As we began living in the home every once in a while we'd discover some weird new thing wrong with it. Never anything catastrophic, but small frustrations that my dad had to deal with all the same.

Fred thought himself quite the handyman.

He was not.

He was a union sheet metal worker and I guess he thought that translated to home repair. But in actuality he would usually try to fix things with sheet metal even when that was not an appropriate solution.

And so whenever we'd find one of these issues we'd joke that we got "Salmo'd" again.

Almost all of the electrical outlets were wired backwards. "Looks like we got Salmo'd again."

A heating duct would have some terrible patchwork (with sheet metal). "He really Salmo'd this."

There was a bedroom ceiling fan that was not securely attached to said ceiling. "He's going to Salmo us to death in our sleep."

We kept finding these inept fixes for many years. One by one, my dad (who was an actual handyman) would properly fix them.

Eventually, we were pretty certain all of the Salmo'd shit had been addressed.

Until last night.

I noticed something looked off about the big light on our garage workshop on the back of the property.

It was... lower... somehow.

I walked back to figure out what was wrong and discovered this.

The wind was blowing pretty hard and the light fell off of its mount and was dangling by the electrical wiring.

Upon closer inspection I noticed something.

It was mounted to a piece of thin metal decorative trim. I could see nothing structural it could have been attached to. No stud or beam. Just that trim.

That light was here before we moved in. Which means it has lasted over 30 years without falling down. And knowing how it was mounted, that is kind of incredible.

But it definitely feels strange getting Salmo'd again after all this time.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this yet. My brother took our only ladder a long time ago and never returned it. I'm not even sure how to power off the light without turning off all the power to that building. But I guess I should make that a priority today and go from there.

Replacing that light is one of the first things I wanted to do if I got some money to fix up the house. It has a horrible green tint and for as big as it is, it only lights up a small area. Hopefully that won't be a super costly repair.

Fucking Fred Salmo.

[nerdy-novelist017]

Trouble (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader)

Bill Skarsgard, covered in blood and acting feral as he violently kills people to avenge the woman he loves?? Yeah, that really did a number on me….but I couldn’t help but fall in love with Eric’s quiet character in the first act so pls enjoy my ramblings! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 1.5k+

Summary- Eric's carefully guarded solitude is disrupted by a bold newcomer who seems to be trouble incarnate.

“I wanna get in trouble.”

A voice, sudden and electric, broke Eric from his reverie as a figure’s shadow fell across the intricate lines and shadows of his drawing. He glanced up hesitantly, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight behind you. His eyes were met with the sight of you – a tempestuous spirit with wild, untamed hair that cascaded around your face like a mane, defying the order and discipline of this facility. There was a glint in your eyes, mischievous and daring, that seemed to challenge the very atmosphere around you. You loomed above him, a figure of restless energy, waiting for a response that he was unprepared to give. 

“What?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the boldness of your intrusion. 

You grinned cheekily, and with an audacity that left him momentarily stunned, you stepped up onto the picnic bench he was perched at, planting yourself so that you were sitting on the table as if it was your own personal stage. Your feet, clad in worn, oversized sneakers rested casually on the seat in a silent declaration of your disregard for rules. “Don’t you?”

Eric blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he hastily pulled his papers closer, as if to shield them from your encroaching presence. “No.”

“No?” you parroted, a suggestive playfulness tone to your voice. “But this place is so boring.” 

He glanced around the yard, taking in the stark reality of the rehab facility, his eyes lingering on the chain link fence with its towering barbed wire glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun. “It’s supposed to be,” he said with cold detachment. “And you’re not supposed to be fraternizing with me.”

You followed his gaze, casting a sly look to the guards who stood at the back door, and a smirk danced on your lips. “Uh oh, I wonder what the consequences for that will be.”

Eric wanted to roll his eyes at your attitude. This was how all the newbies were when they came in: brash, defiant and convinced they could outwit the system. They came in with fire in their eyes only for it to be extinguished within days by the crushing reality of their situation. Nobody stayed trouble for long. He watched as their bravado withered, soon to be replaced by resignation. And the ones like you – those who pushed the boundaries with reckless abandon – often found themselves confined to solitary confinement, their spirits slowly eroded by the wright of their own demons. 

“You think I could seduce one of these guards to sneak us in some contraband?” you asked, raising your brow in a conspiratorial way as you nodded toward a pair of male guards standing near the backdoor, idly chatting and sharing a cigarette. 

Eric’s gaze traveled over you, from the oversized, ugly pink sweatshirt that swamped your frame to the untamed hair that framed your face like a wild halo. You spoke of “us” as if any semblance of companionship existed between you too. There wasn’t. It was just him and his solitary existence. He had no need for friends, no desire for connections – especially not from someone like you. 

“No,” he said finally as he returned to his sketch, hoping his blatant disinterest would be enough to drive you away. “You need to get off the table.”

He could feel your eyes on him, your gaze almost too intense. When you tilted your head, studying him in amused disbelief, he knew what was coming. Another newbie thinking they could crack him open like some sort of nut, put together the broken pieces like a puzzle. He kept his attention on the drawing, hoping you’d take the hint and leave him alone. 

“C’mon, you don’t look like someone who’s this much of a stick in the mud.” Your voice was playful, teasing but Eric could sense the challenge beneath it. His silence seemed to fuel you, as if his resistance was exactly what you were hoping for. “What’s your name anyway?”

He hesitated, hating how you were forcing him to interact with you like some needy puppy. “Eric,” he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the drawing.

“Eric,” you tasted his name on your lips quietly. It grated on him, the way you spoke as if you already knew him, already had him all figured out. “You’re an artist, huh? I bet you’re all dark and broody, right? The strong, silent type?”

His jaw tightened, his pencil pressing a little too hard against the paper. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him, but he could feel your words digging right under his skin. Dark and brooding? Strong and silent? You didn’t know anything about him, didnt understand the darkness that lingered in the corners of his mind, the weight of the silence he carried, yet here you were, already trying to pin him down with labels. And typically, Eric didn’t care what anyone else here labeled him with, but your unnervingly amicable voice was something he wasn’t used to. It was almost laughable, except it wasn’t. It was annoying. 

Your words struck a nerve. He remained quiet, instead choosing to focus on the shading in the corner of his page, tried to drown out the sound of your voice, but he knew his silence was betraying him. The tension in his jaw, the way his grip on the pencil tightened – it all gave him away, and he could almost feel you noticing it, filing it away for later. God, why couldn’t you just leave him alone? 

Then you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper for only his ears to hear. “You know, I think you want to get into trouble. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours before he could stop himself, his heart racing at the sudden intensity in your eyes. And there was something in your gaze that unsettled him. Annoyance flared up first, hot and defensive. But beneath that, he felt a flicker of . . . curiosity. And he hated that too – hated that you were getting under his skin. What the hell did you even know about him? What gave you the right to pry into his life, his thoughts.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he retorted, his voice sharper than he intended, the words escaping in a rush of defensiveness. 

You shrugged, unbothered by his tone, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “Maybe not yet, but I’m good at figuring people out. And I think you’re bored out of your mind here, just like me. You’re dying for something – anything – to happen.”

Eric shook his head, forcing himself to look back down at his sketch. “You’re wrong.” 

Even to his own ears, the denial sounded weak, and that only served to deepen his irritation. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, stretching your arms overhead, and Eric resisted the urge to glance up. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’m always up for a little fun.”

“Fun,” he echoed, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered to respond, but something about your persistence was unraveling him bit by bit. “That's what got us in here in the first place. 

You paused, and for a second, Eric thought maybe he had finally shut you up. He looked up and caught a flicker of something else in your expression, something serious that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. But just like that, it was gone, replaced by that infuriating grin. 

“Maybe,” you said, your voice softer, thoughtful in a way that made him uneasy. “But maybe that’s what will get us out of here too.”

Eric watched as you slid off the table, landing lightly on the ground. For a moment, he thought you might actually leave him alone, and the relief that washed over him was sweet. But then you turned back, hands stuffed into the pocket of that oversized sweatshirt, your grin still in place – though it didn’t seem to reach your eyes quite the same as before. 

“See you around, Eric,” you said before sauntering off, as if you didn’t just turn his whole world upside down in a matter of a few minutes. 

He stared after you, watching as you kicked at the feet of another unsuspecting patient who grumbled at you as you passed. His mind raced, his drawing forgotten, the lines and shadows now blurring together in an indistinct mess. He hated how you so easily managed to disrupt his carefully-constructed isolation, how you made him think about things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. He wanted to believe you were just another reckless newbie, just another faceless patient in a sea of addicts who would burn out soon enough. But something in the pit of his gut told him you were different – something he couldn’t shake. 

In the silence that followed your departure, Eric was left to grapple with the realization that the trouble you brought was not just a disruption, but a catalyst for change, a challenge to his solitude. And now as he returned to his meaningless drawing, he wondered briefly if perhaps your indelible, chaotic presence was exactly what he needed to rewrite his own story in the hell hole. 

And that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

Tagging some of you who seemed interested!

@apolloanddaphnis @one-of-thewalkingdead @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @redwitchbitch1 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @mrsalwayswrite

[silverstar70]

Fandom: Criminal minds Character: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Author's note: English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

Summary: During a training session, the tension between Hotch and Y/N grew stronger

Warnings: 🔞‼️ new relationship, smut, sexual tension, fluff moments, friends to lovers.

Words count: 4,579k Hope you like it and let me know what you think! Enjoy it!

Something new pt.1

Training session

The BAU training gym buzzed with quiet energy as agents filtered in and out, focusing on their workouts or sparring sessions. Aaron Hotchner, known for his discipline and dedication, was no stranger to this space. However, today, there was an unusual tension in the air, a palpable electricity that seemed to emanate from the presence of a single individual: Lieutenant Y/N L/N.

Having transferred from the Navy to the FBI for a joint task force operation, Y/N had become a familiar face at Quantico. Her strong leadership and tactical skills were undeniable, but it was her long-standing friendship with Aaron that intrigued the team. They shared a history, one that extended beyond their professional interactions.

Y/N had known Aaron before his time at the BAU, back when he was still with Haley. She had always harbored feelings for him but chose to distance herself when she realized he was happy. Now, years later, fate had brought them back together under different circumstances. Haley was gone, and Aaron was a different man—hardened by experience and loss.

Among the agents, Aaron Hotchner stood tall, clad in a fitted black t-shirt and matching athletic pants, his presence commanding even in a casual setting.

Across the room, Y/N tightened her ponytail, adjusting her workout gear. She glanced at Aaron, feeling a slight flutter in her stomach. They had always maintained a professional relationship, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken between them—a tension she couldn't quite place. Or maybe she could but tried to ignore it.

Today, the BAU was conducting a mandatory self-defense training session. The agents paired off, leaving Y/N and Hotch as the only unpaired duo. He watched as Y/N adjusted her gloves, her movements precise and measured.

She looked up at him, a small, confident smile playing on her lips. "Ready to get your ass kicked, Hotchner?"

He chuckled, a rare sound that softened his otherwise stern demeanor. "We'll see about that, Lieutenant."

They circled each other, assessing, waiting for the right moment. Aaron made the first move, lunging forward with a quick jab. Y/N sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. He felt the controlled strength in her grip, a testament to her training.

"Not bad," he grunted, spinning out of her hold. They continued the dance, a series of strikes and counter-strikes, each testing the other's limits.

As the session progressed, the gym seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the space, mingling with the faint echo of their footfalls on the mats. Aaron couldn't deny the thrill he felt—her agility, her focus—it was exhilarating.

Y/N went for a high kick, aiming for his shoulder. Aaron caught her leg, pulling her off balance. She fell back, but not before hooking her free leg around his waist, dragging him down with her. They landed on the mat, bodies pressed together, the heat between them undeniable.

For a moment, they stayed like that, breath mingling, eyes locked. Aaron's hand rested on her waist, fingers brushing against the exposed skin beneath her shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, mirroring his own.

"Nice move," she murmured, her voice low and husky.

He swallowed, struggling to keep his composure. "You're not bad yourself."

The tension was thick, a live wire crackling between them. Slowly, Y/N disentangled herself, rolling away and standing up. She offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet. As they stood facing each other, Aaron felt a surge of desire, a need to break the unspoken rules they both adhered to so strictly.

With each move, each counter, they seemed to communicate on a different level—silent yet profound. Aaron grabbed Y/N's arm, attempting to pin her again, but she twisted out of his grip with a fluid motion.

"You've gotten better," Aaron remarked, slightly breathless.

Y/N smirked, "You haven't seen anything yet."

She lunged, feinting left before shifting right, catching Aaron off guard. He stumbled back, but quickly regained his footing, a glint of admiration in his eyes. He countered with a swift move, sweeping her legs from under her. She hit the mat with a soft thud, Aaron's body hovering over hers, his breath warm against her skin. The proximity was intoxicating, and for a brief moment, time stood still.

"You've always been a formidable opponent," Aaron said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart pounding. "You never knew the half of it," she replied, her voice equally soft but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper.

The air between them crackled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Aaron's gaze flickered to her lips before he quickly pulled back, extending a hand to help her up. She took it, her touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary.

They continued the session, but something had shifted. The sparring became more intense, their movements more precise. It was as if they were testing the boundaries of their own control, pushing each other to the brink. The gym seemed to grow warmer, the air thicker with the unspoken tension between them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aaron called for a break. The gym door creaked open, and JJ poked her head in. "Hey, we're wrapping up. You two coming?"

Aaron cleared his throat, stepping back. "Yeah, we'll be right there."

JJ nodded, shooting them a knowing smile before closing the door.

Y/N grabbed a towel, dabbing at the sweat on her brow. "That was a good session."

There was a moment of silence, thick with unspoken words. Aaron knew he should step back, and put distance between them. But something kept him rooted in place, his eyes locked on hers.

Y/N shifted, biting her lip. "You know, we should do this more often. Training, I mean."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"

She shrugged, tossing the towel onto a bench. "Yeah. It was...fun."

Aaron's gaze softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Fun, huh? That's not a word I hear often."

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eye. "Maybe you need to loosen up a bit, Hotchner."

He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "Maybe you're right."

Standing there in silence, close yet distant from each other, the room felt small. The air between them cracked with electricity, Hotch lost himself looking at her as a shiver ran along his body and a feeling, he hadn’t felt in years began to spread in his chest. Every muscle tensed at the strange feeling; his stomach tightened, his breathing hitched in his throat and his heart seemed to beat out of his cage.

Y/N felt his eyes on her penetrating her soul, like he was trying to read what was going on in her mind. If only he knew.  “What?”

Her voice brought him back to reality. “Umm, nothing.”

Eager to get up from there, he grabbed his gym bag ready to rush out the door, but Y/N turned towards him at the same time he moved. Face to face, the distance between them was almost nonexistent, she could feel his hot breath on her face.

Driven by some invisible force, Hotch reached out, brushing a strand of loose hair from her face. His touch lingered, fingers trailing down her cheek.

Y/N's breath hitched, her eyes darkening. She leaned into his touch, her hand coming up to rest on his chest. "Hotch..."

He swallowed, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. The sound of his name on her lips sent a rush of heat through him. "We shouldn't," he whispered, even as he leaned in closer.

He hesitated, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. But in that moment, all he could think about was her—the feel of her skin, the warmth of her body. With a quiet groan, he closed the distance, capturing her lips in a fierce, desperate kiss.

Y/N responded instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him closer. The kiss was a clash of need and restraint, a desperate attempt to quench the fire burning between them. Aaron's hands roamed her back, pulling her against him as if trying to merge their bodies.

The world outside the gym ceased to exist. There were no rules, no consequences—only the two of them, lost in a whirlwind of desire. Aaron kissed her deeply, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lips. He felt her hands slide under his shirt, fingers tracing the muscles of his back.

They pulled apart, gasping for air. Aaron rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. "We should stop," he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction.

Y/N nodded but made no move to step back. Her eyes were glazed with desire, lips swollen from their kiss. "We should," she agreed, her voice breathy.

They stood there, caught in the aftermath of their shared moment. Aaron's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of exhilaration and fear. He knew they were treading dangerous waters, but the thought of pulling away felt like a betrayal of everything he wanted.

With a sigh, Aaron gently cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "We can't let this happen again," he said, his voice firm yet soft.

Y/N nodded, her eyes holding a mix of disappointment and understanding. "I know," she replied, her tone resigned.

They pulled away, the loss of contact a cold reminder of reality. Aaron took a deep breath, steadying himself. He offered her a small, rueful smile. "Thank you for the session. It was...enlightening."

She returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Anytime, Hotchner."

With one last lingering look, they turned and walked out of the gym, the air between them heavy with unresolved tension. As they stepped into the hallway, the sounds of the bustling FBI office reminded them of their duties, their responsibilities.

Aaron glanced at Y/N, who was already putting on her professional mask, her expression unreadable. He admired her strength, her ability to compartmentalize. But he couldn't shake the feeling that they had crossed a line, one that couldn't easily be redrawn.

As they rejoined the team, Aaron felt a pang of regret. He knew he had to be the responsible one, to maintain the boundaries. But as he watched Y/N interact with the others, a small, rebellious part of him wondered what it would be like to break the rules, to give in to the undeniable chemistry between them. A small part of him wished he wasn’t so strict with rules.

As the days passed, Hotch and Y/N fell back into their professional roles, maintaining a careful distance. The BAU team, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the undercurrent between them but chose not to comment. Work carried on, cases came and went, and the tension between Hotch and Y/N simmered beneath the surface.

One evening, after the team had finished a particularly grueling case, Y/N found herself in the conference room finishing some paperwork. Hotch noticed her and quietly entered the room, not wanting to disturb her.

He couldn't help but admire her. She was focused, her brow furrowed in concentration as she studied the files. Despite the exhaustion etched on her face, she radiated a quiet strength that Aaron found both admirable and alluring.

She looked up after a while, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Aaron standing there, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

"Hey," she replied, her tone guarded.

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "I wanted to check on you.”

"I’m fine. It’s just being a long day," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Aaron nodded, watching her carefully. "Yeah, it was. You should get some rest."

She looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking away. "I will. Just need to finish up a few things."

Aaron hesitated, feeling the familiar pull toward her. He knew he should leave, and give her space, but the urge to bridge the gap between them was too strong. He took a deep breath and closed the distance, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his voice gentle yet firm.

*

When the team noticed Hotch and Y/N in the conference room, they exchanged curious looks. Around Reid’s desk, everyone was trying hard to avoid gazing towards the conference room, keeping in mind the promise to never profile each other. Rules they broke repeatedly.

Of course, they notice the change in behavior between their boss and the Lieutenant, the tension filling the room every time the other walked into the room, and the stolen glances when they thought no one was watching. 

Truth be told, they hoped something would happen between them. They were so alike, workaholics, strict to the rules but ready to break them to save one of their own, authoritative and well-respected figures. Legends in their environment.

Hotch needed someone like Y/N at his side, someone who could understand the long hours. They never blamed Haley for the divorce, they knew this job took a lot from the people around them too, and wished that Hotch would stop blaming himself for what happened.

As the agents started gathering their things, Emily spoke with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, what's the deal between them?" she asked in a low voice, just loud enough for the team to hear. "They seem... closer than usual."

Derek leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "You think there's something going on between Hotch and Y/N?"

Spencer blinked, his brow furrowing in thought. "They do seem to have a strong rapport," he mused, tilting his head. "But it could just be a mutual respect for each other's skills. They're both highly trained professionals, after all."

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. "Always the rational one, aren't you, pretty boy? But come on, did you see the way they looked at each other? There's definitely something there."

“Whatever it is, it’s not our business,” Dave spoke, interrupting the arguments.

*

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, her eyes widening. “I’ve got an emergency,” she said abruptly, grabbing her phone and standing up. "I need to go."

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat. "Is everything alright?"

She shook her head, not elaborating. "I’ll explain later. I have to go."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and hurried out of the room, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions. He watched her leave, his brow furrowing and a feeling of unease settling in his gut.

She rushed out of the room, walking past the team to head to the elevators. The team exchanged glances; their curiosity piqued by the sudden change in Y/N’s behavior.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Dave shouted from Reid’s desk, seeing her in a hurry.

“Work emergency.”

Aaron’s gaze followed her as she walked out the glass doors. He could sense that something was off, but he had no way of knowing what the emergency was. He sighed and returned to his office, desperately trying to avoid the team’s question looks.

Hours later, the office was quiet. The team had left for the night, and the building was nearly empty. His thoughts were consumed by Y/N; her sudden departure, the unspoken words between them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was unresolved, and he needed to figure out what it was.

Hotch headed to the gym with a determined stride, hoping to clear his mind. The gym was dimly lit, with only the occasional beam of light cutting through the shadows. He changed into more comfortable clothes and started placing meticulously the bandages on his hands.

He started punching the bag with a force he didn’t even know he had. All the frustration, all the tension, was drifting out of his body, slowly, too slowly. Y/N occupied all his thoughts, every time she came to his mind, he felt something strange in his stomach. That kiss was wrong, so wrong and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it, about her.

Later that night, when Y/N came back that night, the gym was deserted. Or at least she hoped so. Already in her gym clothes, she was greeted by the rhythmic thudding of gloves hitting a heavy bag. The sight she met with was Hotch with his shirt soaked with sweat, punching the bag with intense force, his muscles rippling with each powerful strike. His face was a mask of concentration, brows furrowed and jaw set as if he was trying to punch away whatever demons haunted him.

Y/N stood in the doorway, watching him silently, not wanting to intrude. But the magnetic pull she felt towards him was too strong to resist. The shirt perfectly hugging his chest and arms, the sweat scrolling down his face, the grunts he made every time his fits touched the bad, did something to her.

The familiar feeling she felt when they kissed, was growing stronger in her stomach. The sight of him made her heart race, a fire started to spread in her chest, and a sense of admiration filled her. She had seen him in countless professional situations, always composed and in control. But this was different—this was raw, unfiltered Aaron Hotchner.

She leaned against the wall, her eyes never leaving him as he pounded the bag. She could see the sweat glistening on his skin, the way his muscles flexed and strained with each movement. It was a sight that stirred something deep within her, a longing that she had tried so hard to suppress.

The intensity of his workout mirrored the intensity of their earlier encounter. It was clear that he was using the physical exertion to work through his frustrations, perhaps his own confusion over their charged moment.

After a few moments, Aaron paused, wiping his face with a towel. He looked up and saw her standing there, her presence startling him. For a brief second, their eyes locked, and the weight of the evening’s events seemed to settle between them.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here,” Hotch said, his voice rough from exertion.

Y/N stepped further into the gym, her gaze steady. “Didn’t expect to see anyone here this late.”

She walked over to the bench and set down her water bottle, feeling his eyes on her every step of the way. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that wrapped around them, drawing them closer together.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Not at all."

He watched her as she carefully wrapped her hands and moved closer to him, his eyes scanning her face. "You seemed pretty rushed earlier. Is everything okay?"

She let out a sigh, her gaze dropping to the floor. "It was just some work-related stuff. Nothing to worry about."

Hotch wasn’t convinced but didn’t push further. He kept scanning her trying to catch any sign of discomfort. Once she was done, her gaze met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.

She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. She knew that look. "Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Like you have any right to be worried.” She said sharply.

Her words hit him like a train. His features softened as he felt his heart broke in his chest at the pain. “Y/N. Of course, I’m worried. We’re friends.”

Friends. Odd choice of words, she thought, the word echoing in her mind. Friends didn't kiss like that, didn't share the kind of moments they had. But she knew why he said it, why he needed to draw that line. Still, it stung.

"Friends. Right," she repeated, her voice flat. She quickly brushed off her thoughts and changed the subject, not wanting to explore more of his assumption. “Want to go a few rounds?" she asked, her tone casual while heading to the mats in the center of the room.

He sighed, noticing her attempt but didn’t say anything. “Sure, why not.”

The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable, and Hotch felt a familiar thrill. He joined her on the mats, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. They stood facing each other, the air between them charged with unspoken tension.

"Alright," Aaron said, his voice low. "Let's see what you've got."

They began slowly, testing each other's reflexes with light jabs and evasive maneuvers. As the intensity increased, so did the closeness of their movements. Every block, every dodge brought them closer, their breaths mingling in the confined space. It was a dance of skill and desire, each touch igniting a spark.

Aaron's eyes were locked on Y/N's, the heat in his gaze mirroring her own. He feinted left, then moved in quickly, pinning her arms behind her back. She gasped, their faces inches apart. For a moment, they stood frozen, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the gym.

"Got you," he murmured, his voice husky.

Y/N smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Not quite."

In a swift move, she twisted free, using the momentum to sweep his legs out from under him. Aaron landed on his back, the air rushing from his lungs. Before he could react, Y/N was on top of him, straddling his hips. She pinned his wrists to the mat, her breath hot against his skin.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Lieutenant.” He said with a smirk on his face.

She leaned in closer, her lips hovering just above his. “You too, Agent,” she whispered, her tone teasing.

They stayed like that, locked in place, the weight of their unresolved feelings pressing down on them. Aaron could feel the heat of her body, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His pulse raced, a mix of adrenaline and desire coursing through his veins.

The space between them seemed to shrink, the air thick with anticipation. Aaron's resolve wavered, the boundaries he'd set for himself crumbling under the intensity of the moment. He could feel her breath on his lips, the intoxicating scent of her skin. It was a temptation he couldn't resist any longer.

With a low growl, he surged upward, capturing her lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. Y/N responded immediately, releasing his wrists to wrap her arms around his neck. Their kiss was a clash of passion and pent-up frustration, each trying to pour all their unspoken feelings into the embrace.

Aaron's hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. He could feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her curves against him. His evident desire was strong under her, sending shivers along her spine. The world outside the gym ceased to exist; there was only her, only this moment. Their kiss grew more desperate, more urgent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time.

Y/N broke the kiss first, gasping for air. She looked down at him, her eyes dark with desire. “This is highly unprofessional,” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

Aaron cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her swollen lips. "I know," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "But I can't stop."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Me neither."

With a shuddering breath, she leaned down, kissing him again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate. Hotch's hands slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine. He felt her shiver under his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

As their kisses grew more heated, Y/N pushed against his chest, could feel his heartbeat. He ran his hands through her hair, his lips trailing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. The taste of her skin was intoxicating, each touch sending a jolt of electricity through him.

One of her hands slid under his shirt and Aaron's breath hitched as her hands touched his bare skin, her touch both tender and possessive. She leaned in, pressing her lips to the crock of his neck. He groaned softly, his hands tightening on her waist.

They paused, breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. Aaron looked into her eyes, seeing the same mix of desire and uncertainty reflected in them. He knew they were crossing a line, again, but in that moment all he wanted was her.

With a soft growl, Hotch captured her lips again, pulling her even closer. Their kisses were frantic, their hands exploring each other's bodies with a desperate need. In the heat of the moment, Hotch rolled them on the mats, ending on top of her.

Pulling apart, their eyes locked again. Dark and filled with desire, it was like looking into each other's soul. Aaron rested his forehead against hers, his heart pounding in his chest.

Y/N was the first to speak, her voice playful but barely above a whisper. "Crossing the line again, Hotchner?"

He sighed, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "I know," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "But I don't want to stop."

She nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and pride. "Neither do I."

They stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Hotch knew they had a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out. But for now, he was content to just be with her, to enjoy the warmth of her body and the softness of her touch.

Eventually, they pulled away, their breathing steadying. “We should probably get going,” she murmured, a hint of a smile in her voice.

Aaron chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Yeah, probably."

Reluctantly, they separated ready to get up. As they recollected their belongings, they felt a sense of peace. Taking this step forward, not knowing where it would lead was a jump in the dark and neither of them was used to having things out of their control, but this time it felt different. It felt right.

As they left the gym together, Aaron reached out, taking Y/N's hand in his. She looked up at him, a surprised but pleased smile crossing her face. He squeezed her hand, a silent promise that whatever came next, they would face it together.

The night was cool, the stars faintly visible above the city lights. They paused by Y/N's vehicle, and Aaron found himself reluctant to let her go.

He glanced at her, his dark eyes searching her face. "Y/N... Come home with me?" His voice was soft, the question hanging in the cool night air. It was an invitation and a challenge, a step into the unknown. “Jack is with Jessica.” He added

Y/N looked up at him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she seemed to weigh the gravity of his words. Then, with a slight nod, she smiled. "Okay," she replied, her voice steady despite the tumult she felt inside.

A smile spread wide across his face and for the first time in a long time, Aaron felt hopeful. They walked to his car hand in hand, ready to explore those feelings they tried so hard to ignore over the past few weeks.

Tag: @sweetbearcolorgarden

[a-killer-obsession]

S 1&2👀

Congrats on 250 followers!<3

Deep Sleeper

Prompt: Somnophilia

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, dub-con, fingering, oral (giving? and receiving), p in v sex, facial, humiliation, threesome F/M/M

WC: 1.9k

Event Masterlist

“Night everyone,” you yawned, ready to leave the post-battle victory celebration and head to bed, “wake me if anything exciting happens.”

“Like we could wake you if we tried,” Killer snorted, receiving a round of laughs from the surrounding crewmates at your expense.

“Whatever!” You puffed your cheeks and huffed, “I'm not that deep of a sleeper!”

“Yeah?” Killer smirked under his mask, “you wake right up don't you?”

“Like that time you fell asleep in Dive's spot on the couch,” Heat laughed, “so she bit you!”

“I thought she was dead!” Dive clattered her teeth together as she giggled, “she didn't even wake up when House was stitching her up!”

“It was one time!” You pouted, “I was really tired!”

“Okay, then what about that time you fell out of bed during a storm,” Wire added, “and you came to breakfast with a shard of wood sticking out of your shoulder that you didn't even realise was there?”

“I have a high pain tolerance!” You frowned, crossing your arms and staring daggers at Killer for starting this. “I wake up just fine when someone wakes me, thank you very much!”

“No you don't, you narcoleptic bitch!” Kid roared, “Kil and I could fuck ya brains out and ya wouldn't wake!”

“Yeah? Bet!” You squinted at him, laying down the challenge. Sex was not something any Kid Pirate was shy about, but you were confident you'd wake up at that, especially knowing how big the two men are in that department.

“Yeah, and what do we get if we win?” Kid smirked, exchanging a knowing look with Killer.

“The two of you can freeuse me for a week,” you replied confidently, “and if I win, you take me off the bathroom cleaning rotation for the rest of the year.”

“Deal,” Kid held out his flesh arm and you shook it, Kid grabbing your hand hard and pulling you close, “Yer gonna look so pretty at breakfast with my load on yer face,” he purred in your ear, making you shiver, before you turned and scowled at him for appearances, despite the electricity pooling at your core.

Kid and Killer gave you plenty of time to fall asleep, not that you needed it, you always fell unconscious hard and fast after a good battle and a good feast. The two of them made their way to your room, laughing and shoving each other, anticipating the fun they would have with your body. They knocked on your door, out of principle, but of course you didn't reply, which only made them laugh more. They entered your room with muffled snickers, even Killer having trouble suppressing his true laugh as they found you asleep face down on top of your covers, still fully dressed, shoes included, like you'd just flopped on the bed and immediately passed out.

“What did I say?” Kid laughed, “Fuckin’ narcoleptic!”

“Adds to the challenge,” Killer noted, pulling your shoes from your feet, “probably did it on purpose, thinking pulling her clothes off would wake her.”

“Sounds to me like she's askin’ to lose these clothes,” Kid smirked, pulling a dagger from his bandolier. He slid the blade under the edge of one leg of your pants, before sliding the blade up, cutting open the fabric, repeating the action on the other side until all that covered your ass was a scrap of denim. Killer removed the scrap, before tearing your panties and pulling them away as well, leaving you without clothes on your lower half and exposing your cunt to the men. Killer pushed at your thighs to spread your legs, your pussy pretty and inviting, a slight glisten to it from your earlier arousal.

“Pretty,” Killer noted, running his thumb through your folds, to which you still didn't wake, snoring softly as he touched you. “She's wet, she was really counting on us trying it huh?”

“Little slut,” Kid gave an amused bark, “let's roll her, I wanna see her tits.”

Killer rolled you over unceremoniously, and Kid was quick to rip open your blouse and run his dagger through the connection between your bra cups, your breasts springing free, nipples pert as the cold air breezed over them. Kid gave your nipple a pinch, watching your face for a reaction and smirking when you didn't even twitch. “She's fuckin' out of it,” he laughed, “let's have some fuckin’ fun, aye?”

The two of them stripped off their clothes, Kid even leaving his metal arm against the wall and Killer removing his mask - that was how sure he was that you wouldn't wake up. Killer knelt between your legs, nuzzling his nose against your clit before running his tongue through your slit. It wasn't often that he got to indulge in one of his favourite treats, since he didn't usually remove his mask, and he groaned against your cunt as your honey collected on his tongue. He lapped at your cunt, circling your sensitive bud and toying with your entrance. Your pussy leaked as he stimulated you, your body responding to the pleasure he was giving you even while unconscious, which pleased him greatly.

Meanwhile, the bed dipped as Kid knelt next to your head, stroking himself as he admired your pretty, plush lips. He ran his thumb over your lips, pushing it inside and feeling how hot and wet your mouth was. He rubbed his cock against your cheek, smearing precum on it, before rubbing his shaft against the seam of your lips. He used his thumb to pull open your mouth, pushing the fat head of his cock between your lips, just putting the tip in your mouth and making shallow thrusts before deciding to go a little further. He couldn't deepthroat you like this, but he could enjoy the way your cheek bulged as the head of his cock prodded against the inside of it. He held your jaw open just enough that your lips were still tight around his shaft as he worked his cock in and out of your mouth.

Killer began the process of stretching you out so they could take turns fucking your pussy, first bullying his tongue inside you before switching to his fingers, sucking on your clit as he worked two inside of you, then a third, pumping you slowly and scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. Killer curled his fingers and the two of them heard you moan softly around Kid's cock. “Fuck, do that again Kil,” Kid instructed.

Killer made come hither motions inside you, and your gummy walls fluttered around his fingers as you moaned again, your pussy getting tight around his fingers as a small gush of fluid came out of you. “Oh fuck, she came!” Killer laughed, “she fucking came and she's still asleep!”

“Now that's what you call a wet dream,” Kid chuckled, “she ready for a cock?”

“Yeah, you want to go first?” Killer asked, still pumping his fingers into you.

“Yeah, shove off,” Kid barked. The two of them swapped spaces, Killer opting to wrap your hand around his cock to fist himself with it, the head of his cock pressing against your open lips with each motion, his free hand playing with your tits. Kid lined his cock up with your entrance and pushed in, making you whimper in your sleep as his fat cock stretched you further. “Fuck, so tight and wet,” Kid growled, “her cunt is sucking me in, greedy slut.”

The two of them used your body in unison, even the jostling of Kid's increasingly hard thrusts not waking you from the bone deep sleep you were in. You made the occasional soft moan but made no sign of waking as they fucked you, Kid getting more daring with the speed and force of his thrusts as Killer slipped his cock in your mouth just as Kid had earlier. Kid felt himself getting close as you made little whines in your sleep, drool pooling at the corner of your open mouth and dribbling down your cheek and neck. “Swap with me,” Kid barked, “I'm about to paint that pretty face.”

The two of them swapped places again, Killer groaning as his cock slid inside you, squeezed tight by your hot wet cunt. Kid held your mouth shut as he rubbed the underside of his shaft against your lips, precum leaking from his throbbing cock before he grunted and came, spilling thick white all over your lips and cheek, some of it dripping into your hair. “Ha, nice,” Kid mused, slapping his softening cock against your cheek and using your soft skin to wipe away the last drips of cum. “Your turn Kil, paint her white.”

Killer didn't need much longer to get him there after watching Kid cum on your face, fucking you hard and fast in a manner that would have any conscious woman screaming in pleasure. He truly didn't understand how you hadn't woken up, he was really being rough with you, and his fingers would no doubt leave bruises on your hips. He pulled out quickly when he felt himself getting close, not making it all the way to your face but managing to coat your chest in a viscous spray of cum, a few rogue splashes making it to your chin as he straddled your stomach and panted. The two of them exchanged shit eating grins, knowing they had won the bet, before Killer climbed off you.

They removed the remaining scraps of your clothing so you would just assume you'd fallen asleep naked, knowing you were ditsy enough to forget you went to bed clothed, before getting their things and redressing. Killer scooped you up bridal style so Kid could pull back the blanket, and they tucked you into your bed, not cleaning off their cum purposely.

The next day nothing seemed amiss when you woke. You could have sworn you went to bed dressed, but you guessed you must have misremembered. You preferred to shower after breakfast, when there were less people taking up all the showers in the communal bathroom, so you sleepily made your way to the galley. Crew mates snickered and nudged each other as you made your way to the table where Kid and Killer sat, the two of them struggling to keep a straight face. You served yourself breakfast from the sharing trays on the table, shoving a forkful of eggs in your mouth before realising everyone was staring at you, slowly removing the fork and swallowing your mouthful.

“What?” You asked anxiously, worried there was some sort of spider on you or something.

“You got a little something in your hair,” Wire snickered, pointing at the side of your face. You touched where he pointed, your hand coming away covered in something white and sticky.

“Uh.. ARG,” you shouted as you realised what it was, wiping your hand on your pants, “KID THAT'S FUCKIN’ DISGUSTING!”

“Had to leave some proof,” Kid smirked, “we're gonna have so much fun with that tight cunt over the next week. Hope you're ready to not get any sleep. Or maybe we'll just fuck you in your sleep again.”

You groaned and pushed your plate out of the way so you could slam your head against the table in defeat. Maybe you should see a doctor about your sleeping issues. Or not.

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Taglist: @daydreamer-in-training @chairmanraph @florcxo @luvnisstuff @nocturnalrorobin @fanaticsnail

[eunseoksimp]

West Coast ; Park Wonbin

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

Genre: Angst, Songfic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you were up next, and you remember the way your hands trembled slightly as you plugged in your guitar, the nerves dancing under your skin like live wires. 

but the moment you started playing, everything else fell away. the music took over, filling the small space with a sound that was raw and powerful, pulling the few people who were paying attention into its grip.

 when you finished, there was a brief moment of silence before the applause started—a smattering at first, then growing louder, more enthusiastic. it wasn’t much, but it was enough. enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, you were on the right path.

yunjin had approached you afterward, a drink in hand and a smile on her face. 

“that was incredible,” she said, her voice low and warm, the kind that instantly put you at ease. “you’ve got something special, you know that?”

you shrugged, not really sure how to respond. compliments always made you a little uncomfortable, like they were something you didn’t quite know what to do with.

 “thanks,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, still riding the high from the performance.

“no, seriously,” she insisted, leaning in a little closer. “you’ve got the kind of talent that people notice. you ever think about doing this full-time? like, for real?”

you laughed, a short, nervous sound. “that’s the dream, isn’t it?”

“well, dreams don’t come true if you don’t chase them,” she said, and there was something in her tone that made you believe she knew what she was talking about. “listen, a few friends of mine are putting together a band. we’re looking for a guitarist. interested?”

that’s how it started—a chance encounter in a smoky bar, a conversation that led to late-night rehearsals in a cramped garage, the sound of music filling the space like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 yunjin introduced you to the rest of the band, and you fit in like you’d always belonged there, like this was where you were meant to be.

and then there was wonbin.

you remember the first time you saw him—really saw him—not just as another musician, but as something more. it was during one of those rehearsals, the sun just starting to dip below the horizon, casting everything in a soft, golden light. 

he was sitting on the edge of the stage, tuning his guitar, his hair falling into his eyes in that careless way that seemed so effortlessly cool. there was something about him, something that drew you in, made you want to know more, to see past the easy smile and the rockstar persona.

he caught you staring, and for a moment, you were sure he was going to say something, maybe tease you or flash that grin that made your heart skip a beat. but instead, he just looked at you, his gaze steady, unreadable, like he was trying to figure you out. it was the first time you felt that strange, electric pull, the one that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“hey,” he said finally, his voice low, almost lost in the noise of the band setting up. “you’re the new guitarist, right?”

“yeah,” you managed to say, hoping your voice didn’t betray how nervous you felt. “that’s me.”

“cool.” he nodded, then looked back down at his guitar, strumming a few chords. “heard a lot about you. they say you’re good.”

“they do?” you asked, surprised. you hadn’t realized you’d made that much of an impression.

“yeah.” he looked up again, his eyes locking onto yours, and there was something in his gaze that made your heart race. “you’ve got the music in you. that’s what matters.”

those words stuck with you, long after the rehearsal ended and everyone had gone home. it was the first time someone had acknowledged what you’d always felt deep down—that music wasn’t just something you did, it was who you were. it was in your blood, in your bones, a part of you that you couldn’t separate even if you tried.

and from that moment on, you were hooked. on the music, on the band, on the way wonbin made you feel—like you were part of something bigger than yourself, something that mattered. you started looking forward to rehearsals, to those late nights when the world outside the garage faded away, leaving just the music and the band and that electric feeling in the air.

but it wasn’t long before you realized that the feeling you had for wonbin wasn’t just admiration, or even the camaraderie that comes from making music together. it was something more, something deeper, something that scared you because it felt so out of control.

you tried to ignore it, to push it down, telling yourself that it was just a crush, that it would pass. but the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to pretend that what you felt was anything but real.

 it was in the way your heart sped up every time he smiled at you, in the way your stomach flipped when his fingers brushed against yours as you passed him a guitar pick, in the way your thoughts drifted to him when you were alone, late at night, the memory of his voice, his touch, lingering long after you’d said goodbye.

and now, as you stand in the shadows, watching him command the stage, you feel that same pull, that same intoxicating mix of longing and fear, of desire and dread. you know you shouldn’t let yourself feel this way, that it’s dangerous to want someone who lives so freely, who moves from one girl to the next like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t mean anything. 

but you can’t help it. because when wonbin looks at you, when he plays that guitar like it’s an extension of himself, like it’s a part of his soul, you forget everything else. you forget that you’re supposed to be strong, that you’re supposed to keep your feelings in check, that you’re just another musician in the band, nothing more.

the song shifts, the tempo slowing, and the world seems to slow with it. the lights dim, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you—wonbin on stage, you in the shadows, the space between you charged with something that makes your skin tingle. he looks up, his gaze cutting through the crowd, and for the briefest second, his eyes find yours.

the breath catches in your throat, and everything else falls away. the crowd, the noise, the heavy press of bodies around you—it all dissolves, leaving just the two of you in the dim glow of the stage lights. he holds your gaze and in that moment, it feels like he’s playing just for you, like every note is a secret shared between you and him alone.

your heart beats faster, a wild, erratic rhythm that echoes the pounding of the drums. you know you should look away, pull yourself back from the edge of whatever this is, but you can’t. you’re caught, like a moth drawn to a flame, helpless to resist even as you feel the heat of it burning you alive.

the song builds again, the tempo picking up, pulling you back into the frenzy of the crowd. the moment is gone, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand, but the fire it sparked in you lingers, smoldering in the pit of your stomach. you try to shake it off, to remind yourself that he’s just another rockstar, that you’re just another face in the crowd.

but deep down, you know it’s a lie. because nothing, no one, has ever made you feel the way he does—like you’re teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying, something that could consume you if you let it. and maybe, just maybe, you want to let it.

the song ends in a blaze of sound, and the crowd erupts in cheers, their voices rising to meet the final, lingering notes. wonbin steps back from the mic, grinning wide, his eyes alight with the thrill of the performance. he gives the crowd one last look before turning away, and just like that, the spell is broken.

you’re left standing in the shadows, your heart still racing, the ghost of his gaze burned into your memory. the music fades, replaced by the dull roar of the crowd, and the world crashes back in around you, loud and overwhelming. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use.

you’re already lost, swept away by the current, and you know there’s no coming back.

“hey, you okay?” yunjin’s voice cuts through the haze, and you turn to see her standing beside you, a concerned look on her face. “you seemed a little... distracted.”

you force a smile, trying to push down the feelings that are threatening to overwhelm you. “yeah, i’m fine. just... caught up in the music, i guess.”

she nods, but there’s a knowing look in her eyes that makes you wonder if she can see right through you. “it was a good show,” she says, her tone light, but you can hear the unspoken question in her words.

“yeah,” you agree, your voice sounding distant even to your own ears. “it was.”

but as the crowd starts to disperse, the lights dimming, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, something has changed. and as you watch wonbin disappear into the backstage area, laughing with the rest of the band, you wonder if you’re ready for what comes next. because no matter how hard you try to deny it, to push it down, you can’t escape the truth.

you’re in love with him.

and that terrifies you more than anything.

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

the night stretches on, an endless loop of thumping bass, flashing lights, and the bitter tang of alcohol on your tongue. you’re caught in the current of bodies, the rhythm of the music a steady pulse that reverberates through the floor, through your skin, through your bones. the air is thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, a heady mix that clings to your senses, making the room spin just a little bit faster. 

someone hands you another drink—something clear and sharp, burning its way down your throat—and you take it without thinking, without caring. it’s easier to lose yourself in the blur of faces, in the haze of smoke and alcohol, than to confront the gnawing emptiness that lingers just beneath the surface, the one that’s been growing louder with each passing hour, each passing drink.

you’re supposed to be having fun. this is what you wanted, isn’t it? the wild nights, the carefree abandon, the reckless freedom that comes with living by west coast standards. if you’re not drinking, then you’re not playing. you laugh at a joke you don’t quite hear, your voice swallowed by the music, and someone presses closer, their hands too warm, their breath hot against your neck. you pretend not to notice, letting yourself be swept along, another face in the crowd, another body moving to the beat.

but no matter how hard you try, the emptiness persists, a hollow ache that no amount of alcohol or dancing can fill. because even here, surrounded by the very life you once craved, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing, that something vital has slipped through your fingers. and no matter how tightly you cling to this illusion of fun, of freedom, it doesn’t compare to the way you feel when he’s near, when wonbin is close enough to touch, to breathe the same air.

you spot him across the room, leaning against the bar with that effortless, almost lazy confidence that makes your heart stutter in your chest. he’s surrounded, as usual, by a flock of girls, each one vying for his attention, their laughter bright and sharp as glass. 

they’re drawn to him like moths to a flame, their eyes wide with admiration, their hands reaching out, touching his arm, his shoulder, his chest, as if they can’t quite believe he’s real. 

and why wouldn’t they be? wonbin is everything the west coast promised and more—beautiful, untouchable, a living embodiment of the wild, hedonistic dreams that brought you here in the first place. 

he’s golden under the dim lights, his skin glowing with a warmth that seems to radiate from within, his dark hair falling into his eyes in a way that makes you want to reach out and brush it aside. his lips curl into that easy, devil-may-care smile that you’ve come to associate with danger, with the kind of desire that leaves you breathless and aching.

he’s laughing now, his head thrown back, the sound rich and intoxicating, and the girls around him are eating it up, their eyes shining with a hunger that mirrors your own. 

one of them—a tall, willowy blonde with legs for days—leans in close, her hand resting on his chest as she whispers something in his ear. he turns his head slightly, just enough to give her a look that makes her blush, her smile widening as she presses herself closer, her body molding to his like she’s trying to become a part of him.

you watch, your chest tightening with something dark and painful, something you don’t want to name because it feels too raw, too real. 

jealousy.

 it wraps around your heart, squeezing tight, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. you take another sip of your drink, the alcohol doing little to dull the sharp edge of longing that cuts through you every time you see him like this, surrounded by people who don’t understand, who don’t feel the way you do.

he glances up then, his eyes scanning the room, and for a moment, just a brief, fleeting moment, his gaze lands on you. your breath catches, and it feels like time stops, like the noise and the lights and the crowd all fade away, leaving just the two of you in this suspended, fragile moment. his eyes, dark and unreadable, hold yours, and in that instant, you wonder if he can see it, if he can feel the way your heart races, the way your skin tingles with the memory of his touch, the way you ache for him with a need that’s almost painful.

but then he looks away, his attention drawn back to the girl at his side, and the moment shatters, leaving you cold and empty, the ache in your chest deepening into something almost unbearable. you want to look away, to turn your back on the scene playing out in front of you, but you can’t. you’re rooted to the spot, your eyes drawn to him, to the way his fingers brush against the girl’s arm, to the way she laughs and leans into him, her body a perfect fit against his.

it should be you. 

the thought comes unbidden, unwanted, and you hate yourself for it, hate the way it makes you feel—small, insignificant, like you’re just another nameless face in the crowd. but no matter how hard you try to push it down, to smother it with indifference, it’s there, pulsing beneath the surface, a constant reminder of what you can’t have, of what you’ll never have.

“you okay?” a voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you blink, turning to see yunjin standing beside you, her brow furrowed with concern. 

“yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “just... thinking.”

yunjin follows your gaze to the bar, where wonbin is now leaning in close to the blonde, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers something that makes her laugh, the sound light and tinkling like wind chimes. yunjin sighs, shaking her head slightly. 

“he’s always like this, you know. doesn’t mean anything.”

you nod, but the words do little to soothe the ache in your chest. because it does mean something, at least to you. it means everything. and that’s the problem.

“come on,” yunjin says, nudging you with her shoulder. “let’s get out of here. this place is dead anyway.”

you want to argue, to tell her that you’re fine, that you want to stay, but the words stick in your throat. because the truth is, you don’t want to be here anymore, don’t want to watch as wonbin wraps his arms around someone else, don’t want to see the way he smiles at her, the way he used to smile at you, back when things were simpler, back when you were just a girl with a guitar and a dream.

you nod again, letting yunjin lead you away from the crowd, from the noise, from the suffocating press of bodies. the cool night air hits you like a slap, sharp and bracing, and you take a deep breath, trying to clear your head, to shake off the lingering haze of alcohol and regret.

but as you walk away, the sound of wonbin’s laughter echoes in your mind, a haunting melody that you can’t seem to escape, no matter how far you go.

you find yourself in a quiet corner of the city, the distant hum of traffic the only sound in the stillness. the night is cool, the breeze carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the nearby ocean, and for a moment, you feel like you can breathe again, like the world has finally stopped spinning.

but even here, in the quiet, in the calm, you can’t escape the memory of him. it clings to you like a shadow, dark and heavy, following you no matter how hard you try to outrun it. 

you close your eyes, leaning against the rough brick of the building behind you, and let the night wash over you, trying to lose yourself in the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, in the coolness of the air against your flushed skin.

but it’s no use. every time you close your eyes, you see him—his smile, his eyes, the way he looked at you tonight, like you were just another face in the crowd, nothing more. it hurts, more than you want to admit, more than you can bear.

“you’re in love with him, aren’t you?” yunjin’s voice breaks through the silence, soft and understanding, and you flinch, your eyes snapping open.

“what? no,” you say quickly, too quickly, the words tripping over themselves as they leave your lips. “i’m not—i mean, he’s just... it’s nothing.”

yunjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you with those knowing eyes, the ones that see right through you, that see the truth even when you’re not ready to face it yourself.

“you don’t have to lie to me,” she says gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay to feel this way, you know. but you have to be careful. wonbin... he’s not the kind of guy who can give you what you’re looking for.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel something inside you crumble, something you’ve been holding onto for far too long. because she’s right. you know she’s right. wonbin isn’t the kind of guy who stays, who commits, who gives himself fully to anyone. he’s wild, untamed, like the music he plays, like the life he leads. and you? you’re just a girl with a guitar, lost in a world that’s too big, too bright, too much for you to handle.

but despite all that, despite the warnings, despite the pain, you can’t let go. because as much as it hurts, as much as it tears you apart, you can’t imagine a world where he isn’t in it, where you don’t feel this burning, aching, all-consuming need for him.

and that terrifies you more than anything.

“i know,” you finally whisper, your voice small and broken, the admission tearing at your heart. “but i don’t know how to stop.”

yunjin steps closer, wrapping her arms around you in a tight, comforting embrace, and you let yourself fall into it, let yourself lean on her because you’re too tired, too worn out to stand on your own anymore.

“you don’t have to do this alone,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “i’m here, okay? whatever happens, i’m here.”

you nod, swallowing hard as you blink back the tears that are threatening to spill over, and hold on just a little bit tighter.

the cold night air wraps itself around you like a second skin, biting into your exposed arms as you stand outside the club, watching your breath curl in the dim light like ghostly tendrils. yunjin’s voice is a faint echo in your mind, promising to be back soon, but even that has faded into the backdrop of distant party noise and the rhythmic crash of waves nearby. you’re left in the quiet now, the world softened by the fog that rolls in from the ocean, and the stillness presses on you, amplifying the chaotic swirl of thoughts running through your head.

the streetlights cast long, jittery shadows across the slick pavement, and the cool breeze carries the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, a reminder of the ocean’s relentless rhythm. you lean against the rough brick wall of the club, your arms folded tightly around yourself, trying to stave off the creeping cold. your breath forms little clouds in the air, merging with the mist that hovers above the ground, making the world feel like a half-remembered dream.

how long have you been out here? minutes or hours? time seems to stretch and distort in the quiet, your mind replaying the night’s events on an endless loop, a relentless loop of faces and laughter, of wonbin’s smile and the way he looked at the girls, the way he barely glanced at you.

the club door swings open, its rusty hinges groaning in protest, and you glance up to see your bandmates stumbling into the street, their laughter cutting through the quiet like a jagged blade, carrying a carefree, drunken energy that contrasts sharply with your own sense of isolation. 

hongjoong and gunil cling to each other for support, their arms draped around each other’s shoulders, their steps uneven and their laughter loud. minjeong follows behind, her expression a mixture of disapproval and amusement, though her flushed cheeks betray her own indulgences.

wonbin is the last to emerge, his movements smooth and deliberate, his posture relaxed as if the night’s revelry had done little to disturb his composure. his dark hair falls in expertly tousled waves, a natural charm that seems almost effortless. he surveys the scene with an amused smirk, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, his eyes flicking over each of you with a lazy, calculating gaze.

“no lady tonight?” gunil slurs, his words slightly garbled from too many drinks. he leans heavily against the wall, his gaze fixed on wonbin with a mixture of curiosity and drunken challenge. 

“you were definitely working it back there.”

wonbin chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that carries through the night air, and shakes his head, his amusement clear.

wonbin’s laugh is low and smooth, curling around you like smoke. he shakes his head, his amusement barely contained. “nah, not tonight.”

“maybe he’s finally developed a conscience,” minjeong quips, her voice tinged with both sarcasm and an underlying warmth, as though she’s enjoying the banter despite herself.

 wonbin’s middle finger flicks up lazily in response, drawing more laughter from the group, the sound echoing off the walls and mixing with the distant hum of the city.

“or maybe wonbin just wants some beauty sleep,” wonbin adds, his tone teasing as he leans against the van, the laughter still bubbling up from his chest. 

“we have rehearsals tomorrow and it’s extra hard getting the ladies out of my bed the morning after.”

the group sniggers in response, hooting and hollering at the joke, the sound warm and raucous, a stark contrast to the biting chill of the night. you stand apart, rolling your eyes at the familiar exchange, the chill seeping into your bones, making you shiver despite the alcohol’s lingering warmth.

wonbin’s eyes land on you, noticing the way you’re pulling the sleeves of your top tighter around yourself, and without a word, he pushes off the van he’s been leaning against and crosses the short distance between you. his approach feels deliberate, like a wave slowly crashing toward shore, unstoppable in its momentum and you can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation, mixed with a pang of apprehension.

“relax, princess, you know i treat my ladies with care” he says, his voice a low murmur, the term of endearment grating on your nerves but somehow soothing at the same time. he shrugs off his jacket with a smooth, practiced motion and drapes it gently around your shoulders. the fabric is warm, a stark contrast to the cold, and the simple touch of his fingers against your skin sends a shiver up your spine, more from the intensity of the moment than the chill of the night.

you pull the jacket closer around yourself, trying to absorb its warmth, and wonbin stands close, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating, like a wave crashing over you. his scent clings to it—a mix of cedar, smoke, and something darker, more intoxicating—and it envelops you in an invisible hold, making it hard to breathe, harder to think.

his fingers brush your arm as he pulls back, and that brief touch is enough to send a shiver down your spine, though you tell yourself it’s from the cold. wonbin steps back, his expression unreadable, and you try to shake off the tension building between you, but it clings, thick and electric.

you swallow, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself as if it could protect you from the storm brewing inside.

 “i’m sure they’re very lucky,” you reply, trying to inject some levity into your voice, but it falls flat, the words hanging heavy in the air between you.

wonbin chuckles, low and smooth, before turning away to join the others. they’re all piling into the van now, their drunken chatter filling the air once more, and you’re left standing there for a moment longer, watching him, feeling the weight of his jacket and the lingering touch of his hands like a brand on your skin.

wonbin gestures for you to get in first, and you hesitate for a moment, caught between the lingering ache in your heart and the sharp reality of the night before sliding into the seat next to yunjin and the doors close with a soft thud, sealing you all inside the small, warm space.

as the car pulls away from the curb, you watch the city lights blur by, the streetlights casting fleeting patterns of gold and shadow against the window. the world outside moves in a dizzying rush, but inside the car, there’s a strange, enclosed stillness that makes the space feel smaller, more intimate.

wonbin’s presence beside you is a constant, a magnetic pull that seems to draw you deeper into the whirlpool of your own feelings. he sits with an easy grace, his gaze fixed out the window, his fingers tapping a casual rhythm on his knee. 

the soft hum of the engine and the low murmur of conversation from the others blend into a soothing, almost hypnotic background, and you find yourself sinking further into the space he occupies, into the place where he’s the only thing that matters.

but with each passing mile, you sense the danger in falling even deeper for him. the city lights flash by in a blur, and with each passing second, you feel the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. you know, deep down, that this is a dangerous game you’re playing, one that could leave you shattered and alone.

you glance at wonbin, the soft glow of the interior lights casting a warm, golden sheen on his features, and you feel the pull of him like a tide pulling you under. his smile, the easy confidence in his posture, the way he seems completely at ease with everything—it’s intoxicating, and it makes you ache with a need you can’t quite define.

as the car continues its journey through the city, you find yourself wondering just how deep this feeling goes, and if there’s any way out. you know the night’s end will come, that the lights will fade, and the illusion will be over, but for now, you’re lost in the moment, in the dangerous allure of the man beside you, and the growing realization that the more you fall for him, the more you risk losing everything you’ve worked for.

and as the car moves through the city’s heart, you cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this night could be different, that maybe this time, you’ll find something real in the chaos, in the music, in the man who has you spinning in his orbit.

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

the early morning light filters in through the thin, gauzy curtains of your shared hotel room, painting the walls with a soft, golden hue. the room is still and quiet, save for the faint, rhythmic sound of yujin’s breathing, a gentle symphony of snores that fills the space with a comforting, if slightly intrusive, noise. you stretch slowly, feeling the soft, cool sheets clinging to your skin, and rise cautiously from the bed.

you move on tiptoes, each step a careful whisper against the worn carpet. the room feels like a cocoon of half-sleep, where the world outside is still wrapped in the dim embrace of dawn. yujin’s form is a shadow beneath the covers, her face serene and peaceful as she dreams away, oblivious to your early morning ritual. you pause for a moment, watching her with a mixture of envy and determination, knowing that you need to get moving.

you reach for your clothes, your movements deliberate and sluggish, as if you’re swimming through a pool of molasses. the fabric feels heavy in your hands, and you struggle with the buttons and zippers, the sensation of the cool cotton brushing against your skin grounding you in the present. the clothes seem to cling to you like a second skin, but you manage to pull on your jeans and slip into a simple t-shirt, the material soft and slightly rumpled from the suitcase.

as you bend to retrieve your earphones, you fumble with the tangled mess of cords, each knot a testament to the hasty packing from the night before. the task feels like an intricate puzzle, each twist and turn a challenge to your sleepy state. finally, with a victorious sigh, you manage to unwrap the mess, the earphones now ready to be your companions for the day’s solitary journey.

stepping out of the room, you’re met with the cool touch of the hallway air, a brisk contrast to the warmth of the room you just left. the corridor is bathed in soft morning light, the floor tiles gleaming with a polished sheen that reflects your weary figure. you walk slowly, savoring the quietude of the hotel, the distant hum of the city below an occasional reminder of the day ahead.

the streets are still wet with dew, the air crisp and cool as you make your way to the practice space, determined to test out a few new riffs before the rest of the band arrives.

the studio is a sanctuary of sorts, filled with the comforting scent of aged wood and the faint tang of metal. you set up your new black guitar, its sleek, dark surface reflecting the overhead lights in a way that almost makes it look like it’s alive. 

the instrument feels like an extension of yourself, and you run your fingers over the strings, adjusting the tuning with practiced ease, letting each note resonate through the room. the sound is rich and full, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that envelops you.

you’re lost in the rhythm of your practice when the door creaks open, and a familiar voice breaks through your concentration. 

“morning sunshine, you’re here early.”

park wonbin’s voice is a silky drawl, smooth and almost musical, carrying the same effortless charm that you’ve come to recognise all too well. his presence fills the room like a warm draft, the kind that makes you shiver and feel alive all at once. 

you look up, and there he is—wonbin, with his tousled hair and that infuriatingly perfect smile. he’s a vision of casual elegance, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, but the way he carries himself, the way he moves, makes him seem like he’s always center stage.

he strolls over with a confidence that borders on arrogance, his gaze flicking over your setup with a mix of curiosity and playful mischief. 

“new guitar?” he asks, his eyes lighting up as he takes in the sleek black instrument resting in your lap. “i love the black, it almost matches your soul.”

his voice is dripping with mock-seriousness, but there’s a genuine admiration in his tone that makes your heart skip a beat. he’s making a point of passing by right where you’re sitting, and before you can react, his hand ruffles your hair, the touch both familiar and irritating.

“very funny,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you try to brush off his teasing. your tone is flat, the coolness in your voice a shield against the warmth that his presence always seems to provoke. you don’t let your guard down, maintaining the cold, unimpressed facade that’s become second nature. it’s easier this way, safer, knowing that you’re not laying your heart bare for anyone to see, especially not him.

wonbin chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

“come on, don’t be so serious. it’s a compliment. and you know, it’s not every day I see someone who can outshine a guitar.”

you shoot him a look, trying to mask the way his words make your heart flutter. “and i’m sure you’ve seen a lot of guitars.”

“true,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “but not many as intriguing as you. what’s got you up so early, anyway?”

you shrug, focusing on the guitar strings as if they hold the answers to all your unspoken feelings. “just wanted to get a head start. thought i might try out some new things before everyone else shows up.”

wonbin raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “and here i thought you were just a bundle of mystery and cool detachment.”

“is that supposed to be a compliment?” you ask, arching an eyebrow of your own, trying to keep your voice steady.

“depends on how you take it,” he replies, his smile widening. “but i’d say it’s a pretty high compliment. after all, it’s not every day you meet someone who can be both enigmatic and talented.”

you want to retort, to say something biting and witty, but the sincerity in his voice stops you. the warmth in his eyes, the way he looks at you as if he actually sees you—if only for a moment—makes it difficult to maintain your usual indifference.

you turn back to your guitar, trying to drown out the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his presence feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. 

“well, don’t get used to it. i’m just here to do my job.”

wonbin’s laughter is soft, almost conspiratorial. “right, of course. but just so you know, your ‘job’ looks pretty impressive from where i’m standing.”

you glance up briefly, catching his eye, and for a second, the playful banter fades away.

“save the flattery for someone who might believe it,” you say, turning away to adjust the guitar’s settings.

wonbin watches you for a moment longer before pushing off from the doorframe, his footsteps light as he heads toward the practice area.

 “alright, alright. i’ll let you get back to your mysterious guitar-wielding ways. but don’t think i won’t be keeping an eye on you.”

you don’t turn around, focusing on the gentle hum of the guitar as it vibrates against your fingers. the room feels different with wonbin’s presence lingering, a mix of warmth and tension that makes it hard to concentrate. you can feel the weight of his gaze, even when you’re not looking directly at him, and it makes the silence between you both feel charged with an electricity that’s both thrilling and painful.

the door swings open with a cheerful creak, and the rest of the band starts to trickle in, their conversations and laughter blending with the sounds of tuning instruments and setting up equipment, a noisy contrast to your solitary practice.

hongjoong and gunil come in first, their laughter loud and brash, their footsteps heavy with the remnants of last night’s revelry. hongjoong claps you on the back with a grin. 

“hey, i thought you might have gotten here first. working on some new riffs?” he greets you with a pat on your back, a grin spread wide on his face.

“it came into my head this morning, thought i should strum it out before practice” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant and hongjoong nods in response, an understanding of the feeling.

“makes sense. gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”

gunil, with his usual boisterous charm used primarily to annoy minjeong, throws an arm around hongjoong’s shoulders. “i see you’re still the early bird. wish i had your energy.”

before you can respond, minjeong steps in, her hair still touselled from sleep as she gives you a small smile before turning back to the boys. 

“maybe if you spent less time being a loser online and actually tried to get some sleep you could be doing the same thing.”

“you wound me, my love,” he dramatically clutches his chest, warranting an eye roll from her, but there’s warmth there, an affection in the way she swats at his arm as they head toward the equipment.

you feel arms around your neck, but you don’t need to turn around to figure out that it’s yunjin, giving you a hasty kiss on your cheek before releasing you to respond to a question minjeong threw at her.

the session starts with a burst of sound, the studio coming alive with the mix of instruments and voices. you fall into the rhythm, your fingers dancing over the guitar strings, guiding the notes with a practiced ease. the music swells and contracts, a living, breathing entity that you shape with every strum and chord.

wonbin takes his place at the center, his energy a magnetic force that draws everyone in. he commands attention with his presence alone, his voice a deep, resonant force that weaves through the melodies like a thread of gold. he moves with a practiced ease, each gesture and glance imbued with the effortless charm that has become his signature.

“alright, let’s hit it,” wonbin says, his voice ringing out with the authority of someone who’s completely in control. “we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

you try to keep your focus, but the magnetic pull of wonbin’s charisma makes it difficult. he’s a storm in human form, and his every move is a reminder of the complex emotions you’re struggling to keep at bay. his gaze meets yours occasionally, a fleeting connection that sends a jolt through you, making it hard to concentrate on anything but the way he makes you feel.

the practice session rolls on, each song a test of your ability to stay grounded amidst the whirlwind of wonbin’s presence. you pour your heart into the music, letting the notes become a release, a way to channel the tumultuous feelings that threaten to overwhelm you. the guitar is your sanctuary, the strings your confidant, and as you play, you lose yourself in the music, if only for a moment.

the sound of applause and cheers brings you back to reality, the session ending with a satisfying crescendo. you look up to see the band members gathering, their faces flushed with the effort and exhilaration of a productive rehearsal. wonbin’s grin is a dazzling contrast to the fatigue etched on the rest of their faces, and you can’t help but be drawn to the way he stands, relaxed and confident, as if the entire world is his stage.

“great session, everyone,” wonbin says, his tone a mix of satisfaction and nonchalance. “let’s take a break and grab some lunch.”

as you unplug your guitar, the amplifier crackling softly, wonbin approaches again, his steps slow and deliberate. "you did great today. i’m guessing it’s the guitar?"

you smirk, unable to resist the playfulness tugging at the corners of your lips. "or maybe i’m a rock god, and everything i touch turns to gold."

his laugh is a quiet, disbelieving huff, but his eyes twinkle, and for a moment, his gaze lingers. "all this time, i’ve been in the presence of royalty. how lucky am i?"

"super lucky," you reply with a wink, trying to ignore the way his smile makes your heart race.

the moment stretches between you and before you can both continue, gunil’s exaggerated calls for food break the spell, and wonbin, with a final grin, walks away. you watch him go, his figure retreating with an ease that leaves a hollow space where his presence had been moments before. the air feels lighter, but the weight of his absence clings to you all the same.

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

the restaurant hums with life around you, the warm glow of overhead lights casting everything in a soft, amber hue. laughter bubbles up from nearby tables, the clinking of glasses and silverware adding to the symphony of sound. 

but all of that fades into a distant murmur as you watch the waitress, a whirlwind of charm, glide back to your table. her gaze lands on wonbin like a moth drawn to a flame, her smile bright and focused entirely on him. the way she leans over as she places his drink down, how her hand lingers just a second too long near his arm, makes something twist painfully in your chest.

“can i get you anything else?” she asks, her voice thick with syrupy sweetness, directed solely at him. there’s a playful edge to her words, like she’s daring him to ask for more than just a refill. 

wonbin leans back in his chair, his easy grin in place as he shakes his head, “we’re good for now, thanks angel.”

the exchange is brief, casual on the surface, but it digs deep into you, sharp and unrelenting. the jealousy seeps in slow, like poison, filling your veins with a quiet bitterness that you try hard to swallow down. 

you hate that it affects you this much, but it’s impossible to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, the constant reminder that wonbin is a star, and you’re just orbiting around his light. 

yunjin’s hand finds yours under the table, her fingers wrapping around yours in a silent gesture of comfort. she squeezes gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles, and when you steal a glance at her, there’s understanding in her eyes. she’s noticed—the way your posture stiffened, the quiet tightness in your jaw. she always notices.

minjeong, seated across from you, catches the shift too. her brow arches ever so slightly, her gaze flicking from you to wonbin and back again. but she says nothing, her silence a shield for you, offering you space in a moment where the walls feel like they’re closing in.

“you alright?” yunjin asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper, meant only for your ears. her concern is genuine, warm like a blanket wrapped around you on a cold day, but you force a smile, nodding as you grip your fork a little tighter.

“yeah,” you murmur, though the knot in your throat tells a different story.

the waitress lingers longer than necessary, making small talk with wonbin. you can hear snippets of their conversation through the haze—her asking about the band, giggling at something he says in response. each laugh she gives feels like a nail hammered into the growing ache in your chest. it’s irrational, you know that. but the jealousy doesn’t care about reason.

the conversations of your friends blur into background noise as you stab at your meal absentmindedly, your fork scraping against the plate with each mechanical bite. it’s a futile effort to mask the hurt brewing inside, but you keep chewing anyway, as if forcing yourself to eat will somehow erase the sinking feeling in your chest.

“you don’t like the food?” wonbin’s voice cuts through the noise, pulling you back to the present. his gaze is fixed on you, brows slightly furrowed, concern laced in his tone. you blink, realizing you’ve been staring at your barely touched plate, fork idly scraping against the ceramic.

“no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, picking up a forkful of food and shoving it into your mouth, even though the taste is nothing but bland against the whirlwind of emotions storming inside you.

“how come you don’t pay attention to me like that?” gunil teases from across the table, his voice playful but his question rattling something loose in your chest. your heart skips a beat as you glance up at wonbin, waiting, watching for his response.

“what do you mean?” wonbin shoots back, smirking. “i let you cuddle me yesterday. i even let you be the little spoon.”

the table erupts in laughter, the sound rippling around you, but all you feel is the dull weight of disappointment settling in your stomach. of course. of course, it’s just a joke to him. what did you expect? for him to treat you any differently than the rest? for him to see you the way you’ve been aching to be seen?

the rest of lunch passes in a blur, the conversations flowing around you like a river you’re not a part of. you pick at your food, pushing it around your plate, the clinking of your fork scraping against the ceramic the only noise you can focus on. 

minjeong keeps glancing your way, her sharp eyes picking up on every little detail—the way your shoulders slump, the tightness in your grip on the fork, the way you avoid looking at wonbin and the waitress. but she doesn’t press you. instead, she fills the silence with casual chatter, steering the conversation with hongjoong and gunil to keep the mood light, oblivious to the silent storm brewing inside you.

after lunch, the band decides to split up, each member heading off to explore the city. 

‘you’re sure you don’t want me to come?’ yunjin asks for the third time, her concern evident in the way her brow furrows.

‘i’m sure. the sauna is practically calling your name.’

you appreciate her care, but you need space, a chance to clear your head, so you reassure her—once, twice, three times—that you’re fine, and eventually, she relents, leaving you to set out on your own journey.

the city sprawls out before you, a living, breathing entity, pulsing with its own rhythm. the air is thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee from nearby street vendors, mingling with the distant smell of fried food, an irresistible mix of sweetness and grease. you let the city wash over you, each breath filling your lungs with the complex and layered aroma of urban life.

around you, the world hums with motion—cars push through narrow streets, their engines growling low, while people weave through the crowds, heads down, absorbed in their own worlds. some laugh together, their voices rising above the background noise like the vibrant splash of colors on a gray canvas. others move with purpose, brisk steps tapping out a beat that seems to sync with the traffic lights’ rhythmic change from red to green.

 but you? you’re aimless, walking without direction, letting the city lead you.

the buildings loom tall and worn, their facades cracked with the weight of time. but they’re beautiful in their imperfection, each one telling a different story—a hidden history locked behind iron railings and shuttered windows. a passerby brushes past you, the scent of lavender and rain trailing after her, stirring something in you. memories you can’t quite place. emotions you don’t want to linger on.

as you walk, the sky above shifts from its bright afternoon blue to the soft, golden tones of dusk, the sun dipping low on the horizon, painting the world in hues of amber and rose. the city is bathed in this light, casting long shadows that dance across the pavement as you make your way toward the river. 

there’s something about this time of day that always makes you feel like you’re suspended between worlds—the day slipping away, but the night not quite here yet. it’s a quiet liminality that you can’t help but be drawn to.

when you reach the bridge, you stop, unable to move forward. the view takes your breath away—suddenly, all the noise, the chaos of the city, seems to fade into the background, replaced by the soft sound of the river below. 

it’s not a large river, but the way it winds through the city gives it a kind of intimacy, as if it’s cradling the streets and the buildings in its gentle flow. you lean against the railing, letting the cool metal press into your palms, grounding you in this moment.

the water reflects the sky, rippling with streaks of gold and violet, shimmering like liquid glass. the breeze carries a hint of something clean, something fresh—like the promise of a new beginning, mingled with the earthy scent of the riverbanks. 

you close your eyes, letting the wind brush against your face, soft as a whispered secret, and for a moment, you feel at peace. it’s as if the weight you’ve been carrying—the heaviness that’s been lodged in your chest since lunch—has lifted, even if only for a few heartbeats.

there’s something about this spot on the bridge, overlooking the water, that makes everything else seem distant and small. maybe it’s the way the river seems to know no rush, flowing steadily despite the frantic pace of the city around it. or maybe it’s the way the sky opens up here, wider and more expansive than it feels anywhere else. you breathe in deeply, tasting the coolness in the air, and feel something inside you unfurl, like a knot loosening.

you think of wonbin, unbidden, his name drifting into your mind like a leaf floating downstream. the river reminds you of him in some strange way—his easygoing nature, the way he never seems hurried, always flowing through life with a kind of effortless grace. 

wonbin, who draws people in with his warmth, his laugh, his casual touch. you can’t help but wonder if he ever feels like this river—steady on the surface, but with currents below that pull in directions no one else can see.

as you watch the water ripple and shimmer, you think about how he can be both comforting and unsettling, like the river itself. you’re drawn to him, unable to resist, but there’s always this sense that if you let yourself get too close, you might be swept away, carried somewhere you can’t follow.

but here, on this bridge, with the wind gently tugging at your hair, you can almost forget about the complications. here, everything is simple—just you, the river, and the sky, vast and infinite, stretching out before you like a promise. you hold onto that feeling, let it wrap around you like a soft blanket.

the city moves on around you—cars continue to pass behind you, their headlights flickering on as the sky darkens, the murmur of distant voices rising and falling like the tide. 

but for a moment, it’s just you and the bridge, suspended in time. you watch the last of the sunlight glint off the water, and in this quiet space, you allow yourself to imagine that maybe things could be different. that maybe there’s a world where you and wonbin could exist without all the messy, complicated feelings in between.

but the moment passes, as it always does. you feel the weight return to your chest, pressing down, familiar and heavy. still, you’re grateful for this brief escape, this small slice of peace carved out of the chaos. it’s enough, for now.

with a soft sigh, you turn away from the river, the city’s energy calling you back. the streets are alive with neon lights now, glowing signs flashing in shop windows, casting strange colors across the sidewalks. the air has grown cooler, the scent of rain in the distance—just a hint, enough to make the evening feel electric, like anything could happen.

and as you walk back through the city, the noise and lights swirling around you, your steps are heavy as you make your way back to your hotel.

the hotel hallway is dimly lit, bathed in a soft golden hue from the overhead lights. it’s quiet here, the noise of the city reduced to a low murmur beyond the thick walls. your footsteps echo lightly on the carpet as you approach your door, pulling the earbuds from your ears, only to pause when you see him.

wonbin.

he’s leaning against the wall beside your door, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his head tilted back just enough that the soft light casts shadows along his sharp jawline. the sight of him, so effortlessly at ease, makes your heart lurch in your chest. he shouldn’t be here, not like this, not when you’ve spent the whole day trying to escape the lingering weight of him.

you stop a few paces away, unsure of what to say, what to feel. the hallway feels too small suddenly, like there’s not enough air. your fingers fidget with the edge of your jacket, a nervous habit you can’t seem to break when he’s around.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

he glances over at you, his gaze soft, warm in a way that makes your defenses falter. 

“just wondering what everyone was up to,” he says casually, as if standing outside your door at night is the most natural thing in the world. “seems like you’re the only one who left the hotel.”

you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “yeah, just needed some air. the city’s nice.” your words feel flat, hollow, compared to the tension simmering beneath your skin.

he pushes off the wall, taking a step toward you, and you feel the shift in the air between you. “and you?” he asks, his voice a little softer now, more careful. “what did you get up to?”

you hesitate, avoiding his gaze as you focus on the small scuffs on the floor. “nothing much. walked around. found a bridge over the river. just... cleared my head.”

“sounds peaceful.”

“yeah,” you say, your voice almost a whisper, because it was peaceful—until he showed up here, dredging up all the feelings you’d been trying to bury. you glance up at him, and there’s something in his expression that makes you pause, something almost hesitant, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“the waitress, the one we met earlier,” he says, and your stomach twists at the mention of her. “we just went for some drinks and stuff.”

you force yourself to nod, to play it cool, even as your heart sinks, the reality of who wonbin is—a man who floats effortlessly from one person to the next, always wanted, always admired—settling heavily in your chest. “cool,” you say, and it sounds so painfully detached that you almost wince at yourself.

“i invited her to the show in two days too,” he adds, and you  just offer a tight smile, biting back the words lodged in your throat.

“nice.”

the silence between you stretches, taut and fragile, and you can feel the weight of all the unsaid things pressing down on you. you wonder if he feels it too—the unspoken words hanging in the air like something tangible, something you could almost reach out and touch if you were brave enough.

wonbin shifts, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual, like he’s searching for something in your expression. there’s a flicker of something—hesitation? concern?—before he speaks again.

“you’re beautiful, you know.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from your lungs. your heart stumbles in your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s hope or heartbreak that surges through you. you choke on the reply, swallowing hard as you manage to get something out.

“what?”

he steps closer, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “there’s beauty in everyone,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours, “and i think everyone should feel content with the image that looks back at them in the mirror.”

his words hang in the air between you, confusing and heavy, and you’re left reeling, unsure of where this conversation is heading. “wonbin,” you murmur, your voice cracking slightly, “i don’t understand.”

he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “today, at lunch... i noticed you didn’t eat much. i—look, i know it’s none of my business, really, but food’s important, you know? i just... i worry.”

it’s the last thing you expected him to say. out of everything, out of the teasing, the flirting, this is the side of him that always catches you off guard—the part that notices, the part that cares in ways that seem too deep for someone who glides so easily through life. it’s this part of him that keeps you tethered to something you know you shouldn’t hold onto.

“i don’t have an eating disorder, if that’s what you’re getting at,” you say, your voice firmer now, but still tinged with the vulnerability he’s brought to the surface. “i just wasn’t particularly hungry this afternoon.”

the relief that washes over his face is so immediate, so genuine, that it leaves you feeling disarmed. “okay, good. it’s been on my mind all evening, you know?” he says, his voice soft, like he’s embarrassed to admit it.

there’s a strange warmth in your chest at the thought of him worrying about you, of all people. and yet, it hurts too—because this is who he is. he cares, but not in the way you want him to. he notices, but it’s not enough. it’ll never be enough.

“i appreciate it, though,” you murmur, your fingers still playing with the edge of your jacket, trying to keep yourself together. “it’s sweet of you.”

he smiles at that, a small, lopsided grin that sends a familiar ache through you. “of course. what are bandmates for, right?”

bandmates. 

the word feels like a knife twisting in your gut, cutting away the tiny, fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding onto. because that’s all you are to him. a bandmate. nothing more.

“right,” you echo, your voice barely audible.

wonbin watches you for a moment longer, and you can see the wheels turning in his mind, like there’s something else he wants to say, but he’s not sure how to put it into words. the tension between you is thick, the air charged with everything unsaid, everything you’re both too afraid to acknowledge.

but then, he steps back, breaking the moment. “anyway,” he says, his tone shifting back to something lighter, more familiar, “as long as you’re good, peace has been restored. i’m calling it a night.”

he flashes you one last grin, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. “see you tomorrow, rockstar.”

and just like that, he’s gone, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you standing there in the wake of his absence. the air feels heavier without him, the silence more oppressive. you release a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your heart still pounding in your chest from the whirlwind of emotions he stirred up in you.

you stand there for a moment longer, staring at the spot where he stood, the soft echo of his words still ringing in your ears. and despite everything—despite knowing that he’ll never see you the way you see him, despite the reality of who he is—you can’t help but feel that tiny spark of hope flicker inside you again, fragile but alive.

it’s dangerous, you know. but it’s there, all the same.

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

the new day dawns quietly, the early morning light filtering through the blinds of your hotel room. you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, last night’s conversation with wonbin still playing on a loop in your mind. 

his words, his teasing, and that moment of softness when he told you he noticed—when he worried. it’s confusing, this strange dance between hope and heartbreak that seems to fill every interaction with him.

as you rise and get ready, there’s a nervous energy buzzing through your veins. today is the last practice before tomorrow’s performance, and the air is thick with anticipation. 

but for you, it’s more than that. after everything that happened, after everything unsaid, you feel like you’re bursting with emotions, your feelings for wonbin spilling out of you in ways you can’t control. and the only way to channel it is through your music.

you arrive at the rehearsal space, guitar case in hand, notebook tucked under your arm, ready to pour your heart into the one thing that’s always understood you. music.

 it’s the only place where the depth of your emotions feels safe, where you can express the longing, the yearning, the pain without anyone truly seeing. even when the lyrics are about him—about wonbin—they’re wrapped in enough metaphor and abstraction to keep your secret safe.

the room smells faintly of dust and wood, with the sound of instruments being tuned filling the air. there’s a comforting chaos to it, the familiar noise of creativity in motion. as you set up your gear, you can feel wonbin’s presence across the room, laughing with yunjin, his voice carrying over the clatter of the drum kit. he’s always the center of attention, always so effortlessly charming. you steal a glance in his direction, and for a moment, your heart skips a beat. it’s maddening, this pull he has over you—how one look from him can unravel everything.

but you can’t focus on that now. not here. not when you’re about to rehearse. you sit down, opening your notebook, the pages filled with half-finished lyrics, scribbled thoughts, fragments of your heart. your pen hovers above the page, and before you know it, the words begin to flow again. your emotions surge, and you lose yourself in the process, writing about the ache in your chest, the way he makes you feel like you’re always on the edge of something that never quite happens.

you pour everything into the lyrics—the desire, the longing, the frustration of loving someone who will never truly be yours. every word feels like a release, like you’re cutting open your soul and letting it bleed onto the page. your fingers grip the pen tighter, your handwriting becoming more frantic, more intense.

it’s only when you hear wonbin’s voice that you snap out of your trance.

“who’s the lucky guy?” his voice is teasing, lighthearted, but the words make your heart stumble.

before you can react, he’s next to you, reaching down and snatching your notebook from your hands. panic flares in your chest as he holds it above your head, his eyes skimming the pages.

“give it back, wonbin,” you say, your voice coming out small, almost pleading. you reach up, trying to grab it, but he’s taller, and he holds it out of your reach effortlessly. his grin widens at your feeble attempts, a playful glint in his eyes.

“he must be someone great if he’s got you all flustered,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in his tone, but you can’t quite place it.

“wonbin, seriously.” your voice is barely a whisper now, embarrassment flooding through you as he begins to read the lyrics aloud.

“‘long dark hair, pink lips,’” he continues, his voice lilting as he teases you, and you feel yourself shrinking under the weight of his words. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your heart thudding in your chest as if he’s exposing a part of you you weren’t ready for anyone to see.

“stop embarrassing the poor woman and give her the book back,” minjeong scolds as she walks past, smacking the back of wonbin’s head. he yelps, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated pout.

“i was just looking,” he says, handing the notebook back to you. “she’s always writing so seriously, i wondered what her creative process was.”

you snatch the notebook from his hands, clutching it to your chest like a shield as you retreat to the other side of the room. your fingers tremble slightly as you shove the notebook into your bag, your heart still racing from the encounter. it feels like he’s peeled back a layer of you, like he’s seen something you didn’t want anyone to see.

“are you mad at me?” wonbin calls after you, his voice lighter now, like he’s trying to smooth over the awkwardness.

you don’t answer. you can’t. your emotions are too raw, too exposed. instead, you busy yourself with packing up your things, hoping that by avoiding his gaze, you can somehow hold it all together.

but wonbin isn’t one to let things go. you feel his presence behind you before he speaks again, his voice softer this time, more serious. 

“are you really upset with me?” he asks, and there’s a hint of genuine concern in his tone as he taps your shoulder.

you turn around reluctantly, meeting his eyes. there’s no trace of the teasing smirk now, just a look of quiet apology. he’s standing so close, and the air between you feels charged, like there’s something unspoken hanging in the space.

you sigh, because the truth is, you could never be mad at him. not really. whether he teased you, invaded your personal space, or had a knack for breaking hearts, yours included, it’s impossible to stay angry at him. not when his mere presence has the power to undo you completely.

“i admire your writing, you know,” he says softly, not breaking eye contact. “you always have the best lyrics. i really was just curious about how you come up with things. sorry if i took it too far.”

his apology is sincere, and for a moment, you see the side of him that pulls you in every time—the side that notices, that cares in his own way, even if it’s not in the way you want him to. his hand comes up, fingers lightly brushing the top of your head, a gesture that’s both comforting and familiar, and it sends a warmth through you that you can’t quite describe.

“it’s fine,” you mumble, looking down at your feet, your fingers still gripping the strap of your bag. “it’s no big deal.”

but it is a big deal. because no matter how much he cares, no matter how much he notices, it’s never enough. he’ll never see you the way you see him. he’ll never feel the way you feel.

wonbin smiles then, a small, lopsided grin that makes your heart ache. “good. i hate it when you’re mad at me.”

you manage a weak smile in return, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. the tension between you lingers, thick and heavy, but there’s nothing more to say. not now, not here.

the rest of the band starts filtering in, and the room fills with the sound of tuning instruments, conversations overlapping as the practice session begins. you try to push the encounter out of your mind, to focus on the music, but it’s hard when wonbin is so close, his presence a constant reminder of everything you can’t have.

as the rehearsal starts, you pick up your guitar, your fingers moving instinctively over the strings. the notes flow easily, but today there’s something more—something raw, something fierce. it’s like all the emotions you’ve been holding back are suddenly finding their way into the music, spilling out in every chord, every melody.

the lyrics you wrote earlier echo in your mind, and when it’s your turn to sing, you let them pour out of you. the words carry all the weight of your unspoken feelings—the longing, the heartache, the love you can’t express. it feels like your soul is on display, laid bare in the music, but at least here, in the safety of the band, no one truly knows what you’re singing about. no one knows that every word is for him.

wonbin’s voice joins yours in harmony, his guitar blending seamlessly with yours, and for a moment, it feels like you’re connected in a way that transcends everything else. 

the music is the only place where you can be close to him, where you can express everything you feel without fear of rejection or misunderstanding. and yet, it’s bittersweet, because even here, even in the one place where your feelings are safe, he’ll never truly understand.

the rehearsal continues, but as the hours pass, your emotions only grow more intense. every time wonbin teases you, every time he flashes that smile, it feels like another crack in the fragile armor you’ve built around your heart. and yet, the music becomes more powerful because of it. the more you hurt, the more you pour into the songs, into the lyrics, into every note you play.

by the time practice wraps up, you’re emotionally spent. your body feels heavy with exhaustion, but your mind is still buzzing, still racing with everything left unsaid. wonbin gives you a playful nudge as you pack up your things, his smile easy, carefree, like the day’s events have already slipped from his mind. but for you, they linger. they always do.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s a softness to his voice that makes you pause.

“yeah,” you lie, forcing a smile.

 “just tired.”

he nods, not pressing further, but his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if he’s searching for something beneath the surface. but whatever it is, he doesn’t find it. or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to look.

“see you tomorrow, rockstar,” he says with a wink before heading out, leaving you standing there, notebook clutched tightly in your hands.

and as you watch him walk away, you can’t help but feel that same familiar ache, the one that never seems to go away. because no matter how much you pour into your music, no matter how many songs you write, no matter how hard you try to move on, the truth remains the same.

you’re in love with someone who will never love you back.

and the music—your music—is the only place where that love can live.

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

the day of the performance arrives like a storm building on the horizon, an electric anticipation humming in the air around you. the venue is already packed, people milling about, chattering, laughing, the smell of beer and sweat mixing with the faint scent of perfume and leather jackets. the stage looms ahead, dimly lit for now, but you can already feel the weight of the spotlight on your skin, the pulse of the audience vibrating beneath your feet. your heart beats in rhythm with the buzz, the nervous energy thrumming in your chest.

you and the band stand backstage, adjusting your instruments, fine-tuning guitars, stretching fingers. there’s a quiet before the storm, a moment where everything is still, but you know it’s just the calm before the chaos. 

wonbin stands a few feet away, his back turned to you as he checks the tuning of his guitar. the sight of him is enough to make your stomach twist—his dark hair falls freely over his forehead, strands slipping into his eyes, and there’s a quiet confidence in the way he holds himself, like he was made for this moment. you’ve always admired that about him. his ease, his ability to command attention without even trying.

“you ready?” yunjin’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn to find her smiling, the excitement in her eyes mirroring your own.

“as ready as i’ll ever be,” you say, trying to sound confident, but there’s an edge to your voice, a tremor of something else—something deeper. 

because tonight feels different. heavier. there’s something lodged in your chest, something that’s been building since last night’s encounter with wonbin, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep it contained.

“don’t worry, we’ll kill it,” yunjin says with a grin, throwing her arm around your shoulders. her confidence is contagious, but it doesn’t quite reach the core of your anxiety. because no matter how well the performance goes, there’s a weight hanging between you and wonbin, something unspoken that you can’t seem to shake.

the moment comes, and you all take the stage. the lights flicker on, illuminating the faces of the audience as they cheer, their energy palpable. you grip your guitar tightly, feeling the familiar warmth of the instrument against your body. it’s a comfort, a lifeline. music has always been the only place where you feel like you belong, where you can channel the torrent of emotions inside you. and tonight, you need it more than ever.

the first chords ring out, the music taking over, and the world around you falls away. everything fades except for the sound of the instruments, the pounding rhythm of the drums, the pulse of the bass. you lose yourself in the music, pouring all of your unspoken feelings into every note, every strum of your guitar. it’s a release, a way to express everything you’ve been holding back. and for a while, it works. the music becomes your escape, your way of drowning out the noise in your heart.

but then there’s wonbin. he’s always there, lingering in the corner of your vision, impossible to ignore. he plays with an intensity that’s magnetic, the way his fingers move over the strings like it’s second nature, the guitar becoming an extension of him. a thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead, catching the light, and his hair falls messily into his eyes. there’s something almost untamed about him in these moments, like the music sets him free, strips him of all the layers and pretenses he wears so effortlessly offstage.

and then, just like that, he looks at you.

time slows, the world around you fading into the background as the spotlight seems to shine brighter on him, illuminating every detail. his gaze locks with yours, and it’s like the music takes on a different meaning. his lips curl into that grin, the one that makes your heart stutter in your chest, and for a moment, you forget where you are. it’s just the two of you, suspended in that electric moment, the crowd, the lights, the noise all falling away.

you pour everything into the strings beneath your fingers, strumming with a desperation you can’t quite control. every chord is a prayer, a plea for this moment to last just a little longer, for this connection, however fleeting, to mean something more. your chest tightens with the intensity of it, and you pray that he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble, the way your heart races. but he’s looking at you, really looking, and it feels like he can see straight through the facade you’ve so carefully constructed.

you lose yourself in the music, strumming harder, fingers moving faster as if you can escape the weight of his gaze. but it doesn’t work. he’s still there, still watching, still grinning like he knows exactly what’s going on inside you. and maybe he does. maybe he’s always known.

the song ends, the final chord ringing out into the air, and the crowd erupts into cheers, but you barely hear it. your chest heaves with the effort, your fingers aching from the intensity, but your mind is still stuck on that moment, that look. you glance over at wonbin, and he’s already turned away, his focus shifted, like it was nothing. like it always is.

the rest of the set passes in a blur of sound and lights, but your mind is elsewhere. your emotions are too raw, too exposed. every note feels like a confession, every lyric like a piece of your heart being laid bare. and when the performance finally ends, you feel like you’ve run a marathon, emotionally spent and physically exhausted.

but the night isn’t over yet.

you’re barely offstage before the others are already making plans to go out, to celebrate the successful performance. there’s a wild energy in the air, everyone high on the adrenaline of the show, arms thrown around shoulders, laughter spilling out into the night as you make your way to the club. you don’t have the energy to protest, not when hongjoong drags you along, insisting you come out and celebrate. you plaster on a smile, trying to hide the exhaustion, the emotional turmoil still swirling inside you.

the club is dark and loud, the music thumping through the speakers, vibrating through the floor. the smell of alcohol and sweat is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. the others scatter, disappearing into the crowd, already lost in the haze of celebration.

you find yourself at the bar, drink in hand, trying to numb the ache in your chest. you don’t know why you’re here, don’t know why you agreed to this when all you want to do is disappear, to escape the weight of your own feelings. but then you see him.

wonbin.

he’s surrounded by girls, as usual, laughing and flirting effortlessly, his hand resting casually on some girl’s waist. the sight of it makes your stomach twist, the familiar ache of jealousy settling in. you watch from a distance, the alcohol dulling the sharpness of your emotions but not enough to stop the pang of hurt that hits you every time he flashes that grin, every time he leans in too close to one of them.

it’s always like this. always. he’s there, right in front of you, but somehow always just out of reach. no matter how much you want him, no matter how much you try to bury your feelings, it’s like he’s always pulling you in, only to slip through your fingers again. and tonight, after everything, after the performance, after the way he looked at you—tonight it’s too much.

you down another drink, the burn of alcohol sliding down your throat, but it’s not enough to drown out the frustration, the heartache. the room spins slightly, the edges of your vision blurring, but there’s a strange clarity in your mind—a single thought that pushes its way to the forefront.

you can’t do this anymore. you can’t keep pretending, can’t keep holding back. you want him. and tonight, you’re done hiding it.

before you know it, your feet are moving, carrying you through the crowd, weaving between bodies until you find yourself standing in front of him. he’s alone now, the girls having wandered off somewhere else, and he looks at you with mild surprise, his usual easy smile slipping onto his lips.

“hey,” he says, his voice loud enough to cut through the music. “you okay?”

you don’t answer, your mind a blur of alcohol and desire, your body moving on its own as you take a step closer, your gaze locked on his. the distance between you disappears, and you reach up, your fingers brushing against his chest as you stand on your tiptoes, your heart racing, your mind screaming at you to stop, but your body doesn’t listen.

you kiss him.

for a moment, everything freezes. time seems to stop, the world around you fading into nothing as your lips press against his. he’s still at first, his body tense, frozen in place as if he’s processing what just happened. you can feel the confusion in the way he hesitates, the way his breath catches in his throat, but you don’t care. not anymore.

and then, slowly, he kisses you back.

his hand comes up to your waist, fingers curling around your side, pulling you closer. his lips move against yours with practiced ease, and it’s everything you imagined and more. there’s a heat to it, a spark, like a wildfire igniting between the two of you, and for a moment, you lose yourself in it. his scent overwhelms your senses, the familiar mix of sweat and cologne, and you’re drowning in it, in him and your mind goes blank, your body melting into his.

as the kiss ends, the silence between you is thick, like the air before a storm, heavy with unspoken words and lingering emotions. wonbin’s gaze locks onto yours, intense and searching, as if he’s trying to decipher the whirlwind of feelings swirling between you. for a moment, the world outside seems to blur, the neon lights and pounding music fading into the background, leaving only the two of you in sharp focus. the heat of the kiss lingers, not just on your lips, but in the space between you, like a promise that neither of you fully understands yet.

you try to gather your thoughts, to make sense of the chaos inside you, but the alcohol has stripped away your defenses, leaving you raw and exposed. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the deep bass of the club’s music, but all of it feels distant, irrelevant compared to the electric connection that still crackles between you and wonbin. the room spins slightly, the haze of the night adding a surreal edge to everything, but there’s a clarity in this moment that cuts through it all, a truth you can no longer ignore.

without waiting for doubt to creep in, you lean in again, driven by instinct rather than logic. the second kiss is not just an act, but a collision of need and longing, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between what you feel and what you fear. wonbin meets you with equal intensity, his hands finding your hips, anchoring you to him as if afraid you might slip away. the world tilts, the music and the crowd fading into a distant hum, until all that remains is the two of you, lost in each other.

his lips are warm, insistent, a source of comfort and urgency all at once. his breath mingles with yours, a shared warmth that blurs the lines between where you end and he begins. the grip of his hands is firm, but there’s a tenderness there too, a carefulness that belies the intensity of the moment. it’s as if he’s trying to hold on to something fragile, something that could shatter with the wrong move.

the kiss deepens, and with it, the connection between you grows, becoming more urgent, more undeniable. you can feel his heart racing against your chest, the rhythm of it syncing with your own, a shared pulse that echoes the emotions neither of you has dared to speak aloud. the heat between you is overwhelming, like standing too close to a fire, but instead of pulling away, you find yourself leaning into it, craving the warmth, the intensity, the clarity it brings.

when wonbin finally pulls back, just enough to catch his breath, his eyes are darker, filled with a mix of emotions that make your own heart ache. there’s desire there, yes, but also something softer, something that makes you feel both vulnerable and cherished. it’s a look that asks a question without words, a silent plea for understanding, for reassurance.

"are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper, carrying a weight of concern and eagerness. it’s a question loaded with meaning, with the potential for everything to change, and you can see the vulnerability in his gaze, the way he’s letting you see a part of him that he usually keeps hidden.

you swallow, the words catching in your throat, but you manage to nod, your voice trembling slightly as you say, "yes, i’m sure." it’s the truth, the only truth that matters right now, because despite everything—the chaos, the fear, the uncertainty—being here with him feels right in a way that nothing else has.

without another word, he takes your hand, his touch grounding you, steadying you as he guides you through the throng of people. the club’s lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colors, the pounding music a distant echo as you make your way outside. the cool night air hits your skin, a refreshing contrast to the heat that still lingers between you, clearing your head just enough to remind you that this is real, that this moment is yours.

you stumble slightly, the effects of the alcohol and the adrenaline making your steps unsteady, but wonbin is there, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. his presence is a steady force amidst the chaos, a reminder that you’re not alone in this, that whatever happens next, you’ll face it together.

"come on," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. "let’s get out of here." there’s a promise in his words, not of anything specific, but of something more, something that goes beyond the night, beyond the fleeting intensity of the moment.

you nod, allowing him to lead you down the street, your steps unsure but your heart racing with a sense of anticipation that feels almost electric. the city night is alive around you, the air buzzing with energy, with possibilities that make your pulse quicken. the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, the cool breeze carrying the scent of the night—an intoxicating mix of urban grit and something sweeter, more elusive, like the promise of something just out of reach.

as you walk, wonbin’s hand in yours is a constant, a tether that keeps you grounded as your thoughts swirl. there’s a peace in the quiet of the night, a stillness that contrasts sharply with the chaos of the club, allowing you to focus on what truly matters—the connection between you, the unspoken understanding that has always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

when you reach a quiet corner, the world seems to slow, the moment stretching out as if to give you both the time to breathe, to think, to feel. wonbin turns to you, his gaze sweeping over your face, and there’s a tenderness there that makes your heart ache in the best way possible. his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of doubt, of hesitation, but finding none.

"are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but laced with an urgency that matches the unspoken question in his eyes. he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, the touch so tender it nearly undoes you.

"yeah," you whisper, your voice barely audible, but filled with all the emotion you can’t quite express. "i’m okay."

he smiles then, a slow, almost hesitant smile that warms you from the inside out. "good," he says softly, his hands finding their way to your shoulders, grounding you with their warmth. "because i’ve wanted this—wanted you—for a long time."

the confession hangs between you, heavy with meaning, with the weight of all the moments that led to this one. you don’t need to respond with words; the look in your eyes says it all. before you can overthink it, he leans in again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both urgent and tender, a reaffirmation of everything you’ve both been holding back.

in that moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the connection deepening with each shared breath, each touch, each whispered promise. 

and as the night stretches on, drunken stumbles back to your hotel room, the hastened shedding of clothing, you lose yourself in that electric feeling, of the raw desire and wanting.

‘condom?’ wonbin asks, hovering over you, his necklace dangling conveniently over your eyes, hair loose and wild, falling over his eyes. you almost forgot to respond to him, captivated in how effortlessly he draws your gaze.

it’s not until you feel him tap your chin, his eyes peering into your soul, do you remember that he had asked you a question.

‘i’m on the pill. don’t need one.’

you’re sure that your sentences could have been more intelligible, but the desire coursing through your body, searing your insides and bubbling at your core had cut any chance of that happening.

‘like music to my ears.’

his head dips down to your neck, his lips soft against your burning skin, teasing you with light kisses as you squirmed underneath him.

‘wonbin,’ you pleaded, your thighs clenching as you look up at him, begging him to do what you had dreaming about for months.

‘patience, angel. good things come to those that wait.’

he continues his agonisingly slow teasing, the smirk on his lips practically plastered on his face, enjoying the increase of your neediness.

he took note of the way your breath hitched when his fingers dipped underneath your underwear, or when they traced small circles on your nioples.

he delighted in the way you bucked into his palm when his fingers finally entered you, a long whine leaving your lips as you throw your head back.

‘so needy. you’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

the feeling of his skilfully long fingers stretching you so well, hitting all of the right spots, renders you speechless, and your mouth hangs open, words unable to escape.

‘of course you have, look at how wet you are.’

it’s sinful, the noises that reverberate around the thin hotel room walls, your eyes practically reaching your skull as your fingers curl around his wrist, simultaneously pushing him away and pulling him closer.

‘you’re about to cum, aren’t you baby? you want to cum so badly, want me to make you cum?’ your thoughts are clouded, wonbin’s voice nothing but white noise as you desperately chase that feeling in your lower stomach, nodding repeatedly.

after a couple more strokes you come undone, thighs shaking as they close around his fingers, your head thrown all the way back as you miss the way he licks his lips, only growing harder.

‘think you can give me another one angel?’

as you lose yourselves in the quiet intimacy of the moment, you can’t help but cling to the hope that this night is just the beginning of something more, something lasting. for now, though, the simple joy of being here, in this moment with him, is enough, your sweaty bodies clinging to each other in a hazy swirl of lust.

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

waking up feels like surfacing from deep water—your head pounds with every pulse of your heart, each thud sending waves of pain crashing through your skull. the sunlight that spills through the curtains is too bright, stabbing into your eyes like needles, and you groan, burying your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to escape it. your throat is dry, parched as if you’ve swallowed sandpaper, and the taste of stale alcohol lingers on your tongue, sour and bitter.

but despite the hangover, despite the discomfort, there’s a warmth that blooms in your chest when you remember last night. a soft smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a small, contented sigh, the memory of wonbin’s touch, his kiss, his whispered words still fresh in your mind. it feels like a dream, like something too good to be true, but the way your heart skips a beat when you think of him reassures you that it was real, that you took the leap you’ve been too scared to take for so long.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that it meant something, that maybe, just maybe, wonbin feels the same way you do.

with that thought in mind, you force yourself to sit up, the room spinning slightly as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. you press your fingers to your temples, trying to ease the pounding in your head, but it’s no use. the hangover is a stubborn beast, and it’s not going to let you off easy today. but you push through it, fueled by the remnants of last night’s euphoria, and after a few minutes of sitting there, breathing deeply, you manage to stand.

the first thing you do is check your phone, hoping for a message from wonbin, some acknowledgment of what happened between you. but there’s nothing—just a few unread messages from the group chat. your heart sinks a little, but you tell yourself it’s fine, that he’s probably just as hungover as you are and hasn’t gotten around to messaging anyone yet. still, a small seed of doubt plants itself in your mind, and you shake your head, trying to dislodge it before it can take root.

you glance at the group chat, eyes skimming over the messages. yunjin’s suggesting everyone meet for food in the hotel conference room, and your stomach grumbles in response, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since yesterday. the idea of food is both appealing and nauseating at the same time, but you know you need something in your system to soak up the lingering alcohol. besides, you’ll get to see wonbin, and maybe… maybe you can talk, clear up whatever uncertainties are creeping in.

so you pull yourself together, forcing yourself through the motions of getting dressed, splashing water on your face, and downing a glass of water in hopes of quelling the dehydration. each movement feels heavy, your limbs weighed down by the combination of hangover and nerves, but you push through, determined to keep the fragile hope from last night alive.

by the time you reach the conference room, the smell of food is already wafting through the air—greasy, comforting, the kind of food that’s perfect for soaking up a night of too much drinking. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you push open the door, your eyes immediately scanning the room for wonbin.

and there he is.

but he’s not alone.

the sight of him with the waitress hits you like a punch to the gut, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you freeze in the doorway. she’s draped on his arm, her body pressed close to his, her lips dangerously close to his ear as she whispers something you can’t hear. but it’s the way he smiles down at her, the way he laughs softly at whatever she’s saying, that twists the knife deeper into your chest.

time seems to slow, each second stretching out into an eternity as you stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. the warmth that had filled you just moments ago is gone, replaced by a cold, hollow ache that spreads through your chest like ice. the hope you’d clung to shatters, the pieces falling around you like broken glass, and you can do nothing but watch as wonbin slips further and further away from you, even as he stands just a few feet away.

he notices you then, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, and for a moment, you think you see something—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone too quickly, replaced by that same easy smile, the one that never quite reaches his eyes. he disentangles himself from the waitress, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle before she walks away, her hips swaying as she disappears into the crowd.

you want to run, to turn around and leave before he can say anything, before he can break your heart all over again, but your legs refuse to move. you’re trapped, caught in the web of your own feelings, and all you can do is watch as he walks toward you, his expression carefully neutral.

"hey," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the buzz of conversation in the room. "can we talk?"

you nod, unable to find your voice, and he gestures for you to follow him out into the hallway. the walls seem to close in around you as you walk, each step heavier than the last, and by the time you’re standing alone with him, your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

"about last night…" he starts, running a hand through his hair, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he’s struggling to find the right words. "i just… i don’t want you to get the wrong idea."

the wrong idea. the words hit you like a slap, and you flinch, the sharp sting of rejection cutting through you like a knife. you can feel your hands trembling, so you clench them into fists at your sides, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep from falling apart right in front of him.

"what do you mean?" you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. you already know what he’s going to say, but you need to hear it, need to hear the words that will crush whatever hope is left inside you.

he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looks away, unable to meet your gaze. "last night was… it was fun, and i’m glad it happened, but…" he trails off, and you can see the moment he decides to just rip off the band-aid, the moment he stops trying to soften the blow.

 "but it was just a one-time thing, you know? we both had pent up frustration that needed to be released. ii don’t want you to think it was anything more than that."

a one-time thing. the words echo in your mind, each repetition like a hammer driving nails into your heart. you knew it was coming, knew that this was always a possibility, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier. it doesn’t stop the pain, doesn’t stop the feeling of your heart being torn in two.

but you can’t let him see that. you can’t let him see how much it hurts, how deeply his words cut you. so you force yourself to smile, a small, brittle thing that feels like it’s going to crack and shatter at any moment.

"of course," you say, your voice trembling just the slightest bit, but you hope he doesn’t notice. "i didn’t think it was anything more than that." you scoff, trying to play it off as a joke, even though it feels like you’re choking on the words.

 "we were just having fun, right?"

he looks relieved, and it makes you want to scream.

 "yeah, exactly," he says, his smile returning, more genuine this time. "i’m glad you understand. i didn’t want things to get weird between us."

too late, you think, but you bite your tongue, nodding instead. 

"no worries," you say, trying to sound as casual as he does, trying to pretend that your heart isn’t breaking all over again. "we’re good."

but you’re not good. you’re anything but good. you feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re crumbling from the inside out, but you keep it together, holding yourself together with sheer force of will. because what else can you do? you can’t let him see how much he’s hurt you, how much you wanted more, how much you still want more, even now.

he gives you one last smile, a quick pat on the shoulder that feels more like a dismissal than anything else, and then he’s gone, walking back into the conference room without a second glance.

you stand there for a long time after he leaves, your mind spinning, your heart aching. the hallway feels too quiet, too empty, the silence pressing in on you from all sides, and for a moment, you think you might cry, right there in the middle of the hallway. but you don’t. you take a deep breath, blinking back the tears, and tell yourself to hold it together, to not let him have this power over you.

but it’s hard. it’s so hard. because no matter how much you tell yourself that it was just one night, that it didn’t mean anything, you can’t make yourself believe it. you can’t stop the memories from playing over and over in your mind, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he kissed you like you were the only person in the world.

but it was all an illusion. a fleeting moment of connection that meant nothing to him, while it meant everything to you. and now you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of what could have been, the bitter taste of

 rejection that lingers long after he’s gone.

you take a few more breaths, each one shakier than the last, trying to steady the whirlwind inside you. your chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, a black hole of emotion that pulls everything into its crushing gravity. you know you have to go back into that conference room, to plaster on a smile and pretend that everything is fine, that you aren’t shattering into pieces that will never quite fit together again.

 but the mere thought of seeing wonbin with that waitress—her lips close to his ear, his laughter a blade twisting deeper into your heart—is more than you can bear. it’s a dagger of reality, cold and sharp, cutting through the fragile threads of hope you had woven around yourself.

so you turn away, your feet heavy with the weight of defeat, and walk out of the conference room, leaving behind the clamor of voices and the sound of your own heart breaking. the laughter and conversation fade into a distant hum, as if the world is slipping away from you, leaving you in a void of silence and despair. 

the door to your hotel room closes with a soft click that echoes like a final nail in the coffin of your hopes, sealing you inside with the full force of your emotions.

the silence in the room is oppressive, pressing down on you from all sides. it’s as if the very air has thickened, suffocating you under the weight of your own grief. you collapse onto the bed, your body folding in on itself as if trying to disappear, to escape the relentless ache in your chest. 

you bury your face in the pillow, the fabric quickly growing damp as the tears spill out, hot and bitter, a flood you can’t control. the dam has broken, and the torrent of sorrow rushes out, drowning you in the waves of everything you’ve lost, everything you’ll never have.

you cry for the dreams that have slipped through your fingers like sand, for the love that you poured into him that was never returned, for the hollow realization that you will never be enough for him—never the one he chooses, never the one who makes his heart race the way he makes yours.

 the sobs tear through you, each one a violent convulsion that seems to rip you apart, leaving you gasping for air that never quite reaches your lungs. it feels like you’re drowning, dragged under by the weight of your own despair, struggling to stay afloat in a sea of unspoken words and shattered dreams.

when the tears finally subside, leaving you drained and hollow, you lie there in the suffocating quiet, staring up at the ceiling as the harsh truth settles over you like a shroud. 

wonbin doesn’t want you. 

not in the way you want him. 

the thought is a blade to your heart, each repetition cutting deeper, the wound bleeding out all the love you’ve been holding onto, until there’s nothing left but the numbness of reality. 

you can try to tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’ll move on, that you’ll find a way to let go. but the truth is, you know you won’t. you can’t. because you’re tethered to him by something more than just affection—something that binds you to him with an unbreakable chain, even as it drags you deeper into the abyss of hopeless love.

you’re caught in a cycle of longing and despair, a cruel loop that you can’t escape, no matter how much you want to. you yearn for a man who will never be yours, who refuses to be held down, who looks at you with eyes that see a friend, a companion, but never the love you desperately wish to be. it hurts with an intensity that leaves you breathless, a pain that eclipses all others, and yet you don’t know how to stop it. how to let go of the fantasy that keeps you tethered to him, even though it’s killing you little by little.

so you lie there, letting the pain wash over you, feeling it seep into your bones, until it becomes a part of you, something you carry with you always. because what else can you do? you can’t stop loving him, no matter how much it tears you apart, no matter how much you wish you could simply walk away from the wreckage of your heart. you’re left with nothing but the aching emptiness of unrequited love, a hollow void that echoes with the ghost of what could have been, of what will never be.

and that’s the cruelest part of it all—the knowledge that no matter how deeply it cuts, no matter how desperately you try to stitch the wound shut, you’re trapped in an unending loop, a carousel of heartache that spins endlessly, leaving you dizzy and disoriented.

 it’s like being caught in a storm, where the rain never stops and the clouds never part, and all you can do is shiver in the cold, longing for a sun that never rises. you’re tethered to him by invisible threads, frayed and worn, yet unbreakable. and the harder you pull, the tighter they bind, until you’re suffocating under the weight of a love that feels more like a curse than a gift. it’s this realization, the bitter taste of it on your tongue, that finally breaks you, sending you spiraling into the kind of tears that shake your very soul.

[connorsui]

Wired for you

Billy Kid x Reader

Genre/warning: Fluff, Comedy, shyness factor boosted to a hundred, Billy being a tease, a robot wanting to be kissed by his favorite human (cuz why not), no warnings tho …we don't Rip out wires around here

Synopsis: Billy Kid finds himself falling in love with you repeatedly, captivated by your ability to light up his world. He loves praise.

Note: I fell inlove with him ...and what do I find? ..barely any fics ..so I made my own ..

w.c: 900

—

Billy Kid was no stranger to the thrill of a challenge. He had been built to navigate chaos, thrive in the fast-paced rhythm of battle, and laugh in the face of danger. But nothing, nothing, ever threw him off-kilter quite like you.

Your praises were like that first rush of energy when a mission began, crackling in the air between you two. Every word you said seemed to spark something inside him—he couldn’t call it a heartbeat, not technically, but it sure felt like one. It was almost laughable how an AI like him could feel so alive, so human, all because of the way you looked at him.

“You were incredible out there, Billy,” you’d say with a grin that could outshine the sun. His white hair would catch in the wind, and if he had a mouth, you’d see just how wide he'd be smiling. Instead, he had to settle for the flutter in his chest as he tried to play it cool. “You always manage to surprise me.”

But it was a big deal. Every time you believed in him, even after the smallest victories, it was like that rush of adrenaline, but softer, sweeter. He swore that if he had a pulse, it’d race every time you teased him. Your playful taunts after a rare misstep made him feel seen, like even his imperfections were worth loving.

You had this way of lighting him up, like a fuse to a firework, and it scared him how deep those feelings ran. They didn’t just short-circuit his systems but made him want to give you everything—the world, if he could. He tried to play it off as no big deal with that carefree attitude of his, but the truth? He couldn’t deny how you made his mind race and his processor hum differently when you were near.

“If I could, I’d show you how much I appreciate you every single day,” he’d say, his voice tinged with genuine affection. “I’d take on any challenge just to keep that smile on your face.”

And then there were the small things.

The way you’d laugh, soft and genuine, as you adjusted the collar of his red jacket. The way your fingers brushed the metal of his faceplate, where his lips should be, and how it sent an electric jolt through him.

“Uuughhhhhh—” he’d groan in a mix of frustration and delight, feeling the warmth of your touch.

“Billy, you alright?” you’d ask, concern laced in your tone.

“How much would it be to get a mouth implanted on this face!?” he’d joke, trying to mask his fluster with humor.

You didn’t even seem to realize how much those tiny gestures affected him. It was in those moments, those quiet pauses between the chaos, that he fell in love all over again.

He didn’t know how to express it, not in the way humans did. But he tried, in his own way. When your laughter broke through the noise of a hectic day, he’d turn towards you, eyes glowing with that unmistakable warmth.

“You’ve got a way of making everything better, you know that? I’d fight a hundred battles just to see you smile like that,” he’d confess.

You always made fun of how he’d grip your shoulders with that childlike enthusiasm, like you were the greatest discovery he'd ever made. But to Billy, that’s exactly what you were. His person. His constant.

“I’m not joking, sweetheart!” he’d say with a playful glint in his eyes. “If I had the Starlight Knight power, I’d use it just to make you happy!”

And every single time you cheered him on or smiled in his direction, Billy Kid fell in love again—just like the first time.

He loved, and loved, and loved so endlessly that if his hands weren’t already busy with whatever mission you both were on, he’d pull you close and show you just how much you meant to him. Instead, he opted for those softer moments. When the dust settled, he’d lean in just a bit closer so you could feel the quiet hum of his mechanics, hear the low purr of his systems running smoothly.

“You really are something special,” he’d murmur, his voice soft and tender. “Can’t believe I get to be around you.”

And you’d smile back, brushing your thumb over his faceplate, where his lips would be if he had any. “You’re special too, Billy. More than you know.”

If he could, he'd kiss you right then and there. But instead, he let your touch linger, letting it root itself deep in his core, just as it always did. For now, he settled for that spark between you, the kind that made his world light up in ways no program could ever predict.

God I wanna kiss him so bad

[zilabee]

Tony Bramwell, on Yoko

- gradually, inch by inch she intruded into our lives

- It was hardly surprising that John felt some kind of electricity; but it was probably the air crackling with Yoko’s desperation

- If I were standing about with him, Yoko would come up to me and say something in her high little girl’s voice, perhaps hoping to get John to notice her [...]. John would walk off to talk to someone else, while she stared after him. In those days, Yoko was always staring after John.

- She wanted to possess John and she was the one who was exceptionally jealous. She could not cope with the fact that John could love three other guys.

- her piece de resistance, the much-reprised performance of “Cut Piece.”  The scissors were wired for sound, so every cut had a horrific, almost animal sound, like a beast crunching into its human prey.

- did Yoko do her hypnotism thing, as some of John’s friends thought she had, or did she have a powerful new drug in her arsenal? Nobody really believed that John fell in love overnight, because why hadn’t he done so before? He’d been kicking Yoko in and out of his life for over a year. Mostly, he had given the impression that he resented and despised her. [...] Perhaps it was that he really was mentally ill and like many schizoid personalities, got religious mania.

- Overnight, he no longer had a will of his own.

- ...an attempt to use Primal Scream Therapy under Arthur Janov by telephone, to free him from his heroin addiction...

- Sir Joe said he didn’t think the pictures were obscene, he had seen much worse, an opinion which confused John and Yoko. They wanted to be seen as avant-garde and enfants terribles.

- Yoko had no sense of humour at all and she loathed Phil as much as Phil hated her. Each of them was implacable and paranoid.

- I used to dread taking John and Yoko’s arty stuff into radio stations and asking them to play it. For me, it was a bad experience because it was unplayable and unlistenable. [...] The reaction was a bored, “Why are you bringing this crap to us?” At first I argued with radio producers about it, though not on a very artistic level. I even heard myself saying, “Because he pays my wages. That’s why!” It was so embarrassing.

- As far as Yoko was concerned, if you spout all this magical, healing, antiwar, be kind to everybody, all-seeing, all-caring, all-macrobiotic stuff, being pregnant on heroin would seem to be the last thing she would need. And how does all that stuff equate with shooting up smack? How does all that spiritual pontificating gel with the teaspoon and the needle, unless you’re a fraud?

- According to John, Yoko snorted [heroin], but I had no doubt that if she had used a needle, she would probably have said it was acupuncture.

- John used to like life. He used to like to get on a roll. Laugh, eat and drink. [...] proper breakfasts, an old-fashioned fry-up, pie and chips, fish and chips, fried chicken, a roast dinner on a Sunday, Chinese food, curry, spaghetti Bolognese. Everything. Then he met Yoko, grew his beard, and [...] from Irish navvy’s food, he went to heroin and macrobiotics. I think if Yoko had said it was spiritual to snort bean curd instead of eat it John would have done it.

- She and John used to whisper away in their corner, with a completely different, us-against-the-world perspective to everyone. I know they did, because filming quietly on the sidelines, I heard.

- Having discussed life and its ins and outs and meanings, and worked out that it all means nothing, John and Yoko didn’t want to, couldn’t possibly, give the edifice of the Beatles any credit, or indeed any respect.

- doubt set in because some critics and reviewers gave her favourable reviews in the press and on TV. You’d find yourself wondering if you were an intellectual failure, unable to spot the hidden value in Yoko’s art and music. [...] somehow it became important to judge Yoko as impartially as possible, mostly out of regard for John. The problem was we couldn’t accept that he could be so blinded.

- [Dan Richter] was a close confidant of [Yoko and Tony Cox]. He said he heard all their hopes and schemes to hook John, at first as a financial “angel,” then, with dawning excitement, as a lover.

- According to Dan, Tony Cox actively encouraged the affair between John and Yoko as a means of survival. He said that Cox would tell Yoko to “go get Lennon.” When John proved elusive, as he was at first, Cox told Yoko she wasn’t trying hard enough. For her part, when she saw how close she was to capturing their prey, Yoko told Dan that they’d soon be rich beyond their wildest dreams.

- Cox began to feel fragile, thinking he might get cut out. In all seriousness, he drew up an agreement that he insisted Yoko sign. This single-page document—which was drawn up and signed at Dan’s kitchen table—stated that when Yoko hooked John, they would split any cash she got from the endeavour.

[regretsofaghost]

I Couldn't Give What It Cost Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58929406

Who would have thought following Casper High’s lab safety protocols would leave him in the same place as if he followed his parents’, just infinitely more spooky looking?

Hell, Danny had even pulled out the worn piece of paper from their first class, the one that listed all the PPE needed to deal with a high school level of science and beyond! Sure, the tidbits about the different levels of HAZMAT suits were probably just fun facts, but his parents never fought him or Jazz on wearing their HAZMAT suits in the lab, nevermind the gas masks and goggles. If his parents’ research had any chance of radiation or burning them, he was wearing the PPE.

Sam and Tucker complained about the stiff suits, brightly coloured and stiff, all too large as they were back ups for Danny’s mom and dad. When Danny had pulled out his own, he was on some level happy that his white one was nearly the proper size, if still too large. It was always better safe than sorry in his parents’ lab, one too many chemical burns from unknown substances proved that.

“Y’know Danny, we could totally take these and trick or treat in them, they’re just creepy enough that we can pass as Pestilence, a horsemen of the apocalypse,” Sam said, voice muffled as she adjusted her mask.

“Oh, for sure, just after we explain why Pestilence is wearing a bright orange HAZMAT suit,” Danny pulled on his gas mask, breathing slowly as he got used to the odd, wheezing sound. He looked around the lab, huffing, “man, dad must’ve updated my suit without telling me. I think he added a welding shield on it, I can’t see anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry Danny, it makes you look spookier, especially with the white suit!” Sam smiled, though Danny couldn’t see it. “How about you keep your mask off till we get to the portal, then put it on when we get the picture?”

“Wait, we’re getting a picture?”

It was pointless to argue, so after getting to the portal and showing the waste of space off, and after a lot of directing, both Sam and Tucker annoyed at the small steps Danny took inside the portal, he was ready. He didn’t go too far into the tunnel, he kept mostly in the middle, he even smiled for Sam’s picture, decked out in his full suit, completely safe.

It wasn’t enough.

There was an unexpected jolt of electricity, sparks falling from the top of the tunnel that was the portal, and well, Danny couldn’t really see anything, so the sudden light was a surprise. It started him, and no one really ever talked about how hard it was to move gracefully in a full HAZMAT suit, especially one that was a size or two too big. He stumbled back, and wires that littered the floor tripped him. Danny’s hand fell against the wall as he tried to catch himself, tried to not fall onto the floor and embarrass himself, he couldn’t see the bright buttons that said ON and OFF, inside of the portal.

It was just pain after that.

Pain that flooded him so completely, overwhelming every sense until all he knew as pain. Bright, shocking, both burning and freezing, it was overwhelming all his senses, but it wouldn’t stop.

Sam and Tucker said it was a haunting sight when he stepped out of the portal.

Neither told him of how long they stood frozen, just listening to their friend’s death throes.

Being Phantom was easy. It was easier than it should have been.

He struggled yes, he phased through silverware when he was, alive, breathing, human, he wasn’t allowed anywhere near the beakers in chemistry anymore, his parents’ machines all homed in on him when he stepped through the front door. That was all part of his new, life, unlife, death? Not death. Scrodinger’s cat, a box unopened, was he dead or alive?

Fighting ghosts was easy, fun even.

Danny, Phantom, got pummeled often. He threw shitty punches and was hit with thousands of pounds worth of force back, he struggled with his powers, new ones appearing everyday. The Lunch Lady was hard, at first. Skulker, Technus, Plasmius, Box Ghost, Spectra, Ghostwriter, all of them. They were all hard to beat, at first. They all treated Danny, Phantom, like he was an adult, that he should be able to withstand them, should be able to survive their attacks, and he proved that he could. It was the first time in years that it felt like he could try his best, and that he could, and would, succeed. The ghosts pouring through his parents’ portal saw Danny, saw Phantom, and sometimes, it seemed like they were expecting his best too. They saw something more than a Fenton Freak, a boy who dreamed of the starts that were always going to stay out of reach.

People feared him, but they saw him.

They saw his ghostly form, the pitch black HAZMAT suit that he wore to death, the gas mask covering his face completely, the hood that covered his hair. Phantom looked like a harbinger of doom, a horseman of the apocalypse, something solely and completely otherworldly.

The threats got bigger and bigger, the stakes climbing as Danny, as Phantom, was the only person, the only thing, standing between the ghosts of the realm his parents opened, and the small town of Amity Park. As the GIW showed up, as mom and dad became more and more obsessed with Phantom, everything pouring and spilling on top of one another.

Something was bound to break.

Of course they captured him.

Of course they let him go.

Of course, they left the mask on until they had already cut him open, until after they had removed his organs, taken samples of his skin, broken bones and stole them.

Maybe they wanted to save his brain for last.

Maybe they thought if they touched his brain, he would dissolve like the others before him.

The Fentons never did understand cores.

Maybe, the fear in their eyes was more for what they had done than what they had seen under Danny’s mask.

He wouldn’t know, he never looked.

He didn’t want to see what death left under his mask.

Sam, Tucker, Jazz, they all knew. They respected his death enough to not describe it to him.

Maybe what laid underneath would be what sent him over the edge.

Mom and Dad, Maddie and Jack, the Fentons, they let him go, somehow. They helped him hide his trail from the GIW, somehow, and with help from Sam and Tuck, he made it to Gotham. From there it was up to him, with the equipment his parents, the Fentons, shoved into a duffle bag, and cash that Sam had been saving for him. It had to be enough to make a new life.

Now, Danny just had to deal with the ghosts and nightmares.

It was mostly wishful thinking that he could put Phantom in the past.

It was mostly wishful thinking that Gotham was going to be fine with its knights of the night.

It was mostly wishful thinking that he wouldn’t have to deal with the Bats.

A mysterious new meta who seemed to only target ghosts? That same mysterious new meta suddenly, without provocation, killing a new rogue?

What can Danny, what can Phantom, say. He really, really, hated Freakshow. That tended to happen when you mind control someone, especially when you made that person kidnap a Robin and threaten to have him walk a tightrope, one that was bound to break if it was anything like last time.

Danny was struggling. He knew, logically, that he should just go with the Bats, to explain why he did what he did, they were probably used to people blaming mind control for their actions, they had to know when someone wasn’t lying.

Right?

Danny couldn’t take the risk. Couldn’t chance them leading the GIW right to him while his guard was down. They were already sniffing around Gotham, he just.

He couldn’t.

Danny watched in horror as Batman’s gas mask was cracked, as the Dark Knight threw the person off, only in appearances trying to walk off the powerful punch.

Danny knew better.

He could tell Batman was holding his breath as he felt along his utility belt for something, anything, to filter the fear gas that was being pumped onto the street.

He knew he would find nothing.

If you asked Danny afterwards, he didn’t know why he went ghost, why he walked up to Batman, the very person Danny had been dodging for months now, and removed the ghostly gas mask from his face. He tried not to look at Batman’s face when he shoved it over his cowl, unsure how the fear gas will work on him.

Was it best used as an aerosol, breathed in and absorbed through the lungs? It had to work through mucous channels, maybe just less effectively through the eyes and mouth? It didn’t matter, Danny was dead, alive, Scrodinger’s cat, he could stop his breathing for minutes on end but eventually he had to take a breath, and that mattered less if the gas worked through mucus channels.

“Take it, don’t argue,” Danny said, surprised at how, normal, his voice sounded. He hadn’t thought about how he never really spoke when his mask was off, how it betrayed how young he was. Only just under fifteen, so close to his anniversary.

He couldn’t see any part of Batman’s face, the upper half covered further by the cowl and the visor on his gas mask, the lower now covered by the gas mask’s main components.

“Do you know if the gas works through mucous channels?” He asked, trying to maintain eye contact with the older man, unsure if he is even succeeding. Batman has never been known to be chatty, but this is concerning, not even a grunt in response.

“How old are you?” His voice was muffled by the gas mask, maybe it was a good thing, Danny was pretty positive that Batman wasn’t putting on the deeper voice he usually did.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m dead, not dead. Ughhh, think of Scrodinger’s cat, both dead and alive till you open up the box,” he never wanted to open the box, if he is completely honest, “Keep the gas mask on, don’t know how long it took me to get it to stop being in welding mode and don’t want to know,” keep talking, distract, “does fear gas work through mucous membranes? Do I have to keep my mouth shut, eyes closed?”

It was pointless, somehow, he broke Batman. Danny could hear the Scarecrow laughing somewhere in the distance, people screaming in fear, people fighting against things only they could see and understand.

Danny froze as he caught sight of white suits, teal and orange HAZMATs, through the crowd.

He took a deep breath.

Phantom had already lived his worst nightmare.

[mustainegf]

idea: dave has a crush on reader, but reader is kinda skittish and lowkey scared of him bc of his reputation as the big scary frontman of megadeth, so he tries to show reader that he's not a bad guy, lol (i hope i explained this properly)

Awww dude Dave is SUCH A SWEETHEART

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ¹⁹⁹³

There was creativity in the air the minute I walked in, humming along with the electrical wires. It was like going into some kind of beast's lair. And right at its heart, Dave Mustaine.

I knew Dave for a while, at least I liked to think so. We met through mutual friends, had shared some laughs. But the truth was, I didn't know him, not the way the world did. To me, he was just Dave, a man with a reputation that preceded him, a reputation that quite frankly terrified me just a little bit.

The stories told of him painted a picture in my mind of, ferocity, anger, impatience. And while I was drawn to him, mesmerized even, I couldn't help that I was getting too close to something dangerous.

So when he asked me to join him in the studio, I actually hesitated. But his voice was gentle, and before I knew it, the words were tumbling out in agreement off my mouth.

Now, here I was, standing in the middle of a darkened studio, feeling out of place, and unsure of what to do with myself. Dave stood across the room, adjusting his guitar to his back while he looked different here, he was meant to be here.

Scattered along the room was a few producers, as well as the other guys, David, Nick, and Marty. I fidgeted from one foot to another, not sure if I should say something or just fade into silence.

Then, Dave turned around, flashing me a small, hesitant smile. "Hey, I was starting to think you wouldn’t come," he said in a softer than normal almost…gentle tone of voice.

"Yeah… well I’m here," I said, my voice coming out softer than I really meant. When silence fell, I had to fight the urge not to bolt out of the room. But before I could do anything brash, Dave strode over the room, thrusting a pair of headphones at me.

"Here," he said, "I want you to hear something."

I took the headphones from him, careful not to touch his fingers. There was an uncomfortable meld of stress as well as warmth between us.

I carefully put on the headphones, and he hit a button on the console. Instantly, my ears filled with guitar. It was a new track they were working on, and it was…beautiful. Heavy, yes, but there was a melody in it that never failed to accompany a Megadeth song.

I glanced over at him, and he was staring straight at me, like my reaction meant more to him than anything else in the world. "It's really good, Dave," I smiled, and I meant it. His face relaxed, and he almost looked relieved.

“You think so?" he asked, and for the first time sounded uncertain of himself, which came as a rather big surprise coming from someone like him. I nodded, and he smiled again, his freckled cheeks crinkling slightly.

“It’s called A Tout Le Monde.”

Through the day Dave continued to surprise me. He was reserved around me, almost… shy. It was like he knew I was nervous and had been trying to put me at my ease in whatever way he could.

He asked me what I thought of the music, he was genuinely interested in my opinions, and whenever he spoke, it was a quiet voice, never once raising it, even when the band started arguing over some riff or another.

Whenever he had to leave the room, he'd give me this reassuring look, like, "I'll be right back, okay?”

At one point, on a break, he turned to me and asked me if I wanted tea. Not coffee, tea. I don't know why, but that made me smile. He was just sweet in this unexpected way, a very shocking change to his reputation.

He got it for me himself and brought it to me carefully so as not to spill a single drop. I could feel his eyes on me as I took a sip.

“Good?" he asked nervously.

"It's perfect," I said, giving him a sweet nod.

The longer I sat, the less concerned I was about the terrifying ‘idea’ of Mustaine. He glances at me throughout the day, and the guys could very much tell.

As night came quickly, the band began to pack up. Dave stayed around me, and I felt like he wanted to say something. There was something in the air, that made me want to punch myself to see if maybe it would stop.

"Are you doing anything next week?" he suddenly asked, a little too casual, trying to play it cool but failing.

"I don't think so, why?" I returned, my heart starting to quiver.

"Well, uh," he started off, scratching the back of his neck in a boyish way, "the American Music Awards are next week, and I was wondering if you'd want to go with me… As my date."

My heart basically melted, he was so cute. His cheeks were pink and his hazel eyes flicked between my face and the carpet.

He is a man who can snarl to the world and earn a crowds respect, and here he is, nervous and blushing while waiting for my answer.

I paused, not because I didn't want to go, but this was a side of Dave I hadn't expected. Dave Mustaine was asking me out, and my heart softened at his gentleness.

"I'd love to," I said finally, the biggest smile spreading over my lips.

"Great," he said, beaming wide. "I promise, it’ll be a good time."

“I know it will be.”

[sleep-i-ness]

Disillusioned 2 (Tenth Doctor x reader)

Synopsis: You’ve awakened

Content Warning: Injury

PART 1 | DOCTOR WHO MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

You let your eyelids flutter open as you uncurled in the soft expanse of your bed, head propped up by a mountain of pillows, just the way you liked it. You had read something once about a large number of pillows correlating to loneliness or missing something in life. But frankly that just seemed like a stupid assumption to make.

The soothing, ever-present hum of the TARDIS lulled you back to sleep, a small smile twitching at the corner of your lips.

Wait.

You jolted upright, rubbing the bleariness out of your eyes. The TARDIS? What the hell were you doing here? The last you remembered you were – oh. Oh.

Well, there was no fucking way you were staying here any longer.

A dull tug at your forearms stopped any attempts to move out of bed, and you scowled down at the innumerable wires that presumably the Doctor had attached to your skin. Overbearing arse. No doubt he was trying yet again to make amends for turning you into this freak. It hadn’t really been his fault in the first place; you had never been great at listening to instructions. And no one expected that a badly made replica Eye of Harmony would explode with you still in the room.

But he still didn’t get that that wasn’t your issue with the whole situation.

Immortality wasn’t the blessing the media from your childhood had made it out to be. But when you had found out you couldn’t die, you hadn’t been able to help the flutter of hope in your chest, the warmth blossoming as you had looked at the Doctor. He didn’t have to worry about you dying anymore. You could have travelled the stars forever.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite felt the same way.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek as you yanked out the various drips and needles, setting off a cacophony of alarms. The medical bay was lit up by the colourful flashes of sirens, and you glowered. Protective prick.

But luckily enough for you, he had left your stuff piled neatly beside the bed, including your gorgeous vortex manipulator. You really owed Jack one for that.

As the door burst open, your Doctor flushed with his hair all awry, you smiled sardonically and gave him a little wave goodbye. He didn’t get to hurt you again.

“Y/N, please, listen, just wait-”

And you stumbled into Jack’s arms.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Jack.”

He held you out at arm’s length, eyes scanning the length of your body, and he frowned. You smiled up at him, feeling your eyes well up and you blinked the traitorous tears back. You weren’t going to cry to Jack, not again.

He led you to a chair, hand on your arm to steady you as you stumbled. Trembling. You slumped into the chair, staring off into the distance. And then you jolted, like a current of electricity had run right through you.

Jack frowned, tilting your head back and forth. You wrinkled your nose under his intense gaze, tired of being treated like a test subject in some experiment. You just wanted a nap. To be unconscious. Just something to take your mind off everything.

You screamed as your vortex manipulator began to sear on your arm, burning deep into your wrist. Jack started. His eyes narrowed as he stared at you, before abandoning his grip on your face and lifting your arm. You tugged at it, pulling at the strap, anything to get it off as it set your veins aflame, scorching you from the inside out.

“Get it off me, Jack!”

He yanked at the watch, cursing as it glowed in his hands.

“What have you done to it?” You shrieked, black spots appearing at the corner of your vision from the red-hot pain blistering under your skin.

Jack began to fade from your sight, edges slowly going blurry and the colour saturation seeping away. “Nothing, I swear, I don’t know what’s happening.”

And he was gone. The world fell away. Dropped right out from underneath you. Darkness swum up to meet you, joining the black spots and filling your sight.

Everything was black. Pitch black, not a single speck of light from no matter how far away. And the silence. The silence was endless, deafening in its emptiness. You tried to scream, but no sound came out, even as your body heaved to make a noise, anything.

You inhaled shakily. There was air. At least there was air. Eternal suffocation was not how you’d pictured the rest of your life.

But the rushing sensation never ceased, as if you were tumbling, head over heels. You swallowed back the saliva crawling up your throat, a precursor to the sick heady feeling slowly building in you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground yourself in the sensation, the only real solid feeling you had left.

The burning sensation in your arm had stopped and you were almost sad for it; at least then you’d actually be feeling something. Well, something other than this nausea.

Well, there were worse ways to go.

Falling endlessly would at least allow you to sleep once you got used to the horrid rocking motion, and the darkness, and the silence. The silence, which muted the sound of your breath, the huff of noise, the rush of blood in your eardrums. You’d never heard the world so quiet before.

Although this was hardly a world. More like the absence of a world.

The absence of anything.

And then everything came rushing back. The lights, the colour, the noise and oh God, it was blinding. You fell to the ground in a ball, clutching your head as you wept from the surge of everything.

“Is she okay?”

“Come on,” you felt arms slip underneath you, picking you up as if you were nothing, “let’s get you to bed.”

“No, no,” you thrashed against the grip, sobbing as it only tightened around you. “Get off me. Please. Please just get off me.”

“Okay, okay,” you were placed down on the cold, hard, solid floor again and you whimpered, stretching out a hand to ground yourself. You felt a pinprick in your arm, a slight crest in the rolling waves of nausea.

And then nothing. Again.

You screamed.