#sometimes it feels like we're all in a loop

[lafleurperdue]

🌿 pairing — suguru geto x f!reader

summary — you're just friends. you've always been. but on a beach trip years after everything, glances last too long, touches linger too easily, and the past you both tried to forget starts to pull at the tide between you.

🌿 word count — 5.2k

🌿 genre — 16+, friends to lovers, tropical getaway, soft romance, sensual tension, mutual pining, slight angst, fluffy ending

🌿 warnings — suggestive scenes, language, water-based teasing, skinny dipping (👀), and a whole lot of heart

🌿 author's note — this one means a lot to me. it was inspired by "Show Me Love" by Tyla — that warm, rhythmic kind of song that feels like sunlight on your skin. i’ve been daydreaming about writing something that captures the quiet burn of a friendship that becomes more, especially in a setting that feels soft and slow and golden. think: rihanna playing in the background, tan lines, coconut water, stolen glances under umbrellas, and a kind of love that’s always been there — just waiting for the right moment.

Florianópolis was warmer than you remembered. The air was syrupy-sweet, thick with salt, mango trees, and the hum of distant waves rolling in slow and lazy. By the time your cab pulled up to the beach house, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting everything in that golden hue that made even the ordinary feel cinematic.

You stepped out with your suitcase behind you, thanking the driver politely. Brushing a few windswept strands of hair from your face as you slowly made your way to the patio—laughter floated loudly, familiar voices echoing across time.

Then you saw him.

Suguru Geto, leaning against the balcony rail, glass of something amber in his hands, shirt unbuttoned just enough to remind you he never did care much for modesty in this heat. His hair was longer, messier. His smile was slower, like honey, when he saw you.

He didn't wave. He didn't shout. He just watched.

Like he hadn’t seen you in years. Like it hadn't hurt.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Satoru’s voice cut through the stillness, still loud as ever. He bounded down the steps barefoot, Hawaiian shirt open, sunglasses still on despite the sunset. “I was this close to sending Suguru to come find you. He was about to swim across the ocean if you didn't show.”

You laughed, letting Satoru pull you into a sweaty hug.

“Flight got delayed; they mentioned something about the weather.”

“That old excuse,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were still in college.

“We're blaming you if we're late for dinner; Nanami’s already calculating time loss.”

“I heard that,” Nanami called dryly from somewhere inside the patio. More voices followed—Shoko emerged with a cigarette tucked between her fingers, already waving lazily; Haibara yelled something unintelligible from the kitchen, likely involving caipirinhas. It all blurred together.

Until you looked back up.

And Suguru was still watching you.

Not one word has slipped from his lips.

༄༅༄༅༄

Later, after you’d tossed your bag into the guest room and splashed your face with water, you’d had just enough time to unpack and put everything where it needed to be. You were halfway through hanging up your clothes when you heard a voice you’d recognize from miles away.

“You know he’s still so into you.”

You turned, rolling your eyes. “Shoko.”

She leaned against the doorway, cigarette already perched between two fingers.

“Shoko, those cigarettes—we talked about this,” you said, playful but stern.

“Stop changing the subject.” She walked in like she owned the place, flicking your forehead just hard enough to make you groan.

She hasn’t changed a bit, you thought. “You two still haven’t talked about that night?” she asked, flopping down beside you on the bed.

That night.

The library.

The memory that played on loop in your mind more often than you’d ever admit.

You wondered, not for the first time, if he ever thought of it too.

Flashback

It was sometime past 2 a.m. in the old campus library, and the lights above your study table buzzed faintly, like they too were struggling to stay awake. You and Suguru had been there for hours—your laptop batteries both long dead, the textbooks between you now serving more as elbow rests than anything helpful.

He looked soft in that hour. Hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms, hair half-tied and falling in strands around his face. He had been making quiet jokes all night to keep you from spiraling about finals. You hadn’t even realized how much closer he’d scooted.

You don’t remember what made you look up.

Maybe it was how he still got it. Maybe it was the way your laughter had faded into quiet.

But when you looked up… he was already watching you.

Not in a casual way. Not in a "best friend" way. His eyes had softened in a way you’d never seen before. Like he was seeing you for the first time—even though he always saw you first.

"You're going to ace this," he whispered.

You could barely find your voice.

“Only if you stop looking at me like that.”

He tilted his head.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to kiss me.”

You said it without thinking.

His lips parted—just barely. And for a second, you both leaned in. So close, you swear you could feel the warmth of his breath.

But the janitor passed by the end of the aisle, and the light shuffle of their footsteps was enough to snap you both out of it.

You pulled back.

He blinked.

Then he smiled.

That easy, charming smile he always used when he was trying to pretend something didn’t mean too much.

You laughed it off, like it never happened.

And that was it.

So did he.

But you never forgot the way it felt.

Not then.

Not even now.

End of Flashback

“You need to tell him, Y/N,” she commented, and this time she was being serious. You gave her a shrug and only led her to sigh—because to be in your position wasn't really the best.

“Dinner is almost ready. Gojo's gonna freak out if we don't go to drink tonight,” she winked before leaving you alone in a room full of silence.

You stepped onto the back porch barefoot and sat on the railing, legs dangling like a little girl. The sun was lower now. A pink-gold bruise across the sky. For some reason, you couldn't help but think of what Shoko said—she's definitely right, right?

Before your thoughts were loud enough, you heard a soft knock behind you.

Suguru.

“Hey stranger,” he said softly.

“Hey,” you replied, with a smile.

He took a seat beside you. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You could hear the sea, taste the salt in the air, and feel the weight of something unspoken stretching between you like a hammock strung too tight.

“You look different,” he murmured. “Older. But… not.”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirked, bumping your shoulder gently into his.

“I missed you,” he said.

The words weren’t loud, but they landed like a pebble dropped into still water.

You turned your head and met his eyes.

Dark, steady. Familiar.

“I missed you too,” you admitted, breath barely there.

A beat passed. Then another. He looked at you like he wanted to say something else—maybe something heavier. Maybe something he’d been carrying for too long.

But Satoru’s voice came from inside, loud and ridiculous:

“ARE YOU TWO HAVING A MOMENT OUT THERE OR SHOULD I BRING THE CAMERAS?!”

You burst out laughing. So did Suguru.

“I swear to God,” you muttered.

“Some things never change,” he chuckled.

But this time, when he looked at you again, there was something else in his eyes.

And you felt it.

The shift.

The slow turn of a tide.

“Come on,” he said as he got up and held out his hand towards you. “Let's go have dinner.” You hesitated; it's been a long time ever since you felt his skin upon yours—you grabbed his hand, and for the first time in such a long time, you felt his warmth again.

It's been so long.

You smiled as you released his hand and made your way towards the dinner table.

༄༅༄༅༄

After dinner, the group decides to head into town. There's a small local bar tucked between beach cafés, where live music plays—something rhythmic, soulful, maybe a little nostalgic. It’s hot. People are already dancing barefoot on the patio floor under string lights. The drinks are cold and fruity. The air smells like lime, sweat, and sea salt.

Satoru was already on the dance floor with some girl, Haibara throwing out wild moves like he was trying to win a competition, while Nanami stood stiffly to the side—clearly looking for a way to escape the chaos.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

And of course, Shoko had already found her drink—and a bartender to flirt with.

Seeing all your friends like this again, still the same carefree people they’d been in college…It was something you truly, deeply treasured.

“If I remember well, you loved dancing?” A little blush crossed your features—luckily they were hidden by the flashy disco light in the small room.

“And if I recall well, Suguru Geto was never the type to dance?” he smirked at your challenge but didn't respond. Instead he catches your wrist, just enough to pull you—so, so close to his warm body.

“Come on. One dance,” he whispered in your ear. You look up into his eyes —and to tell the truth, if you weren't this intoxicated, you would be a wreck, but thanks to the alcohol, you were feeling a little too dangerous.

You smirked up at him and pulled him closer as you whispered to him so softly yet so seductively, “Make sure you can keep up, baby boy.” This time you were the one pulling him towards the dance floor.

One of your favorite songs kicked in—loud, fast, familiar—and before you realized it, your hips were already swaying. The alcohol was warm in your veins, the lights fuzzy and golden, and everything felt just light enough to laugh at. For a moment you almost forgot Suguru was next to you—and at the moment you didn't care. You turned around slowly, your back pressed to his chest, hips still moving in sync with the music—lazy, unhurried rolls that made your skin hum. His hands found your waist without hesitation, but you didn’t stop there.

One of your arms reached up, bending behind you until your fingers slid around the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. The other followed, trailing lower—slow and featherlight—over the curve of his chest, down the front of his shirt, until your palm flattened against his stomach.

You kept moving, swaying against him, your head tilting back slightly to brush his shoulder.

You felt his breath hitch.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

“You good back there, Suguru?” You murmured teasingly, still moving. His breath against your neck felt too familiar, too fresh—this feeling of him pressed up against you made everything worthwhile.

He laughed, low in your ear. “Ask me again in five seconds.” You could only giggle—deep down you knew he was slowly losing his sanity. To add more fuel to the fire, slowly you dragged your palm down his stomach, pausing just above the waistband of his shirt—then moving like nothing happened. You could hear him groan—soft, barely audible—his fingers twitching against your waist like he was holding himself back.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the confession.

“If I'm making it hard to breathe, you could always let go.”

You let the music guide you—hips rolling, one arm still hooked behind Suguru’s neck, the other still lazily tracing teasing patterns above his waist. He felt so solid behind you, hands resting at your waist like he was trying to stay calm.

But you weren’t done teasing him.

You let your body sink slowly with the music, back still pressed to his front—hips rolling down to the floor, slow and steady, dragging against him the entire way.And when you came back up, it was even slower—your movement controlled, deliberate, sensual.

You felt him tense behind you.

You felt his grip falter. Just for a second.

Then it happened.

In one smooth move, his hand caught yours and spun you around—your back leaving his chest, your body turning until you were facing him. Chest-to-chest. Barely inches apart.

His eyes were darker now, locked on yours.His breath grazed your lips.

In the back you could hear Satoru yell, “You two trying to give us a show or finally admit you’re married?” and a whistle from Haibara. But deep down you couldn't care less about that because right now he was in front of you.

Face-to-face.

“You've always been a bad dancer,” the mummers without breaking eye contact.

“And you've always been a bad liar,” you shot back, grinning. But the smile slipped slightly when his hands slid a bit lower, and for a moment you got lost in his eyes.

You could no longer hear the music; it all started to fade away—as if in the moment of truth it was only the two of you. Meanwhile, you could slowly but steadily feel the adrenaline that supposedly kept you going vanish like it was never there. He leaned in like he was going to say something—but he didn’t. Just stayed there, forehead almost brushing your temple, breathing in time with you. The space between you burned.

“I…” but he only shook his head—and you finally realized the song has changed into something slower. But neither of you moved. Not away. Not closer. Just… there. His hands were still on your hips and yours slowly guiding themselves behind his neck, and so on the world had slowly gone a little softer around the edges.

His eyes never left yours, studying you—your one hand slowly made its way to his chest as you placed your head on his shoulder, savoring it, and suddenly it wasn't just dancing.

It was remembering.

It was wondering.

It was, what if we stopped pretending?.

That night neither of you said a word—just danced in a room full of unspoken feelings, in a room full of people where you could only feel his presence—in a room where you could only hold him like you belonged there.

༄༅༄༅༄

A few days have passed since that night—the music, the lights, the way your body had moved with him like you'd done it a thousand times. And maybe, in some way, you have. Not like that, maybe, but close enough.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected the next morning. Awkward glances? Avoidance? Regret?

But Suguru had been… calm. Warm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made your stomach flutter in ways it shouldn’t have. He’d handed you a glass of juice and told you breakfast was out on the porch, like nothing had happened.

Except something had happened.

And you could feel it in every glance that lingered too long, in every brush of fingertips that lasted a second more than it needed to. You swore you felt it when he passed you the sunscreen and your hands touched.

It was all very subtle. Quiet. Careful. But it was there.

And now it was beach day—hot sun, cold drinks, and the sea stretching out in lazy blues. The house was loud with the chaos of sunscreen arguments and bad playlists, and someone—probably Satoru—was already yelling about watermelons.

You were wearing something Shoko had forced you into—she claimed Suguru would lose his mind.It wasn’t too much. Just your amber bikini, the one that matched your skin tone perfectly, paired with an ivory cardigan and simple sandals. Minimal, but intentional.

You stepped out slowly.

“That’s a dangerous bikini,” Satoru called, of course the first to say something. Typical.

“And that’s a dangerous face,” you shot back without missing a beat.

Your eyes flicked past him to the man behind.Suguru stood with a beer in his hand, relaxed as ever. He met your gaze with a soft smile—just a flicker—before turning his attention back to packing the cooler.

It didn’t take long for the group to claim their usual spot.

Shoko was already lying out in sunglasses and a cigarette. Nanami was seated under an umbrella, nose deep in a book. Haibara had decided it was a great day to half-bury himself in sand, and Satoru was... being exactly who he always was.

Your eyes drifted again. —Suguru settled under the shade of an umbrella. He looked... calm.Like the heat didn’t bother him. Like the world didn’t move too fast for him.

Always still, always steady.

Always a little too inviting.

You started walking toward him.

And then—a man stepped in front of you, causing you to halt.

“Oh my god!” You gasped. “You scared me.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Probably came off too forward.”

He offered you a fresh coconut with a sheepish smile.

“Umm... thank you so much?” You replied, your voice caught between polite and confused. He was cute, you had to admit—flustered in a way that felt endearing.

“Sorry, this might sound weird,” he continued, “but I saw you, and I just... had to come over.”

The moment hung awkwardly between you—until Satoru materialized at your side, draping an arm over your shoulders like it was nothing.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said cheerfully.“She’s taken.”

The stranger’s face dropped slightly, and before you could explain—or object—he’d already turned and walked away.

“Satoru!” You smacked the back of his head.“You idiot.”

He just winked and jogged off, calling over his shoulder:

“Suguru, you can thank me later!”

You let out a groan, shaking your head as you finally made your way to the umbrella. Suguru looked up at you, eyes half-lidded behind his sunglasses, his beer still in hand.

“Already making friends?” he asked, tone casual as ever—but there was something behind it. Not quite annoyed. Not quite teasing.

Just…something.

You plopped down beside him on the towel, brushing hair from his face.

“It's not my fault for attracting random men that bear coconuts.” You said, slightly irritated.

He chuckled. “He had good taste.”

You offered him a glance. “Jealous?”

You offered him a sip of your coconut beverage—he happily sipped and agreed on the taste. He leaned back on one elbow and let the silence stretch long enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Only of the coconut”

You blinked, surprised.Then laughed. You weren't sure what you'd expect him to say. But it surely wasn't that.

“You're such a bad liar, you know that?” You said, bumping his shoulder with yours. He didn't respond. Just let your arm stay there, close against his, as the ocean crashes in slow waves somewhere behind you.

“You look good today,” he said after a pause, voice low like it wasn't meant to carry any emotion.

You turned to him, caught off guard.

“I always look good, Suguru Geto.”

He smiled. “I know.”

As much as you were confident within every word you blithered, in this moment you let every guard down. Your cheeks were red from the heat—or so you claimed. His eyes never left you in that moment, but there was always something that stopped the both of you—next thing you know, you both were soaked in water.

You squealed as the cold water dripped from your hair. You knew exactly who it was—and indeed the culprit standing behind you was none other than Satoru Gojo along with his wingman Yu Haibara.

They were both snickering like middle school kids. Until both of them were covered in wanted too—by none other than Shoko. “You boys really thought that was a nice way to ruin a cute moment?” you laughed softly, and your gaze finally landed on Suguru.

He was wet—dripping from head to toe—and you…you couldn't take your eyes off him as he took out his bun and ran his hand through his hair. You swallowed so loud, and you swore—it was enough for him to hear you because his eyes were on you.

He casually picked up a towel and wrapped it around your figure.

“You good?” he simply asked, and you just smiled up at him and nodded as he leaned in to make sure you weren't shivering.

You felt the towel on your skin, but it was his closeness that made the goosebumps rise. He was right there. One hand braced against the umbrella pole behind you, head tilted slightly as his eyes scanned your face—checking for something. You didn't know what, but it made you nervous as always.

You swallowed.

“You're staring,” you whispered.

“You're wet,” he replied enough to make your cheeks burn.

“So are you,” you said softly as his hand brushed against your collarbone—just lightly enough. You sucked in a breath, and he paused.

You didn't move. Neither did he. The moment was quiet. Heavy, like something falling apart or falling together at any given moment.

“Suguru…” you stated. .

“Yeah,” he murmured so softly, like you were the only one meant to hear his voice.

Before you could answer, someone yelled something about volleyball, and Shoko was dragging you away by the wrist—leaving Suguru standing there, still watching.

༄༅༄༅༄

Slowly time passed by, and the chaos only continued to unfold. Suguru didn't even join the game at first. He just watched—arms crossed, eyes shaded behind sunglasses—as you threw yourself into it with way more competitive energy than necessary.

“You suck!” you shouted at Satoru after he missed the pass. “And I thought you were good at everything!” you continued.

“I'm here for vibes, not pain,” he yelled back sassily.

You laughed so hard, you nearly tripped over Haibara—only to be caught by two warm hands.

Suguru.

“Careful,” he whispered, barely looking at you, but his hands lingered a little longer than necessary. You gathered all your strength to pull away just enough to create distance between the two of you.

“You're going to owe me a point for that catch,” he said, smirking.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Excuse me, you weren't even playing,” you exclaimed, arms crossed.

“Well, I am now,” he winked; you couldn't help but blush.

“And if we win,” you said casually, swinging the ball in your hand, “you're going to owe me a kiss.”

He raised a brow. “Oh, is that so?”

“What? It's just a friendly team prize,” you claimed boldly, a smirk tugging at your lips.

The next few minutes were a blur of laughter, teasing, and half-serious competitiveness. Suguru was good—annoyingly good—and somehow made even the way he served the ball look smooth. Satoru kept shouting made-up rules, Shoko nearly spilled her drink from laughing, and Nanami muttered something about regretting his life choices every time he was forced into this group.

You and Suguru were in sync without even trying. At one point, your hands collided going for the same ball, and you both stumbled, falling back into the sand, breathless from laughter.

He offered you a hand, still smiling. “Does that count as a win?”

You took it, pulling yourself up with a grin.

“I’ll let you know after the kiss.”

He just looked at you for a beat—like he wasn’t expecting that comeback—before shaking his head softly.

“Dangerous,” he murmured under his breath, but you heard it anyway.

༄༅༄༅༄

The sun had dipped lower by the time the group began packing up—sand towels, empty bottles, Haibara and Satoru convincing everyone to stay out a little longer.

But your thoughts were elsewhere.

Maybe it was the alcohol, yet again.

Maybe it was the buzz from the sun or… the soft flush still on your cheeks from Suguru’s stare.

The ocean was still warm. The waves were calmer than ever. And tonight you felt a little too reckless.

He was staring; you could feel it—you don't know how, but you could feel his eyes lingering behind you. You heard his footsteps slowly approach your figures, the voices of your friends long gone.

It was just the two of you.

“You just gonna stand there all evening and watch me, Suguru?” you playfully challenged him as you sat down near the shore, tugging your legs against your chest—smiling at him over your shoulder.

He let out a chuckle as he approached you; he sat next to you—just enough for you to lean on his shoulder.

“Today was a good day; you totally beat Satoru,” you commented.

“You mean we—we were great out there. You are competitive as always, but great.” You both laughed.

Silence.

It finally approached the both of you, but it wasn't the kind of silence filled with awkwardness or any uneasy feelings but the type where one or the other could just breathe within each other's presence, the type where lovers held hands, the type where the world just fell silent—and it was just the two of you.

You could say an hour or so passed, but you still sat there with him.

You slowly got up and gave him a cheeky smile—and casually slipped off your cardigan, then your bikini —slow enough to give him a show. Like a man that's just been struck by Cupid—you could slowly see him regaining consciousness.

“You coming or what?” you asked, catching him in a state of awe.

“Are you serious?”

You already started to step into the water and replied, “I am. But you'll be late to the party, Suguru Geto.”

You heard him groan and mutter in frustration, “You're going to be the death of me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that—and not to mention how bold you’ve become.

Back in college, it was never like this.

You were always the shy one, never said much, but now…

Now it’s like you’ve blossomed into a flower of your own.

Your breath caught as you watched him undress slowly—like he was deliberately teasing you.

Your eyes wandered across his figure.

He’d changed over the years, grown into himself. Time had been kind to him.

And yet, your gaze never left his—not even as he stepped into the water.

And just like that, he was in front of you.

Naked.

Both of you.

Not just in body, but in mind. In soul.

The water held you, but the weight of the moment hit you like a wave.

You looked down into the dark ripples between you, heart pounding, avoiding his eyes.

This was intimate. Too intimate. And yet—you didn’t want to move.

The soft waves brushed against your skin, quiet surrounding you like a breath.

He still stood apart from you… But it was as if he read your mind.

Slowly, he drifted closer—until he tilted your chin up, guiding your eyes to his.

Those eyes…

Those beautiful brown orbs had always been so deceiving.

You could never read them the way he read you.

And now, they held something… raw. Something unspoken.

His hands found your hips—gentle, grounding.

Yours settled against his chest.

Warm. Familiar. Alive.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” you confessed, voice soft.

He half-smiled.

“That’s because I’ve been watching you all day. That usually shuts me up.” You let out a breath of laughter, fingers tracing small patterns across his chest, trying to calm your nerves.

“You used to tell me everything.”

Silence.

“And you used to look at me like you still wanted to hear it,” he murmured.

Your eyes dropped, heart cracking open.

There was a reason for that. A good one.

Your voice wavered.

“I… I haven’t stopped thinking about that night.”

“The one at the library?”

He asked it gently, like if he spoke too loudly it might scare the memory away.

“Yeah…”

A tremble in your voice, tears threatening your lashes.“Why didn’t we ever talk about it?”

He paused. Too long.

And for a moment, your chest ached with fear.But still, his touch lingered on your skin, his eyes soft, searching.

“Because I was scared that if I said it out loud…”

He exhaled.

“I wouldn’t be able to let it go.”

You frowned, barely above a whisper now.

“You never had to let it go.”

And then—silence again.

You could feel his heartbeat through your palms, fast and uneven.

Your eyes shimmered, and a single tear slipped down your cheek.

“Tell me you mean it,” he breathed.He was close now. Too close.

You nodded slowly, barely able to breathe as your fingers tightened slightly against his chest.

“I mean it, Suguru,” you whispered, barely a breath. “I’ve always meant it.”

That was all it took.

His lips were on yours.

Slow at first—tentative, like he was still making sure this was real. The kind of kiss that felt like a question and an answer all at once. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he’d been waiting for this.

And then it deepened.

His hands pulled you closer by your waist until your bare chest pressed against his, skin to skin beneath the water. You felt his sigh against your mouth, low and broken, like he was exhaling every moment he’d ever held back.

Your arms slid around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair, still damp and loose from earlier. He groaned softly against your lips, not from desire—but from relief.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered between kisses, his voice raw.You smiled against his mouth.

“Then show me.”

And he did.

He kissed you again—this time deeper, messier. The soft splash of waves around you barely covered the sounds between you. Every time you pulled back for air, it was like neither of you could stay away for long. He kissed your jaw. Your neck. The corner of your mouth. Like he was learning the shape of you all over again.

At one point, you let out the smallest gasp when his teeth grazed your lower lip—and he stilled for a moment, just looking at you.

“Still with me?” he asked, forehead pressed against yours.

“Always,” you breathed.

You were weightless. Floating in his arms. A little reckless. A little in love. And completely undone.

The water felt quieter now. Like it was holding its breath with you.

His forehead rested gently against yours, your noses nearly brushing, lips swollen from kisses that said everything you'd been too afraid to speak. He smiled first—soft, like he'd finally exhaled.

“You always had me,” he whispered.

Your hands were softly tugging his long wet locks—innocently you smiled up at him, biting your lip.

Then his eyes dropped to your mouth again, darker this time, and the corners of his lips lifted into that familiar, slow smirk.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear. “You keep doing that, and I'm not going to make it back to the house with my dignity intact.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up—breathy, dizzy, full of something you hadn’t felt in years.

Your fingers found his hand beneath the water, and he held it, like a promise he’d never broken.

You walked back together in silence—his shirt draped around your shoulders, his thumb brushing slow circles against your knuckles. The night felt different now. Full.

Something had shifted.

And it wasn’t going back.

✧ author's note — thank you for reading. i know that haven't been active for the past few months but my exams are finally over and that means i can indulge myself in writing. hopefully you enjoyed this fic and please do leave comments and reblog if you like. much love from my side!! ♡

📌 want to be added to my taglist for upcoming fics? comment below or send me an ask ♡

©lafleurperdue. please do not copy, translate, repost, or claim my writing, art, or designs. dividers, words, and worlds belong to me. katherine , with soft ink & heavy heart 🤍

[queenmelancholy]

A war - WWI (1914) The plague - Spanish flu (1918) A tidal wave - The Great Depression, an economic tsunami (1929)

Selling the estate (1930?)

[suck-mein-pokeballs]

One messed up thing about having a full time job while trying to recover from mental illness is that since I gotta sleep early and have such little free time to myself sometimes I'll hold off on going to the bathroom on my free time cause I want to have more freetime

And also cause if you own all my damn time of course imma try to shit and piss on the clock, you want to own me? You get to pay me for pissing and shitting

It is what it is

[bmpmp3]

love live bluebird's music style so far has been like, this near-frantic, hype in a slightly offputting way type of sound thats been really fun and interesting. these girls aint right (compliment)

[vurtualangel]

I really hope my sister is ok she is so stressed and I feel so bad for her I am trying to be supportive and let her know I will help how I can but I don't feel like I'm doing anything

[blueheron15]

hey, angel! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

pairing: innocent!sweatheart!reader x jj maybank

summary: your best friend takes care of you when you take a new drug at a kegger

warnings: cursing, light smut, jj is whipped

a joint was being passed around with kiara’s speaker playing as you girls got ready for the kegger.

you were excited, because tonight felt different. you felt sexy in your own cute way for the first time. you had a white, flowy spaghetti strap on, tied around your waist, pressing your perky boobs together nicely. with some white crochet short shorts, your hair nicely blown out from your time in the water and on the beach earlier today.

emerging from the bathroom after you were done getting ready, jj had to do a double take.

"fuckin shit, y/n. you look like an angel." he said breathlessly, placing his pregaming beverage of choice down on the counter and walking over to you.

you blushed, unable to help the wide grin that took over your cheeks. "yeah?" you asked softly.

although he knew you'd chide him for it, his large, coarse hands wandered down to your ass, resting there where they belonged as he shamelessly (yet discretely) rutted his hips into yours.

you see, you and jj were just friends. who of course made out sometimes. but you were a virgin, through and through, and your sexy innocence turned him on.

again, though, tonight felt different. instead of pushing him away and assuming a more appropriate position, you looped your arms around his neck and threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him down gently to whisper in his ear.

"the girls were smoking but i know that you said whenever i wanted to try it, i should come to you."

he pulled back slightly like you just told him the best thing in the world. "yeah?"

"mhm" you nodded with a smile.

he separated from you briefly to grab his already rolled joint resting on the counter, placing his hand on your lower back and lovingly shoving you to the door. "we're goin to hotbox the twinkie, baby."

as the night continued to progress, a more wild side had emerged from you. you were feeling slightly buzzed already from the weed as jj didn't allow you to do too much for your first time. you only had one white claw but that was enough to leave you with zero inhibitions.

you were a clingy drunk, as it turned out.

sarah was practically pealing you off of her when jj had marched back over, sweeping a hand through his blonde locks after kicking out a group of unwanted kooks.

you gasped in excitement as you caught his eye. "jj!"

his hard demeanor immediately dropped, a whipped grin taking over his face at your drunk cuteness. "hiya, pretty girl." he mumbled. you practically jumped into his arms and he chuckled.

you nuzzled his face into his neck, pressing your bodies impossibly close together. you just couldn't get close enough!

"hold me tighterrrr" you whined, leaning all your weight against him.

he immediately locked his biceps around your waist, them bulging gorgeously through his ripped tank top. you sighed in contentment at the feeling of pressure from your favorite boy.

practically dragging you over to a piece of driftwood, he lowered you down to sit. you wouldn't let him stray far, clambering to sit on his lap and snuggle into him again.

he let out a half amused, half exasperated sigh as he wrapped his arms around you, peppering kisses to your head and temple. "lemme get you some water. you gonna be okay here for a min?"

you pouted animatedly. "you're leaving?"

"ill be right back, baby." he assured you, smoothing down your hair with a hand.

-`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´--`✮´-

well, one thing led to another and he didn't come back.

he got roped into shot gunning a few beers, then some touron couldn't get the keg to work, then him and pope wanted to play a game of drunk "balance" and obviously he had to take a hit of all the vapes being passed around.

nonetheless, after around half an hour of fooling around, he came back to you with a bottle of water.

even though you were where he had left you, that didn’t mean you hadn’t gotten into some trouble.

you weren’t sure what you had taken when a girl offered you some, but you knew that this was a strong, intense feeling you had never felt before.

you basically moaned at the sight of jj returning to you. at this point you were a little more sober, but a thumping, aching need coming from your pussy had taken over your senses.

your thighs clenched together involuntarily when he sat down next to you, offering you the water. “sorry bout that. i guess i got a lil distracted.”

“it’s fine!” you squeaked, taking a few gulps. your cunt was extremely sensitive and you had to take a breath to calm yourself down as you bent over to place the bottle on the sand.

“hey, you good, y/n?” he asked, placing what he thought was a comforting hand on your upper thigh.

“o-oh! mhm!” you hiccuped. his touch was sending vibrations throughout your whole body.

he held your face, turning you to look at him. being met with your eyes, pupils blown and a soft, needy plumpness to your lips. “shit” he cursed.

“jay, i don’t know what i took but-“

“you need me to take care of you, angel?” he finished for you, quirking a brow in boyish desire.

you nodded your head frantically.

“a’ight, up ya get.” he said, patting your thigh and helping you stand. he walked you to a clearing in the trees, far away from the music and commotion.

kissing you lightly, he traced his hands almost experimentally up and down your sides as he backed you against a tree.

your back hit the bark and you gasped, arching your back slightly as you felt one of jj’s legs slot itself in between the two of yours.

you tipped your head back and jj’s lips attached themselves to your neck. “you are so-“ he said through sucking and nipping “so,” you let out a shaky exhale. “so hot. imma mark you up, baby. want to let everyone know what we’re gettin up to back here.”

at his dirty words, your hips unconsciously began rocking against his cargo-short clad thigh. he smirked.

he placed his coarse, ringed palms on your hips. “you trust me, sweetheart?” he asked.

“y-yes” you practically panted.

he whispered into your ear, breath sending shivers down your spine. “papa j is gonna take care of you.”

he used the hands on your hips to guide your torso back and forth. back and forth. humping into his thigh.

your mouth was permanently etched into an “o” shape at the feeling of pleasure. the thumping of your cunt and the pressure of your lower belly was finally being relieved.

your small hands gripped both of his wrists as he worked your hips. “oh-oh! jayjay!” you moaned.

pretty, breathy moans fell carelessly out of your mouth in your slightly uninhibited state.

“yeahhh, pretty baby. i gotchu. feelin good, mm?” jj said, his own breath ragged as well.

“oh, yes!”

your body’s primal instincts began taking over as your hips bucked and undulated into his leg, getting yourself closer and closer to the edge of something.

one of his hands abandoned your hip to palm your pussy, shifting his fingers slightly over your clit.

“jj! i’m gunna… think i might…”

“say it, y/n” he breathed, nipping your earlobe. you could have sworn you heard him groan. “needa hear you say it.”

“jj i’m fucking cuming!” you screamed.

crescendoing into the night, you came, riding out the new, euphoric feeling.

little did you know, jj was right behind you.

seeing his little angel be so dirty caused him to cream in his cargo shorts.

he grunted as he nut, before pulling back from you slightly, seeing your gorgeous fucked out face. he smiled at the sight.

“let’s get you home, y/n. think we’ve had enough adventure for one night.”

and you happily let him hold you and take care of you for the rest of the night ♡

[tteotlma]

Unspoken

to everyone he's the indestructible wolverine, to you he's just logan —

Bf!Logan/Reader (3.5kw)

a/n: I’m kinda over smut rn.. It requires too much thinking rn and I just want some love so…

tw: mild sexual content, suggestive themes, alcohol consumption, mild language, domestic fluff

---

Everyone wonders how exactly you managed to bring the bad boy home to mom. Okay, not exactly, but close enough. When you started showing up around Logan, everyone was thrown for a loop.

"This is Y/n," he would introduce you for the first time at a group outing. He unknowingly blocked you from his table of teammates, so you put a hand on his arm to move him over.

Smiling brightly at the group, you introduced yourself as his girlfriend. Scott and Jean were stunned, while Ororo just smiled. She moved, took out a seat beside her, and patted it. You'd look at Logan, and he'd give a curt nod before saying he was going to get you both a drink.

As he left, he placed a small hand on your back, and you smiled at him before he walked away. Settling beside Ororo, you made yourself comfortable.

"Alright, alright, now tell us the truth," Scott huffed, stuffing his face with the complimentary peanuts in the middle of the table.

"I'm sorry?" Your eyebrows squeezed together, making Scott chuckle.

"So you're really his girlfriend?" he asked, while Jean gave you a careful eye.

"It appears that way, doesn't it?" You turned away just in time to grab your drink from Logan, taking a sip before looking back at Scott.

Logan had told you a lot about Scott and their complicated relationship - a sort of "I have to like you because we're family" kind of thing. You'd never held any resentment towards Scott, but you were aware that sometimes it could seem like he thought less of Logan.

Scott didn't say anything further, instead continuing to munch on peanuts and occasionally cracking jokes, flashing you his award-winning smile. The group settled into casual chit-chat, with Logan's body pressed beside yours despite sitting in separate chairs.

His arm slung around the back of your chair, his thumb occasionally brushing against your arm - a subtle reminder that despite all the people in the bar, you could freely focus on whatever, knowing he had you.

As the night wore on, stories and laughs were shared, the alcohol doing a good job of loosening everyone up, especially you and Logan. You were still at a point in your relationship where everything felt fresh to the outside, so the idea of PDA was still nerve-wracking. Granted, you and Logan had touched each other a lot, but that was always behind closed doors. In public, Logan preferred to be more of a guard dog, always standing over you wherever you went.

It never bothered you. In fact, you relished the fact that Logan never left your line of sight; he made you feel protected and special. He never pushed your comfort level, and vice versa. You were acutely aware of Logan's character flaws, and mixed with the fact that it had been years since you'd dated anyone, it was nice not having to force the physicality between you two - it came naturally when it wanted.

Like right now, the comforting atmosphere and lightheartedness had you leaning into Logan's warmth. Your head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, and his arm slipped off the back of the chair to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in. His hand lightly tickled your side as you absentmindedly ran your nails up his denim-clad thigh, the repetitive motion and feel of the micro-grooves beneath your fingers keeping you grounded.

You tried paying attention to the conversation, but each time Logan laughed, your whole body would shake along with his, and the deep rumble of his laughter would erupt from his chest - a sound you wished you could melt into.

"So why are you with Logan?" Jean asked, her cheeks flushed as she stared between you and Logan, watching the way his fingers played with the fabric of your shirt.

You ripped yourself away from thoughts of your boyfriend and tried to focus on the question at hand. "I'm sorry?" you said, having heard the question but unsure how to answer.

"Why Logan?"

You shifted in your seat to stare at the beefy man beside you. He looked down at you, a small smirk on his lips.

"Why Logan..." you repeated, pondering how to put into words the way this man made you feel.

How do you even put into words the way this man makes you feel? As mentioned before you hadn’t dated in what felt like forever but with Logan everything fell into place. 

Everyone at the table probably assumes that Logan would be the most dismissive lover ever, a taker not really a giver but oh boy were they wrong. 

To you, it felt like you were the center of his universe. 

Whenever Logan would spend the night, you’d always wake up to an empty bed. At first Logan would run out of your place as soon as the sun would hit but one morning when you thought you were alone you slipped into one of Logan’s shirts you had lying around and when you pad to the kitchen you find the giant man surrounded by a rush aroma of coffee. And it’s been like that ever since. 

Whenever Logan stays over he’s always up before you. The smell of coffee wafting throughout the apartment coaxing you out of bed. Once in the kitchen there’d be Logan in all his morning glory, shirtless with sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips, pouring the hot liquid into your favorite mug knowing you’d never say no to it. 

He doesn't ask how you take it, he’s never had to. He just places the mug softly in front of you as you sit on a stool and watches you take a sip with a small smile. 

Placing the mug down, you return the smile, and like clockwork Logan rounds the counter, turns your chair, and places himself between your legs. Your hands find their place at his side as he holds your face in his hands, placing a tender kiss on your lips. These quiet morning moments are just one of the many things you cherish about your life with Logan.

But it's not just the gentle moments that make your relationship special. Logan's protective nature extends to all aspects of your life together, including the more practical ones.

There have been a few times you've come home thinking someone's broken in. Loud clanging could be heard as soon as you walked in. You grabbed an umbrella from beside the door and stalked quietly toward the sound. When you finally turned the corner down the hallway, you noticed the bathroom light was on. With the umbrella held tightly, you stepped closer to the bathroom. There you found Logan tinkering under the sink, the clanking sound coming from the metal against the pipes. He was muttering to himself, brows furrowed in concentration, his muscles constricting beneath his dark blue shirt.

“My handyman.” You tease, discarding the umbrella and leaning against the door frame watching him work. 

Without looking back at you he says “Someone’s gotta do it, darlin’.” You let out a small laugh, before walking away to get him a glass of water. When you come back he’s finishing up. 

He wipes his hands with a towel, and takes the glass from your hand. 

“My hero.” You say, finding your spot against the doorframe, smiling up at him, eyes filled with adornment for the man in front of you. He just pulls you in close and kisses your forehead. 

“Can’t have you dealin’ with this kind of thing.” He says. 

“Oh but sir,” You feign innocence, a small smirk growing on your lips. “I don’t get paid until Friday,” You hook a finger in his belt loop giving it a tug. “However, shall I repay you?” You cock your head to the side, and Logan quirks an eyebrow before playing along. 

“Didn’tya know? I take other forms of payment.” His voice is low as he grabs your hips guiding you backwards. You laugh as he quickly shuffles backwards into your room. 

The both of you stumble onto the bed, and Logan’s weight presses against you just enough to make you feel deliciously suffocated. His eyes are filled with mischief as he hovers over you, hands resting on either side of your head. 

“Oh my, what form of payment were you thinking of?” You ask, voice playful but becomes breathless as he leans in to nose at your neck, lips lightly brushing against the soft skin of your neck. 

He chuckles slowly, “I think y’already know sweetheart.” 

Before you can say anything he catches your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, making it clear how he plans to collect. 

His weight grounds you, as the teasing is forgotten, replaced with a slow electric pull of desire. Logan’s hand skims all over your body, gentle but firm, reminding you that you’re his in every way that counts. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Now, ‘bout that payment.. Don’t think that was enough, princess.” 

You bite your lip, giving him a coy smile as your fingers slide down his chest. “Well, I’d hate to leave a debt unpaid, Sir.” 

Logan leans down to brush his lips against yours, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Then you better make it worth while, buttercup. I don’t do all this hard work for nothin’.” He teases. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. “Oh don’t worry. I always leave a generous tip.” 

With a grin, Logan kisses you again, deeper than before. His hands continue their exploration as the playful banter gives way to something more intense, and heated. And just like that, all thoughts are replaced with only the two of you tangled up in each other, lost in the moment. 

While these passionate encounters are exhilarating, they're not the only moments you treasure with Logan. In fact, your favorite kind of moments are often much quieter, born from the shared fatigue of long days and the comfort you find in each other's presence.

Your favorite kind of moments would have to be the days Logan comes over after a long day, the kind that left both of you feeling drained by the time the moon came over the horizon.

You’d flop onto the sofa as soon as you’d get home, letting the tension ease away from your muscles when five minutes later Logan opens the door, which you left unlocked for him. 

Without saying a word he flops beside you, causing your body to follow the cave of the cushions and melt into his side. You wrap your arms around his neck and he snakes his arm around your waist, heavy hand resting on your hip squeezing lightly. 

“Hi Baby.” You whisper, caressing his face. He looks down at you with hooded eyes and gives you a small smile. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you a soft, lazy kiss before pulling back and resting his head against the back of the sofa.

 You hum contentedly, your arms tightening around him for a moment, the tenderness between you growing. Logan shifts beneath you, his large hands easily grabbing your legs, guiding them to rest over his lap. With a bit of maneuvering, he ends up leaning on his elbow, his arm still wrapped protectively around your waist, while you’re stretched out across the sofa, your legs draped over his, your bodies intertwined in the most comforting way.

He’s partially laying down now, with you tucked securely against him, and the gentle weight of his arm across you feels grounding, the two of you perfectly melted into one another.

“How was your day?” you ask softly, fingers gently caressing the back of his neck. Logan doesn’t respond right away— he instead lets out a low huff and buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. 

“Awe, the poor kitty.” You tease, patting his head lightly. Logan grunts, but the hint of a smile plays on his lips as his grip tightens around your waist. 

“Yeah, yeah.” he mumbles, clearly too tired to give much of a response. You smile, allowing yourself to soak in the warmth of him, but after a moment, the thought of washing the day away crossed your mind. 

You run your fingers through his hair one last time before sighing. “I should go shower,” you say, gently pulling away from him. Logan lets out a gruff dissatisfied grumble as you move to sit up, his arm still draped around you. 

“Stay here,” he mumbles, a hint of a pout in his voice as he watches you sit up.

You chuckle softly, stretching as you stand and walk toward the bathroom. “You could always come with me…” you say casually, your back still to him as you head down the hallway.

Logan’s eyes follow you, and he huffs, pushing himself off the couch. “You know I’m not saying no to that.”

Before long, you’re both under the warm spray of the shower, the day’s exhaustion melting away. Logan stands still, eyes half-closed, letting the water run down his body. His skin glistens under the spray, rivulets tracing the lines of his body. You breathe in the steamy air, heavy with the scent of soap and Logan's own earthy musk.

Squeezing shampoo into your palm, its crisp herbal aroma cuts through the steam. Your fingers slide through Logan's hair, now slick and dark as ink. He leans into your touch, a low rumble of pleasure vibrating in his chest. His normally guarded expression softens, the furrows in his brow smoothing as your fingertips work small circles against his scalp.

Logan leans into your touch, his broad shoulders loosening as your fingers work their magic. The taut muscles beneath his skin gradually unwind, melting under the warmth of the water and the gentle pressure of your hands. You can feel the subtle shift in his posture as he surrenders to the soothing sensation, his breath deepening and slowing in response to your careful attention. 

The steam swirls around you both, creating an intimate cocoon that seems to exist outside of time. You take your time, savoring the quiet vulnerability of the moment, your fingers moving with deliberate care through his hair.

"Mmm," Logan murmurs, his voice husky and low. "S'nice."

His eyes flutter open, meeting yours through the misty air. The look he gives you is unguarded, full of a tenderness that makes your breath catch. You continue your gentle massage, feeling the last remnants of tension melt away beneath your touch.

You guide him under the spray, watching as the water sluices away the soap, leaving his hair gleaming. Your hands trail down to his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him. The shower continues for a few more minutes, the rhythmic pattern of water creating a soothing backdrop.

Logan steps out of the shower first, wrapping a towel around his waist. He grabs your plush robe from the hook and helps you slip it on. The soft fabric feels warm and comforting against your skin, still flushed from the hot shower.

Logan's hands linger for a moment on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Cozy?" he asks, his voice soft. You nod, enjoying the simple comfort of the moment.

As you make your way to the bedroom, Logan settles on the edge of the bed while you rummage through the dresser. You pull out one of Logan's well-worn t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, slipping them on. The familiar scent of him envelops you, a comforting mixture of cedar, a hint of motor oil, and something uniquely Logan.

Despite countless cycles through the washing machine, his scent clings stubbornly to the fabric. It's as if it's woven into the very threads, resistant to detergent and hot water alike. You breathe in deeply, savoring the aroma that's quintessentially him - a scent that speaks of strength, of safety, of home.

The shirt hangs loosely on your frame, soft from years of wear. As you pull it over your head, you're wrapped in an invisible embrace, Logan's presence tangible even in this simple piece of clothing.

Turning around, you catch Logan absent-mindedly rubbing the towel over his head. You can't help but smile at the sight. "Here, let me help," you say, fetching the hair dryer from the bathroom.

You plug it in and step between Logan's legs, gently taking the towel from his hands. The dryer hums to life, and you run your fingers through his hair as you work, watching it become soft and fluffy under your ministrations.

"Look at you, all fluffy," you tease gently, running your hand through his hair.

Logan's eyes crinkle with amusement. In one swift motion, he pulls you close, guiding you to sit across his lap. "You're one to talk," he rumbles, nuzzling into your neck.

You laugh softly, your fingers still playing with his hair. It's so soft now, and you can't resist running your hands through it again and again. Logan lets out a contented sound, almost like a purr, leaning into your touch.

Gradually, you both shift to lie on the bed, limbs tangled comfortably. Logan's arms are wrapped around you, holding you close like you're the most precious thing in the world. You continue to stroke his hair, feeling the last bits of tension leave his body.

The room is quiet now, filled only with the sound of your synchronized breathing. As sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness, you feel utterly safe and loved in Logan's embrace. His breathing deepens, and you know he's drifting off too.

Few moments out of thousands flash through your mind as you sit at the bar, Jean's question hanging in the air. "Why Logan?" The memories of tender mornings, playful banter, quiet evenings, and the feeling of absolute safety in his arms all blend together, forming your answer.

You look up at Logan, who's watching you with a mix of curiosity and affection. The warm glow of the bar lights catches the amber flecks in his eyes, making them seem to smolder. You can feel the solid warmth of his body pressed against yours, his familiar scent - a mixture of leather, pine, and something uniquely him - wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You turn back to Jean with a soft smile, the taste of your drink still lingering on your lips.

"It's hard to put into words," you begin, your voice warm with emotion. The words catch in your throat as a flood of memories washes over you - Logan's rare, genuine laugh that always makes your heart skip a beat; the feeling of absolute safety in his strong arms; the tender moments in the quiet of the morning when he thinks you're still asleep. You open your mouth, ready to pour out your heart, but then you catch yourself. The intimacy of those moments feels too precious to share in the bustling, noisy bar.

Instead, you simply say, "Let's just say, when you know, you know."

The conversation moves on, but you can feel Logan's eyes on you, sense his curiosity. As you both leave the bar later, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the warmth inside, Logan gently tugs your hand, pulling you close.

"What were you really gonna say back there, darlin'?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. His breath, warm and smelling faintly of whiskey, ghosts over your cheek.

You look up at him, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the softness in his usually stern eyes. For a moment, you consider telling him everything - how he makes you feel, why you love him. But something holds you back. Maybe it's the lingering effects of the alcohol, or the magic of the nighttime city around you, but instead, you stretch up on your toes and press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I'll tell you someday," you murmur against his mouth, feeling his lips curve into a smile. "But for now, why don't we head back to my place."

Logan's arm wraps around your waist as you walk to his truck, and you lean into him, savoring the moment. The unspoken words hang between you, a promise for the future, as sweet and intoxicating as the night air.

---

a/n: quick! somebody call a dentist -- i think my teeth are rotting,,

[iniquitousyearning]

Fred & George Weasley- Ours

Word count: 5k

Info: your friends with benefits, Fred and George Weasley, see some guy getting a little too close to you at a party; and decide they need to show you exactly who you belong to.

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Threesome, Praise Kink, Degredation Kink, Oral (f receiving), Double Penetration, Anal, Good Sex, Forced Orgasm, Begging, Teasing.

"Who the hell was that guy?" Fred huffed, slamming the door shut to the quaint little study room he and George had just dragged you into not ten seconds prior. "I mean, he had his fucking hands all over you!"

George nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant against the desk. "All over you...in places only our hands should go..."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your tight black dress against your thighs. You'd been sleeping with the twins for a few months now, mostly a fun, friends-with-benefits type of deal; but lately they'd become far more possessive, far more protective than usual. Sometimes it could be a little much, but you couldn't deny that their passion for your body made the sex other-fucking-worldly.

Sometimes it was fun to purposefully get them going, just to see how far they'd take it.

"What's the matter with you two?" You said, your innocent eyes darting back and fourth between the fiery haired twins, trying not to get distracted by the power of their strong, athletic builds; each of them towering over you as they waited your response. "Last time I checked, this wasn't a relationship. Not sure why you guys are getting so jealous."

Fred cocked an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we made it clear last time that you were ours...."

"...and only ours." George finished, the two of them drawing closer.

You swallowed, your heart racing with excitement at the direction you knew this little conversation was going in. You pulled your lip between your teeth, trying to hide your smirk as you backed up from them, attempting to keep space between your bodies as to not give in so quickly.

Pissing them off more only added to the fun.

"I don't belong to anyone," you whispered, voice a low murmur; cunt clenching as you watched a mischievous grin spread across Fred's lips; George's eyes narrowing in challenge. "And certainly not you two."

"Hm," Fred hummed, eyeing your body from head to toe, smirking as he snuck George a brief glance, the two of them circling around you now; like predators stalking their prey. "Sounds like she needs to be reminded of her place, doesn't she George?"

George smirked, wetting his lips. "She sure fucking does, Fred..."

Fred nodded. He'd had enough of the playing. "We're leaving."

Without hesitation, Fred and George each grabbed one of your wrists, George's warm breath washing over your ear as he whispered, "and don't try to fight it, princess..." his teeth grazed your earlobe. "You want us to make you feel good, don't you? You know we never fail to take care of you..."

Your head spun, oxygen missing you. Gods, of course you did. "Y-yes... you're right..."

"There's our good girl," Fred hummed, his lips ghosting over your other ear, lids fluttering shut at the collective sensations. "We're going to fucking worship you...make you feel things that no one else could ever, ever match."

Your breath hitched. "Oh..."

"That's it," George murmured, "you're ours, and tonight, we're going to make sure you know it."

Sensing that your defiance had now entirely crumbled, the twins shared a quick glance before they released your wrists, and moved toward the door without another word. Fred walked first, you in the middle with George trailing behind you, everyone in the corridors shooting you acknowledging glances as they eyed the three of you suspiciously, even though it was well over midnight and the party was coming to a close anyway.

As soon as Fred pushed open the door to his dorm room and ushered you inside, he locked it behind him--not wasting even a single fucking second before he looped his arm around your waist and tugged you against him; his back hitting the door as he held you snug to his frame, gripping your hips as he pressed your ass tight to his crotch. George stood in front of you, taking a moment to worship your body, taking a moment to watch your face as Fred's lips attacked your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh with relentless urgency.

Unable to hold off any longer, George stepped forward, running his hands over your curves, eyes stark with lust. "You look so fucking beautiful tonight..." he murmured, softly pressing his lips to yours. "We couldn't wait to get you alone."

Fred hummed, nipping your earlobe. "And now that we have..."

"...we're going to make the most of it." George whispered, breaking the kiss.

Your lungs stalled as you watched him slowly drop to his knees before you, his hands gently urging your feet wider as he gazed up at you with an intense desire, watching you lose yourself as Fred tilted your chin to the side and crashed his lips to yours, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose as his tongue fought with yours to be the one in control.

George hummed, one hand exploring your thighs and hips, eyes intently watching the small ministrations of your face as he slipped his other hand under your dress and teased your clit through your panties; sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through your veins.

"You deserve to be worshipped, pretty girl...to have every inch of you adored..." George whispered as he slipped his fingers under your panties, teasing your throbbing core. "Look how fucking wet you are for us already..."

You gasped into the kiss, fighting to pull away and catch your breath but Fred's lips were relentless, working your mouth as though he wanted to map your taste into memory; to devour every single inch. Your eyes rolled as George slowly pushed a finger inside you, carefully stretching you open, his lips grazing and teasing the sensitive crevice of your inner thigh.

"Mmm, does that feel good, princess?" Fred purred, breaking the kiss, panting mouth falling to your jawline.

You nodded, unable to find words, head falling back onto his shoulder as he looped a hand under your thigh, pulling it up toward your chest and holding it there as to give George better access to your pussy--a smirk crawling across his lips as he watched you pant and squirm in pleasure from his ministrations, pausing only briefly to tug your panties down your thighs and toss them off to the side.

"So beautiful...so needy..." George murmured. "We're going to make you feel so good, love..."

Fred groaned, nodding in agreement. "Pleasure you until you can't take it anymore,"

Fred pressed his lips back to your neck, his free hand roaming up your stomach and groping your tits over the fabric of your dress--he groaned against your neck as you pulsed against him, feeling George's warm breath caress your folds as he brought his lips to the crease of your inner thigh again, teasing you.

"George..." you breathed, desperate for connection, your hands weaving through his hair in attempt to coax his lips to your pussy. "Please..."

With a mischievous smirk, he met your eyes, holding your stare as he pressed his lips to your swollen clit, his skilled tongue lapping at your juices and mixing them with his spit. You moaned, body lost in overwhelming pleasure, back arching and eyes rolling, but Fred held you firm against him; one hand still holding your leg up while the other held your chest--lips working your neck, teeth peppering it with purple possessions marks.

"Fuck, you taste so good, princess..." George purred, voice muffled against your pussy. "So fucking sweet."

You moaned, head falling back, and Fred's hand slithered up from your tits and tightened around your throat, ridding your oxygen supply and inflicting a delicious, intoxicating buzz on your lips. Your mouth fell wide in an open pant, George's lips sealing around your clit and driving you directly toward the brink of an explosive, earth shattering orgasm.

Fred groaned, lips grazing your ear. "That's it...we love hearing you make those pretty noises for us.."

George's tongue delved deep into your wetness, flicking, swirling, and teasing with calculated expertise. He offered no respite, driving you closer to the edge with each skillful lick--your legs shaking, one hand gripping his hair while the other was latched onto Fred's wrist for dear life, your body utterly at their mercy as the two of them inflicted their usual intoxicating dominance over you.

"Look at you, so helpless and eager to please..." Fred's voice was a mere breath in your ear, his hand leaving your throat and trailing down your body, slipping behind your back and down past your ass, bringing it to your dripping heat. You moaned before he'd even sunk in, but when he did, your entire body convulsed, the pleasure of their collective movements driving you dangerously close to exploding. "Fuck, you're so tight and wet..."

Fred curled his fingers inside you, their long length driving you utterly insane, scissoring and curling against your tight walls while George continued his oral assault on your clit, humming as your trembling grip on his hair tightened.

Your eyes squeezed shut. You were dangerously close. "Oh...Oh, Gods-"

Fred growled, low in his chest. "That's it, little slut...take it. Take it all. We want to hear you scream for us."

"Cum for us, princess." George murmured against your pussy, only seconds before he latched onto your clit again, swirling his tongue in a way that sent you tumbling straight over the edge.

"Oh, yes...fuck-fuck!"

"That's right. Give in to us, baby," Fred growled, his voice darker than the midnight sky "...surrender to the pleasure we're giving you."

Your sight blanked, ears ringing and head falling back as you came around Fred's fingers, George's skilled tongue working expertly to swallow your orgasm as best as he could, neither of them stopping until they were completely certain you were past your high. Your entire body was on fire, liquid magma coursing through your veins, heating every square inch of your bloodstream as you fought to catch your breath.

George hummed, placing soft kisses along your slit and up toward your mound. "Are you going to admit your ours now? Or do we need to show you more of what we do to you?"

You huffed, fighting through the sensations as he teasingly licked at your pussy, softly enough to make your head spin and your body squirm. "I-I'm not...I'm not yours..." you said, purposefully trying to escalate them. "I'll never be."

George halted his movements, cocking an eyebrow as he met Fred's eyes. "How about that, huh Fred?"

Fred huffed, amused, and you felt his hot breath wash over your neck. "Entirely humorous, I'd say."

George stood up to his full height, peering down at you with a dark, predatory glint in his eyes, one that made your stomach twist with arousal.

"If you're not ours...then you're just some slut for us to use then, yeah?" He whispered, smirking, sneaking another glance at Fred; the two of them basically communicating with their eyes.

You swallowed, and Fred's teeth grazed your ear. "So you wouldn't mind if we just took control, used your sexy little body for our own pleasure, right?"

Your lips parted, your pussy clenching with need. Gods, this is exactly what you fucking wanted--you were so excited you couldn't even hide it if you tried.

"I..." you couldn't find words as Fred released your thigh, pulling your hips against his throbbing bulge, George's hands roaming your curves--tugging on your dress and bunching it up your hips, up your stomach, gesturing for you to raise your hands as he tugged it up  and off your trembling body.

Your mouth was drier than cotton, and George smirked, wetting his lips as he eyed your newly exposed body, his pupils dilating when he realized your lacy, dark red bra was a matching piece to your panties that had previously been discarded to the floor at your feet.

"Look at you..." he murmured, running a hand up your hip and toward your breasts. "Such a filthy little thing...wearing this under your dress..." he grazed your nipple, twirling his thumb until he felt it harden under the fabric of your bra. "Who were you wearing this for, if not us? Hm?"

The arrogance in his tone drove you crazy, and as Fred trailed his hand along your other hip, moving toward your pussy again, your lungs stalled, breath hitching.

"You've been aching for this, haven't you love?" Fred purred, teasing your clit with a brief swirl. "Don't worry, we're going to show you exactly who you belong to..."

George grabbed your wrist, "that's right...you're nothing but our little fucktoy, and we're going to prove it."

Your lips parted, but you didn't even have time to think as George tugged you over toward the bed, Fred trailing behind you. You could hear him fumbling with his belt, and your stomach leapt up into your throat as George released your wrist to do the same. In practically no time at all, the twins had rid themselves of all their clothing--their hard, throbbing cocks making your mouth water and your pussy clench as you stared, unable to peel your eyes away. They were fucking hung. You always managed to forget just how big they were.

George smirked, and you moved toward him, wrapping your small hand around his thick length, his head falling back as you softly pumped him, reaching beside you to do the same to Fred. Each of them stood there for a moment, eyes squeezed shut and chests heaving as you stroked them; twisting your fist and smearing their pre-cum around the heads of their cocks--your entire body screaming with fucking need at the display.

After a moment, George gathered himself, and brought his lips toward your ear. "Are you going to be a good girl for us?"

Fred's lips found your other ear, your hands still slowly pumping their lengths. "Are you going to let us have our way with you? Hm? Give yourself over to us completely?"

As George smacked your ass, leaving your cheek burning and tingling, you yelped; mischievous smirks crawling across both of their lips. Gods, you wanted them inside you. You couldn't take even a second more of waiting.

"Yes..." you whispered, increasing your motions, head falling back as they each attacked a side of your neck. "Please...take me..."

"Mm." Fred hummed, smacking your other cheek now. "That's what we like to hear, princess..."

George moved toward the bed, laying down on his back on the edge, legs dangling off the side. He motioned for you to climb on top of him, and without hesitation, you did--his big hands finding your hips and holding you firm against his chest, your thighs straddling his waist as you rolled your slick cunt against his length, his jaw tensing and throat bobbing as he swallowed, lips finding your neck.

Fred came up behind you, his long fingers ghosting down your back, caressing the smooth curve of your ass. George brought his lips to your ear. "You want us? Hm?"

You didn't even need to think. "Yes!"

"Beg for it..." Fred cooed from behind you. "Beg for us to claim your perfect little body, to use every one of your delicious fucking holes..."

Your breath hitched, your stomach leapt with excitement. "Please-fuck-please, fuck me..."

"That's it," George groaned, angling the head of his dick so it was pressing at your dripping core, his voice a dangerously deep growl in your ear. "That's our good little toy...fuck-"

His words were cut short by his groan of pleasure as he sunk into your tight wet heat, thrusting up into you in one slow, sensual thrust; stretching your walls open slowly and cautiously--for as dominant as the twins were, they never took it too far. They were always careful with you, gentle when they needed to be, and it drove you fucking insane; in the best way possible.

"Oh...fuck-George..." as he sunk in to the hilt, he paused for a second before he slowly pulled out, Fred's hands running all over your body, adding to the already overwhelming sensations flowing through you.

You moaned, eyes rolling back as George began to increase his pace, fucking up into you as his arms held you tight to his chest, his breath growly and husky in your ear. You felt Fred's hands leave your body, only for a brief moment, until he returned one to your hip, followed by a warm liquid sensation dripping down your back and sliding over your ass.

Fred massaged the sensual liquid into your skin, moving down toward your ass, grazing the tight rim with one of his fingers, the sensations making you clench around George.

"Shit-you're so fucking tight..." George breathed, slowing his pace to an agonizingly slow speed. "You need to slop clenching around me like that, princess...or else..."

As Fred pushed his finger inside you, pressing against your inner walls, and you moaned, entire body overwhelmed by the fullness--you'd done anal before, but never at the same time as being fucked, and so far, it was an incomprehensible experience--entirely fucking mind-numbing.

"I-I can't help it-oh, Fred-fuck!" Fred snuck another finger inside your ass, and he continued to twist and scissor you open, your entire body tensing, an overwhelming fullness washing over you. George groaned as you clenched around him again.

"Shh, relax..." Fred cooed, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of your ass, matching the slow ministrations of George's cock. "Breathe...feel your tight little ass stretch open for me..."

As he pressed in a third finger, your vision blanked, and you were so encompassed by pleasure you couldn't even comprehend it--if three of his fingers felt this fucking intense, you couldn't even begin to imagine what his cock would feel like. His fingers curled inside you, stretching you wider, your face washed with crimson, body glistening with sweat--you'd never felt more defenceless and dominated, your entire body succumbed to their primal power.

George, however, was struggling. "Fred, any day now..." he groaned, hissing the words through barred teeth. "She's got me strung out on the gallows here.."

Fred huffed, slowly pulling his fingers out of you. "I think she's ready for me...aren't you, princess?"

As George paused his movements, you could finally take a second to think, to breathe. Admittedly, you were nervous, but you knew the twins would never hurt you, would never do something to cause you unwanted pain. You knew you could trust them to take care of you.

With a small whimper, you nodded. "Yes...I am."

"Good girl...we're going to claim every one of your pretty fucking holes..." Fred groaned, pressing the sticky head of his cock against your ass. "Our perfect little plaything..."

He squeezed more warm liquid over your ass, trapping a deep breath in his lungs as he worked in the head of his dick. With a deep breath, you allowed your body to surrender, allowed yourself to relax into the moment. The intensity of their touch was all-consuming, and as Fred finally worked his thick length inside your ass, all three of you groaned in pleasure, Fred and George hissing through their teeth as you squeezed and clenched around them, your tight walls pulling them deeper inside of you.

"Oh, fuck..." Fred groaned, "tight...so fucking tight..."

Fred clung to your hips, George's arms still wrapped tight around your shoulders, hugging you to his chest as he slowly resumed fucking up into you. When Fred had fully sheathed himself in your ass, he held himself there, grip rough enough to bruise, drawing in another hissing breath through his teeth. He was massive, reaching places in your body you didn't know were possible--and between him and George, you felt overwhelmed, overtaken, your head dizzy with pleasure.

George brought his lips to your ear, his pace quickening. "You like that, princess? You like taking us both like this?"

Fred smacked your ass, leaving it stinging. "She does...she loves being our toy...dirty little slut..."

Your breath hiccuped in your lungs. "Oh-"

Was the only thing you could even attempt to say, the intensity and the pressure building in your core with every thrust, their movements becoming more forceful and insistent--mercilessly dragging you dangerously fast toward the soaring heights of ecstasy.

"Shit-" Fred's voice was a breathless pant, smacking your ass again as he slammed his hips against you. "That's it, take it...our little slut can handle it, can't she?..."

Every word from their lips drove you further into the oblivion, and by this point, you were only halfway cognizant of the sounds and words leaving your mouth. You were gone, vanished, transported from this reality and floating off somewhere in another--the level of surrender and submission you were experiencing was like nothing you've ever felt before, being used solely for their pleasure; used as their fucktoy for their carnal desires was something that you only imagined happening in your fantasy. You were so encompassed by pleasure you were certain you were going to explode without needing any clit stimulation, which was something that almost never happened to you.

"Fuck-you feel so good..." George groaned, his fingers digging into your shoulders as though he was trying to shatter your bones. "So tight and wet and eager for us..."

"Shit-" Fred moaned, his hands bruising your hips. "You feel so good wrapped around us like this...you love it, don't you whore?"

Your body felt like it was being pushed to its limits, your ears ringing as the twins increased their paces even further, slamming into you with a primal force, the sounds of their strained grunts mixed in with your wanton moans and the sounds of smacking skin being the only thing filling the thick, steamy air.

"Yes-yes!" You practically screamed, voice shaking. "I-I love it.."

Fred groaned, slamming into you. "That's right...our little whore likes it rough...fuck-"

Pleasure coursed through every fiber of your being as they dominated you in the most primal and exhilarating way. With each thrust, you were pushed closer to the edge, the pleasure mingling with the degradation in a deliciously sinful cocktail. George let loose a low moan in your ear, a sound so deliciously satisfying it pushed you dangerously close to your edge--holy fucking shit you wanted to cum. You needed to cum.

"Shit-I feel you...I feel how bad you need to cum, isn't that right, princess?" George's voice was a mere breath in your ear, his pitch strained with desire. "Tell us how bad you want it..."

Fred's hands left your hips, exploring every inch of your body, one of them snaking around in between you and George and caressing the front of your thighs. You knew he was going to tease you, you knew they'd never let you get there that easily. Your clit was throbbing, screaming, wailing in need--and although you felt so fucking good you could probably get there without it, you knew it would feel so fucking good if you did.

"P-please..." it was a pathetic cry of desperation, hardly loud enough to hear over the sound of their skin slamming against yours.

George whimpered in your ear as you clenched around him, Fred groaning as you squeezed. You moaned, far too fucking loud, and George brought a hand to your lips, shoving two of his fingers past your teeth as he growled his words into your eardrum.

"You're so close baby...but you’ll have to do better than that if you want us to help you get there..."

Fred's hand inched closer to your clit, teasing over your mound. "Tell us that you're ours, tell us that no one else could make you feel like this...no one else could ever take all of you like this..."

The ache within your core was intensifying by the second, the desperate longing for release almost unbearable. George shoved his fingers deeper into your mouth, eliciting a gag from you and he smirked, growling through his teeth.

"Look at you, princess...we've taken everyone of your holes...every part of you has been claimed by us..." he breathed, jaw tensed as he spoke. "Show us who you belong to."

When he slipped his fingers from your mouth, Fred's own fingers found your clit, grazing it, and your entire body flinched; desperate for connection.

"Please! Please, I'm yours...I belong to you guys, please!" Words left your lips in nothing more than babbling desperation, you fucking needed this; so, so bad. "Gods, let me cum...let me cum for you..."

Fred's free hand smacked your ass again, his fingers continuing to tease your clit. "Looks like she's finally begging for it, George..."

George hummed, gripping the back of your neck and holding your eyes to his. "That's what you want princess? To cum on my cock, hm?"

You flinched as Fred swirled over your clit again, the two of them fucking you deep, filling you full, their pace relentless and their arrogance suffocating as they relished in the clear power they held over you in this moment. They got you right where they wanted you, and they weren't scared to hold you there; making you wait, holding you hostage over the edge of pure ecstasy until you utterly shattered in their hands.

"Yes!" You wailed, meeting his dark, primal eyes, sweat glistening his forehead; his reddened locks sticking to his skin. "I want to cum on your cock, please!"

Another smack on your ass, another deep thrust from Fred. "Music to my ears..." he purred, breathless. "Should we grant her wish, George?"

"I think so, now that she's admitted her place," George grinned, brushing his lips over yours, fingers squeezing the back of your neck with enough force to bruise as he fucked deep into you. "I'd say she's earned it, Fred..."

With a satisfied groan, Fred's fingers connected, twirling over your clit with a relentless pace, shutting down any brain power dedicated to speech. Instead, your body was vibrating with pleasure, liquid diamond coursing through your vessels, making you moan and drool and babble their names. You were at the fucking brink, ready to pour out, bones ready to break from your skin as they drove deep into your holes.

Your back arched and your fingers found George's hair, gripping the tendrils as though you were trying to rip them from his scalp. "Oh-yes! Fuck-yes!"

Fred's fingers swirled with insistence, George nipping your jaw as you were right there-so close- "go on whore, cum for your fucking owners."

Your body flatlined. "Oh! Fuck!"

The two of them tipped you into euphoria, pleasure overriding your self-control as you shook and convulsed on their cocks, every muscle between your legs pulsing and clamping down while your vision turned to a black sea of stars. Your ears rang and you were sure you fell unconscious as the most powerful orgasm you've ever experienced ripped through you, shredding every single shred of nerve you had inside you.

"Fuck-you're squeezing me so fucking hard..." George groaned, so loud it shook your ribcage as it reverberated through you. "You're going to make me fucking cum, princess..."

"Fuck," you muttered, head spinning as you came down from your high; not getting very far before the pleasure started to build again, their relentless pace utterly consuming your existence. "Fuck..."

When Fred's fingers didn't pull away from your clit, you wailed, trembling and shaking from overstimulation, but Georges hold around your waist held you firm in place against him, their cocks slamming you deep as you wailed, brain entirely unable to function.

"Oh-fuck-I can't...Fred..." you said, reaching back to try and pry his hand from your clit, but George caught your wrist, collecting them both and pinning them behind your back.

"Oh, yes you can," Fred breathed, slamming you deep. "We're so close...you can cum again, alongside us, little slut.."

Your eyes locked on George, his pupils so large they swallowed up well over half of his irises entirely; a dark, primal lust encompassing his gaze. You could tell he was close, his lips parted and brows furrowed in concentration, you could tell he was holding himself back for whatever fucking reason. He was lost in pleasure, lost in the heat of your tight pussy clenching around him as Fred worked you toward your third climax of the night, fucking deep in your ass and hissing through his teeth.

"Shit-" Fred hissed. He was close too.

George's lids fluttered, "cant...hold on...much..longer.."

Without much cognitive warning, your third orgasm built quick and fast, slamming into you like a hard shot to the gut, and you screamed--unable to silence yourself even if you fucking tried. Your high washed through you like a tidal wave, rippling through your body with uncontainable force, your entire corpse shaking violently against George's chest as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over you, swears and sounds and drool pouring from your lips without consciousness.

"Fuck-fuck-" George groaned, head falling back against the mattress, grip tightening on your wrists. "I'm-gonna-fuck-"

Fred's fingers remained on your clit, working you through your high as the two of them collectively shattered against you, their bodies tensing and breath sputtering in their lungs as they spilled their hot cum inside of you, fucking you through the remnants of their highs until they were utterly spent.

For a moment, no one moved, everyone fighting to catch their breath, to return back to earth. When Fred pulled out, all that you could do was whimper, your body a collection of sweat and cum and fluids; every nerve ending in your system tingling with lingering pleasure.

"Look at you..." Fred whispered, slumping down onto the mattress beside you, helping you get yourself off of George. "Completely filled and claimed by us."

As you rolled off George and collapsed down onto the mattress between them, they each wrapped their arms around you, holding you tightly between them as you all laid there panting, bodies awash and glistening with sweat.

"All ours..." George murmured against your neck, lids fluttering. "Isn't that right, princess?"

You sighed in satisfaction, nodding softly as you melted into their collective grasp. "All yours, boys...all yours."

[thedensworld]

Lost Star | l.jh

Pairing: Producer Woozi x ex-trainee reader

Genre: First Love, Reunion, Second Change

Type: Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 14k

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

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

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

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

So now he had to get it himself. Again.

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

That was before he saw you again.

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

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

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

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

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

Not after eleven years.

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

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

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

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

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

It haunted him.

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

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

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

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

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

Jihoon let out a small chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice softened at the memory, almost reverent.

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

But the truth was...

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

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

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

Maybe you were the ghost that had always haunted him.

*

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

Then one day, a new face entered the frame.

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

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

You glowed.

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

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

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

You were everything he wasn’t yet.

And everything he quietly wished to become.

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

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

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

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

Looking back, he realized—

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

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

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

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

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

Then came your voice.

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

Jihoon closed his eyes.

Do you still sing like that?

*

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

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

There you were—crouched down, restocking shelves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The convenience store a block from here—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Cool.”

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he finally looked back, his eyes met yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our Jihoon… Our Jihoon…”

“Our Jihoon got the step wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Woozi.

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

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

You let out a soft laugh at his little gesture.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm glad you're okay."

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

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

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

*

How could someone be this chronically offline?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. Click. Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hansol straightened a little. “Seriously? Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “What?”

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

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

“I know.”

“I haven’t even sung properly in—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I talk to him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t,” he promised.

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

Seconds stretched into a minute. Then another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

You almost laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skipped. “Sing it?”

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

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

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

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

“Come stop your crying, it will be alright…

Just take my hand, hold it tight…”

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

“I will protect you from all around you…

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

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

“For one so small, you seem so strong…

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

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

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

“This bond between us can’t be broken…

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

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

“You’ll be in my heart…

Yes, you’ll be in my heart…

From this day on, now and forevermore…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think we should release it.”

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About what?”

“Everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, it was enough to gnaw at Jihoon.

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

You perked up, nodding. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A coward?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. I can—”

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

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

“Thanks,” you murmured, looking at him.

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

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

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

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

“You’re not even hiding it anymore.”

“I’m just making sure she’s okay.”

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

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

“You should tell her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t you like him in the past?”

Silence. An absolute, crushing silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

The chaos erupted like a wildfire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

And then he saw you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled softly, his voice low and sincere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

The end.

[gffa]

I have been drifting back to STAR WARS fandom lately and I have been greatly rewarded for it, especially in the gen fic veins, because there have been some banger fics authors have been putting out! And the thing that really gets me in the fannish heart is that there's more and more fics about the Jedi, both for exploring the characters and the culture. I have been able to find multiple fics that have been kind to Mace Windu! I have been able to find multiple fics that explain what attachment actually is to the Jedi and to Star Wars! I have been able to find multiple fics that lift my spirit up or punch me in the feelings in exactly the right way, both for the usual disaster lineage faves, but also for the Jedi as a whole. I'm serious, that means the world to me in this fandom, and I desperately want to share that with you all. LET ME SHOVE FIC AT YOU THAT LOVES THESE CHARACTERS AND THIS WORLD AS MUCH AS I DO!!

FICS THAT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE WITH HOW GOOD THEY WERE: ✦ wayfinding by night by wrennette, obi-wan & luke & cast, time travel, 10.2k     Before him stood a fellow Jedi, worn and weary with loss. Obi-Wan finds himself on Ahch-To and helps Luke find a path through his grief. ✦ may you inherit his light by notbecauseofvictories, leia & bail & anakin & cast, 2.5k     When your father dies, say the Coruscanti, you are left clutching a star map for a different galaxy. In this, as in many things, Leia is her fathers' daughter. ✦ No Freedom From the Storm (But Peace In Its Midst) by Be_Right_Back, mace & cast, ~1k     Mace is freefalling. On his way down, he meets Hatred, and reaches for Serenity. ✦ "...if you remain his student" by Peppermint_Shamrock, anakin & ahsoka & cast, 3.9k     Ahsoka doesn't leave the Jedi Order. This does not save Anakin. This was never going to save Anakin. Nor stop him. ✦ a distant fire is burning by e_va, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cal, time travel, 47.4k wip     Cal Kestis can move backwards in time (kinda-sorta-not really), and his confrontation with Darth Vader in the Fortress Inquisitorius plays out a lot differently. Fixing the timeline while stuck in his 10-year-old body will be quite the task, but Cal is up to it. He has to be. (Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the clone troopers have no idea what to make of Kenobi's weird new padawan. At least the kid fits in, though.) ✦ No Death, Only the Force by ExtraPenguin, anakin & mace & depa & shmi, 2.8k     Anakin Skywalker is just about to to free his mother from the Tuskens when the Force rudely yanks him to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant – and into Mace Windu's body. Mace, on the other hand, gets tossed into Anakin's body on Tatooine. ✦ Well Met by avocadomoon, obi-wan/padme (unconsumated) & corde & anakin, 19k     "Here and then gone again," Padmé said. "It must be lonely." "Sometimes," Obi-Wan said. "But a Jedi is never truly alone."

THIS FANDOM HAS A HAMMER AND A WHOLE BUNCH OF NAILS AND A REALLY GOOD STAPLE GUN, WE'RE FIXING WHAT CANON BROKE AND NOBODY CAN STOP US NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ Begin again by mauvera, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & padme & mace & dooku & cast, time travel, 78.9k     Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. ✦ Repetition by Peppermint_Shamrock, cody & obi-wan, time loop, 3k     Cody wakes up from a nightmare on the way to Utapau, again and again.

CANON-COMPLIANT (MOSTLY, UP TO A CERTAIN POINT, WHATEVER) DISASTER LINEAGE: ✦ it's like i can feel time moving by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 5.4k     “Hi,” Anakin says. It's after midnight. “Is everything alright?” “Can’t a man stop by his old master’s room?” Obi-Wan stares at him blankly. “Are you out of food?” ✦ yes, I will take you / I will love you, again by foreverstudent, obi-wan & anakin & cast, time travel, 2.5k     "So you have tried, Padawan." Qui-Gon takes a moment, and his expression is steely but not unkind--the one Obi-Wan remembers from particularly grueling training sessions. "Would you try again, if you had the chance?" OWK!Obi-Wan gets another chance, with a child he once left behind. ✦ No Good Deed Goes Unpunished by kittona, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.1k     Anakin gets a bit overprotective when his loved ones are sick. Luckily, he has the best home remedy for a cold. ✦ nothing a cup of tea can't fix by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.5k     when Anakin shows up to Obi-Wan's quarters in the middle of the night, the Jedi Master knows something has gone awry. answering Anakin's desperate cry for help, Obi-Wan is reminded of how very, very prone to dramatics his former padawan and grand padawan are. or Ahsoka gets sick and Anakin flips his shit. ✦ Stick Figures by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2k     war is hard. war is draining. to make it more bearable, little mementos* are routinely given. *mementos: encouraging notes, funny little drawings, little gifts, fun snacks, and poems which might get Anakin in trouble. ✦ When the Ground Breaks by stolen_pen_name23, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 4.7k     An earthquake causes devastation on the planet of Berchest. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka work together to help save civilians until disaster pulls them apart. ✦ never fear, young one by marverse, obi-wan & ahsoka & cast, 6.2k     Ever since her first day of being a padawan, Ahsoka Tano remembers the words that Master Skywalker had once told her. And every time, she wonders, wonders, and wonders. ✦ the street's a little kinder when you're home by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin, 5.2k     "So catch me up," Anakin says. "What did I miss?” Nothing. Nothing happens when you’re gone. “Oh, the usual.” [or: anakin goes missing. obi-wan doesn't handle it well.] ✦ holding anchor by foreverstudent, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 3.2k     At the landing of Point Rain, an injured Obi-Wan allows himself to be sentimental over his former padawan, and Anakin patches up his old master. ✦ Nothing to Say by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & satine, 3.2k     (or: Anakin and Satine don’t know how to talk to each other. Until they remember the very important thing they have in common.) ✦ Aggressive Negotiations by SkyBlue1309, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 2.2k     People forget that Anakin was raised by the Negotiator. He was bound to pick up on a thing or two. ✦ At The Window by Peppermint_Shamrock, obi-wan & anakin, ~1k     In the early days of Anakin's apprenticeship, Obi-Wan searches for him in the Temple. ✦ The Words by Ibelin, obi-wan & anakin, 3.9k     Obi-Wan Kenobi has never said I love you in his life. He can say a lot of other things, though.

JEDI CULTURE AND WORLDBUILDING AND CELEBRATION: ✦ Refractions of Light by Independence1776, ezra & kanan, 1.3k     Kanan celebrates a Jedi holiday with Ezra. ✦ The grand outing by Ingata, dooku & sifo-dyas & obi-wan & bant & garen & reeft & yoda & cast, 4.5k     Eight younglings and two Jedi masters on a field trip. What could possibly go wrong? ✦ into the statue that breathes by spoonks, obi-wan & feemor & cast, 8.5k     The night watch in the garden was supposed to be the calmest of them all. No mischievous Padawans “sneaking” in or out, or ne’er-do-well civilians conducting “business” around the lower-level entrances that they didn’t know existed. No the gardens was still, and it was like time was frozen in ice that slowly melted away with the rising of the sun. A slow drip, drip— Drip. Immediately Feemor turned towards the central waterfall. Someone was standing there. Whoever they were, they were small and moved through katas with their hands open like a greeting. ✦ The Temple vs. Order 66 by LauraBWrites, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cody & jedi & jedi temple, 3.9k     The Temple cannot defy the Will of the Force. But it can, it will prepare for the possible outcomes. It can damn well fight back. ✦ We Three Runaways. by Aethir, obi-wan & depa & komari, 2.7k     In which Depa and Obi-Wan bond, and a new sister is found. ✦ A Short Break by Peppermint_Shamrock, luke & yoda, ~1k     Luke complains about his training, and asks about Jedi training of old. ✦ we are made of our longest days by bereft_of_frogs, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 4.4k     Two years after the events of The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan and his new apprentice are called to a remote moon to fetch a baby who’s showing signs of a rare, unique power. On their journey home, Obi-Wan reflects on the last child he brought to the Temple and catches a faint glimpse of three possibly entwining futures.

I AM A PREQUELS ERA BITCH AND I'M MAKING THAT EVERYONE ELSE'S PROBLEM: ✦ the salle at dawn by maragny, anakin & mace, 1.5k wip     Master Windu is the best duellist in the Jedi Order. When Anakin Skywalker is seventeen, he duels Mace for the first time, and it ruins both of them for anyone else. ✦ Saving People Counts as Revenge, Right? by ImperialKatwala, obi-wan & anakin & dooku, time travel, 4.3k wip     Count Dooku of Serenno is an intelligent man. His methods may be a bit severe, and he may not be allowed true freedom to plan campaigns in the war he helped create, but he has always had an eye for strategy. Moving the pieces around the board and plotting out where they will need to be next. So, when he opens his eyes after Anakin Skywalker cut his head off, he knows to take a moment to assess what’s going on. ✦ if I could find solid ground again by maragny, anakin & depa, 1.5k     “You never told me what we’re doing today,” Anakin says, a little hesitant. “I…I don’t know much about Jedi things yet.” "Good thing we’re not doing Jedi things, then,” Depa replies. “We’re cooking!” Or, Anakin and Depa, finding their places in their family. ✦ Birds Fly in Different Directions by Triscribe, jedi & clones, time travel, 14.6k     In the corridor beyond her quarters, other Jedi were emerging from their own doors, most of them wide-eyed with shock. A few merely looked blearily concerned, and Aayla heard snatches of questions as she darted past, queries as to whether everyone experienced the same distressing vision. But those who clutched at their chests or throats, their weak points- those Jedi bore a muted horror in their eyes, and Aayla didn’t doubt they’d just suffered their own betrayals from trusted men.

✦ The Master, The Padawan, and The Force by Pandora151, padme & ahsoka, 1.9k     Padmé Naberrie was never one to procrastinate. More than that, she maintained a steady, consistent schedule — something that she’d managed to keep ever since she was a Padawan. She was always on top of everything, from her responsibilities with the war to training her own Padawan, Ahsoka. She was well-known throughout the Order for being steady, reliable. And most notably, no matter what, she didn’t just forget things. Which made her current situation all the more…ridiculous. ✦ Off-by-one Error by Jessepinwheel, obi-wan & cast, 12.2k     A stranger appears in the Jedi Temple. Nobody knows who he is or where he came from. Nobody knows what has happened to him except that it must have been something truly terrible. The stranger's name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. ✦ splinters of light by wrennette, dooku & jocasta & sifo-dyas & yoda & jaster & jango & cast, time travel, 22.5k     When Dooku's dying consciousness was sent back into his younger body, at first he remembered only that something important would happen on Korda VI, and soon. His investigations brought both clarity and confusion, and a conviction that he must atone for evils not yet enacted. ✦ The Road that Reaches by ExtraPenguin, anakin & mace & yoda & depa & shmi, 11.5k     As the Council sits down on Naboo to consider the newly-knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi's request to take young Anakin Skywalker as his padawan, they're informed of what transpired on Tatooine – and that Anakin used to be a slave. Mace Windu goes to interview the young child to confirm this, and gets rather more than he signed up for. ✦ the salle at dawn by maragny, anakin &/ mace, 5.1k     Master Windu is the best duellist in the Jedi Order. When Anakin Skywalker is seventeen, he duels Mace for the first time, and it ruins both of them for anyone else. ✦ through the dark (like two flames) by treescape, kanan/cal & quinlan, 5.3k     A Jedi found him on Bracca. Or, in the weeks after Order 66, Cal Kestis and Caleb Dume are reunited on Jabiim. Five years late, on the run from Inquisitors, they have a decision to make. ✦ Resilience by TemporaryUniverse, obi-wan & mace, 3.3k     Twelve years after his defeat at the Battle of Naboo, Obi-Wan's greatest enemy has returned from the dead. Obi-Wan has faced Maul and lost. Now it is time to face himself. ✦ The Buried Truth is Your Favorite Lie by Peppermint_Shamrock, dooku & yoda, ~1k     Dooku tries and fails to leave the past behind. ✦ Hanging On by the Last Threads of Our Hope by IllyanaA, ahsoka & rex, 5.2k     Ahsoka and Rex have endured too much. After the Fall, they stay together until they can't, but the Force has a way of bringing them back together. It's a fact for which both of them are immeasurably grateful.

MULTIGENERATIONAL STAR WARS IS THE BEST STAR WARS: ✦ Future Tense by CeruleanTactician, obi-wan & anakin & luke, time travel, 1.4k     Obi-Wan and Anakin find themselves twenty years in the future, where they meet a young man by the name of Luke Skywalker. ✦ Keepsakes by Coalmine301, obi-wan & leia, 2k     “You were the one who gave me my bantha, weren’t you?” “Yes,” Obi-wan nodded with a small smile. “Your father told me they were your favorite animal. At least then it was.” ✦ Why the Sith Don't Have Class Reunions by Peppermint_Shamrock, anakin & palpatine & maul & dooku & ventress, time travel, 1.9k     Sith apprentices rarely agree with one another (there’s a reason for the Rule of Two, after all), but Darth Sidious is starting to think that it’s worse when they do. ✦ My Dear Padawan by Tulak_Hord, luke & yoda & palpatine, time travel, 3.2k     In which a time-travelling Luke Skywalker successfully saves the Galaxy in perhaps the most horrifying manner imaginable. ✦ The Return by Pandora151, obi-wan & leia & haja, 1.4k     Haja wonders about the others. He wonders about the people he’s sent to the Path from Daiyu — not just Kenobi and the Princess, but that Force-sensitive boy and his mother, the Nautolan teenager from a few weeks ago, the young Kel Dor child and his even younger siblings. Did they all make it home? Are they safe? Was all of this worth it? ✦ Message From Guiding Light by Batsutousai, obi-wan & leia & mace, time travel, 2.2k     Ben and Leia never make it to Mapuzo on the borrowed supply shuttle, instead finding themselves in the middle of the Clone Wars.

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[fairyysoup]

i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself. 

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something. 

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you. 

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again. 

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder. 

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway. 

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you. 

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it. 

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does. 

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will. 

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive. 

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again. 

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying. 

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will. 

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him. 

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you. 

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.” 

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience. 

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”  

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?” 

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. 

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing. 

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth. 

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile. 

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?” 

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night. 

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.” 

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.” 

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.” 

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens. 

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face. 

Steve Harrington is touching your face.  

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him. 

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile. 

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer. 

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana. 

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it. 

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation. 

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you. 

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.” 

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.” 

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.” 

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?” 

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.” 

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.” 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror. 

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself. 

You like it a lot. 

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours. 

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.” 

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.” 

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?” 

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?” 

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night. 

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own. 

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?” 

“I wish.” 

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return. 

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted. 

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?” 

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?” 

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away. 

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly. 

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!” 

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?” 

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.” 

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?” 

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him. 

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.” 

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy. 

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count. 

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.  

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.” 

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section. 

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.” 

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals. 

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly. 

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking. 

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers. 

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst. 

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.” 

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack. 

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop. 

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices. 

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant. 

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.” 

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.  

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.” 

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.” 

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York. 

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt. 

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm. 

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.” 

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?” 

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.” 

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps. 

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date. 

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away. 

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me. 

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel. 

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying. 

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite. 

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones. 

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time. 

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things. 

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”  

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve. 

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box. 

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him. 

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box. 

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check. 

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day. 

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes. 

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind. 

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”  

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you. 

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now. 

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours. 

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco. 

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building. 

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him. 

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”  

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?” 

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open. 

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you. 

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.” 

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

“The price.”  

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice. 

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.” 

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.” 

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?” 

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you. 

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out. 

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.  

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?” 

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor. 

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open. 

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you. 

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”  

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”  

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit. 

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom. 

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders. 

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?” 

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours. 

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.  

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do. 

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started. 

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.  

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.  

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning. 

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips. 

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind. 

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline. 

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him. 

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?” 

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”  

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?” 

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?” 

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows. 

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose. 

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?” 

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.  

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork. 

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself. 

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

[sticktothestars]

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 , " 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 '𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 . " ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

a/n: *walks in, twiddling my thumbs* so i watched thunderbolts. we're just gonna say that i totally didn't fall in love with bob. AVENGERS FOUND FAMILY FANFICS ARE SO BACK GUYS. FHDSFFJ I'LL MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT THE MOVIE, BUT YEAAH. I LOWKEY AM SUPER EXCITED & I CAN'T WAIT FOR YALL TO READ THIS 'CUZ I'VE BEEN HAVING THIS IDEA STUCK IN MY HEAD & IT WON'T GO AWAY. ANYWAY, IMMA STOP YAPPING NOW. ENJOOOYY!!1 (ALSO. you have the powers/fighting style of deadpool!)

paring: robert/bob reynolds x male!reader

word count: 1k+

warnings: slight spoilers for thunderbolts* if you haven't seen it. takes place post movie. slight cursing. contains a shit ton of angst & hard topics like anxiety attacks, child abuse, gore, & character death are mentioned throughout this oneshot. yeah i lowkey kind of spiraled while writing this lmfaooo.

════════════════════════════════════════════

──★

IF you told the [Y/N] from 3 months ago that you'd be working with the new avengers, you would've laughed HARD in your own face. Seriously. It would've lasted for like 7 minutes before you'd probably go tell you to fuck off or something. But now that you was here - saving people instead of being the one to end people for money - it felt trippy thing to even consider. Especially with the things you've done in your past. Despite your initial hesitation on even teaming up with this unstable group of people, you couldn't help but feel a LOT more happier than how you was before.

Maybe it was just the fact that saving people felt good or that you finally had a purpose in life - but no. It was something completely different. You was finally around people who understood what it felt like to not feel like they didn't deserve anything good or be stuck in an endless loop that just hurted you even more. It felt like a HUGE breathe of fresh air. Or maybe it was because you were around him like 99.99% of the time now after everything.

You met Bob in... troubling circumstances, to say the least. Bucky - a good friend of yours - contacted you while you were in New York in retirement from your mercenary past. You were honestly struggling a little. Working as an unsuspecting barista for some cozy coffee shop was nice & all, but it felt.. meaningless. So with one last second thought, you put your suit on & rode your motorcycle to a new mission. Which ended well overall, but with a lot of memories you wanted to lock away unfortunately.

But since then, the two of you have grown closer - especially since you were living together amongst the others in the Avenger's base. Bob obviously couldn't go on the missions due to not being able to control his powers all that well. You try to help him out the best you can when you're there.

...But sometimes that helping could go sideways.

──★

[Y/N]'s flicked open as he noticed the surroundings around him. Where was he? Just a moment ago he was sparring with Bob in the training room & then..

" Oh fuck.. " you muttered with a sigh as you realized what's happening. Your gaze fixes on a teen version of you - freshly scarred, WAY more defensive - yet afraid. Like there was something out for him. You knew what this was. You knew it all too well.

Back before you became a mercenary, you were a cage fighter in Orlando - trafficked at 7 & escaped at 16. 9 years of horror. Yeah that fucked you up pretty bad. Of course it would. But you had friends. It what kept you sane.

But they took that away too along with your dignity.

One night - when you were 16 - a new match was starting. They didn't tell you who the opponent would be. They never did. To them, it was just another body to throw away for entertainment. Having survived for so long & having so much blood on your hands, you'd think that you'd get used to it by now. But it only just got worse from there.

You stood there, watching yourself as your younger self enter the cage - a look of uneasiness on your younger self's face, tuning out the crowd of people as they cheered for blood. But you? You just wanted to know who else? Who else's blood would you have on your hands? As your opponent stumbles out into the cage with a shove from one of the guards just outside the cage, you saw your heart drop. Just by the horror on your own face.

Your opponent was your best friend, Liam. The Liam who stuck by your side through the last 9 years you've been here. The Liam who managed to make you laugh when things got that dark. The Liam who was your anchor. The Liam who you absolute adored like an older brother. You couldn't do it. You refused to. You couldn't do it if you tried.

" ... No.. No I'm not hurting him. You can't make me kill him. " You refused, backing away & banging on the cage's exit. Liam just watched you. He watched you try to figure out something. Anything to stop this match from happening. Liam knew this would happen soon. He was prepared for this. Hell, maybe he even prepared this moment from the start. You know that now. You wish you knew it sooner.

" [Y/N]. " Liam says gently, his voice calm - causing the younger you's attention to snap towards him, eyes tearing up as you tried to say something. Anything. But only a mournful silence filled between the two of you as the crowd cheered for the two of you to fight. You shook your head, keeping your head down.

" [Y/N], you have to. " Liam says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder as he approached. You just shook your head. " No- No- I-i-i can't- " You stammered out, clenching your fists so tight you felt as though you were bleeding slightly through your bandages.

" They'll kill you if you don't, kid. " Liam states. " I don't fucking care. " You say back, holding yourself close as you look back up at the 20 year old you've grown to be so attached to.

Liam sighs. " Well start caring. You're surviving. Even if it means killing me too. " The brunette says sternly.

" No! I'm not losing you! And I'm not listening to them anymore just to survive! " You call out so everyone can hear. The crowd boos, insults rolling out into the arena like a hurricane. The ringleader scoffs, motioning the guards to ready & aim at you.

Liam clocks this & horror enters his face, shielding you as bullets & sparks fly - the crowd falling silent. The bullets stop. Everything stops as a body slumps onto the ground. But it wasn't yours. It was Liam's. You stare at the hole covered body for what feels like a lifetime. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think straight.

Only when a guard grabs you is when you react is when you scream, absolute anguish & horror in your voice as it breaks as you're dragged out of the arena - new plans settled for you that changed your dna & life forever. The present you doesn't look away from Liam's corpse. You felt yourself spiraling within your regrets over the What If's.

What if you had let Liam kill you that day? You didn't deserve to live. Especially with the blood on your hands. The things you did without mercy. But Liam? He was kind. He was good. He deserved way better. He was so good & no one else ever got to see that goodness in him.

You scratched at the collar of your shirt, trying to force yourself to breathe but you couldn't. Everything felt so meaningless. You were meaningless. You were the problem because you couldn't keep your mouth shut.

Fuck. Everything felt so heavy. You collapsed to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut but Liam's lifeless body kept coming in again & again like a broken melody.

๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

" 'M sorry- M' so sorry- I-i should've known this would happen- I'm so fucking sorry- " A panicked & oh so familiar voice called out, snapping you out of your vision to feel Bob holding you in his arms tight as you sobbed. You hold onto his warmth, clenching his shirt. The two of you stay there for a while. Which seemed like forever. But neither one of you complained.

You sniffle slightly, letting your head nuzzle into the crook of the other's neck. And Bob just held you tighter. He couldn't let you go through this again. He couldn't bear seeing you hurt because of him.

You were probably one of the coolest people on the team, but seeing you fall apart like this felt gut wrenching. He mutters out more apologies, his chin resting on your head.

He's made everything worse again.

And to you of all people.

The man he absolutely adores.

──★

lowkey locked tf in on this one idk. hope yall enjoyed tho lowkey !! lemme know if yall want a part two or smthin cuz i'm down. SEND ME MORE REQUESTS PUHLEASEE.

anyways, that's it for now !! BUH BYEEE ^^

── DAMIEN ★

[bisexualbrainrots]

I'm loving the responses to this fic, so here's another snippet, we're getting steamier everyone! hope you guys are enjoying the process.

if you want to read: part 1, part 2, wip part 3.

Buck shakes when one of Tommy's fingers hooks on the towel, gripping but not making an effort to pull it off yet.

He takes that as a sign and raises his hands through Tommy's arms until they find each other on the back of his neck, fingers interlocking. Buck closes a little more of the gap as he nudges his nose with his boyfriend's, greeting in the form of a soft ‘hi’ that's reciprocated immediately. 

“Were you okay back there?”

Buck nods “It wasn't so bad, you know. I got to think a lot,” he smiles, his gaze descends to Tommy's lips and a sense of hunger creeps up in him.

Tommy notices and smirks “And what were all these things you thought of?” his free hand moves up to Buck's waist, holding onto it tight.

It's this little sense of possessiveness that drives Buck crazy. What Tommy doesn’t say with his words, he shows it with his touch, and when it comes to his possessive side he’s more… physical about it. He’d put his hand on the small of Buck’s back as they walk down the street, he’d hook his fingers to the belt loops and pull Buck closer, he’d hold and squeeze the back of Buck’s neck when they’re at a get-together, and he’d leave as many marks as he could everywhere on Buck’s body.

He still has that one bite mark on his hip.

Buck nips at Tommy's top lip “You, your mouth, your neck, your fingers,” his lips graze Tommy's as he speaks but he doesn't go beyond that, letting the desire linger in the air, “I thought of those fingers inside of me, opening me up until my legs are shaking.”

Before he can say anything else, Tommy's lips are crashing onto his, giving him a bruising kiss that Buck happily reciprocates as his hands shift to hold his boyfriend's face.

As the kiss deepens they move around the room, until Buck feels his calves hit the end of the bed and he's stopped, whining a little as Tommy's tongue plays with his.

“Fuck… fuck,” Tommy's wicked gaze is all over Buck, examining every fraction of his features and licking his lips as he stays on Buck's eyes, and his voice drops an octave as he whispers “What am I gonna do with you?”

God, he loves it when Tommy gets like this. Even though it hasn't been that long since they started doing it, Buck has become obsessed with the way Tommy’s eyes and demeanor can change when he's aroused. It's almost like lust sets in and spreads around, all the way from the depths of his veins to the surface of his pores. Sometimes he remains calm and collected, even when he’s driving Buck to the edge of madness; other times he becomes a beast, wrapped in this frenzy that has him making noises that could make Buck come untouched.

Even though he knows Tommy will be careful with him, Buck can’t help but wish for him to ruin him.

“Fuck me,” Buck takes a deep breath when Tommy chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh flowing through his body and settling deep in his bones.

The hand on his waist shifts to his cheek, cupping his face with a tenderness only Tommy can give in a moment like this “Be patient, Evan. We don’t have to rush and I… I really want to take my time with you.”

Buck’s knees almost falter when Tommy gets the towel off his hips, and he has very little time to think about the fact that he’s completely naked because Tommy pushes him onto the bed, covering his body as he joins their lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

taglist! (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @likeapaperplane @fenrirscarsback @sad-girl-hours23 @station18908 @all-the-feelss @rubydaiquiri @superlock-in-the-tardis

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Pack Chapter 25

Trigger Warnings: angst, manipulation, aggression, domestic abuse.

Five days they spent in the Alps with Monsta X. Their Head Alpha, Hyunwoo was very hospitable. He made sure everyone was involved. He even showed Chan his security, to make sure no one would get in their compound as Hyunwoo was worried about his mate, Elsie who was scared of other wolves. Y/N learned from speaking to her, that she grew up in a small pack and her pack didn't interact with others. It was only Hyunwoo making a deal with her pack that he found his soul mate there. It was nice for Y/N to hear someone else talking about being a mate and how intense it was as a soulmated omega. "I once lied to Alpha Hyunwoo about a note I received from a crush. It was harmless the boy was seventeen and I ended up spanked relentlessly. Never played up again." Elsie said as they watched the wolves prepare the car to head into the city. "I mean I've risked it twice or thrice," Y/N said as she drank her Bailey's hot chocolate. "You never?!" Elsie gasped. "Oh, she did." Hyunjin teased, as he gave her a quick heated kiss. "Can I ask?" Elsie whispered as they walked around the side of the house so no one could hear them. "Do they get jealous of each other?" "No. I thought perhaps Hyunjin did, but a lot of it is bedroom talk. None of them make jealous comments in general. Why?" Y/N questioned. "Joo sometimes gets jealous of Ki and vice versa. It causes arguments." Elsie said sadly. "Maybe when we leave, call a pack meeting. That might help relieve any tensions in the pack. It will give everyone the freedom to speak. That's what we did. For a different reason of course." Y/N stated.

Before Elsie could respond Chan called them into the car so they could drive off to the city. Changbin and Jeongin were the two most excited whereas Y/N was going to opt out. She was feeling a bit under the weather as she felt Joshua following them again. The last time they went into the city with Elsie she felt him and now she was feeling it again, but she didn't want to say anything. Yes, Y/N knew a bruised ass was coming for her but she wanted to be sure. "Can me and Y/N watch over there? You'll see us. Please, Alpha Woo." Y/N cringed at the name it reminded her of her younger self. "Only if Chan is happy to," Hyunwoo asked Chan. "Hyunjin and Seungmin are over there getting geared up so yes, but no further," Chan said as he pulled her into a kiss. He could smell her nerves. "Luna. We're all around. Nothing will happen to you." "He's right Luna Y/N. Changkyun and Kihyun are over there too." Hyunwoo reassured so Elsie looped her arm around Y/N's and dragged her off to watch the boys come down the slopes in their dinghies. Y/N and Elsie set up some rules that the first pair down would get to do whatever they wanted. The second pair would get a kiss and so on. It was a race from the highest point which they were so excited about, until the air changed.

The wolves hadn't come down and they had been at the top too long that it was worrying Y/N and Elsie. Y/N was going to phone them when Joshua appeared. "Woah. I meant no harm, omega Y/N." Joshua said, holding out his arms. "Elsie phone Chan," Y/N growled as she pushed the younger omega behind her protectively. "You've changed. There is something different about you. I do mean no harm." Y/N was getting dizzy as she looked into his eyes. She was being sucked into him. "I understand Joshua, but you abused him," Y/N said softly. "That wasn't nice." "I'm here to make amends. Can you accept that?" Joshua asked, placing a hand on her arm. "Sure. But not here. The other wolves won't like it." Y/N said with a smile. "Y/N?!" Jeongin shouted, running down the hill. "What are you doing here?" "Y/N said I can speak to Chan!" Joshua said calmly. "You did?" Jeongin asked. "Yes, I did!" Y/N growled, but she didn't.

Jeongin wasn't buying it and dragged Y/N off, leaving Elsie with Hyunjin. Jeongin was confused and knew there was something wrong with his mate, which was true. As soon as Y/N broke away from Joshua she came back to her senses. She was angry at herself as she kicked the snow. Jeongin crossed his arms waiting for her for her to explain. Y/N did explain what had happened even though it was brief. She explained how one minute she was growling at him and then everything changed. She wanted to tell him to fuck off but it was like she couldn't. Her words were re-written forcing her to speak other words that weren't to exist when it came to Joshua. Jeongin didn't like that knowing Joshua influenced her and the fact Joshua touched their Luna. It made Jeongin feral. It made him lose control. If Y/N wasn't there to hug him, he would have phased in front of everyone. Jeongin was beyond angry and took it upon himself to shout at Chan who wasn't impressed. Chan had even gone as far as to defend Joshua, but Y/N could see it was Joshua's weird essence that made whoever was near him believe in him. Why it wasn't really working on Y/N no one knew but Minho had an idea, but Chan wouldn't hear it. Chan was angry at them all for yelling at him and bringing up old memories on holiday.

It was true this was all a bad time, but Y/N wasn't prepared to lose her alpha to Joshua. She didn't trust him. Not with the power she faced from Joshua. "Chan listen to Minho. You are not you right now just-" "I am not me. What are you going on about Y/N. You are nothing but an omega." Chan shouted pointing at her. Chan never called her an omega. "He's in your head-" "Chan." Minho gasped and pulled Y/N back after Chan slapped her across the face. Y/N grabbed her face and stormed out she was not preparing to lose her alpha. Y/N called Seungmin to come with her but he was too struck to understand what was going on. Y/N wanted to confront him. Y/N took a knife storming out of the house alone to go and find this fucker. Minho ran after with Jisung who tried to call her back but the snow was starting to become heavier that it made them slip. Minho phased into his wolf form to run faster to stop her. His wolf got in front of her moving in her way causing her blue eyes to glare. "Do not stop me, Min," Y/N growled but the tanned wolf whined. "Please. Fuck. Please wait. We need a plan first." Jisung called out as he slid on the snow. "You can't just kill him in front of humans. Think baby. Think Luna please." "Then what do I do? He has my alpha's thoughts in his hands." Y/N cried out as she watched Chan in the distance getting into his car. "I swear to God, you better not Christopher." "This isn't your business, omega," Chan shouted. "If you go. You don't come back." Y/N spat, laughing. Chan stormed up to her his hand going for her throat while Minho growled trying to get in between them. Chan let go and entered his car. "You leave. You'll never be a father."

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @reallychaoticwoo @leezanetheofficial @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @pixie0627

~ Taglist closed due to Tumblr only allowing a certain amount ~

[emilys-bangs]

Hi! I saw you were online and dropped a thought (if it's still cool to drop some your way)☺️

How would Emily react when we would offer to drive her home after landing back to DC from a tough case? Would she bicker (even though our apartments are in the same direction so economically it made sense to take one car)?

Would Emily fall asleep in the passenger seat from exhaustion? The steady hum of the engine and bench warmer creating that cozy feeling which just makes eyes heavy with sleep and we drive extra laps or take the scenic route just to let her sleep? Maybe she feels safer in the can with us. Or would she observe how we drive at first? Deciding if we're chaotic drivers or more steady. Make a mental note to let us drive more often since we look so sexy doing it? 🤭

- 🔮

Always cool to drop thoughts my way!! Fishing this out of my inbox because I'm giving up on my exam lmao

I think reader knows that offering to drive Emily home would result in a lot of protest, so you're smart about it. As you're walking through the parking lot, everyone scattering to get to their own cars, you walk up next to Emily and just loop your arm through hers. She slows down her pace a little and kind of leans into your side, your shoulders bumping into each others as you walk. She doesn't really think much of it. It takes a while before she notices you're leading her away from her car and to your own. Just that tells you how out of it she is, so when she tries to pull away you hold on, and when she protests (admittedly weakly) you argue back. (It doesn't take too much effort. She's tired and she loves you and she kind of doesn't want to be alone right now).

There's something about the way she moves - throwing her bag in the back with yours, plopping into the passenger seat and resting her cheek on her fist, rubbing her eye as she stifles a yawn - that makes her seem infinitely softer. Her eyes are all heavy, lashes fluttering as she tries to keep them open, and her voice goes so low and raspy, too tired to even raise it up a few octaves. She almost mumbles, and you strain to hear her over the hum of the car.

You know this means you'll have to pick me up in the morning, she murmurs. Or you could just stay the night, you say. I have a spare room. She says no just for the heck of it, like it's instinct, but when you ask why not, she gives. Your answering smile is just a little too soft, so she turns her head toward the window and watches the street blur by. She's never seen you drive before (because she's always driving whenever she gets the chance) but it's surprisingly easy to let herself relax while you handle it. Sometimes you stick too close to other cars and don't use your turn signals, but she's too tired and warm to care. She closes her eyes, not quite sleeping yet too exhausted to keep them open, feeling the car jostle and move while you drive. By the time you park she's dead on her feet, stumbling as she gets out of the car, yawning into her palm and struggling to keep her eyes open. You take her arm again and both your bags over your shoulder, letting her lean on you until you reach your door. The both of you are too tired for dinner, so you show her to the guest room and she kind of absently kisses your cheek, softly mumbling thank you, baby before walking in and closing the door clumsily, making it thud louder than your lovesick heart.

[1pepsiboy]

Just Like A Movie (Matt Sturniolo fluff)

Description: After a morning of fliming, Matt wants to enjoy fall activites with his girlfriend (reader). Inspired the song by the Wallows and Matt's love for fall time.

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: None, just fluffy and silly Matt!

A/N: This is my first Matt writing, so sorry if it's not totally accurate! Lol I do requests! Currently anything Chris, Matt, Nick, and Colby!

----

Matt, Chris, and Nick were filming a guess 21 different halloween candies challenge. You sat on the couch behind the camera, scrolling through your phone but periodically looked up to glance at your boyfriend. Who would cheese when you did. Sometimes you'd make a silly face or comment, distracting him enough they'd have to restart part of the segment. Finally, they finish and Matt was the one closest to getting them all right. It wasn't surprising since he'd won guessing 21 different drinks.

Matt makes his way to the couch and wrapped his arms around you immediately. He nustles his head into your shoulder for a couple minutes and you run your fingertips up and down his back. Then he gives you a quick peck on the lips, mostly because Nick and Chris were still in the kitchen and they would make jokes about it.

You lick your lips and furrow your brows. "Hmm... I taste Snickers? No, Reese's?"

"(y/n)!" Matt whines lightly.

"Wait, wait, wait." You kiss his soft lips again. "It's Kitkat!"

A giggle escapes Matt and he lightly rolls his blue eyes. "Can we go do fall things, babe? Get away from those idiots over there. I've had enough of them today."

Nick flips him off as Chris fake laughs and makes a face. "So unoriginal Matt."

Now you roll your eyes. "Let's leave these losers to their lame things."

----

"I can drive if you want, babe," you suggest as you make it out the door after Matt changed his outfit to fit the vibe more. It's early afternoon now and barely a breeze to make it feel like a real fall day.

He shoots you a side smile and unclips the keys from his jean beltloop. "No, that's okay, I don't mind."

The two of you get comfortable in the front seats, starting up the recent playlist you created.

"Where to first?" you ask.

"What about... apple patch? Wait, I mean pumpkin picking... Fuck, I mean apple picking and then a pumpkin patch."

You reach out and lace your fingers with his. "I'd love to go to an apple patch and pumpkin picking. Maybe hot cocoa after?"

He nods and you put in the directions for the nearest apple picking farm. The two of you sing along. And you couldn't help pointing out people going about their daily lives. It takes up most of your conversation before you arrive at the farm.

Matt locks the car before he clips them back on the their loop and takes your hand. The apple farm was free to anyone, but they had a jar and square for donations/tips. You take out your card for them to do a $5 donation, and Matt doubles the amount.

You take a small basket and pull him over to one of the trees. Unfortunately most of the reachable ones were picked. But both of you still attempt to get one or two by running and jumping. You know you look like idiots, however you didn't care.

Matt gets a video of you as you finally acquire an apple and show it triumphantly. "That's right. No tree is a match for me! This apple is my bitch." You bite a chunk of the crispy green apple.

Matt laughs. "Babe, we're supposed to save them to make caramel apples!"

Your eyes go wide and you laugh as you chew it to a point you could speak. "Sorry, I can get another one."

He slips his phone back into his pocket as he shakes his head. "Let's try a different tree.

The second tree was a similar situation despite it just being on the brink of fall. There were a lot of early birds.

This time you get a story of Matt snagging two apples and he tries to not show how out of breath he is. "Ahh! Hah! I got some."

The two of you try two more trees and manage to get a few more.

There was a station for you to either bag them right away or make them caramel or chocolate covered before leaving. You spend far too long deciding on how many should be caramel and chocolate, and what toppings should be on them. You think of each brother and friend that'll want one. By the end, there's only one left and neither of you made one for yourselves.

"You choose," Matt says, kissing your cheek.

With creative intuition, you make it half and half, then smear all sorts of toppings on it and present it. Matt rests his hand on top of yours and takes a bite out of it.

"Mm..." he nods and runs a half through his hair, most of falling back in place. "I like what you did with the caramel and chocolate."

You take your own, attempting to lick the excess off around your mouth. "Delicious."

Your next stop was at a nearby pumpkin patch, which was also a little picked over. But there were still enough to enjoy and walk around a little bit. You pick up a few of the biggest ones you could find to get photos with.

Matt pulls you in for a selfie. His eyes squint as the sun is directly in your eyes and fumbles backwards. This causes him to run into a bundle of baby pumpkins and his butt lands on top of the stems.

"Fucking shit!" He groans as he holds onto his ass and rolls over on the ground.

You hold back a laugh and help him up. He paces back and forth a couple times.

"I'm done with the pumpkins," he sulks.

"Let's get hot cocoa to make it all better," you baby, jutting out your bottom lip.

He tries not to laugh but it didn't work.

----

You enjoy a small walk as you sip on hot cocoa, the sun starts to go down. You hold the to-go cup tightly between your palms in the hopes to warm up your hands. You forgot to bring any sort of warm layer. Once the sun is gone, it feels like fall now.

Matt shoots you a concerned look. "Are you cold, babe?"

"A little, yeah," you laugh under your breath.

"Here, wear my sweater, (y/n)."

"No, it's fine."

It's too late, he already took his jacket off and pulls the vintage sweater over his head. You take the sweater and tug it over your short sleeve tee. The warmth of the material and from him wearing it all afternoon engulfs your entire body. It sends shivers down your spine from the temperature adjustment.

Matt has his jacket back on and wraps his arms around you, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. He kisses the crook of your neck. "Better?"

"Absolutely."

The two of you reminisce on your adventures of the day. Ultimately, though, it leads back to a few of the couples around you in the park. One were unashamedly having a full on make out session underneath a tree. Another were taking cutesy photos in matching outfits.

"You'll never catch us doing that," Matt comments.

You raise your eyebrows at him. "Did you forget the matching pj pants we had for christmas last year?"

"That doesn't count," he scoffs lightly. "It was only pants. I mean, like, top, pants, accessories, the whole fit. It's just cringy."

You giggle. "Whatever you say, Matty B."

"It is! Are you saying you want to do that?" He sips on his hot cocoa. "Cause that might be a deal breaker."

"Not seriously. More in an ironic way. Like those people on tiktok doing the 80s style photoshoots at JcPenny. Now that would be fun and not cringy!"

He shook his head. "No, nope."

"Come on!" you argue. "Think about the memories we could make!"

"Absolutely not, it would be embarrasing."

You roll your eyes. "That's kind of the point, babe."

"Still," he retorts.

"Fine." You sigh lightly. "I'll just ask Chris to do it with me. He won't care."

Matt shrugs, finishing the last of his drink, and tosses it into the nearest trash can. "Okay, you two have fun with that."

"We will." You do the same with your drink.

You sense Matt's a little down now and force him into a hug. "Thanks for today, babe. You're the best."

He falls into your body more and lets out a deep breath. "Any time, (y/n)."