Lost Star | L.jh
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.
More Posts from Dazecrea and Others
Little Rose Ch. 2
Warnings: Arguments, slight/implied smut, alochol, angst at the end, fluff at some parts. A/n: A lot of stuff is off from when it happened, sue me. It is a fanfiction so thing aren’t extactly to the timeline. Like events between mandy and duff. No hate towards Mandy! I have nothing against her. Again sorry for making Duff such an ass, it’s just for the plot. love our sweet boy. Suprise apperances, you’ll know ;) enjoy babes!!
A couple days later, I finally peeled myself off the bathroom floor. Slash had laid with me the first night, but had a date last night.
“Y/n, what happened? You’ve not been at work”, Slash asked me, after finding me on the floor. “Oh hi Slash, just depressed is all. Stupid boy stuff”, I sighed, slighty moving my head towards him.
“What happened? I’m a boy”, Slash laid next to me. “No, its dumb”
“Y/n, tell me or I’ll call Axl on you”, Slash said. “Okay” I sighed.
I had told him what happened between Izzy, Duff and I, even my feelings for Duff. He let me cry and say what I needed to say or felt like saying. Threatened to kick Duff’s ass, I told him it wouldn’t fix anything, but appreciated the gesture. Slash accidentally let it slip that Duff had a girlfriend, she was in a band, blond, sorta my height. At least he listened to me. I grinned. “Y/n, are you okay?”, Axl busted in and ran over to me. “Yeah, I am now. Thanks to Slash”, I said grabbing my purse. “You’re not sick”, Axl held his hand on my forehead. “No Ax, I got into a depression rut is all. I miss my boys so can I come back to work?”, I asked. “Of course, I need your opinion on songs”, Axl kissed my cheek. “Race ya to the cars”, I nudged him. I won and won racing to work. “Did you cut me off?”, Axl asked. “No, it’s called winning”, I scoffed.
“Izzy came up with the name, but I don’t know if it would fit my lyrics”, Axl was explaining a song when we walked into the studio. Steven, Slash, Izzy were sitting on the couch, smoking away. “Janie, you’re back!”, Steven ran to me. “Yeah, I’m back Stevie.” I let go of him and sat on the arm of the couch, next to Izzy. He looked up at me and patted my knee. Silently letting me know he was sorry and missed me. I smiled back at him. The door opened, making us look. It was Duff and I assume his girlfriend, they were making out. “Duff, it’s time to work now”, Axl grumbled. My heart broke into a million pieces seeing him. Izzy sensed it and looked at me, “You were right”, I mumbled for Izzy to hear. “Don’t matter, Janie. You okay?”, Izzy asked. “Why wouldn’t I be”, I sighed. Duff and his girlfriend walked in, “Hey Duff, who’s this?”, the blond asked. “Oh, this is Janie, Axl’s little sister and our assistant”, Duff said, tuning his bass. “Hi, I’m Mandy”, Mandy stuck her hand out. “Uh yeah, hi. Axl, you want your tea now or later”, I brushed her off. Probably gonna be another chick tomorrow to be honest, why get friendly with her. Axl was gonna say something but Duff cut him off, “Janie, she was talking to you.” “I know and?”, I snickered from my place next to Izzy. “And? Have some manners, Christ sakes”, Duff said hateful. “First off, leave my sister alone and get in the booth. Janie, I’ll take my tea now”, Axl finally said something. “Sure thing, Axl”, I smirked. Duff rolled his eyes and shook his head. Before lunch, Mandy told Duff she had to go record with her band across town. “Okay, 10 minute break guys”, Axl stretched his back. The rest of them went out, but Duff stayed behind. Obviously, why he did. “What the fuck?”, Duff said as the door shut. “Excuse me?”, I asked. “Why were you so fucking rude to Mandy? She was just being nice, you’re the only one who hasn’t met her yet.”, Duff huffed. “Why does my approval matter, huh? I’m your assistant, I just grab your lunch and follow your orders. It’s not your decision if I like your girlfriend even Axl’s. Just get the fuck out of my face before yours ended up through the booth glass, okay? I don’t owe you shit, you broke my heart, bastard!”, I yelled. “You won’t do it, Rose”, Duff got into my face. “Get the fuck away from my baby sister or I’ll fucking bash your head into the glass personally!”, Axl yelled.
“Whatever, I’m out of here”, Duff pushed by the guys. “And stay the fuck out!”, Axl yelled. “Janie, you okay? He didn’t touch you did he?”, Axl turned to me like a mother hen. “I’m okay, just a misunderstanding”, I said staring at the door. Axl took his fingers to my chin, he was studying my face. “Janie, come with me”, Izzy said. Axl let me go. “You two talked about the other night?”izzy asked, handing me a cigarette. “Not exactly. He confronted me about how I acted towards Mandy. Like I’m gonna be buddy buddy with your new whore.”, I scoffed. “You’re not wrong, she’s not my favorite person”, Iz grumbled. “I wasn’t rude to her right, Izzy”, I asked. “Different circumstances, yes you were. But, he’s doing this to make you jealous”, Izzy said holding my hand. “Thanks, Iz”, I blew out smoke. “Anytime, kid”, Izzy flicked his cigarette ash. “I’m sorry about the other night. I don’t want you to fuck off, you’re my brother, I love you”, I laid my head on his shoulder. “I know you don’t. Don’t get all warm and gooey, I’ll ash my cigarette on that big ass forehead of yours.”, Izzy smirked. “You could sell Wyoming on yours”, I winked at him. “Sit on it, Janie”, Izzy rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Fonzie”, I hopped off the milk crates. “You’re definitely Potsy, kid”, Izzy grinned. “Keith Richards called his wants his style back, Isbell”, I opened the door. Izzy would kill me one day for sure, but then would probably break down from realization.
“You okay?”, Slash asked, grabbing my hand. “For now, if I’m gonna lay on my bathroom floor, I’ll call you”, I smiled at me. “Please do”, Slash said seriously. “Thanks, Slash”, I kissed his cheek.
The phone rang, “Hello?”, I answered it.
“Hey Janie, wanna come to a bar with us?”, Kelly asked.
“Hi Kells, sure why not. Do you want me to drive or what?”, I grinned. Traci still kept in contact with Axl, Izzy and me, I met his new band. Kelly and I hit it off pretty well at the Whiskey Go-Go. “I’ll come get you, babe”, Kelly said.
“Okay, be careful”, I grinned, already planning my outfit. I stepped out of my room and saw Kelly perched on my couch’s arm. “Goddamn, you look smokin, baby Rose” “Thanks, Kelly. It was my intention to be smokin tonight”, I grinned, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “Who you after? Word on the street is that you and Duff quit fucking”, Kelly opened my door, to let me out. “Who told you?”, I asked. “Duff”, Kelly whispered. “Fucking course he would do that. What am I a whore or what?”I asked, getting curious to what that fucker was saying about me. “Just said you went all crazy and kicked him out. Told him to find a groupie and hoped she gave him crabs”, Kelly said as we pulled up to the bar. “I said herpes, not crabs. What’s the word on Mandy? His new chick”, I asked wanting to be nosey and use it for blackmail. “She’s in an all girl band, singer, they met after a show at the Starwood. You’re way way hotter than her by the way”, Kelly said, holding the door for me. “You’re really flirty tonight, Kells”, I smirked. We sat with the band after, getting drinks. “Ah ello, Janie”, Phil smirked. “Hi Phil”, I sat down between Kelly and Traci. “Hey kid, how are you?”, Traci pulled me into his side for a hug. “Been better, Trac. You?”, I asked. “Heyy Duff! Didn’t expect you here”, I heard a dude yell. There he was, standing at the bar in all leather, hair teased in a messy punk manner, he looked good, besides her perched on his arm. “Janie”, I slightly heard Traci call out my name. He had probably heard what happened between Duff and I. I stood up and pulled Kelly to the bar with me, “Can you act like you’re trying to fuck just long enough for me to be petty?” “I don’t have to act, babe. Tell me what to do? I won’t push you too far, okay?”, Kelly rubbed my wrist. “Okay, Kelly and be rough as you want and follow my league”, I smirked. Duff and Mandy were sitting at the bar, chatting. “Hey Joe, two beers please?”, I brushed Duff’s back as I leaned to the bar. Kelly wedged himself to my back side, trailing his hand on my hips. He tried to unlace my leather pants, “Kelly, not now”, I squealed. You could tell Duff was trying to ignore us, but couldn’t. “Here you go, Janie. Tell your brother I said hi”, Joe smiled handing Kelly and I our beer. “Thanks, Joe I will”, I said.
“Come dance with me, they’re dancing”, Kelly whispered in my ear.
“Perfect”, I smirked at the opportunity to make Duff’s skin crawl.
Kelly pulled me towards his crotch, “Be slutty as you can be”
“Sure thing, Cowboy”, I smirked and rubbed my body down his. Kelly was grinding himself on me, I nudged back, he kissed my neck. Duff had moved himself and Mandy closer to us. Kelly noticed and grabbed my boob, “Sorry”, He whispered loud enough for me to hear. I moaned out as he started attacking my neck. Kelly had his head burying my neck, kissing my neck and ran his hand down my thigh. He was really playing his part, give him that. “Be louder” I opened my eyes and caught Duff’s hazel one, looking into my blue ones. He was fuming. Kelly bit down on my neck, making me moan his name, “Mhmm, Kelly” Duff grabbed Mandy and left. Kelly was still on my neck, I wanted to tell him the show was over, but he felt so good. “Hey Kells, he left already but wanna come back to my place?”I asked, grabbing his hand off my hip. “Fuck yes. I know you were just doing it to piss Duff off, but damn we got too into”, Kelly whined, pointing at his dick. “I’m sorry, Kelly. Come on, you need some help”, I pulled him to his car. Kelly got in and I went to his pants, “Mhm, what about your brother? He’ll kill me if he finds out”, Kelly said with a look of fear in his eyes. “Duff and I had been fucking for almost two years and the motherfucker still doesn’t know.”, I said. “Okay then, continue”, Kelly said sliding his pants and underwear down to where I could reach him. “Fuck”, Kelly threw his head back groaning.
He pulled up to my apartment, “Damn, you’re really good at head” “Thanks”, I smirked. It was morning, I woke up, “Who the hell? Oh It’s Kelly”, I rolled over. “Yeah, it’s me”, Kelly smirked. It was 8:15 am, I was due at the studio at 10. “Hey, uhm I gotta be at the studio at 10, wanna shower with me?”, I asked. “Sure”, Kelly picked me up in bridal style. Izzy watched me pull up, “What the fuck did you do last night?” “Went to a bar with Kelly, seen Traci. Why am I late?” I asked, stealing his cigarette. “No but you smell like booze and shame sex”, Izzy dead panned. “It wasn’t shameful sex”, I rolled my eyes. “Was it with Duff?”, Izzy asked as we walked back in. “No”, I said. “Who?”, Izzy asked again. “Don’t get mad or even tell Axl okay?”, I looked up at him. He nodded. “Kelly”, I breathed out. “Okay, at least it wasn’t a random fuck. Did he wear?”, Izzy smirked. “No, I’m on the pill nosey ass”, I punched his arm.
Izzy, Slash were in the booth. Axl was talking to the press about something, Steven was in the booth with them. Duff and I were sitting down, and the room was fueled by tension. “Why did you tease me last night?”, Duff spoke up. “What are you talking about?”, I rolled my eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Janie. That’s not the first time you’ve teased me at a bar with another guy”, Duff said, staring at me. “Why did you leave after, you heard me moan?”, I shot back. Duff was quiet. “What I thought, McKagan”, I smirked as Axl walked in. “God, I hate the press at times” “Who are you supposedly banging now?”, I asked Axl. “Every supermodel in North America, any groupie”, Axl smirked. “You still have great posture after fucking those girls”, I grinned at him. “Thanks sis, it’s a secret talent of mine. Duff it’s your turn”, Axl said sitting next to me by the panel. “You do anything last?”, Axl looked at me. “Uh, Kelly picked me up and wanted to go drink. I saw and talked to Traci. He wanted me to tell you hi”, I said, marking a list of things that had been done. “Nice, glad you had fun”, Axl patted my knee. “You busy tonight, Ax?”, I asked. “Probably gonna watch a horror movie later tonight. Why do you wanna join?”, Ax asked. “Yeah, I do. Miss us”, I smiled. “Miss us too, kid”, Axl smiled. He always tried to make time for us to hang out besides work.
I was walking to my car when a hand grabbed my shoulder, “Can we talk?”, It was Duff. “Why so you can go tell people on the strip that I’m whore for kicking out?”, I cut my eyes at him. “I didn’t call you a whore, you’re not either. I was pissed, it was after our argument, I went drinking and a few guys were around.”, Duff said. “A few guys that happen to have been in the band. Traci and Kelly told me all about what you said. If I’m whore then you’re just a lawful player that used me as another notch on his belt.”, I looked up at him. “Janie, I’m sorry for talking about you like that, I’m sorry for being a dick the past two days. I didn’t mean it”, Duff whined. “Fine. As for now, I’m just your assistant, so don’t talk to me unless you need me to get you lunch or something okay? Cause I’m done with you as a friend and a sleeping buddy, so go home to Mandy and leave alone”, I patted his shoulder. “Janie” “No no, I’m serious. Now goodnight, Mr. McKagan”, I said, getting in my car and heading to Axl’s. I looked in the mirror, he was standing there, flabbergasted as I drove away. Maybe I was too harsh on him, but fuck him, he broke my heart.
Grocery shopping is one of the things I hated about adulting, but it had to be done. I was in the frozen section, looking at my list. “Janie?”, I looked up to see Mandy. “Oh hi, Mandy”, I smiled. “Just shopping and noticed you was all.”, She smiled. “Right? Huh, listen. I’m sorry for how I acted towards you, the first time I met you. Duff and I had a fight and I was mad at him. I’m sure you’re a nice girl and I’m sorry being a straight up bitch that day.”, I finally got it off my chest. “It’s okay, we’ve all been petty towards another girl before. He told me what happened between you guys. All is forgiven”, Mandy grabbed my hand and smiled. “Yeah, but it wasn’t right. It was between me and him. Uh, enjoy your shopping”, I looked down. “Thanks, you too. It was nice talking to you Janie, see ya later.” Mandy smiled before walking away. “You too”, I mumbled, looking around for Duff to be laughing with her as they were doing it just to make me the fool. No blond in sight.
Next few weeks, the boys were planning their town for this year. They finished their EP weeks ago, I was proud of them. I was sitting next to their producer at the panel, the door opened and the boys walked in. “Hey guys”, I smiled. Various ‘Heys’ responded back. “Can’t wait for you to see this tour, Janie. It’s so kickass”, Slash pulled me into a hug. “Kickass is very you guys”, I giggled in his arms as the door opened. Mandy stood.
“Hey babe, what are you doing here?”Duff brushed pass us.
“Are you free for lunch?”she asked, twirling something on her finger. “Of course, I was just getting my bass I left here. Oh almost forgot! Hey guys, Janie come here.”, He grinned pulling her to his side. We all stood, Slash still held me at his side. “What Duff?”, Izzy mumbled. “We’re getting married”, Duff said, bringing Mandy’s hand towards us. A circle cut diamond adorned her finger. “Good for you guys. I’m happy for you Duff”, Axl pulled him into a hug. The guys told them congrats and they were proud of him for being a man. “Janie?”, Mandy asked. My chest heaved, I pushed Duff out of my way as I ran down the hall. “What’s with her?” Axl asked as I cut a corner. “I’ll go find her”, Izzy said, taking off. I tried to run but my legs gave out on me, Izzy caught me. I started bawling, my whole world was tumbling down, he wasn’t gonna be mine anymore. “Shhsh”, Izzy rocked me in his chest.
One Last Time
Summary: There has been a bioterrorism attack; people are becoming undead monsters. Simon will stop at nothing to find you and see you again, even if it's for one last time.
Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader
Warnings: major death, angst, gore, violence, implied suicide
masterlist
Before Simon met you, he had struggled to get a good night's rest, memories of his past always coming back to haunt him, missions gone wrong, and thoughts of ‘what if’ coursing through his mind, keeping him awake. After he met you, he felt like he could finally breathe again. Finally, after what felt like centuries, he was able to sleep at least somewhat soundly throughout the night, with thoughts and memories of you. Those were his favorite dreams, dreams where he got to hear your voice, your laugh, anything that involved you. He especially loved seeing the way you would look at him, as if he was the most important person in the world, even though you had to remind him several times that he did, in fact, deserve the love, you gave him and more. Simon Riley will do whatever it takes to see that look on your face again, even if it is just one last time.
It has been two months since the world came crashing down; a new bioweapon was released that turns people into terrifying and disgusting creatures who are no longer human once infected. They become monsters that will stop at nothing to fulfill the unstoppable hunger coursing through their veins for blood and gore. No one ever thought they would see the day when zombies would actually walk the Earth. Simon remembers when he first heard the terrible news; he was just getting back from a relatively easy mission when he got the news from Price.
—-
“There’s nothing we can do anymore, Simon. This might just be the end of the world as we know it.” Price said, sounding hopeless, something that Simon had never thought he would hear from his strong-willed Captain before.
The thought of you at home or at work alone, on the other side of the country, so far away from him. If something were to happen to you, he didn’t even want to think about it for fear of speaking it into existence. He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking as he called you. Simon’s heart was pounding in his ears, making the ringing of the line barely audible. He began to hold his breath; the longer it took for you to answer, the seconds felt like centuries. On the fourth ring, you answered the phone, not even able to greet him before he was already giving you orders, something he never does, hating to let you see that side of him, but when your life was on the line, it was something that had to be done.
—---
That phone call was the last time Simon had heard your voice as he walked through the broken streets of your once lively neighborhood trying to find you, hoping with everything he had left that you listened to him and stayed safe. All you had to do was barricade yourself in your shared home; Simon was always a worrier when it came to your safety, teaching you how to correctly defend yourself with guns and knives should the need ever arise, making sure the house was constantly stocked full of emergency supplies such as first aid kits, nonperishable foods, and bottle water, something you always poked fun of him for asking if he was ready for the zombie apocalypse, little did you both know that a simple joke would soon quickly become a reality. In the back of his mind, he was very thankful that you, at the very least had enough supplies to last you a long time and keep yourself safe until he could get to you.
As he walked closer and closer to your shared home, broken glass crunching under his heavy boots, Simon thought about the long journey here. After the last phone call he shared with you, it was too long after that electricity, the internet, and everything quickly stopped working all over the world. The only source of communication was radio transmission, but only if you were lucky enough to find a working generator hooked to a radio station or one that was run on solar panels. Luckily, he did not need any of that to locate you, knowing exactly how to get back to you no matter what it takes, even if he has to walk the whole way by himself.
Simon promised Price that whenever he was able, Simon would try to contact him and that once he found you safe and sound, he would meet Price and the rest of the task force at the safe house Gaz was at to regroup and create a haven for themselves and other survivors they should find along the way. Though, if Simon was being completely honest, he didn’t really care about finding or helping anyone else, at least not until he found you, the only thing still keeping him going, his light in the darkness. Even though he was fairly used to walking long distances, combat, and guerilla warfare, the more that got in his way to reaching you felt like another nail in the coffin. Sometimes, though Simon was lucky, he would find a car in working condition that still had a bit of gas left in it, so he was able to speed down the damaged roads covered in corpses, cars, and monsters.
Simon sees it now, the place you both called home; over the last two months, the agriculture has run wild, the weeds and grass growing tall in the yard, your once carefully looked after garden of flowers and small fruits and vegetables destroyed by what he can only hope was wild animals. The familiar wooden steps groan under his added weight as Simon slowly ascends the stairs. He grabs the worn door handle to find it locked, taking that as a good sign, hoping you are safe inside, he reaches into his hidden pocket underneath his tactical vest and pulls out the small house key that you painted black with a tiny little ghost in the center telling him ‘it matched his aesthetic more’ his heart clenches at the memory afraid of what he will find behind the closed doors.
Simon slides the key into the lock and turns it, causing it to click into place, again, he grabs the handle, turning it to push the door open only to be met with resistance. Looking through the small crack of the door, he sees the heavy wooden bookshelf, ‘you just had to have for all your trinkets and books’ shoved against the door, blocking entry. A rush of pride fills his chest that you listened to him and blocked the entry points of the house with furniture. Using all his might, Simon slams his shoulder into the door, trying to push it open along with the bookshelf.
“Love! Are you here? Answer me?!” Simon's deep voice cut through the silence of the house as he squeezed through the small gap in the door he was able to make. Once inside, he reached back and slowly shut and locked the door, not wanting to have any surprise visits from anyone or anything else. Still not hearing any response from you, Simon begins to make his way through the house. Looking at the small, cozy couch where he first worked up the courage to tell you that he loved you, though a whisper at first, scared of your reply, fearing it would ruin your relationship, until you threw yourself in his arms saying it back much louder than he had, it was now propped up against the wall as a makeshift barrier covering the window that looked out over your garden.
Simon walks into the kitchen with his gun raised just in case, already fearing the worst. The kitchen that was once filled with your joyous laughter as you covered him in flour from an impromptu baking idea you got after watching one of those silly baking shows you liked to watch when he was away on a mission. Now, nothing but his heavy breathing and footsteps can be heard. A muffled cry reached Simon’s ears, causing him to whip around in search of the source of the sound. Heading towards your shared bedroom, the door slightly ajar, letting him see somewhat into the room, memories flashed behind his eyes: the bed where he held you close at night, where you moaned out his name in pleasure, the bed where you comforted him after harsh nightmares that seemed too real.
Using the tip of his gun, he pushed the door open quickly checking the corners of the room for danger, finding nothing until another muffled noise could be heard coming from the closet. Slowly, he walks toward the closet, he reaches out his hand, shaking from what he might find, and rips open the closet door, aiming the gun. Only to find you huddled in the corner of the closet shakily holding one of his hunting knives while tears stream down your face while you cover your mouth trying to hold in your sobs.
Upon seeing you, Simon drops to his knees, whispering your name, ripping off the mask from his face. Through the tears in your eyes, you see Simon kneeling in front of you, and you leap forward, throwing yourself into his awaiting embrace, the knife now forgotten on the floor beside you. You loudly sob as you tuck your face into his chest, Simon's arms tighten around you to the point where it almost hurts, but it is a good kind of pain. His face is tucked in the corner of your neck; his breathing is shaky and labored. You both sit in the opening of the closet, holding each other as close as you can, until Simon pulls back from you and grabs your face, holding it carefully in his hands, his eyes searching your face, before leaning forward and placing his forehead against yours closing your eyes.
He lets out another shaky breath, “I am glad that I was able to make it in time to see you one last time.”
Your face fulls together in confusion, putting your hand overtop of his, “One last time? Simon, what are you talking about?”
Simon feels you pull your face out of his hands, but still holding his hands, he opens his eyes to see more tears now streaming down your face as your eyes focus on the bite mark on his left arm, the ripped shirt covered in blood as he tried to fight off the spreading infection as best he could with a tourniquet. Simon tried so hard to make it back to you unscathed, but he was ambushed and attacked by a horde of zombies just yesterday. Everything happened so fast that he didn’t even realize he had been bitten until later. When he realized, he thought about killing himself right then and there to protect you, but he couldn’t, not yet anyway, he wanted to see you again. He had to, he had to know that you were ok. Plus, he couldn’t stand the thought of you never knowing what had happened to him, making you spend the rest of your life worrying about him. So, he decided he would find you and see you again for the last time.
“no, no, no, no. Please no! Simon, I just got you back you can’t leave me. Please don’t do this to me..I… can’t do this anymore.” you are sobbing uncontrollably now.
Simon pulls you into his chest again and rubs a soothing hand down your back. “I am so sorry, love. I hate to do this to you, but I needed to see you. I had to know that you were safe.” His voice rumbled against your face. “You won’t be alone; I wouldn’t do that to you. I was able to contact Price earlier today and told him and he is on the way to you. He will be here within the coming week. The safe haven they create isn’t too far from here. They all promised me they would keep you safe.” Simon feels his control wavering, but he needs to stay strong for you; crying right now would not help you.
—
You both stay like that, slumped on the floor, holding onto each other with everything you have because you know when you let go, it will be for the last time. “How much longer do you have left?” you whispered out, your voice raw and strained from all the crying.
Simon let out a deep, painful breath, “A day at most, the infection moves at a fast rate. But I am not taking any chances; I’m doing it tonight. Price will be here soon, and you’ll be ok.”
He feels you shiver in his hold at his words. Simon knows that you understand his meaning without having to say it. Simon knows he is already risking so much by coming back to the house to see you one last time, but just for once he wants to be selfish and make all of his suffering worth it, holding you in his arms makes him feel complete once again even though you both know that time is running out. He grabs your face and brings your lips to his uncovered ones, kissing you, trying to show you that everything will be ok, that you are going to be ok, trying to say everything that he is too scared to say through your last shared kiss. Salty tears can be tasted on your lips as you wrap your hands around his neck, running your fingers through his hair like you always do. Simon pulls back from you just a bit, though your lips still brush against each other with every word he whispers, “I love you. No matter where I end up, I will always search for you to keep you safe.”
He gives you one last peck against the lips as he slips out of your hold, walking to the door and closing it behind him because he knows if he stops now and looks at you, he won’t be able to follow through with his plans, and he has to do this. He has to keep you safe, even if it means breaking your heart in the process. Your sobs echo loudly throughout the home that was once filled with so much happiness. Tears fill his eyes, but he keeps on walking, squeezing through the gap in the front door, pulling it shut, locking the door back, hoping that you will move the bookshelf back in front of the door. The key feels heavy in his grasp as he rubs his thumb over the small ghost painted on it. He bends down carefully, placing the key under the doormat for Price to find.
Simon walks around to the edge of the house where the tool shed still stands with overgrown weeds covering it. He prys the door open till he finds what he is looking for, pulling out the heavy wrench from inside the toolbox. The metal feels cool in his grip. Simon rolls his shoulders back, raising the hand that holds the wrench above his head before bringing the wrench down onto his jaw with as much force as he can muster. Pain explodes across his face, but he won’t stop not until he knows for sure his jaw is broken. He refuses to take any chances of coming back as one of the disgusting zombies and potentially end up biting or hurting you.
It took three blows before Simon could feel his jaw hanging limply from his face. The pain was one of the worst pains he had ever felt in his entire life, but to keep you safe, he had to do it. Plus, the physical pain he was experiencing was nothing compared to the pain inside his chest. Simon slides down the side of the shed, sits down in the grass, pulls his gun, places it on the side of his head, closing his eyes, picturing your smiling face in his mind, the life you both should of had together flashing throughout his mind as he pulls the trigger, the last thing he sees is you standing before him the day you meet smiling brightly at him.
—-----------
Four days later, when Price arrives at you and Simon’s home, he walks up the steps leading to your door when something catches the corner of his eye off to the side of the house. Price sees the tool shed with a slumped figure sitting in the shadow, walking over to it with his weapon raised; bile raises in the back of his throat that he has to force back down at the sight of you covered in blood wrapped in Simon’s arms your face tucked under his broken jaw. In your hands, Price sees a note. He reaches down and pulls the note from your hands, opening it.
‘I am sorry, John. I couldn’t leave him all alone here.” He places the note back where he found it, looking down at his friends as tears fill his eyes. He refuses to let them fall because he knows wherever they are, they are together.
--------------------------
This was my first attempt at writing angst. I hope you all like it. Please let me know if there are any warnings that I missed!
“I am six-and-seventy years old. I have known Viserys longer than any who sit at this table and I will not believe that he said this on his deathbed, alone, with only the boy's mother as a witness. This is seizure! It is theft! It is treason!"
motley crue masterlist ౨ৎ
౨ৎ smut= ❦ fluff= 𖤐 angst= 𓉸
nikki
𓋹 dating nikki sixx would include
𓋹 nikki sixx nsfw headcannons
𓋹 nikki sixx nsfw alphabet
𓋹 silk scarf (bdsm) ❦
𓋹 fractured 𓉸
𓋹 friends (feat. izzy) 𓉸
𓋹 more than enough 𖤐 𓉸
𓋹 fucking terrible ❦ (this is humour lol)
𓋹 i think i'm in love with you 𖤐
𓋹 tangled mess ❦
𓋹 i could be the judge of that (feat. tommy) ❦ 𖤐
𓋹 this pretty ❦
𓋹 dye hard 𖤐
𓋹 renegades (feat. tommy) ❦
𓋹 now this is podracing 𖤐
tommy
𓋹 dating tommy lee would include
𓋹 softly (feat. pam) ❦
𓋹 make me ❦
𓋹 i could be the judge of that (feat. nikki) ❦ 𖤐
𓋹 renegades (feat. nikki) ❦
vince
𓋹 vince neil nsfw alphabet
𓋹 relentless 𖤐
𓋹 attached (pt.2 of relentless) 𖤐
mick
𓋹 composure ❦
the whole band
𓋹 dating all the motley crue members would include
𓋹 motley crue nsfw headcannons (harem)
𓋹 motley crue as fathers
YOU MAKE ME WANNA MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ MULTIPART SMAU MASTERLIST
You once mentioned his group name, and now he's down bad for you. The worst part? his teammates seem to always tease him about it, but the best part? you answer his message.
★ Choi Seungcheol x Fem!reader
Genre : idol!au, idol!reader, romance, comedy, smau, strangers to lovers trope! hope y'all enjoy it <33
01. Seungkwan's photos & numbers ☎️. Seungcheol is threatening Seungkwan for some numbers.
02. Warning, LOML is here‼️. Seungcheol suddenly has the love of his life
03. Law & order ⚖️. Article comes out, should Seungcheol sue them?
04. Love is in the air 🔔. (final) Seungcheol's love is in the air & everyone definitely can see it.
©️ kimingyuslover 2025
2 ~ The Fool
Vi Et Animo (With Heart and Soul)
Vander x Fem!Reader
Summary: Adapting to your new life will take some time. Luckily, you have a friend to help you out.
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: Kids asking intrusive questions, teasing, swearing, suggestive comments toward reader, I think that’s it
A/N: Kind of a transition chapter, I tried to make it as interesting as possible for everyone involved XD
Chapter 1 Masterlist Chapter 3(wip)
Your eyes grew unfocused as you read over a student’s essay. You’d been sitting there for what felt like days grading papers and planning assignments.You’d scarcely had time for a break lately. The starry blue cloth covering your desk almost seemed to glow as your eyes crossed.
You sighed, rubbing your hands over your face as you sat back for a moment, letting your eyes drift to the domed ceiling. Various constellations were carved into it, all aligning with the sky above.
Absently, you shuffled your cards between your two hands, watching them glide through your fingers, the sound doing something to soothe your weary mind. You continued until a card flew from the deck, landing crooked on your desk face down. Glancing at it, you tilted your head, wondering what your spirit guides found so urgent that you needed to hear it right that moment.
Setting your deck to the side, you let your fingers hover over the single card before carefully flipping it over.
The Fool.
New beginnings, freedom, spontaneity, adventure.
The Fool depicts a youth walking joyfully into the world. He is taking his first steps, and he is exuberant, joyful, excited. He carries nothing with him except a small sack, caring nothing for the possible dangers that lie in his path. Indeed, he is soon to encounter the first of these possible dangers, for if he takes just a step more, he will topple over the cliff that he is reaching.
The Fool is a warning to not be naive to risks and to be aware of the path you’re treading.
In its upright position, it was the bright start of a new journey. When reversed, it was a warning that you were stepping too far beyond your path and it would lead to potential disaster.
It had landed sideways. Perfectly neutral.
Both a warning and a premonition. Urging you to be sure-footed and take your time on this path.
The waters were cold and dark if you plummeted to the depths, but they could also embrace you in the serenity of their stillness—the weightlessness provided a steady release from the heaviness on your shoulders, if you let them.
An assured knock landed on your door, and when you looked up, Lest was in front of you. Her ear twitched as she regarded your drawing.
“The cards giving you a hard time again?” She grinned mischievously.
You sighed, leaning back and gesturing to the card in front of you. “What do you think?” You asked.
She leaned over your desk, eyes darting over the card and its position. “Did it land that way?” She questioned. You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest. “Interesting…”
“That’s it?” You deadpanned.
“What do you want me to say?” She stood up straight, raising a brow as she crossed her arms, mimicking your position.
You sighed, letting your eyes close as you laid your head back against your chair. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Am I doing the right thing?” You opened your eyes to peer at her as she took a drag from her pipe, the purple smoke drifting through the air. Her presence always calmed you as did her insight.
“Have you asked them?” She nodded to your card deck. “They’re the only ones who could even come close to telling you.”
-------------------------
You rolled over, and the sheets were cool beside you. Your eyes fluttered, but you didn’t open them yet, wanting to enjoy your time in bed before getting ready for work.
When your lids finally pried apart, you were in an unfamiliar room with air that made your lungs tight and no light filtering through the windows. You sat up, trying not to panic as your eyes flitted around the room.
There was a door across from you and a curtain to your left. You looked down at yourself, seeing a massively baggy t-shirt twisted around your frame from the way you had slept, undoubtedly. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather, and the previous days’ events came flooding back to you.
The exile. The thieves. The hunger. You clutched your stomach as it growled—nowhere near the severity it had been—and noticed how thin you had gotten just in a few days without any source of nutrients.
And out of nowhere, Vander had found you and brought you back to his bar-slash-home, fed you, cleaned you up, and tended your wounds before offering you a place to sleep. Fucking weird thing to happen out of nowhere, but listen, after the hell you had been through, you would take what you could get.
Slowly, you pulled yourself out of bed, remaking the blanket behind you before carefully heading downstairs. You ran a hand through your hair, praying it wasn’t as messy as it felt.
The first thing you noticed was the smell of fried eggs. The second thing was a head of blue hair and a head of pink hair, sitting at the bar. Vander was behind it with a hotplate cooking the eggs you smelled.
He looked up with a half smile as a stair creaked beneath you. You froze, being caught peeping and tucked yourself half behind the corner as both girls turned to you. The younger one—-Powder, if you remembered right—-regarded you with wide eyes, a more curious stare. Whereas her sister, Violet, scowled, looking past you and up the stairs.
Most of the time, you would pride yourself on your interactions with children, but you weren’t from here, and they weren’t from Piltover. You knew there was bound to be some kind of lapse between you.
“Breakfast?” Vander asked, calling back your attention from the little ones.
You smiled sheepishly and nodded as you finally made your way down the stairs to join them at the bar. You took a seat at the end of the bar, pulling on Vander’s shirt to try and cover as much of you as it could. Which—-while not surprising—-was a lot.
Vander started dishing out food and introduced you to the girls. “She’s going to be staying with us for a while, alright? So no funny business.” He pointed the wooden spatula at them each, eyeing them carefully as though he could already see their plans.
You couldn’t help the small smile that spread on your lips watching him. He slid a plate to you and you nodded in thanks, glancing away as he sent you a wink. You looked at the girls as they dug into their food and cleared your throat.
“If you guys have any questions, I’ll try to answer them,” you told them.
Vi looked at you with half an egg shoved in her mouth, practically scowling, while Powder’s eyes darted between you and Vander.
“Are you really from up there?” Powder asked with wide eyes.
You glanced at Vander, and he just shrugged and nodded. “Yes, I’m from Piltover,” you told her. “I was a teacher.”
“Why did you come here?” She asked. “Did you want to visit?” You wished it could be explained with such child-like innocence. The truth was far darker.
“Nobody comes here because they want to, Powder.” Vi rolled her eyes. “What did you do to get kicked?” She questioned.
“Violet—” Vander scolded.
“No, it’s alright,” you assured him. “She’s right.” There was a flash of surprise in Vi’s gaze before it was quickly covered up again. “There was an accident, and the council needed someone to blame. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. You weren’t really sure what the truth was anymore.
“So Vander saved you?” She eyed you suspiciously. “Is that why you’re wearing his clothes?”
“Mine needed a wash,” you shrugged a shoulder, starting to cut into your eggs. Vander chuckled as he cleared his own plate.
“Do you have any cool stuff from Piltover?” Powder asked excitedly.
Your thumb absentmindedly rubs the place your ring used to be. “No, sadly I was mugged the second I stepped foot here.”
Vi scoffed. “Typical. You Piltovians all think you’re better than us, but you couldn’t even take care of your own stuff.”
“Yeah, silly me for letting those four guys take me out,” you shrugged. “Get all your facts straight before throwing around accusations.”
There was a suspicious sound of a laugh hidden by a cough coming from where Vander was sitting. Vi looked at you with shock and disgust as though you had just struck her. Powder looked between you and her sister as you started calmly eating your breakfast.
“Speaking of,” Vander said. “Your clothes are clean.” He took his plate to the sink behind him, setting it down. “Think you can handle this lot while I go get them?” he asked.
You looked at the girls before turning back to him. “I think we’ll be alright.”
Vander nodded and made his way down the stairs. Powder eyed you curiously. “Do you have a family? Do you miss them?” She asked.
“I…” You thought back to your life in the glorious upper city. All the pomp and circumstance. Your classroom. Your students. “I had my students,” you tell her. “Not a traditional family, I suppose.”
“You said you were a teacher,” Vi stated. “Wasn’t it boring?”
You laughed. “No, not at all. Sometimes, I suppose, but mostly? Every day was an adventure. You hear all kinds of things. I mean, think about it, I worked with other teachers and a bunch of kids.” You dragged a hand through your hair.
“You must know loads of stories!” Powder exclaimed. “Can you tell us one?”
You glanced over, seeing Vander coming back up the stairs with your folded clothes. “Maybe another time, kiddo,” you smiled.
Vander came over to you, setting your clothes on the bar. “There ya go. I couldn’t get every stain out, but I did my best.” He scooped up yours and the girls’ plates, moving to the sink. “I’ll get this cleaned up while you get dressed. We’ll open up the bar after,” he told you.
Vi led her younger sister downstairs as you picked up your clothes and headed the other way. “Thank you, Vander,” You said as you left.
“Anytime, lass,” he responded before you were out of earshot.
You took your clothes upstairs, shutting the door and pulling Vander’s shirt off. You folded it carefully and left it on the bed for him. Picking up your dress, you ran the fabric between your fingers. It was familiar, albeit still stained with some loose threads. But it was soft, and it was almost all you had from your earlier life.
Slowly, you brought the cloth to your face and took a deep breath, letting your eyes close. It smelled faintly of tobacco, but other than that had no scent. It didn’t smell like grime and body odor anymore. But it also didn’t smell like your detergent. It didn’t smell like your perfume. It didn’t smell like home anymore.
You took a heavy seat on the edge of the bed, feeling your eyes tear up. Home. That was no home anymore. You rubbed your eyes furiously; This was not the time for a breakdown. You inhaled deeply, though unsteady, until the rising tide of your emotions had receded back to the gently rocking waves of the sea.
You slipped your dress over your head, moving to the bathroom to adjust it in the mirror. Gently running your fingers through your hair, you parted it the way you liked, starting to twist the strands into dutch braids to keep it out of your face. You secured it carefully before pushing them back over your shoulders and tugging on your dress, feeling almost comfortable again.
Your gaze drifted, settling on your tarot deck on that little bathroom shelf. Your hands braced the sink, fingers itching to reach out and do a reading. You missed the feeling of the cards between your fingers. You were used to shuffling them idly between your hands as a way to distract your mind.
But what’s the point?
With a sigh, you flicked off the bathroom light, letting the curtain drift closed behind you as you made to leave. When you opened the door, a pair of boots rested on the stair in front of you. You stared at them for a moment, remembering what Vander had said last night. These must be Vi’s extra pair.
You sat down in the doorway, pulling the boots on. They were a bit snug, but surprisingly comfortable and broken in. At the very least, they were warm and would keep your feet from getting trampled by customers. You had to remember to thank her when you next got the chance.
When you got downstairs, Vander had finished pulling the chairs off the tables and was behind the bar, organizing the drinks below. He looked up as you entered. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you responded.
He chuckled. “You’ll be fine. Just… remember where you’re at,” he said carefully.
“Worried they won’t understand me if I use big words?” You joked.
“Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean.” He rolled his eyes, though his smile gave him away as he turned on the neon lights outside. He tossed you a worn apron, and you quickly tied it around you as you mapped out the bar to learn where things were.
-------------------------
Not even an hour in, the place was teeming with patrons. Vander had insisted it wouldn’t be too busy—just a “light evening”---but the roar of voices, clatter of tankards, and the occasional crash from a dropped glass said otherwise. You did your best to keep your stress levels down, reminding yourself you didn’t have to be perfect, you just had to get the job done. Everything would be fine. Hopefully.
You were balancing a tray of empty mugs, weaving between the raucous tables and trying to avoid bumping anyone as you walked, when a man barked at you from across the bar. “Oi lass! When are we getting more drinks over here?!” the man questioned, slamming his metal tankard down on the wood of his table.
You flinched from the sudden noise, one of the mugs on your tray tipping precariously. Your breath caught in your throat as you shifted, hand darting out to catch it and place it back on the tray carefully. You glared at the man, cursing under your breath as you hurried back to the bar. You dumped your tray down with a huff, your patience starting to wear thin as Vander prepared their drinks.
“Do they always yell like that?” You asked, resting against the counter with one hip popped.
“Only when they’re sober,” Vander replied, watching the drinks he made.
Your brows dropped and you gave him a dry look. “Oh, so this is normal?”
“Welcome to the Undercity, Princess,” he said, his smirk widening. “You learn to let it roll off. Comes with the territory.”
You crossed your arms on the bar as you waited for him to finish. “Well, I’m letting it roll off alright. Right into my mental list of people I’ll ‘accidentally’ spill drinks on.”
Vander chuckled, setting the bottles back under the counter, and finally looking at you. “Not sure you’ve the patience for this line of work.”
“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “And miss the chance to work under you? Never.”
His smirk turned into a full laugh as you started putting their drinks on your tray. “Careful, or I’ll start thinking you like it here.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, old man.”
He put a hand over his chest in mock hurt, winking at you as you walked away to serve the men their drinks. You balanced the tray carefully as you weaved through the crowd of tables again. You smiled as you reached their table, setting their drinks down in front of them.
“Sorry for the wait boys,” you said as you tucked the tray under your arm. “Is there anything else I can get you for the moment?” You asked.
The boy closest to you couldn’t be more than nineteen, though the rest looked to be in their thirties. “I know something you can get us, love,” The older man across from him said. “Or rather somethin’ you can take,” he elbowed the guy beside him, snickering. “Our boy Tommy here still has his virginity!” The table howled with laughter, but the young boy looked rather uncomfortable.
You fought the roll of your eyes, shooting an apologetic glance to Tommy before leaving, finding they were too engaged in their own joke to address you anymore. You found an empty table, clearing the drinks off it and balancing the tray in one hand as you wiped down the table with the other.
You cast a final glance around the room checking for anyone who needed your attention before making your way behind the bar to wash some of the mugs that had started piling up. Vander was just serving drinks and talking to his customers. You vaguely wondered how many of them were regulars here and how long he had known them all. Regardless, he looked much to calm in this sea of faces and storm of demands.
As you set to washing the mugs, you spoke over your shoulder to him when he wasn’t engaged with someone else. “You make this look so easy. It’s almost offensive.”
Vander glanced over his shoulder, one hand still pouring a drink. “Years of practice, Princess. You’ll get there.”
You snorted, setting a mug on the drying rack. “If I don’t keel over first.”
“You’re holding up fine,” he said, passing the freshly poured drink to a customer and flashing a quick grin at you. “Though you missed a spot on that last mug.”
You froze mid-scrub, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re joking.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied smoothly, already moving to grab another mug for a refill.
You quickly grabbed the offending tankard off the rack and squinted at it. Spotless. “Looks clean to me,” you muttered before glancing back at Vander. “You just like messing with me, don’t you?”
Vander shrugged, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. “Keeps things interesting.”
You rolled your eyes and dunked another mug into the soapy water. “You’re lucky you’ve got charm, old man. Otherwise I’d dump this water over your head.”
He chuckled, sliding another drink across the counter. “If that’s the best you’ve got, I’m not worried.”
“Don’t tempt me,” you shot back, a small grin tugging at your lips despite yourself.
His teasing was cut short by another customer slamming a mug down, demanding a refill. Vander gave you a wink before turning back to the crowd, leaving you to pick up your tray and go see what trouble was in store this time.
“Dickhead,” you muttered under your breath.
You moved across the floor to one of the tables by the entrance, smiling at the man drinking alone. A flash of blue and pink caught your eye as Vi and Powder ran past the windows. You couldn’t help the way your chest squeezed when you saw them. Happy and almost carefree kids. You hoped it would stay that way.
You turned your attention to the man, a cigar hanging out of his mouth as he spoke around it. “I’d heard Vander took the Pilty in off the streets, but I couldn’t believe it until I’d seen it for myself.” He sat forward, taking his cigar between his fingers and blowing smoke in your face.
You let your breath catch until it dispersed so you didn’t cough and make a fool of yourself. “Quite,” you said simply. You didn’t like the way this felt, and you wanted to get out of this conversation as fast as possible. Your gut had never steered you wrong before, you weren’t about to stop listening to it now. “Is there anything I can get you, sir?” You asked.
“A ride if you’re selling it, sweetheart,” he grinned, and you felt dirty. Disgusting.
“I’ll have to decline,” you said with a forced smile. His eyes roved over your form. It was common for men to have this kind of reaction to any woman, especially one of such refinement. They just couldn’t wait to get their hands on them and corrupt them like some twisted right of passage. “If that’s all, I’m sure others need my attention.”
He huffed a laugh, “Yeah, I’m sure they do,” he licked his cracked lips before putting the smoke back between them.
You fought the twitch of your lip as it tried to become a sneer. Without saying anything else, you headed back behind the bar. Though you made sure to keep composed and completely masked, Vander’s eyes darted over you as you set your tray down.
“Y’alright?” He asked quietly as you moved to the sink.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” you told him, picking up the mug you had dropped before and resuming your task. You could feel his eyes on you still, and you refused to meet his gaze. “Really,” you assured him.
You were almost certain he didn’t believe you, but he also didn’t press about it, turning back to the bar and serving someone else.
--------------------------
Finally, after what felt like an endless nightmare, the last straggler had left the bar and Vander flipped the signs off. You huffed out, practically deflating as you untied your apron and hung it up on the far wall next to the bar. The kids had come back a few hours ago and gone downstairs, and you watched as Vander locked the place up for the night.
You moved to the small closet where you grabbed the broom and started sweeping the wooden floors. Your feet and back ached from the work. Luckily, you had found a few minutes earlier to grab a bite to eat so you weren’t overly hungry.
You and Vander worked around each other as he wiped down the tables and started putting chairs up for the night. When he finished with the tables and chairs, he moved behind the bar to count coins.
“So, is this the glamorous nightlife of Zaun I’ve heard so much about? Dusty floors and sticky counters?” You asked him.
He didn’t look up as he spoke. “Better than wherever you came from, I’d bet.”
You scoffed, leaning against the handle of the broom. “Oh, absolutely. Who needs fancy parties and clean air when you’ve got rat traps in every corner?”
He chuckled. “You’re getting the hang of it, though. Starting to look less like a lost little princess.”
You paused with mock offense. “Is that a compliment?”
He finally glanced up at you with a wry grin. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
You grinned back, “Too late,” you said, going back to your task until you felt you had finished.
Once the two of you had settled down you sat at the bar and Vander poured himself a drink. “Can I get you anything?” He flashed you the same smile he gave his customers, and you rolled your eyes.
“Just give me whatever you’re having,” you said with a dismissive wave of the hand.
He raised a brow but said nothing as he filled two glasses halfway with a dark amber liquor, sliding one over to you before pulling a stool around to sit facing you. He lifted his glass to you, and you clinked yours against it with a tired smile.
“To my new life,” you toasted.
“Cheers,” Vander said before taking a drink.
You tipped your head back, feeling the liquid burn down your throat, a bitter, woody taste in your mouth. Your lips and nose screwed up in a scowl, and Vander laughed.
“You should see your face,” he said.
“I’ve seen less pleasant things,” you joked as the burn in your throat faded.
“I’ll drink to that,” Vander responded, draining his glass.
You pushed yours away with a frown. “I won’t.”
He chuckled again, “More for me,” he said, taking your glass and pulling it toward him. After a moment of not completely uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. “Despite your griping, you’re good with the people,” he observed.
“Comes with the territory I guess,” you shrugged. “All the politics up top and my job…” you trailed off.
Vander stroked a hand over his beard as he swirled the glass idly. “A teacher, eh?” He asked. “Did you like it?”
You sighed. “It was the best part of my life,” you told him, that faraway look taking over your expression. “Those kids… they were everything to me.”
He nodded in understanding. “They’re all the more foolish to let you go,” he said, tipping his head back and draining your glass. You looked down at your hands folded in your lap, fighting to keep all your emotions you’d been white-knuckling at bay. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he said. “But you can if you want to.”
“I think it’s best left in the past, now.”
A/N: Let me know if you enjoyed! And as always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!
Have a good day/afternoon/night, my loves! <3
Tag List: @growls-like-thunder @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @hwalovs
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Eyes of the Gods I
Pairing: Caracalla x femaleReader, Geta x femaleReader
Synopsis: You catch the eyes of the twin Emperors despite doing everything possible to stay out of their way.
Warnings: mentions of blood
Word Count: 2k
The air was unusually cool and still. Perhaps you should have recognized then that things would soon be different, that the Gods themselves were waiting with baited breath. They intended to be entertained.
Palatine Hill was not always so quiet, not even in the evenings. Servants, such as yourself, were kept busy with cleaning and cooking and entertaining nobles. Tonight was different, though, and you gripped the water jug tightly as you padded along the empty halls.
Your duties typically kept you in the kitchen, preparing food and keeping it tidy. A recent bought of sickness has travelled around the servants' quarters and pushed you to take up duties you usually wouldn't. Duties that forced you to emerge from the places overlooked by many and into the eyes of dangerous people.
The jug was damp under your hands, condensation trickling from the outside and moistening your hands. You suspected it was also sweat. The halls of the imperial palace were not welcoming and you wanted nothing more than to duck back out of sight. The gentle cloak of night was just that - gentle. You yearned for something heavier, thicker, that would guarantee safe passage back to your quarters.
Unfortunately the sickness had seeped from the servants and into several of the nobles. Lady Lucilla herself had come down with it and you had been tasked with taking her medicine-infused water to her personal quarters. Into the lion's den, so to speak.
It was not Lady Lucilla that you were afraid of. There were others with rooms not so far from hers. You had heard things- orgys lasting well into the morning, participants emerging bruised and occasionally bloody. Stories of an unstable Emperor and a controlling one. Rome was not safe right now, perhaps the palace was more dangerous than the streets.
Andrea spotted you and waved you from the shadows. "I have been waiting!" she hissed. She had no patience for your shy nature. "Are you forgetting that my Lady is sick?"
"Of course not," you replied evenly, passing over the jug.
Andrea took it and peered into it. Satisfied, she nodded and slipped back into the room, pushing the heavy door shut behind her.
You sighed. It was too much to expect a thank you. Swiveling on your heel, you began the journey back to your quarters. Without the burden of the jug you quickened, the bottom of your dress creating a pleasant breeze around your ankles.
This area of the palace was far better decorated than where you typically roamed. Grand busts lined along the wall, elegant traces of gold defining grooves and patterns. Marble that gleamed enough that you could see your own harried reflection in it. Although you wished to stop and take it in, it was more of a reminder of exactly where you were and how you did not belong.
You were so occupied with your own thoughts that you almost missed it at first. Slowing as much as you dared, you tilted your head and listened. A tiny, almost discernable squeaking noise. It came from your left side, beneath the table.
Fists tightening, you took a slow step towards it. A stunningly beautiful cloth was draped artfully over it, so you could see nothing. The noise came again and your heart jumped. What if it was a child? You would be in trouble if you did not return them safely to wherever they belonged, servant or otherwise. And what if one of the Emperors or Macrinus stumbled upon them? It did not bear thinking about.
You cast one last hopeful look around. There was no hero offering themselves up to raise the cloth. It would have to be you. You got to your knees and held your hand in front of the tablecloth. There was a stark difference between the expensive, soft fabric of the cloth and your servants hands.
You couldn't stand to wait a single moment longer out in the open like this. Grabbing a fistful of the fabric, you raised it in a jerky motion.
Breath rushed out of you in a pathetic wheeze. The monkey - of course, the damned monkey - worse still, she was accompanied by her master.
Emperor Caracalla gazed up at you with watery, red rimmed eyes. His hair was disheveled, as though he had tried to sleep and had been yanked from it. He did not seem surprised to see you. Before you could utter an apology, he had secured a hand around your wrist and yanked you under the table alongside him.
Your forehead grazed painful against the underside of the table and you curled in on yourself to avoid it. Still, Emperor Caracalla said nothing. Your heart felt seconds away from clawing its way up your throat and you found yourself thinking of something your mother had said to you once long ago. Fear would only make it worse.
"Emperor Caracalla," you whispered, "is there someone I can get for yo-"
"No!" the word burst out of him, startling you with its ferocity. "No, there are only traitors and wicked liars, thieves who wish to steal my empire from under me."
His hand had left a bloody smear on your wrist. His own were splattered with it too, and you tried hard not to think of all the rumors. Tried hard not to think of where the blood had likely come from.
His thighs were warm beneath you. Only the thin fabric of your dress kept you from actually touching. How had you gone from hardly setting eyes upon the Emperors to this?
Panic began to creep further up your spine. You had only heard things about the moods that sometimes overtook Caracalla and even then they were littered with half-truths and exaggerations. You had never been able to make sense of them, and crouching before him now made it no easier.
"Perhaps," you relinquished, "but tonight is silent, my Emperor. There are no traitors, or liars or thieves tonight. I have walked these halls myself, I have seen no one. It is safe."
Caracalla eyed you with an alarming amount of awareness. You continued, "No-one except you, Dondus, and I."
The monkey chirped again and ran her fingers through her masters hair, as if that was what she had been trying to tell him. She reached her other hand out for you and you warily held out your fingers. Did monkeys have sharp teeth?
If they did, Dondus kept them at bay. She sniffled your fingers and then released them, seemingly satisfied. Whatever satisfied her seemed to also satisfy her master.
"What is your name?" he asked. You gave it, you had no choice. He murmured it to himself, let it roll around his mouth and settle in his throat.
"Perhaps you would like to return to your quarters now, my Emperor," you asked. "I'll escort you there myself. If we come across anyone then we shall be together and I am quite sure they shall not bother us."
Realistically you had no idea if anyone would bother you or not. You were more than ready to come out from beneath the table, though, and put safe distance between you and the unsteady Emperor.
His eyes seemed steadier now, and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. Perhaps this was a sign that he was returning to himself. Whether that was a good thing, you could not say.
"My chambers," he whispered, voice cracking. "Yes, you will accompany me to my chambers."
It took a moment to untangle yourself from under the table. You emerged first and held out a hand to steady Caracalla. Dondus leapt upon your offered hand and curled herself upon your shoulder. Her fur was softer than expected and you gave a surprise laugh, the sound echoing around the halls.
Caracalla's eyes were fixated on you, and so you allowed him and small smile before turning in the direction of his chambers. The attention was almost too much. The handful of occasions that you had been in the presence of the Emperors were entirely different from this. Surrounded by food, prostitutes, servants and fellow nobles, they had no time to pay attention to anyone specifically. And now…
Caracalla's arm brushed yours and you jerked away, hardly daring to look at him. Something like a laugh came from him and he did it again. This time you remained still and tried to give no reaction. It had the opposite effect. Caracalla shuffled closer until there was no room between your side and his. Dondus slipped back onto his shoulder and you tried to keep your eyes forward.
He said your name again to himself. You wished he would not. It felt as though every time he said it, he was cementing you further in his mind. You hoped that tonight would be nothing but a smear in his memory, hazed by the grip of his sickness.
When you caught sight of the doors to his chambers, it was a great effort not to heave a sigh of relief.
"We are here," you gave a shaky smile, "no traitors or any such thing. You are safe, Emperor Caracalla."
He regarded you with blurry eyes, but did not disagree. You pulled open the door and angled yourself to allow him in. He slipped by you, close, too close, and it was a fight not to let the door slam. You caught a brief look inside the luxury of his room and the several guards that regarded you with surprise and relief.
Caracalla had a habit of slipping his guards. His brother had made it a point to allow it, you had heard. As if to say that they were not afraid of any intruders in their home, such was their might. Surely if it had been someone else, the hallways would have been filled with Praetorians and it would not have been such a still night.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, eyes flickering over your figure. His eyes seemed less cloudy by the second and you did not want to stand in front of a fully aware Emperor Caracalla.
You thought again of the blood and the words rushed out, "I bid you goodnight, my Emperor. Sleep well."
You let go of the door before he could say anything. It was foolish, and for a moment you expected him to come rushing out, hands clawing at your face for your blatant disrespect. But the halls remained quiet, and you breathed out for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
The blood had dried on your wrist, flaky and dark. You inspected it with a grimace before tucking it at your side and walking back down the corridor. If it wasn't for the physical evidence, no part of that night would have felt real. Hopefully you would be able to banish it entirely from your mind by tomorrow, and do your best to stick to your familiar grounds in the palace.
As you walked, you saw a flash of red from the corner of your eye. You turned, expecting Caracalla to be standing outside his door and prepared yourself.
Emperor Geta watched you from the very spot you had just been in. Your already dry mouth felt drier. He tilted his head, watching you curiously, arms folded in front of him.
He looked young. Rich, red cloths rumpled from sleep, hair smoothed down and face bare. Beautiful, like his brother, but deadly. His eyes were dark and steady, opposite to his brother, but equally as unsettling.
An expression flickered in the corner of his mouth and it prompted you to dip your head and curtsey.
"Excuse me, Emperor Geta," you said, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Good night."
There was a weighted pause. For a moment you did not think he would say anything.
And then, "Goodnight."
You rushed around the corner and dove into the shadowy hallways, grateful to get yourself out of sight. It would be a long, long time before you took up any of your friend's tasks for them again. It was not worth it.
_________________________________
Author's Note - I have not written fanfiction in years but I had to emerge from my cave for these two. I'm pretty rusty so please excuse any mistakes! Like & reblog if you enjoyed :)
You Like Me?
A/n: Dudes, my list of requests are dwindling and I couldn’t be happier. Like I was drowning in them a week ago. I should have another Slash fic out tonight because you guys seem to really like him. And once that is posted I’m gonna try to work on a Duff fic, we’ll see how far I get on that. But anyway, I hope y’all enjoy.
*~~*~~*
Masterlist
Slash x Reader
Summary: Slash is consistent when it comes to flirting with Y/n. Whenever the opportunity arises, he takes it. And every single time she turns him down. That is until she overhears the guitarist pour out his feelings for her, making her feel bad for not returning them. Or so he thinks.
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: Language, smoking, probably something else
“Did you ever realize screw rhymes with me and you?”
Y/n rolled her eyes at Slash’s stupid pick up line. Honestly, she thought that he would have gotten the hint and given up. She wasn’t interested. At least, she wasn’t going to make it seem like she was.
“Oh, come on Y/n. That was a decent pickup line,” the man shrugged before grabbing his guitar. “If you didn’t like that, maybe I can sing you a song.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “I doubt I’ll like that either. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve gotta go do my job.”
With that, she grabbed a bag of clothes Axl had bought and left the dressing room to take them to the tour bus. Along the way, she couldn’t help but smile at the stupid pick up line. She tried her best to be professional around the boys, she was their personal assistant after all. But that stupid pick up line. God, it made her smile. Y/n did her best to not let Slash get to her, she really did, but somehow he still managed to.
At first, she thought it was one of those stupid middle school crushes, the ones where you only start liking someone after you find out they like you. It was clear that Slash had a thing for her, the boys made sure she knew and the pickup lines further cemented it. So, when Y/n started to feel something for the guitarist, she brushed it off. She believed that she merely liked him for the wrong reason and that the feelings would pass. But then things changed. Suddenly she was more aware of him, always catching him in the crowd, and getting flustered around him. It was horrible to admit, but she was falling for him.
Entering the tour bus, Y/n walked to the back and opened a cabinet, shoving the bags into it before closing it. She walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it. “Why do I feel this way?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer that question or if there was even an answer. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to like the man, a part of her did, but the other part knew that it was unprofessional and any relationship with him wouldn’t last. Slash was a nice guy, no doubt about it, but he was still a rockstar. Getting with him would be like a death sentence for her heart if she fell too hard. Temptation lingered around every corner and even if she was to believe he wouldn’t fall for it, the temptations he faced were stronger than the ones she did.
It would be hard for him to go from sleeping with different women every night to sleeping with one. He didn’t seem like the kind that did that. Relationships were something she’d never seen him in. Sure, a girl lingered around for a few days, maybe a month, but then she’d leave and be replaced by someone else. Y/n didn’t want that to happen to her. She didn’t want to be replaced that easily.
So, she loved him in silence. The feelings would eventually fade. And if they didn’t? Well, she would just have to deal with it because she wasn’t willing to get her heartbroken when she could avoid it.
*~~*~~*
“Why would I do that?” Slash asked, running a hand through his hair. He winced when it got tangled in the curls and tried to get it out without pulling any hair out.
Duff shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette. “Because you’re stupid and it may work.”
He raised a brow. If nothing he’d tried so far to win her heart had work, how was anything else supposed to do it?
“It will work,” his friend assured him. “Just trust me.”
Izzy laughed, looking at the two through the vanity mirror. “You really want to take advice from him?”
“Hey! I’m a married man, I think I know what I’m talking about,” Duff argued, grabbing a beer off the small table in front of him.
“And how’s that going for you?”
The silence that followed was a good enough answer but didn’t help Slash one bit. He was in love and not sure what to do about it. Everyone had different answers and ideas on what he could do but none of them worked. Flirting with Y/n did nothing, talking to her more got him nowhere, being around her only made him want her more. Nothing he did helped him and it was frustrating.
“Maybe I-”
Y/n walked into the room with their food, setting it on the vanity. “I thought some food would do you all some good before the show.” She pulled a couple burgers out of a paper bag and threw them at Duff and Slash before handing one to Izzy. “Also, the photoshoot after the show has been canceled.”
Slash smiled at that and unwrapped his burger. “So, does that mean you’re free after the show?”
“Yes, but not for whatever you’re thinking,” she stated and grabbed the bag to go find Steven and Axl.
Izzy laughed once she was out of the room. “You’re never gonna get with her,” he let out between fits of laughter, causing Slash to through an empty can at him.
*~~*~~*
Struggling to carry all the boxes of shoes the boys insisted on taking on tour, Y/n walked through the backstage halls. It was a few hours before showtime, her busiest time of the day. It was the time when everyone was yelling at each to make everything look and feel perfect. The lights had to be hung in the perfect position, bags had to be in excisable places, and the boys had to stay out of trouble. As far as she knew, all three of those things were happening. She was almost entirely sure of it when she came close to Duff’s dressing room and heard faint voices she believed belonged to the boys.
“You need to let it go, dude. She’s clearly not interested,” Duff’s voice came from behind the door.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Y/n stopped next to the door, instantly recognizing the voice. It was Slash. It was wrong to eavesdrop, she knew that, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I’m sure some chick would be more than willing to take her off your mind.”
Slash sighed in frustration. “No, this isn’t something like that. This is real, Duff. This is serious. I like her! No, scratch that, I fucking love Y/n and no whore is gonna change that!”
Her eyes went wide at the statement. He loved her, he actually loved her. Before she could fully register what she’d heard, someone stood up and walked towards the door. Y/n shifted the boxes and walked away as quickly as she could, not bothering to look back at whoever exited the room.
She walked into Axl’s room, setting the boxes on the couch. The singer was fiddling with a guitar when she entered, but he’d since put it down, eyeing her with suspicion.
“Are you alright, Y/n?”
Y/n nodded and decided to stack the boxes neatly.
How could she not be alright? She’d just learned that she’d been a complete bitch for no reason. Obviously, she was alright. Slash, on the other hand, probably wasn’t. He was probably beating himself up over everything. Y/n sighed, shaking her head. She should have at least given him a chance, he deserved that much. But no, she had to jump to the conclusion that all rockstars are the same and all they want is sex.
Maybe that wasn’t all Slash wanted.
“Um, is there anything else you need?” she asked Axl as she approached the door, fingers crossed that he was all taken care of.
“I don’t think so…” he trailed off, watching her practically sprint out of the room. He would have questioned it, but he’d seen weirder shit during shows.
Y/n walked as quickly as she could without running anyone over. She weaved between sound tech and crew members, trying to find Slash. Popping her head into Duff’s dressing room, she frowned. Neither of the men were in there. With a huff, she continued down the hall, they couldn’t be that far.
She’d looked for the man for over an hour, giving up when her feet were beginning to ache. And that’s why heels are Satan’s shoes, she thought and tossed them off. Y/n came to an empty hallway, furthest from the stage. Leaning against the wall, she sighed and slid down the wall. Resting her head against the cold bricks, she couldn’t help but be disappointed in herself. In keeping her heart from getting broken, she’d broken someone else’s. How fucking stupid. That just wasn’t fair. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but no matter how many times she told herself, at the end of the day she still had.
“This is bullshit,” she muttered, playing the hem of her shirt. “Fucking bullshit.”
Y/n closed her eyes in an attempt to relieve some stress when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She didn’t bother to see who it was, why would it matter? Then the footsteps stopped in front of her.
“Y/n, are you alright?” Slash asked.
Her eyes shot open and she was on her feet in an instant. “Yeah, yeah. I’m alright.”
He nodded, not sure whether to believe that or not. “Izzy is looking for you. Lost his hat or something. I don’t know, but he won’t perform without it.”
Y/n bite her lip, nodding along to the information. Was now a good time to talk to him? It seemed like one of the only opportunities she’d get, but was it the right moment?
“He’s, ah, in his dressing room,” Slash gestured down the hall before turning around and walking the other direction.
Y/n looked down the hall that would lead her to Izzy and back at Slash who was walking further and further away. It was now or never, she thought. Now or never. Taking a deep breath, she turned in the direction of the guitarist.
“Slash!”
The man turned around just as he was about to place a cigarette in his mouth.
“Wait, wait. Can I talk to you?” she asked, running up to the man.
He shrugged, what could he do to stop her?
Y/n stopped in front of him, taking a deep breath. The man looked down at her, a brow raised.
“Okay, so I know that you probably don’t want to hear this and I probably just gonna ramble on,” she stated, fiddling with her fingers. “Stop me whenever you feel like it. Seriously, there may be no other way to stop the words. But anyway-” She swat at the air with her hand. “-I heard what you and Duff were talking about earlier, and I know I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but I don’t know.” She sighed, “I feel like a bitch. I feel horrible-”
“Why do you feel horrible?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “You have no reason to. Turning me down shouldn’t make you feel like a shit person,” he raised his voice, emphasizing that he was the one in pain.
Y/n raised a hand in an attempt to calm him down. “I know, I know. And yeah, I feel like shit for that and you’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do because I kept turning you down because why would you want to go out with me if it weren’t just for sex? I’m the band’s assistant, I’m not some groupie, willing to throw myself at any of. So, yeah, maybe I thought all you wanted from me was sex,” she admitted. “Stupid of me to think so, but most of you guys act the same. And me liking you was something I thought would, you know, go away. You’d probably move on, like Duff said, find someone to take me off your mind. I-I don’t even know where I’m going with this,” she stated, biting her lip.
She had a point, somewhere at the beginning she had a point.
“You like me?” the man asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.
Y/n nodded.
“And you’re serious?”
“I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself rambling on without a point if I wasn’t,” she laughed.
He nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Alright, well then how about we catch dinner after the show if you’re serious about this.”
Y/n couldn’t help but smile. Once she’d started talking, in the back of her mind, she thought that Slash would just ignore her. Hell, she probably hadn’t made any sense seeing as how she couldn’t remembering what she was getting at. “I’d like that.”
“Alright, well you’ll know where to find me.”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “Well, I gotta go help Izzy, see you later.”
“See ya,” he waved as she walked down the hall. Once she was out of sight a huge grin came over his face. Damn, that felt good, to finally get her to say yes. It felt better than good, it felt fucking amazing! Now, he just had to figure out where they were going to eat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 7 - Ozzie's
How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)
It's a date! (But is it really?)
pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus
Word count: 5,212
Warnings: you ask blitz to not be a dick and what does he do? yeah he's a bit of a dick. a big reveal abt reader's past (will be explored more in depth later), terrible just awful communication skills.
![Scandalous (Blitzø X Fem!Succubus!Reader X Stolas) [Helluva Boss] Pt. 7 - Ozzie's](https://64.media.tumblr.com/190479b12b3a01783457d49a8b87080e/4d3a5402d009b7e5-d7/s500x750/7547f3e8fa7cc1e21e0144f2cbc84bf8430b2beb.png)
Alright, however much blood you got on yourself, business today was kind of pretty fucking awesome.
The four of you walk through the portal, all still riding high on the adrenaline rush the day’s kills provided you. Blitzø’s the first to set foot back into the office, throwing his head back and brandishing his new axe around. “Woo! That was a fuckton of lumberjacks!”
There were eleven of them, to be exact.
Moxxie walks in right after him, looking a little too excited as he held up a chainsaw, still on and rumbling.
Millie’s next, covered in more blood than anyone else, as usual- clearly in a great mood, going as far as biting the wooden handle of the axe she was holding in half. “Ahh! I’m still so jazzed up!”
You walk in last, examining the huge new knife you got for yourself, pleased. Nothing like putting down five huge-ass dudes on your own and getting a cool new knife for your collection to get you in a good mood.
Moxxie discards the chainsaw into the portal, and Loona closes it off. “Well, you better stay jazzed up, babe,” he tells Millie, shooting finger guns at her. “‘Cause guess where I’m taking you tonight?”
“Don’t you dare finish a filthy pun in my presence, Moxxie! Besides, drinks are on me tonight! Let’s hit up the new drive down the street,” Blitzø suggests, excited.
Moxxie looks down to the floor, then back at him. “Actually, sir, it’s our one year marriage anniversary, so I’m taking Millie to Ozzie’s, all the way down in the Lust Ring!” He announces, proud of himself.
Millie’s eyes immediately light up, and she gasps in excitement at the revelation. “Ozzie’s? No way! That place is always booked.”
Yeah, you should know that. In fact, you already knew Moxxie was taking her there, too- he’d approached you the previous week, asking if you could do him a ‘big favor’. You didn’t know what to expect of this supposed big favor, but when he asked if you could maybe call Ozzie personally and arrange him and Millie a reservation for their anniversary, you let out a laugh.
“Oh, that’s it?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Of course I can, Mox, are you kidding?”
“That’s awesome!” He’d hugged you tight. “Thank you so, so much, y/n!”
You smile, pleased with Millie’s reaction. You knew she’d love it. Moxxie had mentioned he’d tell her you’d helped, but you’d told him not to, leaving all the credit for him. He deserved it.
He sends you a thankful glance when Millie squeaks out his name and quite literally jumps on him, kissing him all over. The scene is so sweet it’s almost gross.
“Ugh, can you two not?” Blitzø complains.
Moxxie’s out of breath when he pulls away, looking a little high-headed after the distraction. “I’m sorry, sir. Maybe another time!”
“Oh, it’s fine! I- I can come with the two of you, help you celebrate your boring-as-fuck-monogamy.”
There’s no way he just seriously suggested that. “What? Dude. No.”
Moxxie matches your tone. “Yeah. No.The reservation is for us.”
“Uh-huh,” Blitzø agrees, nodding, as if that changes absolutely nothing to him. Did he genuinely not get the hint or is he playing dumb at this point?
“Just. Us. Millie and I.”
“Uh-huh,” he repeats, still nodding as if he doesn’t see the issue.
“Without you there. Explicitly without you there.”
He completely disregards Moxxie’s words. “I’ll wear something nice. It’s a big deal after all.” Ah, got it. Playing dumb.
Moxxie’s left eye twitches at his attitude, but, in turn, he just turns around, walking towards the door. “You want a ride or not?” He turns back around to ask you, and you try to shoot Moxxie a reassuring look that’s meant to say you’ll get some sense through his skull before you follow him out. “See you lovebugs later!”
You start scolding him as soon as you get to the parking lot. “Could you be any more inconvenient?”
“The fuck do you mean?”
“The fuck do I mean? They don’t want you there, Blitz. It’s their anniversary. Whatever fantasies you have about them don’t make you a part of their relationship, you realize that, don’t you?” The two of you get to the van, and he unlocks the doors so you can get in before he says anything in return.
“Fuck you, I made that couple happen, bitch. I deserve to be part of this ‘anniversary dinner’. And you do too, I know there ain’t no way Moxxie got that reservation without your help.”
“Yeah and that one-hundred percent does not give me any right to crash their date. Don’t you fucking go to Ozzie’s tonight. You hear me?”
“Oh yeah keep telling me what to do baby, I’m almost there!” He exaggerates.
“I’m so serious right now.”
Blitzø scoffs at your threatening tone. “Don’t remember you being the boss of me.”
“I am telling you, as a friend, that you’re being inconvenient. They’ll get pissed at you and they’ll be right to.”
“Yeah well I don’t fucking care.”
“Come on Blitz, just give them a break. I’ll even go with you to that place you wanted to go!” You try.
“Really?”
“Yeah! It’ll be fun. And very far from Millie and Mox so they can enjoy their night out alone,” you make sure to point out.
“Fine. Whatever.”
Blitzø drops you off at your apartment so you can get ready with a yell of ‘be quick we don’t have all night!’ as he drives off, going home himself to shower and change too before he’s back to pick you up.
“If I didn’t know you I’d think you’re dressing to impress me here,” he raises an eyebrow suggestively as he gives you a very exaggerated once-over.
“Yeah in your dreams maybe,” you retort immediately, used to his comments by now, as you get into the passenger seat.
“Oh my dreams about you don’t involve any clothes what-so-ever.”
“Gross.”
He shrugs. “Ready?”
“Sure. What’s the place called again?”
“Uuuuhh, don’t worry about it. We’re going somewhere new.”
You notice he’s extra chatty during the ride, talking your ear off and turning up the radio so the two of you can sing the songs out. You realize why he was going out of his way to distract you when suddenly you take a look out the window and recognize the neighborhood.
He’s taken you to the Lust Ring, and it’s not very hard to imagine why when he parks just a couple blocks from Ozzie’s. You feel disappointed, and honestly a little naive, to have thought he’d take you to a fun night out instead of just doing whatever he wanted to do.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? This is the one place I said, repeatedly, that we couldn’t go!”
“Oh, boo-hoo, so I’m taking you out on a nice fucking fancy-ass dinner, what a terrible fucking thing to do!”
“Except you’re not taking me out, you just don’t know your fucking boundaries and you wanna spend your sorry-ass night spying on Millie and Moxxie.”
“Eh. Potato, potato.”
“You pronounced it the exact same.”
He shrugs.
“We’re leaving.”
“What? No!”
“Well I am. And you don’t have a reservation,” you point out, trying to make it clear he’s not getting in. Did he only bring you out with him in the hopes you’d manage to get him a table by pulling some strings? “And you can’t get in without a date so sucks to be you.”
“Well I’m not taking you anywhere,” he crosses his arms over his chest, matter-of-factly.
“‘Course you’re fucking not. We were supposed to just have some fun tonight. I can’t believe this. You’re a fucking prick, you know that, right?” You let your frustration spill out in your words, and you pull your phone out to see if you can find a ride on Reaper, not in the mood to be out anymore and desperately wanting to get back home at this point.
“Yeah, yeah, and you’re a whiny bitch but I don’t keep telling you that, do I?”
You send him a dirty look, sitting on the curb as you wait for the app to find you a car, and he fucks off to the alleyway behind you to do Satan-knows-what. After a while, still down on your luck with the ride, you’re startled when a portal is opened only a couple feet in front of you, and it takes you a couple seconds to register the fact that it’s Stolas who walks out of it.
“Stolas?”
“Stolaaass!” Blitzø calls out, as if already expecting him. Was he already expecting him? Is this what you thought it was- you telling him you wouldn’t get into Ozzie’s with him and him just calling Stolas up, simple as ever, to fulfill that role instead?
“What are you doing here?” You ask the prince, not really meaning to sound rude, but it comes out demanding of an answer regardless, and he tilts his head to the side, as if confused by the fact that you apparently didn’t know he’d be coming.
“Wow. Outfit’s a little overkill, don’t ya think?” Blitzø tells him, and you resist the urge to pettily flick at his forehead at the lack of common sense. Why the fuck would you say that?
Stolas looks down to the floor, embarrassed. “Did you… not know I was coming, y/n?”
“No. Did Blitzø call you here?”
“Yes, I- I assumed-” He looks at Blitzø, now referring to the comment about his outfit as well. “I wanted to look nicer for you. This is our first real date, after all… right?” he explains himself, motioning between the three of you.
“A date?” You whip your head around to look at Blitzø. That’s what he told Stolas this was?
“Surprise! We’re having a date!”
“Blitz I swear to Satan, this is so out of pocket-”
“Is something not right, y/n?” Stolas asks, and it completely disarms you. He seems so genuinely excited about this ‘date’ that you can’t get yourself to ruin it for him by revealing what only you knew- that what he thought was a date was just a selfish ploy for Blitzø to spy on Millie and Moxxie for whatever fucking reason he had.
And so you find yourself reassuring him. “No. Not at all.”
“Ya still wanna leave now?” Blitzø whispers, all cocky and annoying and- fuck, he can just be so stubborn it’s insufferable sometimes. You grit your teeth but say nothing in return, and the three of you walk up to the stairs by the entrance.
You don’t recognize the incubus who greets you. Must be new. He eyes the three of you up and down, as if trying to gather how the fuck this whole thing happened. “Y’all three together?” He asks, an eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” Stolas tells him.
“Alrightt, that’s fucking hot! Y’all got a reservation?”
Before you can even think of telling him to talk to Ozzie, Stolas speaks up again. “Do we need one?” He asks, glaring at the man, as if challenging him to say yes. The man gulps before opening a smile and bowing at him. “No! Uh, shit, my apologies, Your Highness. Right this way.”
You feel the ever-growing urge to facepalm as hard as you possibly can the very second you enter the lounge, because Blitzø immediately starts sneaking around the place like he’s a character in some low-budget spy movie.
Stolas looks around the place, mesmerized. “Oh, my! Oh, no! No, but also yes!” He’s been there countless times (you should know), but only then do you realize he’s never stayed or even visited for matters that weren’t aligned with his royal duties. He’s stupid rich and he’s never dined at Ozzie’s?
Oh.
He’s only ever been with that wife of his before you and Blitzø happened. And- oh, fuck. Was this his first ever date? Shit.
You pull Blitzø down to whisper to him as you walk to your table. “Blitz, you’re gonna be fucking nice tonight, alright?”
“Hey I’m always a fucking delight!”
“I’m serious. I think he’s never been on a date before.”
“What? That’s not true.”
“Look he’s clearly excited to be here, please don’t be a dick, okay?”
“You calling me that for free?”
“The outfit comment was not cool.”
“Oh you guys are so fucking sensitive.” He dismisses your words, sitting down on the chair that had been arranged for him, a couple books placed on the seat so his height could be aligned properly with the round table’s.
Stolas is beaming as soon as the three of you sit down. “Oh, how romantic is this? I have never stayed here longer than I needed to. It’s so charming!”
“Yeah, it sounded like- I just thought we’d have a blast here,” Blitzø tells him, barely present in the conversation as he pulls out his goddamn fucking binoculars out of his pocket, surely trying to find out where Millie and Moxxie were seated.
“Uh, yeah. It’s lovely, right? And it’s where I met both of you! Isn’t that so nice, Blitz?” You kick him under the table, and he shoots you a dirty glare before turning back around.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a real romantic- oh gotcha!”
Stolas tilts his head to the side, trying to figure out what is happening. “Uh, Blitz, what are you looking at?”
“I’m looking at nothing. How about that?” So much for not being a dick. Luckily, a server approaches the table just then, averting Stolas’ attention from Blitzø.
“So, can I get you three off?” She takes a long pause before ‘correcting’ herself. “I mean, start you three off with some drinks?” It actually was normal taught practice for the ‘slip-ups’ to happen- you should know, you trained countless servers during your time there. It still makes Stolas blush out of embarrassment, caught off-guard by it.
“Yes! Um, perhaps some… wine, to share?” He glances at you, and you smile at him, nodding in agreement. “Blitz?”
“What?”
“Would you like some wine, too?”
“Yeah why not?”
“Do you prefer red or white? Or perhaps some champagne?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Blitzø replies dryly, very clearly barely paying any attention to what was said to him as he didn’t even bother turning around to face the two of you.
“Uh- I- uh-”
“What if we-” you begin, trying to help Stolas not freak out.
“Perhaps we should order all three! Ha! Why not?” He suggests, and it sort of sounds like he is sort of freaking out, but you don’t argue.
“Yeah that sounds good.”
“So! How was the day at I.M.P.?” Stolas tries.
“Oh? Uh, it was good, I guess. We killed a bunch of beardos. She can tell you about it,” Blitzø tells him, this time sparing one single glance back and pointing vaguely at you. How thoughtful.
“Oh?”
“Uh, business was pretty good today. What he meant with killing a bunch of beardos is that we had more targets than usual, which is good. They just happened to be a bunch of lumberjacks, strangely enough. But I’m sure you don’t wanna hear about us killing people, right?”
“No! It sounds like fun!” It definitely didn’t look like he thought so, but rather that he was desperately trying to build a connection. One that Blitzø currently didn’t seem to give a flying fuck about. “Uh, how did you kill them?”
The question at least seemed to pique Blitzø’s interest, as he actually turns around and puts down the binoculars to answer it. “How? I mean, there was a lot of ‘em, so… bullets?”
“Right! Right. So… what made you decide to plan a date after all this time?”
Shit. “Uuuuuuhhh…” Blitzø scratches the back of his head, trying to think of what to say. Fuck, don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick, don’t-
Thankfully, for all of you, you’re sure, he doesn’t get to finish whatever he was about to try and say, as the lights dim and Fizzarolli’s voice sounds through the lounge. “Ladies and gentlemen! I see some sexy faces around here tonight.” He descends down the pole right in the middle of the stage, and you notice his greeting routine sounds different. It’s a weird feeling to see so much change since you left. “Welcome, welcome to Ozzie’s, Lust Ring’s number one place for all kinds of sick, twisted fantasies, put on display for all you sleaze and sleazettes, the gem joint of Asmodeus himself. Come on, give him some love!”
“Did he just say Asmodeus?” Stolas questions out loud.
“He likes to make an appearance sometimes,” you explain, but, internally, it made you nervous. You did not need Ozzie to see you on a date tonight.
Stolas nods, and Blitzø lets out a groan. “Oh, no fucking way. Not him!” He hides his face behind the menu that had been placed in front of him, and he’s still never told you what happened between him and Fizz, but that has to be a bit dramatic, doesn't it?
“I am the one and only Fizzarolli.” The clown continues, pulling up a Loo Loo Land flyer with his robotic version, ‘Robo Fizz’, on it. “Some of you might recognize this dashing clown face from my numerous replicas across the rings of Hell, gloriously designed by the big man himself, and uh,” he traces his hand up his own robotic arm in a rather suggestive way, “ribbed for your pleasure tonight. We have a great lineup for you tonight: Verosika Mayday, Wet Dream, and The Squirters!”
The lights shine on them, and suddenly you understand Blitzø’s need to hide. “Shit, she’s here?”
“Do you know her?” Stolas asks you, and you don’t reply.
“But as everyone’s warming up, I got a funny one for y’all!” Fizz keeps on. “Did any of you hear about the batshittery that happened at Loo Loo Land?” He laughs. “Oh yeah, I’ll tell you what, I’d sure love to shake the hand of the crazy son of a bitch who decided to burn down that off-brand shithole, and then slap a fat subpoena in it, ‘cause I’m very much looking to sue. That robo-me made us more money entertaining those kids than the ones we sell to get you freaks off, if you know what I mean.”
Someone in the lounge stands up from their seat, waving their hand around. “I know! I know what you mean! I have four of ‘em!” They announce, loud and proud, and you realize their date is one of those. It’s freaky enough for you to know security’s sure to keep an eye on them for the rest of the night to make sure they stay far away from Fizzarolli.
“So! Without wasting more time! Our little opening act is a fresh one, coming at us from a little imp from the Wrath Ring. Give it up for… Moxxie! With no creative stage name whatsoever.”
Moxxie stands up, taking his guitar with him, and kisses Millie before taking Fizzarolli’s place on the stage. That he hadn’t told you about, and knowing it was probably because he wanted to keep that moment to themselves makes you feel shitty about being there. He taps the mic before speaking. “Hello, everyone. Um. Hi. Thank you for letting me be here. It’s an honor to play.” Someone yells at him to hurry up, and he looks a bit nervous at it before he keeps on. “This song is for my beautiful wife, a surprise for our first anniversary. I love you, Millie.”
I love you More than the brimstone loves the fire, more than beelze loves her bub, more than a maggot loves gangrenous stubs You make my spirit sing Yeah, you make me glad I live in Hell Our love is a story sweet to tell Yeah, you cast a special Satanic spell over my heart Love is a journey we decided to start Yeah, I hope we’ll never, ever be apart I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I-
Shit, Moxxie.
If he had told you about this, you would have warned him Ozzie’s was not the right place to perform a love song. But he didn’t, and so…
“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,”, Ozzie and Fizz sang along, making their way onto the stage, very clearly mocking and laughing at him.
Who’s singing love songs in my lustful lounge?
So Ozzie was performing tonight. Must be in a good mood.
Ozzie’s ain’t the place for sentimental sounds!
What’d you expect from a proprietor like us?
Your demon host, Asmodeus, the embodiment of lust…
Give me a thrust! Show me some lust! From the groin to the bust, in desire we trust, in the House of Asmodeus
Trumpet! Gah!
Little imp, you came here to sing your serenade Perform your feelings in the velvety stage Well, we got a saying that’s popular in these parts
‘Only little bitches strum the strings of their hearts’
You wanna hang around this lustful town? Ditch the lovey-dovey before we knock you around
How hypocritical.
In here we sing about wants and desires
Depravity, savagery, loins hotter than fire!
So give me a thrust Show me some lust From the groin to the bust Little imp, you just must In the House of Asmodeus Come on, sing us a song! Make sure the subject is getting it on Make it graphic and tactfully long
Make sure to rhyme ‘thong’ and ‘schlong’!
Go ahead, the mic’s on!
After a good while of tossing Moxxie around as Ozzie and Fizz sang, they set the mic in front of him once again. He takes a deep breath before strumming his guitar and giving it a try.
I want to
Yeah, what do you want? Butt stuff? Piss play? Bondage?
Make gentle love to you
Oh, Moxxie.
Ugh, what a limp-dick imp, you’re really killing the vibe Get a load of this dweeb and his unsatisfied bride!
Blitzø stands up from his seat. Why the fuck is he standing up from his seat?
“Hey now, I’ve watched those two pork many times, and, honestly, they make missionary look relatively exciting!”
You should have known he’d feel the need to try and defend them in some way, but this was really, really not a good idea. If you didn’t want any of your friends to see you there up until then, now he’d managed to basically call out for their attention.
“What? Blitz!” Moxxie yells out, as if he can’t believe he’s actually there. His eyes find you too, and he furrows his eyebrows together. You feel ashamed that you ended up there, and even more so that his moment was getting ruined in so many ways.
Fizzarolli opens a grin. “Is that Blitzo? So you’re showing your face?”
Hey, everybody! This guy’s a total disgrace Some nerve you got to comment on a relationship Last I checked, your love life is a pile of shit!
As if things couldn’t get any worse, Verosika stands up, the lights immediately panning to her, and she joins in.
Oh, Blitzo? I used to date him
“Oh, Verosika, you’re here.”
I’d stroke him, I’d fellate him But when it was my turn He did no reciprocating A selfish imp in the sheets And just as bad on the streets A reckless, heart-breaking freak
You silently pray to Lucifer for her to not see you, or just not mention you, or-
“Oh am I interrupting your date, y/n?” She spits out.
I should have known it I should have guessed you’re not above it How long left till they’re abandoned? Do they know they’re not your standard? The prince would better watch out Just get too close and he’s out Give it some time, she’ll flake out
You look down at your hands over your lap and you wish the ground would just swallow you whole. Stolas looks between you and Blitzø, trying to assimilate what just happened. “Did the both of you date her?”
Who’s that at your table? Is your date a demon prince? Stolas, is that you?
Are you sleeping with an imp?
My dark lord, how the mighty do fall! You used to have a smoking wife, a kid, you had it all! I hope you didn’t give it up so they could help you get it up…
Stolas hides his face behind the menu, not unlike Blitzø had done earlier, like he’s… embarrassed to be called out for being on a date with the two of you. It feels like a gut punch, to come down to the realization that, yeah, of course he’s embarrassed, he’s a prince, for Lucifer’s sake.
Your eyes feel like they’re burning, and you have to hold back tears from streaming down your face.
You sold your life for a thrust! Now that’s the spirit of Lust Grab your groin or a bust You better get your hair mussed Pretend you don’t see that crust Hump ‘till your junk turns to dust In the House of Asmode-
You stand up in preoccupation for Millie when she simply knocks Fizzarolli down to the ground.
“Hey!” Ozzie exclaims, helping Fizz get up. You see the rage in his eyes- Millie was crazy to have done that- and he looks back at you. The worry in your expression and the furious shaking of your head, wordlessly asking him not to do anything, are accepted, and Millie is left unharmed purely for the sake of you.
“I think you were tryin’ to sing somethin’ for me, Mox.”
“Yeah, I was.”
I love us I love us just the way we are Don’t have to pretend to like to do things we don’t I’ve always got you around to laugh at my stupid jokes I’ll never take you for granted I’ll always give you my best If you can offer the same thing we’ll handle the rest ‘Cause I love you ‘Cause I love you
Blitzø looks undoubtedly hurt and undeniably uncomfortable and, shit, it was very much warranted. You felt the exact same, ashamed of getting called out by Verosika, hurt by having Ozzie of all people put you all on blast, feeling stupid for feeling hurt by Stolas so very clearly looking embarrassed to be seen on a date with you.
Stolas looks worried, but doesn’t get to form any words before Blitzø speaks up. “You know what, this was a mistake, alright? Let’s just- let’s just leave.”
For the first time the entire night, you agree with him. “Yeah. We should go.”
“Oh. Right. Of course,” Stolas agrees, and the three of you get up, making your way to the exit. You didn’t even get to try the fucking wine.
You glance back at Ozzie on your way out, and he raises his eyebrows in concern when his eyes meet yours. You know that face. He only just realized he hurt you with what he did, and you know he’ll let you be for the rest of the night, but you’re sure to expect him to show up at your place tomorrow to apologize.
You also take a glance at Millie and Moxxie, still on the stage, and mouth an ‘I’m sorry’ to them before exiting the place.
The drive to Stolas’ place is quiet and uncomfortable and it makes holding yourself back from crying much, much harder. You’re not even sure why Stolas is getting a ride, as he’d portaled himself to Ozzie’s and could very much just portal himself back home, but it’s not like you’re gonna bring that up.
Much too tall for the I.M.P. van, he’s crammed in the backseat, and struggles a little before managing to get himself out of the car.
Before leaving, he leans on the passenger’s window, facing you and Blitzø and nervously trying to get himself to say something. “Thank you, for… inviting me out tonight.” Blitzø turns away to face his other side and you keep your eyes glued to the windshield, both unable to look him in the eye. “Despite everything that’s happened, I… I enjoyed spending time with you.”
“Yeah,” is all Blitzø says, and you simply nod.
“You know, I have some more wine in the house. Octavia’s with her mother this weekend, so we could…”
“I’m not fucking you tonight, okay? I’m really just… I’m really not in the mood, alright?” He nudges you with his elbow, and you swear you see him wipe down a tear. “If you wanna take this one go ahead.”
“I-”
“We could just… talk. Or… watch a movie? Or maybe… cuddle?”
For the first time since leaving Ozzie’s, you manage to properly look at Stolas. Was he serious? Would he genuinely be okay with that after what just happened? Could he genuinely be okay to be in your presence without sex involved?
“Stolas, don’t act like what we have is anything but you wanting us to fuck you, okay?”
“Blitz-“
“No. You too. Are you actually falling for the shit he says? Fucking watch a movie and cuddle? You know exactly what he wants from us. He just says what he thinks he has to to get in our pants. I thought you weren’t that stupid.”
You scoff at his words and get out of his car silently, as you can’t believe he just said that to you.
“What, you’re not coming?”
Tears are threatening to roll down your face again, and it makes you angry. “Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?”
“Fine. Stay with him then. Congrats to the fucking happy couple!”
With that lovely yell, he takes off.
“Are you alright, dearest? You can come in if you-“ Stolas reaches for you, but you can’t help but back off, not allowing him to touch you. He lets his hand fall back to his side.
“Could you just send me back to Ozzie’s? Looks like I don’t have a ride anymore.”
“Are you sure you want to be there? What he did was-“
“I- I’ll talk to him. They won’t poke fun at you because of us again, Your Highness. No need to worry.”
He grimaces at your words, and you’re fully aware why. You haven’t called him that in a long time. In fact, you realize you did it to be cruel. To hurt him.
To hurt yourself into remembering your place in relation to him. You almost want him to argue with you. To understand what you meant and tell you he doesn’t look down on you, that he doesn’t feel ashamed.
And yet he only accepts what you say with a nod. “Good night, y/n.”
Maybe Blitzø isn’t wrong.
You nod once instead of saying it back- you don't trust your voice to come out.
He seems to want to say something else but refrains from doing so, only waving his hand to cast the spell you requested him to. In a mere second you materialize back at Ozzie’s, but not in the lounge, thankfully- in the waiting room in front of his office.
You break down crying the very moment you gain bearing of your surroundings.
A/N sorry for the shitty lyrics i added to house of asmodeus it was sadly necessary lmaoooo
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