#Does NOT look good in the middle of the night

[gf2bellamy]

hi athena!! hope youre doing very well<3 could i request reader staying at spencer’s place for the first time, she wakes up in the middle of the night to drink water or sth and gets cold im her light pajamas (its summer maybe) and wears his shirt to the kitchen, and when she does so he wakes up and sees her in his shirt and gets all flustered and blushy cause she looks so cute and pretty and it strikes him that he finally has a gf who wants him back and loves him and yeah sorry for the long description have a nice day <333

cold — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff fluff fluff a/n: hiii !!<333 i hope you like this :)

You shivered as you tiptoed out of Spencer’s room. You immediately regretted your choice of pyjamas , a tanktop and shorts,  the ones you had brought with you to Spencer's apartment. The choice of clothing had seemed reasonable at first. It had been a very hot summer day after all. Yet, the temperature dropped at night, by at least 10 degrees. 

This was your first time staying over, and the evening had been nothing short of perfect. From giggling over Spencer almost dropping his food, because he was so nervous to cuddling on the couch as he read to you while brushing his fingers through your hair. 

The two of you had fallen asleep just barely an hour ago, but you’d woken up again with a dry mouth and the need for some water. Which is why you were leaning against the counter now, a cup of water in your hand. While the cold water soothed your throat, it didn't help with your body temperature. 

“Why is it so cold?” you mumbled to yourself, in the dark, rubbing your arms.

You didn't bother washing the glass, considering you were way too sleepy, and you already missed laying in Spencer’s arms. But as you walked past the couch towards Spencer’s room, his cardigan thrown over the arm of the couch caught your eye. (It was folded, of course.)

Your tank top wasn’t exactly keeping you warm, and before you could second guess yourself,  you slipped it on. It warmed you immediately. Happily you patted back to Spencer’s bedroom. Spencer hadn’t moved much, still sprawled across the mattress with one arm outstretched toward the space you’d left behind.  Once you settled under the covers, Spencer immediately pulled you into his arms.

“Where were you?” He didn't really sound awake. But he was rubbing his knuckles lazily over your spine.

 “Just got thirsty. Go back to sleep,” you whispered, feeling slightly bad for waking him up. Spencer just made a soft sleepy sound as he pulled you closer. He managed to muster the last ounce of energy to kiss your forehead, before he went back to his dreams. You fell asleep with a smile and warm, from both his cardigan and his hold.

The next morning, you were the one to wake up to an empty side of the bed. Cold sheets and a faint indentation where his body had been just 20 minutes ago. You sat up slowly , stretching with a loud yawn. Somewhere outside of the bedroom, you could hear the coffee machine hum to life too. The sound immediately put a smile on your face. You could already picture Spencer filling up the two cups of coffee, clearly wanting to wake you up with breakfast and coffee.

And that was indeed Spencer's plan. 

He slipped out of bed early, determined to surprise you with breakfast in bed.He was just pouring coffee into your favorite mug, the one with the tiny chip on the handle that you insisted made it “lucky”, when he heard your footsteps. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. So much for the surprise.

He turned, ready to greet you with a "good morning," but the words dissolved on his tongue the second he saw you.

There you were. Groggily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

In his cardigan. 

“Morning, Spence,” you mumbled, stepping closer as you stared at the pancakes he had made. He was still blinking at you, not moving, even when you stood next to him at the counter, your cheek resting against his arm. You didn't reach for the pancakes immediately, the taste of toothpaste still lingering in your mouth. 

"You made breakfast?" you asked, pouting slightly, not in disappointment, but in that soft, overwhelmed way you did when he caught you off guard with his sweetness. The pancakes had chocolate chips on them, forming a smiley on the dough. 

You finally looked up, noticing his uncharacteristic silence. "Spence?"

His face was flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. You stared back, watching as he blinked rapidly.

You were in his cardigan. In his apartment? Arms hugging his waist ? Looking at him with those loving eyes? That look in your eyes that was only reserved for him? 

“Morning”, he finally managed. His voice was quiet yet laced with so much sweetness, almost as sweet as the chocolate chips he had been snacking on. Your hands were still on his waist, softly rubbing his shirt. 

“Where did you just go?” you grinned, tilting your head. The oversized cardigan slipped off one shoulder, exposing the strap of your tank top beneath. Spencer's hand reached out instinctively to tug it up. His thumb lingering on your shoulder. 

"You're wearing my cardigan," he said, as if he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and let your hands fall from his waist to adjust the sleeves. "Is-is that bad? Sorry, I was cold last night," you mumbled, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Not bad at all.” Spencer shook his head. “Not at all. If anything –” He paused, when you met his eyes. “If anything, I’d like you to just wear my clothes from now on.” 

A surprised giggle escaped you, and Spencer took advantage of the way your face lit up, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he pulled you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead and you could feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "You look so pretty I malfunctioned," he admitted as he leaned back just enough to see your reaction. "That's all."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a smile so wide it almost hurt. "Well, it's very cozy," you said, fiddling with the hem of the cardigan.

Spencer's gaze dropped to where your fingers played with the fabric before returning to your face, his expression unbearably tender. "You wear it better than me," he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I really do," you teased, grinning up at him.

You were joking, of course you were, but Spencer just nodded, completely serious, his eyes tracing the way his cardigan swallowed your frame. The sleeves pooled around your wrists, the collar slipping off one shoulder again, and god, he never wanted to see you in anything else.

But more than that, more than the way you looked drowning in his clothes, Spencer still couldn’t quite believe it.Believe that you loved him. Enough to stay over at his apartment. Enough to fall asleep tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers curled in your hair.  Enough to be standing in front of him right now, bathed in morning light, his cardigan hanging off your shoulders, peeking at the pancakes with that sleepy, contented look.

He didn't notice himself zoning out again. 

“Spencer. Where did you go again?” you asked, your arm slipping around his waist while the other sneaked toward the plate, popping a few chocolate chips into your mouth. 

"Sorry," he shook his head, blinking rapidly. He needed to stop doing that, needed to stop getting so lost in the overwhelming reality of you choosing him, staying with him, loving him, but god, it was impossible when you looked like this. When you felt like this. When you were here.

You gave him another concerned look, your fingers tightening slightly at his waist before you grabbed another chocolate chip, holding it up to his lips. "You sure you're okay?"

Of course he ate it immediately but not without catching your wrist first, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingertips. The chocolate melted sweetly on his tongue, but it was nothing compared to the way you looked at him, all soft and fond and his.

"Mhm," he hummed, lips still brushing your skin. "I just love you." The words came out muffled, half-embarrassed, but so unbearably true. He was drunk on it, on you, his thoughts syrupy and slow with affection. "A lot," he added, because once wasn't enough, would never be enough.

You watched him with wide eyes. “Why do you have to be so lovely all the time?” you said, pouting now. 

Spencer couldn't help it. He gestured dramatically at you, his voice pitching higher with playful emphasis. "Look at you." As if it wasn't obvious. As if the sight of you swimming in his cardigan, your hair mussed from sleep, wasn't enough to undo him completely. "You're wearing my clothes. How am I supposed to not be lovely about you?"

"You're too sweet for your own good, Spencer Reid," you sighed, shaking your head as you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his chest. His arms came up automatically to cradle you closer, one hand splaying across your back while the other gently carded through your sleep-tangled hair. You melted further against him as his lips found your crown, pressing a series of featherlight kisses.

"Can we eat?" you finally mumbled ( after at least 15 kisses. )

Spencer chuckled, the vibration rumbling pleasantly against your cheek before he placed one last kiss to your temple and pulled away. You immediately claimed the nearest chair, swinging your legs slightly as you settled in. Spencer followed, his chair scraping closer until his knee bumped yours. He turned his whole body toward you, so he could admire you.

"Oh my god, Spencer," you cheered around a mouthful, eyes widening in genuine surprise. "You didn't burn them."

"Funny," he deadpanned, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. He took notice of the way your sleeves kept falling into the way of your fork. without hesitation, he set his own utensils down and leaned across the space between you, his fingers gently folding back the soft fabric until your wrists were free. You repaid his kindness by pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, smiling when he immediately flushed pink to the tips of his ears.

"I love you too," you murmured, realizing with a startle you hadn't said it back earlier. You'd always prided yourself on never letting those words go unanswered, not when they came from him, not when they filled you up with so much happiness, you thought you might burst with it. Spencer looked up from his plate, syrup glazing his fork mid-air. His smile was soft, knowing, the morning light catching in his lashes as he met your gaze.

"I know you do," he said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

And it was.

[dannyriccsystem]

Hello!! I absolutely love your work, and congratulations on the 1k followers <33

Could I please request Lando and the prompts 18, 26 and 50? Thank youu <3

YOU MAKE IT LOOK LIKE IT’S MAGIC.

1K SPECIAL - LN4

Comparing hand sizes + “Feel that? It’s just for you.” + “I love it when you touch me like that.” + “I want your hands on me. You won’t break me, I promise.”

SUMMARY: Teasing Lando about his large hands turns into a night filled with pleasure and sweet nothings :)

WORD COUNT: 963

WARNINGS: Smut, AFAB reader, fingering, P in V, hand kink (who else cheered)

FEATURING: Lando Norris x Reader

NOTE: This is for my girlies with hand kinks. I dedicate this to you…

YOU’RE CUDDLED UP TO YOUR BOYFRIEND, attention no longer on the movie before you, but fixated on him. His soft curls, sweet eyes, cute lips, and— Well, to put it lightly, his incredibly sexy hands. You hadn’t really paid them any mind before, but after seeing hundreds upon thousands of comments taking note of how veiny and large they were, you decided to take a peek. Indeed. They weren’t lying.

Lando kissed your scalp, nails scratching you up and down your back in a way that nearly lulled you to sleep. You hummed, pressing your cheek to his chest. Your boyfriend gave a breathy laugh through his nose as he brushed aside a particularly bothersome strand of hair.

“Tired?” He asks in a soft voice to preserve the quietness of the moment. You shake your head. “Then what’s up?”

“Just thinking…”

“About..?”

“You.” Your eyes drift down in a way that’s far from subtle. “And your tiny hands.”

“What?” He seemed offended.

“Yeah, they’re itty bitty.” Of course you’re just teasing him. It’s a lousy excuse to rile the guy up, but it works.

“No way. Come here,” He pats his lap, and you slowly move to straddle him. Lando presses his hand flat to yours, grinning when his fingers extend way past your own. You giggle.

“Alright, fine. You win.”

Lando leans in for a kiss. It’s short, but it’s sweet and it’s full of tension that neither of you move to work out. “I didn’t know it was a competition.” Your fingers lace together, smooth palms pressed together tight. He pulls your hand closer, kissing your palm sweetly.

His other hand lowers to your thigh with feather-like touches to the inside of your leg. The contact with your sensitive skin makes you shudder and bite your lip. “I like it when you touch me like that,” You breathe out. His eyes flicker to yours, and they’re full of newfound hunger.

Lando leans in, pressing kisses just below your jaw. He’s lifting you with ease, strong hands gripping at whatever skin he can. He lays you back on the couch, pushing your legs open. “Tell me to stop,” He mutters as he kisses your calf.

“Don’t,” You murmur. “I want your hands on me.”

“You sure?” He asks, but he’s already sliding your pajama bottoms and panties off, discarding them to the side.

“You’re not gonna break me, Lan.”

“I know… I just wanted to double check.”

He stares at your gleaming folds, licking his lips subconsciously. “I want your hands on me— In me.”

“I can do that.”

He stands up to kneel beside you, one hand slithering between your legs while the other cups your cheek. It’s an intimate scene. He rubs your folds in circular motions, kissing your breath away to stifle your pretty noises. You feel your legs twitch, your hands gripping the edge of the cushions for support.

Lando’s middle and ring finger slide in, teasing your hole as he presses his tongue flat to the sensitive skin of your neck. You quiver— Your whole body does. A sickenly embarrassing moan leaves your lips, making his shoulders shake with humiliating laughter.

“Feels good,” You whine, and he nods reassuringly.

“I’ll take good care of you, love.” He pushes his fingers in further, curling them to brush against your pulsing walls tantalizingly. You shudder, reaching out to grip his head of hair. Lando tuts when you slowly let go. “Be gentle.” You nod with obedience.

He withdraws his fingers, circling them around your extra sensitive clit. You squeal, biting down on your own arm to divert the sensitivity elsewhere. His hands feel so good that it almost hurts.

“Does that feel okay?” He asks quietly, almost as if he wasn’t just knuckle-deep inside your pussy. You nod, tears welling in your eyes. He wipes them nonchalantly, cooing to you, “Don’t cry, baby… You’re doing so good.” He kisses your salty tears away. “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” You whine, hips jerking against his harsh fingers that flick at your sensitive bud.

You ask him so prettily and politely that he can’t say no. He situates himself between your legs before pulling down his grey sweats. There’s a noticeable tent in his boxers that he presses to your aching folds, grinding his erection against you.

“Do you feel that?” Lando grunts, pushing your legs back to allow him more space. You nod, and he grins. “All that just for you.” He leans over, kissing you once before pulling his boxers down. His fat tip slaps against your wet entrance. Lando uses one hand to rub it against you, teasing you efficiently. But when he sees your pouty expression, he slowly pushes his way in.

You’re already clenching so hard around him— Being such a good girl. He hisses, head tossed back as he continues trekking forward. You’re a whiny, squirming mess, but he has to get through this for both of you.

Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, he stops to let you adjust. You reach out for his hands, and he intertwines both of them with yours as he begins to thrust. It’s slow, but it’s passionate.

“Fuck, Lan… Feels so good,” He nods in agreement because he can barely get any words out right now. He’s just focused on trying to make you feel good.

He has to let go of you eventually, but it’s only so he can continue to tease your swollen clit and maximize your pleasure. You throw your head back when you orgasm, your legs spasming before wrapping around him instinctively. He pulls out to come, painting your stomach sticky white.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He mutters as he presses a kiss to your forehead, letting you rest your sleepy eyes.

[rueclfer]

FOR THE JOB EVENT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BOUNCER AIZAWA WITH ABSOLUTE MENACE READER who definitely should be banned by now but aizawa cannot help how much fun he has seeing you come back…. Oh and mister bouncer aizawa rides a motorcycle EHEHEHEHEHEH

for the sake of this event i rlly could not make this as long as i wanted im sssooorrrrryyyyyy but ON GOD i will be making a part 2 after i finish all these submissions. bc i just. MEOW? -> aizawa putting the bike helmet on you.... taking you back to his apartment bc its closer.... helping u sober up..... please. PLEASE.

bouncer!aizawa // job fair

event m.list

you’re late. 

you’re late and rumi is in the front seat of your taxi with her torso turned all the way around to face you to make sure you know exactly what you had cost your friend group tonight.

“i hope you got enough cash in that tiny purse of yours to get our cover charges,” she huffs, an air of her boozy breath brushing past you in the middle seat.

you could only roll your eyes in response. you’d rather spend twenty dollars to get through the doors than seventy-five on drinks tonight. if that meant you’d have to spend the whole night a step behind black-out, then you’d just have to find a way to burn off some of the alcohol.

“if man-bun is working the front tonight, we’ll be fine,” keigo quips from your left.

“the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you cock an eyebrow, your words almost slurring in an incoherent run.

“you know what i mean,” he scoffs out a laugh, “you guys know who i’m talking ‘bout?”

“i think we all know mister five-o’clock-shadow,” fuyumi chuckles from your right.

“stop it,” you whine, “no ganging up on me when i’m two sniffs of alcohol away from blacking out.”

“and whose fault is that?” rumi sings, “you’re the one who wanted to pre game so hard.”

you lean back into the middle seat with a huff. it wasn’t your fault that rumi decided at the last minute that you had to go out this friday instead of your usual saturdays. if you’re anything, you’re a supportive friend.

i had a shitty day at work and i need to get drunk. now.

and yet, somehow it felt like you were the only one who had been working on the handle of vodka passed around the four of you.

you don’t remember stumbling out of the uber until the clack of your boots hitting the pavement. now that you were standing upright, the alcohol had moved its way to your head.

“you okay?” rumi asks, placing a hand on your elbow.

“duh.” you shake off the nauseating feeling in your stomach.

once your group makes its way around the corner, shouta nearly misses you. this club rarely charges a cover fee on friday nights, so he lets hizashi check your ids without a second glance.

“what, you're not gonna check my bag?”

with a cigarette resting in between his lips, his attention turns to you with furrowed brows and a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“just when i thought i was going to have a good night," he chuckles a breath of smoke out, "the fuck are you doing here?"

you gesture for the others to go on once your eyes meet with theirs for you to follow them into the crowd of people filtered at the entrance 

go ahead. i’ll catch up later, you silently say with a nod.

rumi wiggles her brows at you as the others chuckle to themselves, pushing their way through the masses.

“gonna go inside and read a book,” you roll your eyes, “what does it look like i’m doing here?”

“you’re drunk.” he ashes off the cigarette on the wall behind him. “which means you’re trouble. which means more work for me. isn’t that right?”

“it’s a friday night, shouta, i’m on angel hours.” you smile up at him, "promise."

‘you know, i don’t usually work fridays. how lucky am i?” there was a lace of playful sarcasm in his tone, “because i’m assuming i won’t be seeing you tomorrow night.”

you hold your hand up to your chest, faking hurt, “you don’t think i can rally two nights in a row? who do you think i am?”

shouta leans down towards you, pushing the stray strands of hair behind the shell of your ear.

“i think your night’s gonna end early if you don’t go inside and grab a cup of water from oboro right now.”

"you have no faith in me," you pout.

he places a hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him and out of the way from the line of people entering the bar.

"prove me wrong then." he shrugs, "behave for one night."

shouta gives you a daring look. he knows how you are- it’ll be one accidental bump from the wrong person for you to get in their face or the right song for you to climb on top of the bar. you’re already swaying under his light touch hovering over the bare skin of your lower back. 

“well, shou,” you lean in, almost grazing his nose with your own, “you know i love being right.”

[xylatox]

Out of tune [pt.3] || cbg

I cant believe ive made it to part 3 :::((( Its such a bittersweet feeling being here ahhh. Unto my thoughts tho hehe

Except, this time, it wasn’t in a heated argument. It wasn’t in the middle of some stupid, tension-fueled fight where neither of you could tell whether you wanted to kill each other or rip each other’s clothes off. This time, he had kissed you after taking you out. After buying you dinner. After walking you home with his arm wrapped around you, his touch casual, like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t dangerous.

The war really is over oh my god :( 

Again, I just really love mc and Yeonjun’s relationship; they really are best friends ugh

And outside the studio… there’s that. The moments between work. The coffee he wordlessly hands you when he notices you getting too in your head. The way his hand lingers on your back when he leans in to show you something on the soundboard. The nights when he convinces you to take a break, dragging you to the bar near HYBE, ordering rounds of beer and stealing food off your plate like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The nights when, after a few drinks, his fingers tangle in your hoodie, pulling you close, his lips brushing against yours before he really kisses you, slow, lazy, like he knows you won’t pull away. It’s not something you talk about. Not at work, at least.

I love the shift in the relationship. It makes me so warm and cozy :( i love them so much.

Beomgyu grins. “That’s how we work.” And you have a feeling he’s absolutely right.

They fit so well, it makes me so happy

His hand brushed against your lower back, just barely, and then his breath was at your ear. "You look so fucking good tonight." Your body locked up. Beomgyu’s voice was low, meant for only you. His fingers ghosted over your hip, a touch so fleeting it could’ve been accidental. But it wasn’t. "I’ve been trying to focus all night," he murmured. "But you keep walking around looking like that." Your throat went dry. "You enjoying yourself?" he asked, still too close.

I will genuinely pass out

WHY DOES SEUNGCHOEL KEEP FINDING HER IN ODD PLACES EW GET AWAY

"And then I see him—" His jaw clenched. His grip on you tightened. "Talking to you like he fucking owns you, like he has any right to be standing that fucking close—"

Beomgyu like this is actually going to drive me insane

"I should’ve had you like this a long time ago," he muttered, voice darker now, laced with frustration. "Should’ve made you mine the second I realized no one else was ever gonna be enough."

Oh this is a crazy line

Beomgyu is a mess of contradictions.

Oh holy fuck

And then he kisses you. His lips pressing against yours like he’s memorizing the way you taste. His hand cups your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. You melt into him instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, clinging. By the time he pulls away, you’re breathless. Dazed.

Thats actually so freaking sweet

Not yet. Instead, you let your phone fall back into your lap, exhaling slowly as you turned to the window again. Beomgyu was still standing there, still watching, still waiting for something you didn’t know how to give him.

Please oh my god, more angst?😭(im loving all of this btw)

Your breath caught. Because the thing was— You didn’t know. And that scared you more than anything else.

I just want them to be happy oh my god

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on,” he said, standing now, voice low, but intense. “Because I’m standing here ready to fight for you, and I feel like I’m the only one throwing punches.”

Hes so in love with her oh my gof

“I don’t want your protection,” he said. “I want you.”

I am not okay

How does the mc not realize Cheol has a crush??? Shes so cute 😭

And then he kissed you. Slow. Warm. Sure. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that tried to prove something. It wasn’t frantic or messy or fueled by tension. It was honest. Steady. The kind of kiss that said, I meant everything I said. I’m not going anywhere.

Im so soft I cannot do this

You think about how, for so long, you felt out of tune. Like no matter how hard you worked, something was always off. Too loud in the wrong places. Too soft where you needed strength. Like you were always trying to blend into a harmony that never made space for you.

Oh my god the title reference. 

Ronnie. Fuck. Im so glad I finally read this piece of yours. Your writing style is amazing. I love it so much, I love the world you built, the relationship you curated and just how things unraveled between them. Again, Im so glad I finally got to this piece and I cant wait to read another of your works!

OUT OF TUNE ˖ 🎙◞⋆ (PART 3)

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader part 1 // part 2 // part 3 <3

summary: you and beomgyu have been at each other’s throats since day one at HYBE. both of you are producers, both of you are talented, and both of you absolutely refuse to lose to the other. whether it’s competing for the best demo, fighting over studio time, or bickering in team meetings, everyone knows one thing: you and beomgyu cannot stand each other so, of course, your boss decides to put you two on the same project—producing ENHYPEN’s next album. together. as in, sharing a studio, making creative decisions, and not murdering each other in the process. and suddenly, the tension isn’t just about work.

genre:  enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, smut, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c:  22k words warnings: explicit sexual content, mdni!! softdom beomgyu, unprotected sex, drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, petnames.

author's note: hi guys!! i finally finished this fic <3 i hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

Beomgyu had kissed you.

Again. And you had let him. Again.

Except, this time, it wasn’t in a heated argument. It wasn’t in the middle of some stupid, tension-fueled fight where neither of you could tell whether you wanted to kill each other or rip each other’s clothes off. This time, he had kissed you after taking you out. After buying you dinner. After walking you home with his arm wrapped around you, his touch casual, like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t dangerous.

It had been soft. Warm. His lips had brushed against yours like a promise, like something new and terrifying was settling into place between you. And you had kissed him back. Not because you were drunk. Not because you were mad. But because, in that moment, you had wanted to.

Which meant you were completely, irrevocably screwed.

Because Beomgyu had been your rival for months. He had been the thorn in your side, the storm in your sky, the one person in this industry you were convinced you would never— well. Never this. And now, your face was buried in your hands, while Yeonjun grinned at you like he was about to savor every second of this.

Yeonjun grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, watching you like he was about to relish every second of this. "Oh, no, no, no. I need to process this properly." You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, but when you opened them, Yeonjun was still grinning, still watching you like this was the greatest night of his life. "You kissed him," he said, dragging out the words. "Again."

"Shut up," you repeated, but there was no heat in your voice.

Yeonjun ignored you completely, tapping his chin. "And not just anywhere—outside our apartment. Right at the front door. Damn, you guys were desperate."

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand. "Now, sit your ass down and start talking."

You sighed but eventually dropped onto the couch, rubbing your temples. "You want the whole story?"

"Obviously."

So, you told him. Not in excruciating detail, but how you and Beomgyu had kissed at work (again), how Seungcheol interrupted, how Yunho and Seungcheol were absolute assholes behind your back, how Beomgyu defended you (which Yeonjun immediately raised an eyebrow at), how you went out for drinks after work, how he walked you home, and finally—

"And then you guys made out in the hallway like a teen drama couple?" Yeonjun finished for you, grinning.

"We didn’t—" you started, then sighed. "Okay, fine, kind of."

Yeonjun cackled. "This is unreal."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am," he said. "Because this is you—and Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The guy you’ve been complaining about for months. The guy you called your arch-nemesis."

You scowled. "I never called him that."

"You did," he said, smirking. "Twice."

You exhaled, leaning back against the couch. "I don’t know how this happened."

Yeonjun gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Holy shit. Someone call Baekhyun—this is bigger news than the album drop."

"Yeonjun."

"No, really, we need a press release—‘Y/N admits she likes Beomgyu after months of acting like she wanted to strangle him in the studio’—"

"I still want to strangle him," you muttered.

"Yeah, but now you also want to kiss him," he shot back.

Your face burned. "I regret this conversation."

Yeonjun grinned, then leaned forward, his voice softer now. "Okay, but seriously? I’m happy for you."

You hesitated, glancing at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His expression was warm now, all the teasing fading into something real. "Look, I know he’s an annoying little shit, but he’s also not a bad guy," Yeonjun continued. "And if he makes you happy—"

You swallowed. "I don’t know if he does yet."

Yeonjun gave you a look. "You literally kissed him at your front door."

You sighed. "Fine. He makes me feel something. I don’t know what yet."

Yeonjun hummed. "Well, whatever it is, just make sure he doesn’t fuck it up."

You raised an eyebrow. "And if he does?"

Yeonjun leaned back, smirking. "Then I kick his ass."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, sure. That’s definitely gonna scare him."

Yeonjun pouted. "Hey, I could be intimidating."

"You’re wearing pajama pants with cartoon bears on them."

"These are very comfortable," he defended. "But fine, point taken. I’ll get Kai to help."

You chuckled. "Kai wouldn’t hurt a fly."

"Okay, maybe not. But he could guilt-trip Beomgyu into oblivion. That’s almost worse." You laughed again, warmth settling into your chest. Yeonjun grinned, nudging your knee with his. "Hey, relax. I think it’s gonna be fine."

You sighed. "I hope so."

He softened. "And if it’s not, I’m here."

Your throat tightened slightly. "Thanks, Junnie."

"Always," he said, stretching. "Now, I desperately need to sleep."

You nodded, getting up from the couch. "Same."

Yeonjun smirked as you turned toward your bedroom. "Don’t dream about Beomgyu too hard."

"Fuck off," you muttered, flipping him off over your shoulder.

His laughter followed you down the hall. And as you crawled into bed, burying yourself under the covers, you realized, tonight hadn’t gone the way you expected. Not even close. But somehow, for the first time in a while, you weren’t mad about it.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Days bled into nights, hours slipped through your fingers like sand, and before you even realized it, the album had started coming together, really coming together.

The instrumentals were finalized. The production was polished. The members of ENHYPEN had begun recording their vocals, each of them bringing something alive to the tracks that you had spent months obsessing over. Heeseung is a perfectionist, nailing his parts with precision but always wanting one more take. Jungwon is a natural leader, making sure the harmonies sit right. Sunghoon takes direction well, and Jake is full of energy, throwing out ideas between recordings. Sunoo brings emotion into every note, Jay hypes up the others, and Ni-ki—despite being the youngest—picks things up faster than anyone. You spend most of your days in the vocal booth, guiding them through runs, adjusting layers, making sure everything blends the way it’s supposed to.

And Beomgyu? He’s there. Not just physically, but in a way you didn’t expect. You don’t even question it anymore, the way he sits at the back of the room, his presence always in your periphery. The way he occasionally throws out suggestions, most of them annoyingly good. The way he watches you work, like he’s trying to figure you out.

There’s no formal arrangement, no spoken agreement. But at some point, without either of you really acknowledging it, you start to rely on him. And outside the studio… there’s that. The moments between work. The coffee he wordlessly hands you when he notices you getting too in your head. The way his hand lingers on your back when he leans in to show you something on the soundboard. The nights when he convinces you to take a break, dragging you to the bar near HYBE, ordering rounds of beer and stealing food off your plate like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The nights when, after a few drinks, his fingers tangle in your hoodie, pulling you close, his lips brushing against yours before he really kisses you, slow, lazy, like he knows you won’t pull away. It’s not something you talk about. Not at work, at least.

But it’s there. And you don’t mind. Because somehow, between all of this, between studio sessions and late-night drinking, between teasing remarks and stolen kisses, you and Beomgyu fit into each other’s lives like you were always supposed to be there.

And then, a few weeks after that night outside your apartment, you finish the album. The final track is mixed, the final arrangement locked in. You sit back in your chair, staring at the screen, your heart pounding. It’s done.

Beomgyu lets out a low whistle beside you. “Holy shit.”

You turn to him, still half in shock. “We actually finished it.”

He grins, knocking his knee against yours. “You finished it.”

You exhale, shaking your head. You almost don’t believe it. And then, the door swings open. Baekhyun steps inside, looking way too pleased. “Perfect timing. I was just about to call you both for a meeting.”

Beomgyu groans. “A meeting? We should be celebrating.”

Baekhyun smirks. “We will. That’s what the party is for.”

You blink. “Party?”

“The album launch.” Baekhyun crosses his arms. “Label event, media coverage, important people. Big deal.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

Beomgyu perks up. “Is it open bar?”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, muttering, “It’s totally open bar.”

You snort. Baekhyun claps his hands. “Alright, conference room in five.”

You sigh, powering down your setup. “Guess we’re not celebrating just yet.”

Beomgyu stretches. “Give it time.”

The conference room is packed when you walk in. The ENHYPEN members are already seated, along with some producers, managers, and Seungcheol. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. You haven’t seen much of him since Beomgyu told you everything. You don’t want to think about it now.

You slide into a seat, and moments later, Baekhyun starts running through final updates, the release schedule, the media strategy, the logistics of the launch party. "Romance: Untold," Baekhyun says, nodding toward you and Beomgyu. "Love the name."

A murmur of approval spreads around the table. "It’s perfect," Heeseung agrees.

"I told you it was better than ‘Files of Romance,’" Jay adds.

Baekhyun smirks. “Told you it was just a working title.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, voice low. “You hearing this? We won.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be insufferable about it.”

“I live to be insufferable,” he whispers.

Before you can respond, Seungcheol speaks. "You know," he muses, leaning back in his chair, "I have to say—Y/N, you really outdid yourself with this album." You blink, caught off guard. Seungcheol’s gaze settles on you, his smile smooth, too easy. “The vocal production, the arrangement, the way everything blends—it’s all sharp. Easily some of the best work I’ve seen from you.”

A few heads nod in agreement. Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap. “Uh. Thanks.”

Baekhyun claps his hands together. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Party’s this Friday—be there, look good, and for the love of God, don’t embarrass me.”

People start filing out of the room, but before you can move, Beomgyu leans closer. “You okay?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, then nudges your arm. “Good. Because we have a party to dominate.”

You huff. “That’s not how album release parties work.”

Beomgyu grins. “That’s how we work.” And you have a feeling he’s absolutely right.

The venue was nothing short of extravagant. Dim golden lighting, sleek black-and-gold decor, and a curated guest list that ensured the room was filled with the industry’s best. Label executives, producers, other artists, everyone who mattered was here, celebrating your work.

And you looked good. Not just put-together. Not just presentable. Good. Your dress was sleek—black, fitted, with thin straps and a slit up one side that made walking feel like a power move. Understated but striking. The kind of outfit that made you feel in control.

You hadn’t done it for anyone. Not for the photographers, not for the label executives, and not even for Beomgyu. But the second you walked in, his eyes found you. And you knew. You felt the weight of his stare before you even saw him, the way his gaze flickered down, slowly tracing over you before snapping back up. You pretended not to notice. Pretended you didn’t see the way his fingers flexed around the glass in his hand. Pretended it didn’t make your stomach tighten.

Because tonight, the two of you were professionals. No one here knew. No one had any idea what had been happening between you for the last few weeks—the late nights, the stolen kisses, the way his hands had started finding your waist when no one was looking. And that was how it needed to stay.

"Alright," Yeonjun hummed beside you, adjusting his blazer. "Where’s the champagne?"

You snorted. "Can you at least pretend you’re here for the album?"

Yeonjun grinned. "Oh, I’m definitely here for the album. But I’m also here for free alcohol."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Come on, let’s find the others."

The three of you wove through the crowd, stopping for brief congratulations from a few producers and label reps. And then, you spotted the ENHYPEN members near the bar.

"Y/N!" Heeseung waved you over, grinning. "We were just talking about you."

You raised an eyebrow, stepping up beside him. "Good things, I hope."

Jay smirked. "Very good things. You did produce our album, after all."

Ni-ki grinned. "I think she deserves a toast."

You laughed. "You just want an excuse to drink more."

Jake nudged you playfully. "Maybe. But you do deserve it."

Your chest warmed at the praise. You had spent so much time working on this album that you had barely stopped to consider what it actually meant, not just to you, but to them. You exhaled, reaching for a glass of champagne from the bar. "Fine. A toast, then."

The guys all lifted their glasses, and Heeseung smirked. "To the best producer we could’ve asked for." The glasses clinked, and you took a sip, letting the bubbles fizz against your tongue. The conversation carried on easily, laughter and congratulations blending into the hum of the party.

And throughout it all, you felt him. Felt his presence across the room, the weight of his gaze every time you so much as moved. Beomgyu was talking to Soobin, but his attention wasn’t fully there. Not when you shifted your weight. Not when you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Not when you laughed at something Jay said, tilting your head back just enough to expose your throat. His grip on his glass tightened.

And you smirked to yourself, barely resisting the urge to glance at him. If he wanted to play it cool, fine. So would you.

An hour passed. The room had filled out even more, the energy shifting as people relaxed, drinks flowed, and the excitement of the album’s release finally settled in. You had long since drifted from the bar, making rounds, stopping for brief conversations, keeping up exactly the level of professional distance you were supposed to.

And Beomgyu had too. Until now. Because one moment, you were standing by one of the lounge tables, listening to Taehyun say something about the press coverage. And the next, Beomgyu was there, too close.

His hand brushed against your lower back, just barely, and then his breath was at your ear. "You look so fucking good tonight." Your body locked up. Beomgyu’s voice was low, meant for only you. His fingers ghosted over your hip, a touch so fleeting it could’ve been accidental. But it wasn’t. "I’ve been trying to focus all night," he murmured. "But you keep walking around looking like that." Your throat went dry. "You enjoying yourself?" he asked, still too close.

You exhaled sharply, forcing your posture to stay straight. "I was."

He hummed. "Then I won’t keep you."

And just like that, he pulled away. Left you standing there, heart hammering, skin warm where his breath had touched it. Like he hadn’t just completely unraveled you with two fucking sentences. You swallowed, forcing yourself to refocus on the conversation.

Taehyun smirked. "You okay?"

You shot him a look. "Fine."

Yeonjun grinned, sipping his drink. "Uh-huh. Sure."

You ignored them both. But as you glanced across the room, catching sight of Beomgyu’s smirk as he raised his glass to you. You weren’t making it through this party unscathed.

The bathroom was quiet. A rare moment of stillness amid the overwhelming noise of the party. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress, grounding yourself before stepping back out into the chaos. But the second you did—

"Hey." You barely had time to register the voice before Seungcheol appeared beside you, his usual easy smile in place. "Didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you tonight," he said, tilting his head. "You’ve been busy."

You exhaled. "Yeah, well, it’s a big night."

"It is." His gaze flickered over you, lingering in a way that made your stomach twist. "And you’re looking— good." The way he said it, too familiar, too confident, made something in you prickle.

"Thanks," you said, keeping your tone even. "Hope you’re enjoying the party."

"Oh, I am." Seungcheol’s smirk deepened. "More now that we’re talking."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "We see each other at work, you know."

"Yeah, but work isn’t exactly the place to have fun, is it?" He took a slow sip of his drink, gaze still fixed on you. "I was serious about what I said in the meeting. You really killed it on this album."

"I appreciate that."

"I mean it." His voice dipped, his body shifting slightly closer. "It’s impressive. You’re impressive."

You forced a polite smile. "Thank you."

"You know—" he mused, "you don’t have to be stuck at HYBE forever. You’ve got talent. People notice."

You stiffened slightly. "I’m fine where I am."

"Are you?" He hummed. "Because I keep thinking about how someone like you deserves better than some minor group’s project. You could be working with bigger names."

Your stomach turned. "ENHYPEN’s album is a big deal."

"Sure." He smiled. "But I bet you could be doing bigger things. Better things. Maybe with better people." There it was. The way his words twisted, the implication lurking just beneath the surface.

Your jaw tightened. "I’m good where I am, Seungcheol."

"Of course," he said smoothly, unfazed. "Just saying—if you ever want to get out of there, I’d be happy to—"

"She’s fine where she is."

The interruption was sharp and familiar. Your breath hitched before you even turned your head. Because suddenly, Beomgyu was there. He wasn’t just standing beside you, he was between you and Seungcheol, his body angled slightly, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were sharp, dark, not teasing, not playful.

Seungcheol sighed, exhaling through his nose. "Ah, Beomgyu."

"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said flatly. "Didn’t realize you were so interested in Y/N’s career path."

Seungcheol shrugged. "Just making conversation."

"Right." Beomgyu’s lips twitched, mocking. "Well, we were actually in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind—"

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of what, exactly?"

Beomgyu smiled. "Leaving."

And before Seungcheol could say another word, Beomgyu’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm. And then, he pulled you away. You barely had time to register it, barely had time to breathe before he was leading you across the venue, weaving through the crowd with purpose, his grip never loosening.

"Beomgyu—" you started.

"Not here," he muttered. He pushed open a door. A small, empty lounge. Dimly lit, tucked away from the main event. The second the door closed behind you, he turned. And the energy in the room shifted. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, his fingers still curled around your wrist like he couldn’t let go.

Your breath was uneven, your pulse erratic, and the air in the small, dimly lit lounge was thick, too thick, pressing against your skin like a second layer. The bass from the party outside throbbed faintly through the walls, but in here, it was silent. Beomgyu stood in front of you, his chest rising and falling with controlled, shallow breaths. His fingers were still curled around your wrist, firm, warm, like he wasn’t ready to let go. The look in his eyes was unreadable, dark, searching, brimming with something that made your stomach twist and your throat go dry.

"What the hell was that?" you asked, voice sharper than intended, trying to ground yourself.

Beomgyu let out a humorless scoff, raking a hand through his dark hair, making it fall messily over his forehead. "Are you serious?"

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. "He wasn’t doing anything—"

"He was fucking testing you," Beomgyu snapped. His voice was rough, his jaw tight. "Just seeing how much he could get away with." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Your heart pounded. "It’s not your problem, Beomgyu."

His eyes flashed. "Like hell it’s not."

And suddenly, he was too close. His hand was still on you, his fingers now sliding down, tracing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin. His breath was uneven, his pupils blown wide, and the air between you was buzzing.

"Do you have any idea," he muttered, voice lower now, almost a growl, "how fucking insane you make me?" Your breath hitched. His fingers twitched, like he was holding himself back. Like he was trying so hard not to do something reckless. "I saw you the second you walked into this party," he murmured. "I haven’t stopped looking at you since."

A shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "Beomgyu—"

"And then I see him—" His jaw clenched. His grip on you tightened. "Talking to you like he fucking owns you, like he has any right to be standing that fucking close—"

"He doesn’t," you cut in, your voice softer this time. Beomgyu’s gaze flicked to yours. Something inside him shifted. And then he stepped closer. So close you could feel the warmth of his skin. So close that if you moved even an inch, your lips would touch.

His next breath fanned against your cheek. His voice was a whisper, but it wrecked you. "I can’t fucking focus when you’re around," he muttered.

Your stomach flipped. A smirk ghosted over your lips before you could stop it. "Good."

Beomgyu’s eyes darkened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And that was all it took. A sharp inhale. A flicker of something dangerous in his gaze. And then he was kissing you. Not soft. Not careful. Desperate. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you like he needed to feel every inch of you against him. His lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss instantly, his tongue teasing along your bottom lip, demanding more. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound eagerly, pressing himself closer.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, his voice ragged, "you taste good."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his blazer, clinging to him as heat rolled through you. "We—"

"Not stopping," he cut in, tilting your chin up with his fingers before kissing you again, harder, more possessive. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and the sharp sting sent a spark straight to your stomach. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly, and then, he pressed his leg between yours. Your breath hitched. The pressure made you let out a small, helpless sound escaping you before you could stop it, your fingers curling tighter into his jacket. Beomgyu froze. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

And his expression changed. The arrogance was gone. The playfulness was gone. His gaze dropped to your lips, still swollen from his kisses, then flickered back up to your eyes. "Oh," he murmured, voice dropping to something dangerous. "Did you just moan for me?"

Your face burned. "I—"

"Fuck." His grip on your waist tightened, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhaled sharply. "That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard."

Your entire body buzzed. "Beomgyu—"

"Say my name again," he murmured against your lips, voice thick with something else, something darker. "Say it while I make you feel good."

And then he moved his leg. A slow, deliberate shift, just enough to press against the heat between your thighs. Your lips parted, a choked noise escaping before you could stop it. Beomgyu groaned. "Fuck, baby," he muttered, his grip turning bruising. "You like that, don’t you?"

Your fingers dug into his arms. "Beomgyu—"

"That’s it," he praised, his mouth trailing down, along your jaw, to your throat. His teeth nipped at your skin before his lips soothed over the mark, sucking lightly. You whimpered, your head tilting back on instinct. Beomgyu chuckled against your skin, pleased. "So sensitive." He kissed down, past your collarbone, murmuring against your skin, "I bet I could get you falling apart from just this, huh?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought. "We—we’re at a party—"

"I don’t give a shit," he growled, nipping at your collarbone, his hands sliding over your thighs, gripping you like he needed to touch you. "I should. I should be worried about someone walking in, but fuck—" He kissed your neck again, hungrier, more reckless. "I can’t stop touching you."

The world outside ceased to exist. The music from the party became a distant hum, swallowed by the heat wrapping around you both. The dim lighting barely illuminated the outline of Beomgyu’s face, his sharp jawline, the messy strands of black hair falling over his forehead. His fingers were still gripping your waist, his breath shallow, his pupils blown wide. His lips were red from kissing you.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, testing. But Beomgyu didn’t hesitate, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth parting against yours, deepening the kiss like he needed it. Your fingers found the lapels of his blazer, gripping tightly as he walked you backward, lips still moving against yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of a small couch. And then, with one swift motion, Beomgyu’s hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them firmly. Before you could process it, he lifted you. A startled gasp escaped against his mouth, but he just smirked, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap as he turned around and sat down, settling you exactly where he wanted you, straddling him.

Your dress rode up your thighs with the movement, exposing the soft skin beneath. Beomgyu’s hands immediately found their place there, fingers pressing into the flesh, holding you tight. His touch was burning. Everything was burning. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice low, almost wrecked.

You shivered, hands sliding up to cup his face, tilting his chin up slightly before diving back in, kissing him harder this time. He groaned into your mouth, his fingers flexing against your skin before one hand slid up to your back, pressing you closer.

His lips left yours just long enough to move to your jaw, trailing down slowly, deliberately, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more access, and Beomgyu took it, sucking lightly against your skin before soothing the mark with his tongue.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted slightly, adjusting your position. The friction made his breath hitch, his hands dig into your thighs. You felt the effect you had on him. And it made something ignite in you. Slowly, deliberately, you rolled your hips against him. The reaction was immediate. Beomgyu let out a low, strangled moan, his fingers gripping you harder. "Shit—"

A slow smirk curled on your lips. "You like that?"

His head tipped back against the couch for a second, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. "You’re gonna fucking kill me," he muttered.

You leaned in, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his jawline, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded under your lips. Beomgyu swallowed hard, his hands roaming up and down your back, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold you there or pull you impossibly closer. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice raw, almost desperate. "So pretty, so fucking good—"

You kissed along the edge of his jaw, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath you. "You talk too much," you whispered, nipping lightly at his skin.

Beomgyu growled, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you back down for another kiss. This one was messy, hungrier, his tongue teasing against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go. You rolled your hips again, feeling the way he shuddered beneath you. And then, with a frustrated groan, he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it to the side without a second thought. You took the opportunity immediately.

Before he could do anything else, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the newly exposed skin, kissing down the side of his neck, letting your teeth graze over his pulse point before sucking lightly. Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping you tighter. "Fuck," he muttered, tilting his head back, letting you ruin him.

You kissed down his throat, down to the hollow between his collarbones, listening to the way his breath hitched, feeling the way his body tensed beneath you. When you pulled back slightly to look at him, his eyes were hooded, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. And fuck, he had never looked better. He looked wrecked. All because of you.

His hands slid up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheek before tilting your chin, making you look at him. Beomgyu’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his dark eyes locked onto yours, gaze molten, burning. He held your chin in place for a second longer, like he was savoring the moment, the way you looked, the way your breath trembled against his skin.

And then his hand moved lower. Fingers trailing down the line of your throat, slow, deliberate, like he was testing how far he could go. When his fingers wrapped around your neck, his palm warm against your skin, you felt your pulse stutter. And then, a light squeeze. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control. Beomgyu smirked when he felt the sharp intake of your breath.

"You like that, huh?" he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, his grip firm but teasing. Your lips parted, and before you could even think of responding, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "Of course, you do." Your stomach flipped. You weren’t sure when it had happened, when you had lost yourself so completely to him, but at this point, it didn’t matter. Because his lips were on yours again, and this time, the kiss was even hungrier.

He tilted your head back slightly with his hand still around your throat, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your entire body ache. You felt his other hand travel up your side, fingers ghosting over your waist, up to your ribs, higher, until his palm was covering your chest, fingers splaying over the fabric of your dress.

A quiet whimper escaped you, and Beomgyu groaned, pressing his forehead against yours as he squeezed lightly, his thumb teasing over your covered skin. "Fuck," he breathed, "you feel even better than I imagined."

Your brain short-circuited. "Imagined?"

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Oh, you have no idea." His lips brushed against your jaw as he spoke, his words dripping into your skin, each one sending heat straight through you. "How many nights I’ve thought about this. About you, sitting on my lap like this. About how fucking perfect you’d feel pressed against me."

Your fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the buttons of his shirt, your breath uneven. "Beomgyu—"

"I should’ve had you like this a long time ago," he muttered, voice darker now, laced with frustration. "Should’ve made you mine the second I realized no one else was ever gonna be enough."

Your fingers worked through the buttons of his shirt with slow precision, the fabric parting inch by inch, revealing golden skin, firm muscle, evidence of how strong he really was, how much restraint he had been holding onto. Beomgyu’s breath was heavy, ragged, his chest rising and falling with each undone button. His hands stayed firm on your hips, his grip bruising, grounding himself, like he was trying to stay in control.

"Fuck," he muttered as your fingers ghosted over his collarbone, your touch featherlight, teasing. "You’re killing me."

A smirk curled at your lips. "Am I?"

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the sharp edge of his jawline, then lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down his throat. You felt the way his pulse pounded against your lips, erratic, betraying the composure he was desperately trying to hold onto. "Yes, and I'll make you fucking mine." His voice was rough, dark with something possessive, something unshakable.

Beomgyu ripped the rest of his shirt off, tossing it aside like it meant nothing. And fuck, you had seen glimpses before, the way his shirts fit him, the way he carried himself, but this—this was something else entirely. His body was lean, defined, sculpted by years of muscle memory, of practice, of control. His skin was smooth, warm under your fingertips, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you traced your hands down, over his collarbones, over the faint lines of his abdomen.

"You like what you see, mhm?" he teased, voice dripping with amusement, but his tone was strained, like he wanted to keep up the cocky act but was barely hanging on.

You didn’t answer. You just pressed your lips to his collarbone, then lower. Beomgyu sucked in a sharp breath, his hands trembling against you. You kissed down the center of his chest, slow, teasing, feeling the muscles beneath your lips tense as you moved lower, your hands gliding over his stomach. His breath hitched when you sank to your knees.

Still between his legs, still so perfectly in his space, your hands sliding over his thighs as you settled in front of him. Beomgyu let out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back for a second before he forced himself to look at you.

And fuck, the way he looked at you. Like you were a prayer. Like you were the thing he had been craving forever. His fingers found your hair, curling around the strands at the base of your skull, holding you there, his grip firm but controlled. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with something between reverence and ruin. "So fucking pretty on your knees for me."

A shiver ran down your spine. "Beomgyu—"

"Ask, baby." Beomgyu’s grip on your hair tightens slightly, his fingers threading through the strands, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His touch isn’t rough but it’s firm enough to make your breath hitch. His dark eyes watch you carefully, taking in the way your lips part, the way your fingers twitch against his thighs, craving more.

He hums, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his smirk lazy, knowing. "You want this, don’t you?" You swallow, nodding instinctively, your throat dry with anticipation. Beomgyu clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly, amused. "Use your words."

You exhale shakily, your grip tightening against the fabric of his pants, your pulse hammering beneath your skin. He’s toying with you, loving the power he holds, and you know it. But you refuse to let the moment swallow you whole. "I want this."

His lips curl slightly, that signature cocky smirk dancing at the edges of his mouth. "Say it properly, baby."

Your stomach tightens. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the control he wields so effortlessly, the sheer enjoyment flickering in his eyes as he watches you squirm. You lick your lips, steadying your voice as you meet his gaze head-on. "I want you, Beomgyu. Please."

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his hand sliding down to cup your chin, his fingers pressing into your jaw just enough to make you tilt your head up to him. His expression shifts—less teasing, more raw, like your words just hit him somewhere deep. "Fuck," he mutters, his voice rasping with unfiltered need. His grip on your chin tightens just slightly before he lets go. "Go on then," he says, voice low, thick. "Take my pants off."

You don’t hesitate. Your fingers move to the button of his pants, undoing them slowly, feeling the heat radiating off his body as you tug the zipper down. You push the fabric down his hips, your hands brushing against the firm muscles of his thighs as you strip him, leaving him in just his underwear.

And then, you kneel back, taking in the sight before you. Beomgyu is a mess of contradictions. He’s laid back against the couch, his arm resting over the back like he’s relaxed, in control—but the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, betray him. His body is tense with anticipation, with barely restrained desire, and the way he looks at you, like he wants to devour you whole, sends a wave of heat straight through you.

Your hands skim up his thighs, slow, teasing, as you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just above his knee. His breath catches, his fingers flexing against the cushion beside him. "Please…" you whimper, your voice a delicate plea against his skin.

Beomgyu’s eyes darken, his head tilting down to meet your gaze as his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Please what, princess?" His voice is nothing but a husky murmur, but it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t answer right away, you let your lips trail higher, kissing along his inner thigh, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath you, his breath shuddering as you tease him.

"Let me…" You murmur, your fingers sliding up to grip his thighs, spreading them wider for you. The sheer power shift, the way he lets you take control, yet still holds all the dominance in his touch, makes you dizzy. You glance up at him through your lashes, your expression caught between innocence and temptation. "Let me… please."

Beomgyu's pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his body trembling slightly with restraint. And then, his smirk returns, slower this time, almost predatory. "Yes, princess…" His voice is a breathless rasp. "Take what you want."

You don’t need to be told twice. Your fingers hook into the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down with excruciating slowness, your nails grazing along his hips as you strip him completely. Your movements falter for just a second as your eyes take him in, fully bare before you. Heat blooms across your skin, your pulse stuttering as the sight of him renders you momentarily speechless. He’s beautiful.

Not just in the way you always knew, sharp jaw, plush lips, tousled hair falling into his dark, expectant eyes, but like this. Completely exposed, all golden skin and defined lines, every inch of him sculpted to perfection. And big. Your stomach tightens at the realization, heat rushing between your thighs as your gaze instinctively trails down, taking in the sheer size of him. Your lips part slightly, your fingers hovering over his skin, hesitant, almost reverent, like you’re still processing just how much of him there is.

Beomgyu notices. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips, his chest rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths as he watches you. His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement. "Speechless?"

You nod softly as you lean in, your lips brushing his lower abdomen, pressing wet, teasing kisses along the dips and curves of his pelvis. You feel the way his breath stutters, the way his hands clench into fists at his sides, his self-control slipping with every touch of your mouth.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand flying to your hair, fingers curling into the strands, not pushing—just holding. "You’re playing a dangerous game, baby."

You hum softly, feigning innocence as you trail lower, your lips brushing just beside where he wants you the most. You can feel him tense beneath you, his thighs clenching, his breathing uneven. You look up at him again, your tongue peeking out slightly as you hover just close enough to make him ache. "Yeah?" you whisper, teasing. "What do you want, Gyu?"

Beomgyu curses under his breath, his head rolling back before he drags his eyes back down to you, gaze sharp and burning. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip firm but not yet forcing, just holding, reminding you exactly who’s in charge. His head tilts down, dark eyes watching you, unreadable yet burning with something wild, something barely restrained. "Use that pretty mouth on me," he rasps, voice rough, commanding. "Show me how bad you want it."

You don’t hesitate. Leaning in, you press slow, deliberate kisses along his length, your tongue flicking out to taste him, teasing, testing. You hear the sharp breath he sucks in, feel the way his thighs tense under your touch. And then, you take him into your mouth. Beomgyu exhales harshly, his head rolling back for just a moment, his fingers flexing in your hair before his gaze snaps back to you, completely fixated on the sight of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick with pleasure. His free hand clenches into a fist against the couch, trying to keep himself grounded. "Look at you… so fucking good for me. On your knees, taking me like so well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, making you moan softly around him. The vibration of it rips another groan from his throat, his hips twitching slightly in response. "Shit—" he grits out, his grip in your hair tightening as you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, gripping onto his thighs for support.

You love how he reacts to you, how his breath stutters, how his muscles tense every time your tongue glides over him. You let your eyes flutter open, glancing up at him through your lashes, letting him see the way you’re completely lost in pleasing him.

And he does. His jaw clenches, his lips part slightly as he watches you, his pupils dark and blown wide with hunger. His entire body is strung tight with restraint, like he’s one second away from completely losing control. "Fuck, take it," he groans, his voice nothing but raw need.

Your response is to moan around him again, sending another delicious vibration up his spine. Beomgyu curses under his breath, his hand tugging slightly at your hair in warning. You pull away just slightly, your lips gliding lower, pressing wet, teasing kisses along his base, then trailing further down. Beomgyu shudders the second your tongue flicks against his balls, his head snapping down to look at you. His reaction is primal.

"Shit—baby—" His breath is ragged, his body jerking at the sensation. His grip tightens, his fingers threading deeper into your hair as he exhales a shaky, desperate groan. "God, you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You smirk up at him, licking slowly, teasing, watching the way his expression twists in pleasure, the way he struggles to keep himself from completely losing control. "Good," you murmur against his skin, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Beomgyu lets out a breathless laugh, but it’s broken by another sharp inhale as you take him back into your mouth, this time moving faster, deeper. His head falls back against the couch, his chest heaving as he fights to hold himself together. But you can tell, he’s unraveling.

"Fuck, princess—" His voice is hoarse, breathless, his control slipping with every passing second. He yanks your hair back slightly, just enough to make you look up at him, just enough to remind you who’s in charge. "You wanna make me come, baby?" he growls, his fingers tangling deeper into your hair, his hips starting to twitch up into your mouth. "Then don’t fucking stop."

Your nails dig into his thighs as you obey, quickening your pace, taking him deeper, sucking harder. The sounds spilling from his lips grow rougher, filthier, his body trembling beneath you. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it, princess—" His voice is wrecked now, completely desperate, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pants.

You can feel it. The way he’s holding back, the way he’s teetering on the edge, barely holding himself together. "I’m so close," he groans, his grip on your hair tightening, his thighs clenching beneath your fingers. His dark, lust-blown eyes lock onto yours, and his next words come out in a low, sinful command—

"Take it, baby. Take every fucking drop." A deep, broken moan rips from Beomgyu’s throat as his body shudders, unraveling completely in your mouth. His grip in your hair tightens for a fleeting second before it relaxes, his breath stuttering as he watches you, watches the way you take it all, how you swallow every last drop without hesitation.

And then you look up at him. Your lips are slightly parted, your tongue flicking out to catch the remnants of him, your eyes filled with something that makes his stomach twist—devotion, submission, something entirely yours.

His head falls back against the couch, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, the aftershocks still coursing through him. One hand slides down to your jaw, fingers tracing the edge of your lips, his thumb pressing lightly against your lower one, just enough to part them again. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice still thick, still wrecked. "You were made for this, weren’t you?"

He doesn’t let you answer. Instead, he pulls you up effortlessly, lifting you onto his lap, pressing your body against his. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his grip firm, possessive, as if the idea of letting you go is unbearable.

"You took care of me so well, baby… " he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your temple before trailing down to your jawline. You feel him smile slightly against your skin as your hands clutch at his shoulders, your body still trembling from the sheer intensity of the moment.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your waist, his thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin. "So good," he praises again, his voice softer now, dripping with satisfaction. Your lips press against his jawline in response, a soft, lingering kiss, and his chest tightens at the gesture. Beomgyu’s fingers move to your chin, tilting your head up so you can’t look anywhere but at him. His grip is firm, a silent reminder of who’s in control. His gaze burns into yours, something dark and unreadable swirling in his expression. "I told you I would make you mine," he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low, almost predatory growl.

A soft whimper escapes you, and Beomgyu smirks, pleased. He sees the way your thighs twitch in response, the way your fingers tighten against his shoulders, as if you need more, need him. "Gyu—"

"Aww…" He tuts, his tone dripping with amusement. "My eager little princess." His fingers trail down your body, slow, teasing, ghosting over your waist before resting on your thigh. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin just above your knee, his touch featherlight, too light. "You want me that bad, huh?" He teases, his smirk deepening as he watches you squirm under his touch. "You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

His hand moves higher, creeping up your thigh, his fingers a slow, torturous promise. His other hand rests against your lower back, keeping you pressed against him, making sure you feel every inch of his growing need for you. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Are you going to listen to everything I say?"

You nod quickly, breathless, eager and Beomgyu groans at the sight of you like this, so willing, so obedient for him. "Good girl," he praises, his voice softer now, but no less dominant. His fingers finally slide higher, his palm pressing between your legs, feeling the heat radiating from your core. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk against your skin. "Let’s see how badly you want it."

You never imagined Beomgyu would be like this. Dominant. Gentle. Dangerous. From the beginning, you thought you knew exactly who he was—the carefree boy with easy laughter, quick-witted jokes, always playful, always teasing you. But now, here, with his darkened gaze filled with hunger, his touch both possessive and reverent, his voice thick with unrestrained desire, you realize you maybe never really knew him at all.

Not like this. Not the way he strips you down with slow, deliberate hands, unzipping your dress and letting it slip off your shoulders before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Not the way his breath catches at the sight of you in nothing but black lace, his lips parting slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them as if he’s already imagining the taste of you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself, his fingers tracing along your waist, pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words sink into you, warm and dizzying, as his lips find your collarbone, kissing, sucking, worshiping every inch of skin he can reach. Every praise, every whispered “perfect,” every quiet groan of appreciation makes your head spin.

And then, your bra joins your dress on the floor, and he loses it. His mouth is eager, starving as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks, his hands gripping your waist like he needs to hold onto something. His hands wander lower, gliding down your stomach, mapping out the curves of your hips, his touch featherlight as he slides over your thighs. He teases, fingers barely grazing where you need him most, making you whimper in frustration.

And then, everything shifts. In one swift motion, he pulls you back against him, your back colliding with his chest as he leans into the couch, trapping you in his hold. His arms lock around you, forearms pressing into your ribcage, his legs framing yours, keeping you caged.

His breath is hot against your ear as his lips ghost along your jaw, your earlobe, teasing before his teeth sink into the sensitive skin, making you shiver. He hums, satisfied with your reaction, his voice a low rasp against your skin. “I picture you like this…” His hands trail lower, fingers dancing just above the waistband of your underwear, barely touching. Teasing. “Touching yourself when you think of me.”

A shudder rips through you, your stomach tightening, thighs clenching around nothing. His fingers finally slip inside your underwear, dragging through your slick heat before circling your clit, slow, deliberate, just enough to make you whimper. He lets out a breathy chuckle, lips brushing against your temple. “Is it like this?”

You can’t even answer, your breath stutters as his fingers move, lazy and unhurried, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open over him. His hard length presses against your lower back, and the thought of him like this, as desperate as you, makes you whine.

“You like it when I talk about you like this, don’t you?” He whispers against your neck, nipping at the skin before soothing it with his tongue. “When I tell you how fucking good you are for me?”

You nod, words are impossible, lost in the haze of him, in the way he’s playing you like he knows your body better than you do. His fingers work you open, his pace torturously slow. “You’re soaking,” he murmurs, his tone almost in awe, his fingers gliding through your wetness with ease. He presses a slow, teasing circle over your clit, his lips curving into a smirk against your jaw. “Fuck, baby. All this for me?”

You whimper, hips twitching in search of more friction, but he takes his time, dragging his fingers through your slick with excruciating patience. He sinks one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, his breath hitching at the way you immediately tighten around him, moaning softly. “Yes, fuck—”

“There you go,” he hums, voice rich with praise. Your head falls back against his shoulder, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as he moves inside you, curling his finger just right before adding another. He sets a steady, unhurried rhythm, pumping into you, his palm pressing firmly against your clit every time he thrusts deeper.

The pleasure builds steadily, an unbearable coil tightening in your stomach as he continues, fingers fucking you open with perfect precision. His lips stay on your neck, murmuring praises, coaxing out every little sound from you like he’s memorizing them. “So wet, baby,” he groans, his voice raspier now, his own breathing uneven. “Dripping down my fingers—fuck, I could do this all night.”

Your thighs start to tremble, pleasure winding tighter, higher, every brush of his fingers sending sparks through you. “You gonna come for me?” he murmurs, biting down on your earlobe before soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna fall apart just like this?”

You nod frantically, hands clutching at his forearm, desperate for something to hold onto as the pressure inside you nears its breaking point. And then he stops. A broken whine rips from your throat as he pulls his fingers away, leaving you throbbing, aching for release. Your hips jerk, searching for friction, but he tightens his grip on your waist, holding you still.

His lips are back at your ear, dark amusement lacing his voice. “You wanna come, baby?” You nod desperately, frustration clear in the way you squirm against him. His smirk is evident in his tone, teasing, full of control. “Then beg for it.”

A desperate whimper leaves your lips as you try to push back against his hand, chasing your release, but his grip tightens around your waist, holding you in place. You shudder, your pride warring with your need, but the ache between your legs is unbearable, your body throbbing with want. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely there, breathless.

His fingers ghost over your clit, just enough to make you whimper. “Louder.”

“Please,” you repeat, more desperate now, shifting in his hold, but he keeps you still, his restraint only making you needier.

He chuckles, low and dark, his free hand sliding up to cup your throat, tilting your head back against his shoulder. His lips brush against your jaw, featherlight. “I know you can do better than that, princess.”

You swallow hard, your skin burning under his touch, under his dominance, and finally, you let go. “Please, Beomgyu,” you beg, voice trembling, raw with want. “I need it. I need you.”

His grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch, a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. “That’s my good girl.”

And then, he gives you exactly what you want. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing firm, deliberate circles, before slipping back inside you, fucking you open with a pace that has you arching against him, gasping his name like it’s the only word you know. “Careful, baby,” he warns, voice low and taunting. “If you’re not quiet, everybody’s gonna hear how good my fingers are fucking you.”

The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. The muffled bass of the music vibrates through the walls, laughter and conversation hum in the background—but none of it matters. You’re drowning in him, in the way he’s looking at you, in the way he’s holding you like he owns you.

Beomgyu smirks. “Unless you want them to hear,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “Wanna let them know who’s making you feel this good?”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body burning with both embarrassment and excitement. He chuckles, dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, nipping at your skin before whispering against it. “Go on, then,” he taunts, voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream for me, princess? Come hard for me—tell me who owns you.”

Your only response is a broken moan as the coil in your stomach tightens, every nerve in your body wound impossibly tight. His fingers curl just right, stroking over that perfect spot inside you, his palm pressing against your clit with every movement, dragging you higher, closer.

“Beomgyu—” You choke out his name, legs trembling as the pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and all-consuming. Your entire body clenches around him, a sharp cry spilling from your lips as you come undone in his arms.

He groans, feeling you pulse around his fingers, his own need surging at the way you fall apart for him. “That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough, hungry. “All mine.”

His fingers don’t stop, drawing out every aftershock, making sure you feel every last bit of pleasure. He watches you with a satisfied smirk, loving the way your body shudders against him, the way your chest rises and falls as you struggle to catch your breath.

“You did so good, princess,” he whispers, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his fingers still tracing lazy circles over your overstimulated clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch. “So fucking good for me.”

His touch lingers, his fingers gliding over your flushed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his voice. Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips, his gaze locked onto yours as he sucks them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you. “Fuck,” he breathes, his tongue flicking over his fingers before releasing them with a wet pop. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

His hands find your waist again, flipping you effortlessly so that you’re straddling his lap now, facing him. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with need as he runs his hands down your sides, over your thighs, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“I need more,” he confesses, his voice low, rough. “I need to feel you completely.” His hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel him—hard, straining, aching for you. “You want that too, don’t you, princess?” he murmurs, his fingers digging into your hips. “Want me to fill you up, make you mine?”

His lips find yours, his kiss deep and all-consuming, stealing your breath, your thoughts, everything. He’s still teasing you, rolling his hips up against yours, the friction deliciously torturous, but not enough. You whimper into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. “Please.” His lips curl into a smirk against yours.

He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you, his breath was shallow, his eyes half-lidded, heavy with need. His hands gripped your waist like they couldn’t bear to let go. "Ride me, princess," he murmured, voice hoarse, laced with the kind of desire that made your stomach tighten. "I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You shivered, heart pounding in your ears as you shifted your hips. The stretch as you sank down onto him was slow, deliberate, breathtaking. His head dropped back slightly, a deep curse escaping his lips as your body took him in inch by inch. You bit your lip at the sensation, your nails digging into his shoulders to keep yourself grounded.

Beomgyu’s hands slid up your thighs, firm and reverent, as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or completely ruin you. "God, baby," he groaned. "You feel so tight."

You moved gently at first, adjusting to the rhythm, the feel of him so deep inside you. But the tension built quickly, each roll of your hips sparking a fire in your belly. It wasn’t just the friction, the heat, the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this. It was the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

"Faster," he rasped, his fingers tightening on your hips. "Let go, baby, fuck—"

You obeyed. The sound of skin against skin filled the room as you picked up pace, riding him harder now, chasing the release that curled in your spine. His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize you, palms smoothing over your waist, thumbs brushing your nipples, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you down for another kiss.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he whispered into your mouth, like it was the only truth he knew. You leaned into him, your hands braced against his chest, your forehead resting against his. His eyes never left yours, even when the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him, even when your moans turned into cries, and his own control began to slip.

"That’s it," he growled, thrusting up to meet you, his voice rough with desperation. "Show me how good it feels. Let me hear you, baby."

And you did. You cried out his name, your body trembling as your orgasm tore through you. Your walls clenched around him, and that was all it took—Beomgyu cursed, his grip bruising as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Your bodies were tangled, your breaths uneven, your heartbeats frantic. Then, slowly, you collapsed forward into his chest, your forehead resting against the curve of his neck. And then—

The doorknob rattles.

Your entire body tenses, your breath hitching as your eyes snap open, panic shooting through you. Beomgyu freezes too, his hands still gripping your waist as you both turn toward the door, hearts pounding in unison.

Someone trying to come in. You swallow hard, your mind racing. Shit. Then, voices. Someone outside the door, their footsteps heavy against the floor. “Wait, why’s this locked?” A muffled voice, followed by the sound of someone rattling the handle.

Beomgyu looks back at you, his brows raised slightly, waiting for your call. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling fast with his still-unspent desire, but his grip on you loosens slightly, giving you an out. You hesitate, your body still buzzing, still needing him. But reality crashes back in like a cold wave, if you stay here any longer, someone will figure it out. You shake your head, exhaling shakily. “We should go back.”

Beomgyu groans, tilting his head back against the couch in frustration. “You’re kidding.”

You bite your lip, already knowing he’s going to make this difficult. “If we don’t, someone’s going to know, Gyu.”

He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh, his hands flexing against your hips. Then, he leans in, lips brushing against your jaw, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know I’m not done with you,” he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “And you owe me for this.”

Your stomach tightens at the promise in his voice, at the way his fingers trail one last lingering touch down your thigh before he finally releases you. He watches as you scramble to collect your clothes, his smirk growing when he sees how shaken you still are. He doesn’t move right away, instead, he leans back against the couch, legs spread lazily apart, watching you with dark amusement as he runs a hand through his messy hair. He’s still catching his breath, his lips still swollen from kissing you, his body still burning with the ghost of your touch. And he loves it.

He finally moves, pushing himself up from the couch, stretching slightly before reaching for his clothes. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, as if he’s in no rush to leave the little world you two just created. He grabs his shirt first, then his fingers work at his belt, refastening his pants with ease, like this was just another ordinary moment for him. Except, it wasn’t. Not even close.

Beomgyu's jaw clenches slightly as he tugs his jacket back on, shaking his head like he can somehow rid himself of the frustration pooling deep in his gut. Meanwhile, you move toward the door, pressing your ear against it, holding your breath as you listen for any movement on the other side. Your fingers tighten around the handle, hesitating before slowly cracking it open just enough to peek through.

The hallway is empty. You exhale in relief, throwing one last glance over your shoulder at him. "I’m going first," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Wait a minute before you come out."

Beomgyu tilts his head, studying you, his lips curving into something smug. "Scared someone’s gonna find out what a mess you are for me?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. "Shut up."

He chuckles, low and knowing, his eyes still dark with amusement. But just as you turn toward the door, reaching for the handle, his fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before you can react, he tugs you back, firm but gentle, until you’re flush against his chest.

He’s looking at you now, really looking, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, something unreadable swirling in the depths of his expression. There’s no teasing smirk, no playful remark. Just the weight of everything unsaid, everything still buzzing between you like a live wire.

And then he kisses you. His lips pressing against yours like he’s memorizing the way you taste. His hand cups your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. You melt into him instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, clinging. By the time he pulls away, you’re breathless. Dazed.

His forehead rests against yours, his lips still brushing yours as he murmurs, “I’m not done with you.” His voice is low, rough, thick with something dangerous. Your stomach flips, your knees nearly giving out at the sheer promise in his words. But then, he steps back, releasing you, his smirk returning as he watches you struggle to steady yourself. “Now you can go,” he says, voice laced with amusement.

You blink up at him, still caught in the haze of his kiss, before shaking yourself back to reality. With one last glance, one last moment of hesitation, you turn and slip out of the room, carefully closing the door behind you.

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his body finally relaxing as he leans against the door, his forehead pressing against the wood. His fingers drag through his already-messy hair, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment. Fuck. He’s so fucked.

He licks his lips, still tasting you, still feeling the warmth of your body against his. His heart is still racing, his skin still burning, and all he can think about is you.

With a quiet groan, he pushes off the door, shaking his head, trying to collect himself. But as he reaches for the handle, ready to step back into the party, there’s only one thought looping through his mind— He needs more. And next time, he’s going to take it.

You stepped back into the party like nothing had happened. Like your entire world hadn’t just shifted in the span of a few stolen moments behind closed doors. Laughter spilled over conversations, and people moved around you, blissfully unaware that your hands were still unsteady, that your lips were still tingling, that your heartbeat was still uneven.

You exhaled slowly, smoothing down your dress, forcing yourself to shake off the lingering haze of him. Then, without hesitation, you made your way toward the bar. A drink. You needed a drink.

The bartender barely glanced at you as he slid a glass across the counter, and you took a sip, letting the cold burn of alcohol ground you. Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass, your mind replaying the last few minutes over and over like a song stuck on loop, his hands, his voice, the weight of his body against yours, the way he had looked at you.

You straightened your shoulders, pushing the thought aside. You had just started convincing yourself that maybe you could pull this off.

"There you are." You barely had time to react before Yeonjun appeared beside you, his presence as effortless as always. He leaned against the counter, eyes scanning your face before narrowing slightly. "You disappeared."

You took another sip of your drink, pretending to be unbothered. “I didn’t disappear. I was just—” You waved a hand vaguely. “Talking.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Talking?”

"Yes, talking," you repeated, maybe a little too quickly.

He studied you for a second, then his lips curled slightly, his gaze flickering over your face before settling somewhere lower. "Then why does your lipstick look like that?"

Your stomach dropped. Shit. Your hand shot up to your lips on instinct. Yeonjun just watched, amusement growing by the second as realization dawned on him. "Oh my god," he breathed, eyes widening before he full-on cackled. "Oh my fucking god—"

"No," you blurted, already turning on your heel, "Nope. Absolutely not."

But it was too late. Yeonjun was already following, laughter spilling out of him like he had just uncovered the world’s greatest mystery. "Wait—" He grabbed your wrist, doubling over slightly. "Wait, wait, wait. Oh my fucking god. You were with Beomgyu, weren’t you?"

"Shut up," you hissed, wrenching your arm free, heat creeping up your neck. "People can hear you."

Yeonjun ignored you completely, still laughing as you beelined for the bathroom. "Oh my god, I knew it," he called after you. "I fucking knew it!"

You slammed the door behind you. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips slightly smudged, hair a little messier than before. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink, trying to steady yourself. What the fuck just happened?

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your lipstick, twisting the tube up with a quiet click. You applied it carefully, slow and methodical, as if fixing your makeup could somehow fix the way your heart was still racing, the way your entire body felt like it was buzzing. But it didn’t. Not when your mind kept circling back to him.

To the way he had looked at you. To the way he had touched you. To the way he had sounded, breathless, wrecked, whispering your name like it was something sacred. God. How had you even ended up here? It had always been like this with Beomgyu, hadn’t it? The back-and-forth, the push and pull. The constant teasing, the relentless competition, the stupid banter that never seemed to stop.

And now? Now, you could still feel him, his hands, his lips, the warmth of his breath against your skin. You swallowed hard, dabbing the corner of your mouth where your lipstick had smudged. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t have happened. And yet, when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

The party eventually began to wind down. You let yourself blend into the crowd, trying to push away the mess of thoughts cluttering your mind, focusing on the conversations happening around you instead. Yeonjun had reappeared at some point, entirely too pleased with himself, and Taehyun had joined him, both of them now perched on one of the couches, drinks in hand. "You good?" Taehyun asked, raising an eyebrow as you dropped down beside them.

You nodded, even though you didn’t really feel good at all. "Yeah, just tired."

Yeonjun snorted. "Tired, huh?"

You shot him a look. He just grinned, leaning closer. "You were gone for a while—"

"Yeonjun," you warned. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. The music had quieted a little, the energy in the room beginning to fizzle out. People were leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and quiet goodbyes trailing after them.

You should go too. And judging by the way Yeonjun was now half-asleep against the armrest, you weren’t the only one ready to call it a night. It took both you and Taehyun to practically carry Yeonjun outside. "He’s not that heavy," Taehyun grumbled, adjusting his grip under Yeonjun’s arm.

You huffed. "Says the guy using me as leverage."

Yeonjun, for his part, was completely useless, mumbling incoherent nonsense as you finally managed to get him to stand on his own two feet. Your taxi would be here any minute. You pulled out your phone, glancing at the time.

That’s when you heard your name. You looked up, spotting Baekhyun a few feet away, standing near the curb, engaged in conversation with another man from the industry. When his eyes met yours, he gave you a knowing smile.

"Get home safe," he said smoothly. Then, after a brief pause, "We’ll have a lot to talk about on Monday."

You blinked. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could even begin to decipher what he meant, he was already turning back to his conversation. You frowned slightly, but exhaustion was already pulling at your limbs. Whatever it was, you could deal with it later.

Your taxi pulled up to the curb. You helped Yeonjun into the car, settling into the seat beside him, finally letting yourself breathe. You sank back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

And then, a feeling. Like someone was watching. You turned your head toward the window. And there he was. Beomgyu. Standing on the curb, hands in his pockets, waiting for his own ride. But his eyes were on you. Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t look away. Instead, his hand moved, slipping into his pocket, pulling out his phone. A second later, your own phone buzzed in your lap. You swallowed, pulse unsteady as you glanced down at the screen.

A message. From him.

[beomgyu]: lmk when you get home

Your chest tightened. You stared at the words for a long moment, lips pressing together. You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you didn’t type anything. Not yet. Instead, you let your phone fall back into your lap, exhaling slowly as you turned to the window again. Beomgyu was still standing there, still watching, still waiting for something you didn’t know how to give him.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, slumping slightly against the seat as the city lights blurred past the window. The weight of the night settled over you. The way Beomgyu had looked at you. The way his voice had felt against your skin. The way he had pulled you in, and then, just as quickly, pushed you away.

You didn’t know what to make of it. Of him. Of anything. So you didn’t think about it. Not now. Instead, you closed your eyes and let the hum of the car lull you into something close to peace, if only for a moment.

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against your nightstand. You groaned, rolling over, face half-buried in your pillow as you reached for it blindly. The screen glowed too bright in the early morning light, your vision still hazy with sleep as you blinked at the notifications.

[beomgyu]: i can’t stop thinking about you

Your stomach dropped. Suddenly, you were very awake. You sat up so fast that your blanket slipped from your shoulders, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your fingers tightened around the phone, as if gripping it any harder would somehow make the words disappear.

I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed. No way. No fucking way.

You stared at the message, your body frozen, caught between panic and something you weren’t ready to name. What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Your throat was dry. Your fingers twitched over the keyboard, but no words came. Nothing would come.

But even as you moved, even as you tried to shove the thought aside, he was still there. Still lingering. The heat of his hands on your waist, the press of his fingers against your skin, the way his voice had sounded, low, rough, wrecked, against your ear. Do you have any idea how fucking insane you make me?

A shiver ran down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to push it away, but the memories came crashing down anyway.

So you did the only thing you could do. You ignored it. For now. You tossed the phone onto your nightstand, exhaling sharply as you dragged your hands down your face. No. Not now. You needed a second. You needed coffee.

You pushed yourself out of bed, slipping on a hoodie as you padded out of your room, making a beeline for Yeonjun’s. His door was cracked open, the faint sound of groaning filtering through. You pushed it open with your foot, leaning against the doorway. Yeonjun was sprawled across his bed like he had been thrown there, an arm slung dramatically over his face, his blanket half on the floor. His entire existence looked like a hangover. "You alive?" you asked, voice still raspy from sleep.

Yeonjun let out a painful groan, barely shifting. "Barely."

You snorted, stepping into the room. "You look like death."

"I feel like death," he mumbled, peeking out from under his arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair an absolute mess. "What time is it?"

You checked your phone out of habit, and your stomach twisted. Beomgyu’s message still sat there. You locked the screen before you could think about it. "Almost ten," you said, crossing your arms.

Yeonjun just made another noise of suffering. Then, with zero warning, he peeked at you again, his voice shifting. "You gonna tell me what’s got you looking like you’ve seen a ghost, or am I gonna have to guess?"

Your heart stopped. "I—" You forced a scoff, too quick. "I don’t look like I’ve seen a ghost."

Yeonjun stared at you. Then his lips curled. "Ah," he hummed, way too amused now. "So this is a boy thing."

Your entire body flamed. "Oh my god, shut up."

He grinned, slow and dangerous. "Wait—wait, is this a Beomgyu thing?"

"I’m leaving." You turned on your heel immediately, making a break for the door, but Yeonjun was faster.

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you back onto the bed with zero mercy. You yelped as you landed next to him, already struggling to get up, but he just slung an arm over your shoulders, trapping you there. "Spill," he ordered.

You scowled, shoving at his chest. "No."

"Spill."

"No."

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. Then, with a slow, shit-eating smirk— "I’ll start singing."

Your blood ran cold. "You wouldn’t," you whispered. Yeonjun cleared his throat. "Yeonjun, no."

He inhaled dramatically. "OH, I THINK THAT I FOUND MYSEL—"

"OKAY! OKAY!" You slammed a pillow over his face, groaning. "You’re so fucking annoying."

He laughed, victorious, pushing the pillow away. "That’s what I thought. Now talk."

You hesitated. Your fingers curled around the blanket, heart pounding again as Beomgyu’s message flashed in your mind. I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed while you showed your phone to Yeonjun, who immediately gasped. You sighed, looking away. "It’s just—" You stopped, frustration bubbling in your chest. "He’s just confusing."

Yeonjun hummed. "Yeah, well. You’re both idiots, so that checks out."

You shot him a look. "Shut up," you mumbled, pushing yourself up.

Yeonjun let you go this time, watching as you made your way toward the door. "You should probably answer him, you know," he called lazily. You didn’t respond. And as you stepped out into the hallway, you definitely didn’t check your phone again. But the words still sat there. Waiting.

You tried to go about your day like normal. Tried. But no matter what you did, he was there. In your head. Even as you made coffee. Even as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Even as you curled up on the couch, flipping through Netflix without actually watching anything.

Beomgyu. Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The words on your screen wouldn’t stop echoing. Your stomach twisted every time you thought about it. Because neither could you.

Yeonjun stayed home most of the morning, alternating between dramatically draping himself across the couch and playing games on his phone. But eventually, in the afternoon, he stretched lazily and grabbed his keys.

"I’m going to the gym," he announced, throwing his bag over his shoulder. You hummed in response. You kept your eyes on the TV, even though you weren’t paying attention to a single second of it. "You gonna survive without me?" Yeonjun teased, leaning against the doorframe.

You rolled your eyes. "I think I’ll manage."

He grinned, pushing off the frame. "Alright, if you say so. Try not to combust while I’m gone."

You shot him a glare, but he was already heading out the door, laughing. Your fingers twitched. Your phone was sitting right next to you. Waiting. It would be so easy. You exhaled slowly, staring at it like it might explode. You weren’t the type to text guys. But for some reason, today felt different.

Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before you got into your taxi. Maybe it was the way he had sent that message in the first place. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about him too, and it was driving you insane.

Your heart pounded as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers. You opened your messages. Pulled up his name. Took a deep breath. And typed.

[you]: i can’t stop thinking about you too.

The moment you hit send, your pulse skyrocketed. Seconds passed. The message was read. You held your breath. Waiting. Waiting. But nothing came. Beomgyu didn’t respond. You stared at the screen, heart hammering, but he did nothing. You had no idea what that meant. And somehow, it made you even more restless.

You spent the rest of the weekend pretending you were fine. You weren’t.

Beomgyu had read your message and said nothing, and the longer you went without a response, the worse it got. You tried to distract yourself. Hung out with Yunjin for a bit. Had dinner with Yeonjun. Went on an unnecessary grocery run just to get out of the apartment.

But every free second, he was there. The memory of his hands, his voice, the way he had pulled you so close, like he was scared to let go. And now he was ignoring you? You wanted to scream.

By the time Sunday night rolled around, you had officially given up on getting an answer. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he had just been drunk. Maybe this was just another one of his stupid mind games.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to respond, you weren’t going to chase after him. Not this time.

Your alarm dragged you out of sleep way too soon, and you groaned, rolling over to shut it off. For a brief second, you thought about skipping work. About calling in sick, or lying about having some urgent errand, or just disappearing off the face of the earth. But no. You had an album to release. And unfortunately, you had to be professional, even when your entire brain was occupied by a certain songwriter. With a sigh, you rolled out of bed, forcing yourself to get moving.

Yeonjun was already up when you entered the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his hair still messy from sleep. "Morning," he mumbled, squinting at you. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself a cup.

Yeonjun snorted, leaning against the counter. "You excited to go back to work?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a long sip of coffee, staring down into the dark liquid. Excited? Not exactly. Dreading it? Maybe.

Because today was Monday. Which meant you’d have to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what to expect. How the hell were you supposed to look Beomgyu in the eye after everything? After the way he had touched you, held you, whispered filthy things against your skin like he had been waiting to say them? After the way you had felt underneath him, pinned between his hands, his voice praising you, ruining you, claiming you?

You pressed your fingers to your temples, exhaling sharply. Fuck. This wasn’t good. You weren’t some naive idiot who got attached just because someone touched you the right way. But something about him—about this—had been different. And he knew it too.

Which was exactly why he had ignored your message all weekend. And yet, your stomach tightened at the thought of seeing him today. Not with nerves, not with anger, but with something far, far worse. Anticipation. You hated it. You hated how much you wanted to see him. How much you wanted to know if he was thinking about you, too. How much you wanted to know if he regretted it. Or if he wanted more.

By the time you stepped into the HYBE building, the album was practically finished. All that was left was refining the final details. You told yourself that’s what you should be focusing on. Not Beomgyu. Not his hands. His voice. The way he had looked at you like you were something he wanted to ruin. God. Focus.

You made your way through the hallways, nodding politely at a few people who passed, ignoring the slight pit of anxiety settling in your stomach. You weren’t even sure why, until you stepped into your studio. And saw the coffee sitting on your desk.

You froze. There was no note. No explanation. But you knew. Your heart skipped. It was him. You stared at it for a long moment, a lump forming in your throat. It was the same drink you always got. The exact way you liked it.

It was so stupid, so small, so insignificant. And yet, it wasn’t. Because Beomgyu didn’t do things like this. Beomgyu teased you, provoked you, argued with you until you were ready to strangle him. He didn’t leave quiet gestures like this behind. Not for you. You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. Should you text him? Call him out for it? Say something?

Before you could decide, your phone buzzed. A message from Baekhyun.

[baekhyun]: hey, can we talk for a sec?

You let out a slow breath, grabbing the coffee and taking a sip as you sat down. You ignored the way your stomach fluttered. Ignored the way your skin still felt too hot. And ignored the fact that you knew exactly who was responsible for that. You exhaled slowly, staring at the message on your phone.

[you]: sure. be there in a minute.

Sliding your phone into your pocket, you took another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in your chest. It didn’t help. Still, you got up, straightened your posture, and made your way to Baekhyun’s office.

When you reached his door, you knocked lightly before stepping inside. "Hey. You wanted to talk?"

Baekhyun glanced up from his desk, motioning for you to close the door behind you. "Yeah. Come in."

You obeyed, taking a seat across from him, studying his face carefully. Something was off. Baekhyun was usually relaxed, even when discussing work, always carrying that effortless charm that made him easy to talk to. But right now, his expression was unreadable, something hovering between serious and hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. "What’s up?"

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "Listen… you know I think you’re one of my best employees, right?"

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Uh… thanks?"

"Which is why," he continued, fingers tapping lightly against the desk, "I need to tell you something. And I need you to understand that this is me looking out for you." Your stomach tightened, as you looked at him, letting him continue. He sighed, rolling his shoulders before meeting your gaze. "So, about Seungcheol…"

Your spine stiffened immediately. "What about him?"

Baekhyun hesitated for a second, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase his next words. And then, carefully, he said: "He knows."

Your heart stopped. A beat of silence stretched between you. Your fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, knuckles white. "Knows what?" you asked, voice careful.

Baekhyun gave you a pointed look. "You know what."

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Seungcheol knows. About you. About Beomgyu. Fuck. You swallowed, keeping your expression as unreadable as possible. "That’s… my personal business," you said slowly. "I don’t see how it’s relevant to work."

"You’re right," Baekhyun agreed, nodding. "It’s not. But I’m telling you because I need you to be careful."

You crossed your arms, shifting in your seat. "What does that even mean?"

Baekhyun sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward, lowering his voice. "Seungcheol is creative director. That means he has a lot of influence in this company. And for whatever reason, he’s got his eye on you."

A chill ran down your spine. "And that means?"

"It means he’s paying attention to things," Baekhyun said. "To you and Beomgyu. To how you work together, to how you interact. And while I don’t know exactly what he’s thinking, I do know one thing—he’s not the type to sit back and do nothing."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he’ll try something?"

Baekhyun didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, gaze steady, unreadable. "I think he doesn’t like Beomgyu," he said carefully. "And I think he has an interest in you."

You inhaled sharply. There it was. That uneasy feeling in your stomach, the one you had pushed down every time Seungcheol spoke to you. The way his words always felt just a little too… pointed. The way his gaze lingered. The way Beomgyu had told you to be careful. You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. "I don’t—this is insane. Seungcheol can’t just—"

"I know," Baekhyun cut in. "Which is why I’m telling you first. Just be careful. Be smart."

Your fingers tightened in your lap. You hated this. Hated the idea that someone was watching you like this. That Seungcheol was watching you. That Beomgyu had been right. You swallowed down the irritation curling in your chest. "Got it."

Baekhyun studied you for a moment longer before nodding. "Good." Then, just a little softer, "And Y/N?" You met his gaze. "Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it."

Your breath caught. Because the thing was— You didn’t know. And that scared you more than anything else.

You didn’t realize how tight your chest had gotten until you were out of Baekhyun’s office, walking quickly down the hall with your arms wrapped around yourself. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered too brightly, the sounds of your coworkers echoing faintly in your ears as your thoughts raced. Seungcheol knows.

Your heart pounded with each step, and all you could think about was Beomgyu—his smile, his voice, the way he touched you like he didn’t care who saw. But he should. Because now, someone was watching. Someone powerful. Someone who didn’t like him.

You paused outside your studio door, forcing yourself to take a breath, to steady your hands before you reached for the handle. When you stepped inside, the first thing you saw was him.

Beomgyu was already there, perched on the edge of your couch, his guitar on his lap. His face lit up the second you walked in, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, really smiled. “Took you long enough.”

Something inside you clenched. The warmth of his expression, the softness in his voice. He had no idea. “I brought you coffee earlier,” he added. “Cause I didn’t know what mood you’d be in, so I just guessed. But, y’know, I’ve been working on my psychic powers.”

You smiled, barely, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Beomgyu tilted his head, watching you. “What?” he asked softly. “What happened?”

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing. Just… long meeting.”

He set the guitar aside and stood, taking a step toward you. “Was it Baekhyun?”

You nodded, lowering your bag to the floor. “Yeah.”

“He say something about the album?” Beomgyu’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you said too quickly. You avoided his eyes, moving to your desk under the guise of organizing the notes you’d left behind. “Everything’s fine. He just wanted to go over some deadlines.”

Beomgyu didn’t respond right away. You felt his eyes on you, sharp and searching. “You’re lying,” he said eventually, voice quieter. You froze. He stepped closer. “Y/N…”

“I said it’s fine,” you replied, sharper than you meant to. You heard the way his breath hitched, just slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you, the softness fading from his face as something more cautious settled there. And that was the worst part.

You didn’t want to push him away. You didn’t want to build walls again. But Baekhyun’s words rang in your ears like a warning bell. Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it. You weren’t even sure what this was.

Beomgyu stepped back, giving you space. “Did I… do something?”

Your throat tightened. You hated that he asked that. Hated the way he looked almost hurt. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to be gentler. “You didn’t.”

But that didn’t make it better. Because you weren’t pulling away from him, you were pulling away for him. And he could tell. He gave a small nod, eyes flicking away. “Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Let me know if that changes.”

You turned to him then, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s not you.”

His eyes lingered on yours. “Then what is it?”

You didn’t answer. Because how could you tell him that Seungcheol might be waiting for one misstep? That you could handle it, but he might not be so lucky? That you were scared for him in ways you couldn’t say out loud?

So instead, you offered a weak smile and said, “Can we just… work for a while?”

There was a beat of silence. A single breath. And then he nodded, once, slow, as if the word itself cost him something. “Yeah,” he murmured, but his voice was thinner now, stretched tight across something fragile. “If that’s what you want.”

You looked away, unable to meet the flicker in his eyes, the way it dimmed just slightly as he stepped back. The room suddenly felt too quiet. “Guess I’ll head back to my studio,” he said, and this time, there was no teasing in his tone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

And before you could say anything, before you could stop him, he was already at the door. When it clicked shut behind him, the sound echoed louder than it should have. You didn’t move for a long moment. Just sat there, frozen, staring at the coffee cup he’d brought for you, the one you hadn’t touched. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for it, but it had already gone cold. Just like everything else.

The rest of your afternoon passed in a blur of contracts and emails. Finalizing track credits. Budget approvals. Lining up promotional schedules. You barely registered the words anymore, your hand moved, your eyes scanned, your mouth replied when someone entered your office to ask for your signature, but none of it stuck. You were on autopilot.

Because your head wasn’t in the album anymore. It was on him. Beomgyu.

You kept picturing the way his expression had shifted when you pulled away. Not in body, but in presence. Like he felt you slipping. Like he already knew that the warmth between you was being swallowed by fear. And it was. You were terrified.

Terrified of what Seungcheol could do. Terrified of how quickly everything you’d built with Beomgyu—through fights, through tension, through music, through moments—could be taken away just because someone with too much power had decided they didn’t like seeing him happy.

And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? He was happy. With you. And you were ruining it. Because your fear was louder than your hope.

You stared at the screen in front of you, realizing you’d been hovering over the same file for ten minutes without doing anything. You blinked hard, trying to focus, but the words blurred, your thoughts spiraling again. What if he gets fired? What if Seungcheol says something? What if this is all your fault?

You buried your face in your hands, elbows pressed against the desk. You couldn’t protect him. You couldn’t even tell him what was going on. And worst of all: you weren’t sure he’d forgive you if he ever found out you knew and didn’t say anything.

You wanted to keep him safe. But not at the cost of this quiet unraveling between you. Not at the cost of pretending you didn’t care.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, hesitating for a long moment before unlocking it. His name sat at the top of your messages, unread, untouched since the night he told you he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And neither could you. But now you wondered if staying silent had already done the damage for you.

It was late, again. The building had gone quiet, long emptied by interns and execs and artists alike. You sat curled in your office chair, arms wrapped around yourself as your eyes stayed fixed on your phone screen. You’d been staring at it for ten minutes before finally giving in.

[you]: are you still at the company?

The reply came quicker than you expected.

[beomgyu]: yeah. why?

[you]: can we talk?

Another pause. Then:

[beomgyu]: sure. you know where to find me

You hesitated only a second longer before standing. You didn’t bother gathering your things. Just grabbed your hoodie, slipped into your sneakers, and made your way down the hallway. His studio door was cracked open when you arrived. You paused outside for a beat, just long enough to collect your breath, and pushed it open slowly.

He was sitting on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked tired, like the weight of the entire week was pressing down on his shoulders. But when he saw you, he straightened slightly.

Before you could speak, he did.

“Before you say anything,” he said, voice steady but low, “I just want you to know I don’t regret anything.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

He scoffed softly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I mean, I get it. You’re here to break things off, right? Whatever this is.”

You stared at him, mouth parting slightly. “Beomgyu…”

“I mean, technically, we were never even anything, right?” he went on, tone deceptively light, but his eyes were anything but. “So there’s nothing to end. I guess.”

You stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind you. The soft click echoed between you. “Why would you think I’m here to end things?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all day,” he said. “Because you look at me like I’ve already done something wrong.” His voice softened. “Because something’s changed. And I don’t know what it is.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” he asked, a little more sharply now. “Because I’m sitting here, trying to keep it together, trying not to push you, and it’s driving me fucking crazy, Y/N. But you’re here. So what is it?”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. Because you wanted to tell him. You wanted to say everything: about Seungcheol, about Baekhyun’s warning, about your fear of him getting hurt, losing his job, being targeted just for being with you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk it.

So instead, you said the only thing that came close. “I’m scared.”

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed. “Of what? Me?”

“No!” you said quickly. “God, no. Of everything else.”

“Then tell me,” he said, quieter now. Pleading. “Let me in. Let me help.”

Your arms wrapped tighter around yourself. “I just… I don’t want to do anything that could hurt you.”

“You aren’t hurting me,” he said. “But keeping me in the dark? Not trusting me? That’s what hurts.”

You turned away, pacing a step. “I do trust you.”

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on,” he said, standing now, voice low, but intense. “Because I’m standing here ready to fight for you, and I feel like I’m the only one throwing punches.”

That broke something in you. “I am fighting!” you said, voice cracking. “You just can’t see it.”

“Then show me!” he snapped. “Because right now, it feels like you’re walking away.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. And there he was, raw, open, hurting. For you. Because of you. And for the first time, you saw the vulnerability underneath all the confidence. The boy who had let himself fall, even when he swore he wouldn’t. Even when he thought you were supposed to be just coworkers.

Your voice came out small. “I’m not walking away.”

Beomgyu’s expression flickered. “Then stop acting like you are.”

Silence fell between you. You stepped forward, just a little. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want your protection,” he said. “I want you.”

The words landed heavy between you, honest and unflinching. Your lips parted, eyes burning, heart aching. And even though you still couldn’t say everything, you were closer now. One step closer to crossing that line completely. One step closer to choosing him.

And maybe, he was choosing you too.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. Your heart beat so loud it was almost all you could hear. “I want you too,” you said, the words tumbling out so fast they almost didn’t feel real. “God, of course I want you, Beomgyu.”

Something flickered across his face, relief, maybe. But it didn’t last long. “Then what the fuck is stopping you?” he demanded, stepping closer. His voice wasn’t angry, not exactly, it was hurt, raw, urgent. “Because you keep saying you want me, and then you push me away like you don't.”

You swallowed hard, backing up a step, not because you wanted to escape him, but because you needed space to think. “Because I don’t want to be the reason something happens to you,” you admitted, hands clenched at your sides. “Because I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything you’ve worked for.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” You hesitated. “Y/N,” he said, voice low now. “Tell me.”

You shook your head once, but Beomgyu moved toward you again, gently but firmly catching your wrist.

“I’m not letting you leave here without telling me,” he said, eyes boring into yours. “I’m not playing these half-truth games anymore. Talk to me. Please.”

You stared at him for a long beat. And then you cracked. “Baekhyun called me into his office this morning,” you said, voice hoarse. “He told me Seungcheol knows.” Beomgyu didn’t move. “He knows about us,” you continued, the word still strange on your tongue. “He’s watching us. And not in a vague way. He’s paying attention. Baekhyun didn’t say it, but it’s obvious—Seungcheol’s pissed. And he’s got power, Gyu. Real power. Enough to make your life hell. Enough to kill your career if he wants.” You finally looked up, eyes shining with barely contained panic. “And I know you think you don’t care, but I do. I care. I care so fucking much it makes me sick. And the thought of being the reason you get hurt—”

“Stop,” Beomgyu cut in. Your mouth snapped shut. His eyes were wild with something sharp and intense, but not at you, never at you. “You think I give a fuck about Seungcheol?” he said, taking a step closer. “You think I’m scared of some overhyped director with a God complex?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No, you need to hear this,” he said, voice lowering. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’ve built a name from the ground up. Every credit, every song, every fucking sleepless night—you think I’m going to let him take that from me?” Your breath hitched. “If he tries anything,” Beomgyu said, voice like steel, “I will bury him.”

You stared, stunned. “You can’t say that—”

“I can,” he snapped. “Because he’s not untouchable. And I’m not stupid. I know my worth. And if he so much as breathes in your direction the wrong way again—” He broke off, his jaw tight, breathing hard. Then, more quietly: “He doesn’t get to scare you away from me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was being reckless, that this wasn’t just about pride, that the industry was cruel and unfair and it would never be a fair fight, but the words died in your throat. Because he meant it. Every word.

“I’ve never had something like this,” he continued, softer now. “Never had someone who made me want to try. And I’m not about to lose it because some washed-up director has a stick up his ass and a crush he didn’t get over.”

You blinked. “Wait—crush?”

Beomgyu’s mouth curled into a humorless smirk. “You really think he was complimenting your demos because he liked the reverb?” A beat of silence passed. And then you laughed. Just a little. A short, sharp sound that broke some of the tension in your chest. Beomgyu’s gaze softened. “Look… if this gets messy, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You looked at him, something vulnerable cracking through your guarded expression. “You mean that?” you asked, voice small.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands now. “I mean it,” he said, with the kind of certainty that made your stomach flip. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing him in. Letting yourself believe him. Because you did. God, you did. And even if the world was about to come crashing down around you… at least you wouldn’t be standing in the wreckage alone.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he moved. Slow, deliberate, like a predator who already knew the prey wasn’t going to run. His steps were quiet, but each one pressed the air out of the room a little more. His hand rose to your cheek, fingertips brushing the edge of your jaw. Featherlight, but grounding. Like he needed the reassurance that you were still here.

His thumb swept once beneath your eye, like he could erase everything unspoken. Maybe he didn’t know what to say next. Maybe it didn’t matter. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Not with words.

But the space between you, that thrum of silence packed so tight it felt ready to burst, said everything. You leaned into the touch, just enough. Just so he’d know. And that was all it took. Beomgyu kissed you again. It started slow, like he was still afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t.

Your hands found his shoulders, clutching at the worn cotton of his hoodie. His mouth moved against yours with purpose. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, one hand moving down to your hip, gripping tight enough to make you gasp again. He pressed forward, guiding you back a step, then another, until your spine met the cool wall of his studio. A quiet noise escaped your throat.

His leg slid between yours. You froze, just for a moment, before the pressure shifted. Your body reacted before your mind could. Hips tilting down, chasing it, mouth parting around a soft, broken sound. One that slipped out too fast to stop. Beomgyu stilled.

The kiss paused. Just long enough for your eyes to meet. And something changed. His gaze sharpened, lit with something feral and tender all at once. There was something reverent in the way he looked at you. "God, you sound so good," he murmured, leaning in to press another kiss—this time, to your neck. "So fucking good."

His leg moved again. Just slightly. Enough to pull another breathy moan from you, one you couldn’t swallow in time. Beomgyu groaned into your skin, and the sound of it, low, rough, wrecked, made your knees threaten to give. He pressed his thigh up again, firmer this time, and you arched, unable to stop yourself. "Look at you," he whispered, trailing his mouth along your jaw. "Unbelievably hot," he continued, dragging his lips along your collarbone. "Unbelievably mine."

The last part slipped out—quiet, rough, like he didn’t even mean to say it. But you felt it.

And you didn’t stop him. Didn’t correct him, didn’t laugh it off, didn’t pull away like you sometimes did when things got too real, too close. You just stayed there, letting the weight of his hands and the heat of his breath settle over your skin. Because maybe, as terrifying as it was, that was what you wanted too. Not a confession shouted across a crowded room. Not a title slapped on something that didn’t need a name. Just this. Him. The feeling of his forehead resting lightly against yours, like you were something he’d been trying to find for longer than he’d admit.

Beomgyu pulled back slightly, just enough to see you clearly. Your lips were parted, your breathing still uneven, and he looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you again or fall to his knees. His gaze softened as he reached up, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers slow, reverent.

“I’m not gonna push,” he said, his voice low and steady, like it cost him something to say it. “Not tonight. I just… needed you to know what this feels like for me.”

Your throat felt tight, your pulse erratic beneath your skin. You could only nod, because anything else might have made you unravel completely. But he understood. He always did.

He leaned in again, but slower this time, like he was giving you the space to stop him, to change your mind. You didn’t. And when his lips met yours again, there was no urgency, no hunger, just heat and something deeper. His kiss was soft but intense, all-consuming in its own quiet way. You could feel everything in it, every unsaid word, every fear, every time he’d looked at you across a room and thought I wish I could touch her right now.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, cradling your head like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. His other hand stayed at your waist, firm and grounding, pressing you just close enough to make your whole body buzz. And when he kissed you again, slower still, deeper, like he wanted to take his time and learn every part of your mouth, your breath hitched against him, and he sighed into you like he was finally getting a piece of peace he hadn’t known how to ask for.

You broke apart only when breathing became necessary, your foreheads resting together, the silence between you thick with everything that had just passed and everything still left to say.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered, barely more than a breath between you. The words felt like they echoed, even in the stillness of the room. Your fingers were still curled in the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to something you didn’t know how to define.

Beomgyu didn’t open his eyes right away. He just let his forehead rest against yours, breathing you in like he was still steadying himself. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at his lips. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, voice soft but steady. “As long as it’s with you.”

You blinked, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest nearly cracked you open. He pulled back just enough to see your face, and the moment his gaze locked with yours, something in him shifted. Your eyes were glassy, lashes clumped together with the weight of held-back tears, and he stilled.

“Hey…” he said, gently cupping your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, just slightly. “Nothing,” you whispered. “I just…” You swallowed, but the words pushed through anyway. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

The confession cracked open something between you. His thumb swept across your cheek, like he could catch the tear before it fully formed. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said, firm but impossibly tender. “Okay? Not over this. Not over them. I’m right here.” You let out a quiet, shaky breath, and he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m serious,” you said, pulling back just a little. “This scares me. You scare me. The way I feel about you scares me.”

Beomgyu blinked, but instead of teasing or brushing it off, he nodded. “Good.”

You furrowed your brows. “Good?”

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. “Means it’s real. Means it’s worth it.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “I think I’m in trouble with you.”

“Same,” he said with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You ruin me.”

You laughed softly through the tightness in your chest, letting your forehead rest against his again. “Then we’re both ruined.”

“Ruined together,” he said, grinning.

You smiled, lips brushing again, slower this time. The kind of kiss that felt like a quiet promise, not a storm. Eventually, he pulled back, his breath still brushing your lips, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against your waist. “We should go,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough. “Before staying becomes an excuse not to leave.”

You nodded slowly, still processing the way your body buzzed just from standing this close to him. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Probably a good idea.”

As you moved to turn around, his hand reached past you, grabbing your bag off the floor before you could. He didn’t say anything about it, just slung it over his shoulder like it was second nature, like he’d already decided he was carrying it. You blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “Let’s go.”

You followed him out of the studio, steps in sync, your hand brushing against his once before he took it again without thinking. Not possessive. Just quietly his.

The hallway was dim and silent, the hum of electronics behind closed doors the only sound around you. No one else in sight. The world had shrunk to just the two of you, and it felt oddly comforting. When you stepped outside, the air was cooler than you expected, biting lightly at your skin. He handed you your bag as you adjusted your hoodie, his fingers lingering for a beat too long on yours.

You walked side by side through the empty parking structure behind the building, the silence between you calm now, warm in a way that didn’t need to be filled. Streetlights glowed overhead, casting halos onto the concrete. His knuckles brushed against yours every now and then, and eventually, his hand found yours again like it belonged there.

When you reached the main sidewalk that split toward the metro, you slowed. “This is me,” you said quietly.

He stopped beside you. “No, it’s not.”

You turned toward him, one brow raised. “It’s literally right there.”

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly, eyes steady. “You really think I’m letting you take the train this late?”

You narrowed your eyes, playful. “You letting me?”

He just stared at you for a beat. “Come with me.” His voice was different now, not teasing, not pleading. Just simple. Firm. The kind of voice that didn’t push, but didn’t give room for argument either.

You sighed, pretending to be more annoyed than you actually were. “Fine. But only because you’re being dramatic.”

He smirked. “Dramatically thoughtful.”

“You really think you’re charming, huh?”

“I don’t think,” he said, unlocking his car with a click. “I know.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already tugging into a smile.

The drive was quiet at first. Not awkward. Just… peaceful. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm of the song playing low on the stereo. You leaned your head back against the seat, stealing glances at him. The way the city lights shifted over his profile—sharp in some places, soft in others, like the night didn’t know how to settle on him. He looked calm. But there was a tension there too, somewhere in the set of his jaw, in the way he occasionally glanced over at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for in his face. Maybe reassurance. Maybe confirmation that whatever was happening between you hadn’t been imagined or inflated in your head. That this, whatever this was, wasn’t a detour for him.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he didn’t say anything at first. Just shifted the car into park, exhaled, and stared out through the windshield like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.

You turned toward him slowly, the weight of the silence between you suddenly heavier than it had been all night. “Are you sure this is okay?” you asked, voice quiet. “Everything?”

He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. An intensity, quiet and unwavering. His hand reached across the console without hesitation, resting lightly on your knee at first, then moving up, brushing along your arm, until he was cupping your face with both hands. His palms were warm, steady.

“I don’t think I’ve been more sure of anything in a long time,” he said, voice low, almost deliberate. “I know what this is. I know what I want.” Your breath caught. “I want this,” he continued, his thumbs brushing your cheeks like he needed the contact to stay grounded. “I want you. And I know I haven’t always made that easy to believe. I’ve been… inconsistent. Confusing. Scared, maybe. But I’m not anymore.”

You stared at him, something tugging at your chest, pressing in from all sides. “I want us,” he said. “Not just in the studio, not just in dark corners or in between deadlines. I want whatever this turns into, whatever it looks like. I want all of it.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed. They weren’t poetic. But they were real. Spoken like someone who had been holding them back for too long. You didn’t respond right away. Just leaned into his touch, closed your eyes for a second. Let yourself breathe. Let yourself believe him.

When you opened your eyes again, he was still looking at you. Still holding you like you were something worth holding onto. And for the first time, you didn’t feel the instinct to back away. You didn’t flinch. You just smiled—soft, small, but true.

And then he leaned in. His hand still cradled your cheek, warm and steady, guiding you toward him like gravity had already made the decision for both of you. His eyes searched yours for half a second longer, like he was still asking for permission, even if he didn’t need to.

And then he kissed you. Slow. Warm. Sure. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that tried to prove something. It wasn’t frantic or messy or fueled by tension. It was honest. Steady. The kind of kiss that said, I meant everything I said. I’m not going anywhere.

Your hand found his jaw, fingers curling gently there, and for a moment, everything outside the car, outside this, just faded. You pulled back first, lips barely brushing as you breathed him in, eyes still closed for just a second longer than necessary. Like you wanted to remember the exact feeling of him, before it got blurred by distance or time.

“Goodnight, Beomgyu,” you whispered, voice quiet but full.

His smile was soft, thumb brushing your cheek one last time before he let his hand fall away. “Goodnight.”

You opened the car door and stepped out into the cool air, the city humming gently around you. The door shut behind you with a muted thud, and you took a few steps toward the building before instinct made you glance over your shoulder.

He was still there. Still watching.

You gave him one last smile.

And when he smiled back, it felt like a promise.

A month and a half passed. And nothing fell apart.

If anything, things settled into place in a way that felt… unfamiliar. In the best way. Not perfect. Not romanticized. Just real.

The album dropped three weeks after that night. It didn’t go viral overnight, didn’t crash any servers or cause mass hysteria. But it grew. Track by track, it moved through the charts with quiet authority. Critics noticed first, pointing out the nuance in the production, the way the songs spoke to each other without sounding formulaic, the restraint in places where others might’ve tried to be louder. And then the fans followed. Not just ENHYPEN’s fanbase, but people outside that world too, people who had no idea who you were a few months ago. Suddenly, they did. And they cared.

They don’t mention you by name right away. But then they do. And then they don’t stop.

You start showing up in places you hadn’t been invited to before. Articles, panels, inboxes. Your name, spoken out loud, attached to the word producer without hesitation. You try not to let it get to your head, but still, something shifts. You stop apologizing for your place in the room. You stop minimizing what you built.

The fans get it, too. Not just the ones who already knew the members and the brand, but others, people who found their way to track three and stayed for the whole album. Messages flood in. Tweets. Edits. Comments. Most of them are kind. A few aren’t. But it doesn’t matter. Because the music worked. You worked.

And Seungcheol is quiet now. Whatever threats he thought he could make, whatever moves he had lined up, none of them stand a chance against the numbers, against Baekhyun’s support, against your name finally meaning something too loud to ignore. After the album release, he tries to slide one snide comment into a meeting. You don’t even have to look up, Baekhyun handles it before you can blink. You never hear another word from him. Not directly.

And through all of it, Beomgyu is there.

He doesn’t hover. He doesn’t push. He never once corners you into a conversation you’re not ready for. But somehow, he’s always there. At the end of a long day, when your brain is fried and your feet ache from standing in the booth too long, he’s there—jacket in hand, keys dangling from his fingers, already unlocking his car before you even ask.

He takes you home every night. It’s not a discussion anymore; it’s routine. He doesn’t even bother saying “let me take you,” not since the second week. You just pack your things, walk out, and find him leaning against the passenger side door like he’s been waiting for you for years. Sometimes you talk during the ride. Sometimes you fall asleep, head tilted toward the window. He never minds. He always waits until you’re inside your building before driving away.

He buys your favorite snacks when he does coffee runs. Knows when you need space before you even realize it yourself. He never makes a scene at company events, never touches you in public beyond brushing his hand against your elbow or leaning in a little too close when he wants to say something only you should hear. But there’s something about him that always feels oriented toward you. Like no matter where he is in the room, some part of him is paying attention.

You don’t define it. Neither does he. Maybe because if you did, it might collapse under the weight of expectation. Or maybe it’s because this, whatever this is, feels strong enough without the scaffolding.

And you don’t ask what it means. You don’t need to.

Until one night, when you're both at a company event.

It’s formal, but not suffocating. A celebration dinner for the division’s latest wins. The ENHYPEN album is still holding steady on the charts, streaming numbers better than anyone projected. You're being introduced to people, smiling politely, answering questions about upcoming projects. Beomgyu is somewhere nearby, talking to someone from publishing, a glass of something dark in his hand, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that way that makes you forget what you were saying for half a second.

Later, you find yourselves standing near each other, sharing the same plate of appetizers like it’s second nature. One of the senior assistants—someone who works more with Baekhyun than you—passes by, gives you both a quick once-over, then smiles, too casual to mean anything serious. “You two are such a cute couple,” she says with a wink, already walking away.

The words hit you differently than they should.

You glance at him. He’s still chewing, eyebrows raised, like he’s not sure he heard it right either. Then he swallows and looks at you. And smiles. Not in a smug way. Not teasing. Just soft. Like maybe he liked the way that sounded. You feel the heat crawl up your neck.

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” you say, maybe a little too quickly.

“I know,” he replies. And then, after a pause, he adds, “Still kind of nice to hear.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you laugh. Quietly. Shake your head like it’s nothing. But your stomach twists a little, and not in a bad way.

When the event wraps up, you both walk out together, the night cool on your skin. He doesn't say anything about the comment again, but when you stop by the curb and he opens the passenger door for you, his hand brushes yours just a little longer than necessary. And later, when you're almost home, he glances at you sideways while stopped at a red light.

“You know,” he says, voice low, careful, “I don’t mind if people think we’re together.”

You turn to him slowly. “Yeah?”

He nods, slower this time, turning to look at you more fully. “It’s not wrong,” he says again, but now there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Actually… it kind of feels right.”

There’s something vulnerable in his tone, bare, honest, but not scared. Just open. The way he’s always been with you, when you really let yourself see it. He isn’t hiding behind charm or sarcasm or the easy smirk he uses when he doesn’t want to say what he’s really thinking. He’s just here, right in front of you, choosing not to hold it in.

You meet his gaze and let yourself soften. Let yourself admit it too. “I think so too,” you say. “It feels right.”

He smiles, slow, wide, unguarded. The kind that starts small but stays longer than it should, like maybe this whole time you were bracing for something that never needed to come.

The rest of the ride is quiet, but no part of it feels uncertain anymore.

When he pulls up in front of your building, the car slows to a gentle stop. You undo your seatbelt, expecting the usual goodnight, the steady little ritual you’ve settled into without saying. But before your hand can reach the door, his fingers curl around your wrist, light but purposeful. You glance back at him.

His expression is unreadable for half a second. And then he tilts his head, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “We make such a cute couple,” he says, tone casual, but it lands somewhere deeper. Before you can react, he leans in and kisses you. Just once. Just a press of lips to yours, soft and full of the kind of warmth that makes your heart ache a little.

Then, as he pulls back, he adds, more softly now, like it’s just for you—

“Because you’re such a cute girlfriend.”

You don’t respond right away. Just stare at him, blinking, the words settling over you like sunlight through a window. And strangely, it doesn’t feel like anything changes. It just clicks into place. Like the word had already been there this whole time, quietly waiting its turn.

You smile, then laugh under your breath, because of course that’s how he’d do it, slipping the label in with a kiss and a grin, like he knew you'd say yes before you even said anything at all. “Okay,” you whisper, still smiling. “Okay.”

But when you move to say goodbye, his hand catches yours again. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans across the console and kisses you once more. And then again. And again. Not deep, not rushed, just soft little presses of his lips against yours, like he’s making up for all the kisses he hadn’t known he was allowed to give until now. One lands at the corner of your mouth. Another against your cheek. Then your jaw.

You laugh again, quiet and warm, and he just keeps going, brushing his nose lightly against yours like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

“I’m happy,” he says, suddenly. It’s not dramatic. Not a confession. Just a truth he needed to say out loud. “I’m really fucking happy.”

You look at him, blinking slowly, your heart doing something unsteady inside your chest. “Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Every syllable. “I didn’t think I would be. Not like this.”

He smiles, so softly you think you might forget how to breathe. You glance out the window for a second, then back at him. The night’s quiet, and the street’s empty, and something inside you doesn’t want to let this end yet. “You wanna come up?” you ask, voice low. Then, a little lighter, “Yeonjun’s not home. He’s out tonight.”

Beomgyu blinks once. Then grins. “Are you inviting me to a sleepover?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he says, already reaching for the door handle, “you keep saying yes.”

The two of you step out into the cool air together. This time, when he grabs your hand, it’s not cautious or quiet. It’s natural. Like it’s always been there.

You lead him toward your building, and the silence between you feels full, not of tension, not of hesitation, but of all the moments that got you here. Steps that built slowly, carefully. A connection that never needed to be rushed to mean something. He walks a little closer than he needs to. His thumb brushes over your knuckles every few seconds like he’s still making sure you’re real. And you let him. You don’t say anything, don’t tease him for it. Because honestly, you kind of need to make sure he’s real too.

You unlock your door. Let him in. And in the minutes that follow, when he drops his bag by the couch and toes off his shoes and wraps his arms around you in your kitchen like it’s the most normal thing in the world, you realize something. You genuinely liked Beomgyu.

It didn’t happen all at once. That’s what you keep thinking. It wasn’t a spark or a kiss or a single moment that flipped everything. It was a slow shift. A gradual realignment. Like something quietly tuning itself inside you, one frequency at a time. And now, lying in bed next to him, watching the way his lashes rest against his cheeks as he sleeps, peaceful, unaware, you realize just how far from the beginning you are. And how far you’ve come.

You think about how it started. The tension. The miscommunication. The friction of two people trying not to see each other too clearly. You think about the late nights, the studio lights buzzing overhead, the silence between you and him, how it used to feel heavy, and now it just feels safe. You think about how many times you almost said too much. How many times you stopped yourself. How many times he didn’t. And then, how he did.

You think about the way he whispered the word girlfriend like it was a natural conclusion, not a surprise. Like the truth had already existed between you, and he was just giving it a name. Because by then, it didn’t scare you anymore. Because by then, you’d stopped questioning what it meant, or how fast it happened, or whether it was supposed to look a certain way.

Because by then, it just felt right.

He shifts beside you, barely awake, and instinctively reaches for your hand. His fingers find yours without hesitation, even in sleep. You smile into the darkness. Because it’s not about the label. It never was. It’s about the feeling. The choosing. The quiet knowing.

You think about how, for so long, you felt out of tune. Like no matter how hard you worked, something was always off. Too loud in the wrong places. Too soft where you needed strength. Like you were always trying to blend into a harmony that never made space for you.

But now, with him, there’s no effort. No strain. Just this quiet, steady rhythm—imperfect, unpolished, but undeniably yours.

author's note: hi 🫶 i finally finished this fic. honestly, thought it was gonna live in the “part 2 and never more” graveyard forever lmao. but here we are. if you’ve been reading since the beginning, thank you!! really. i know this one took its time, had its messy timeline and all, but if you made it to the end, just know i love you a little extra now.

thank you to everyone who read, liked, commented, messaged me about part 1 and part 2. you made me want to come back to this story and give it the ending it deserved 🥹 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

i hope the ending made your heart feel warm. or at the very least made you want to kiss a problematic but kind-hearted music producer called choi beomgyu.

until the next story 💿

taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys @stwq2349 @gaonashi @usuallyunlikelyfox @jisungooner @bluecaet@i-am-not-dal @human-misery @jungkooks-right-toe @shihoinyoruichifan-blog @taeandpuppies @90steele @femaleetitan @c-ssiop0eia @beomgyusluver @gumjun @starbear15

[bluehourbucky]

Lunch boxes

pairing: newavenger!bucky x reader

summary: you make lunch for new avengers John almost loses his life

a/n : just a silly drabble been thinking about it for days

bucky masterlist

Bucky never knew softness until he met you. You are the epitome of softness, you think of others first and then yourself. He loves that about you its sweet but he never let's it go too far.

He knows one day he'll marry you, buy you a house in the country side all those domestic things he dreamed of. He just needs a bit more time. Bucky sees the way you look at him, with love and absolute certainty that he's your future.

There's nothing he wouldn't do for you, not when he meets your doe eyes full of hopes and dreams. And he can't wait to make them all reality.

One thing about you is that you show your love through food, lots of it, he gained a few since you two started dating. Bucky didn't even know he loved food this much ( maybe he doesn't and its only to please you but the line blurred long ago when he realised that love is you and everything you do and make).

He never intended for you to meet the other new avengers, but they somehow found their way into your shared home. You welcomed them with open arms and heart. And you charmed them from the fist second. He knew you would, all you have to do is smile and you have people falling over left and right.

They weren't used to kindness and you had so much to give and you gave it freely in abundance.

Last night was rough for them and they all needed somewhere to recharge for the hard day ahead, so what did they do? They came to a little sanctuary, that is yours and Buckys apartment.

Even if Bucky hadn't called ahead you had opened the door in the middle of the night, you didn't even seem upset that they woke you up or that he brought five more people with him.

You jumped into his arms like it didn't matter that he was all dirty and sweaty and bloody, and to you it didn't.

Your small apartment was looking even tinier with the six avengers in the living room/kitchen.

"Welcome back! I'm sorry I didnt know you were coming you must be hungry! Ah I didnt prepare anything! I'm sure we have something around here!"

Bucky told you not to fuss about it, they'll order something for tonight and be out early in the morning. It took a lot of convincing and stolen distraction kisses to make you drop it.

"Jamie it's not nice! They're guests, your work family!" He smiles and pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead.

"You can cook some other time come on back to bed." Bucky ushered you to your room and laughed when he noticed your frown. He took a quick shower and then gave the rest of them towels and told them to figure it out how to sleep on one pull out bed. He didn't care enough he just wanted his girl.

"Good night, doll." Bucky says as he pulls you into his chest and kisses your neck. He feels you smile.

"Night Jamie."

In the morning Bucky can smell food? Its all kinds of food. He gets up and opens the bedroom door. Four figures stand behind the kitchen counter and watch you.

John is sitting on the pull out sofa, his eyes closed.

"Damn Soldier Barnes! Your wife is so talented! Look how she cooks!" Alexei says pointing at you stiring the pot and shaking the pan at the same time. You turn and your cheeks are flushed, both from the stove and the way Alexei called you Buckys wife.

"Morning love!" you look at him sheepishly, like you're caught doing a crime.

"She won't tell us what she's doing but this looks dangerous? No?" Yelena says..

"I'll be done soon I promise."

Bucky fondly laughs and walks over to you to give you a morning kiss but before he can do that an alarm sounds from your phone.

"Ah get that out of the oven! Thanks honey."

Bucky does as he's told and pulls out a huge tray of pastries out of the oven with his metal arm.

"Are we feeding an army?"

"Yes Bucky look how many of you and no one should work on an empty stomach."

Before he can say something you shush him and peck his lips.

"Okay now everything's done!"

And there on the counter six paper bags, each one has a name written on it, with a little doodle each different than the other.

Buckys heart grows and aches in ways he can't quite understand. You did all of this for him, for them, the people who have done horrible things, are doing horrible things.

First one to grab a bag is Alexei who then gives you a bear hug and lifts you off of the floor.

"Ah you are amazing woman! If Soldier doesn't treat you right he will have problem with me! I am very grateful!" You laugh and hug him back.

Ava just nodds and takes the bag, but in her eyes you see softness and thankfulness.

Yelena takes hers and says "Ah my favorite! Thank you! You are the best! I can't promise I won't come back for another round."

"You're always welcome" you reply and give her a hug.

"Thank you, miss. I appreciate your effort it is very kind for you to give us this food!" Bob says and stands at the door with the others.

John's the last one but he only stands up and goes to the door.

"Wait I made you one too!"

"Im not taking a children's lunch box I'll just buy something out."

The silence that came is deafening, you could hear a pin drop. Your eyes well up in tears.

And then Bucky grabs John by the throat, Yelena pulls her guns and points them at John, Ava teleports next to John and hits him and Alexi says

"I kill him now."

"Im sorry I'm sorry Im sorry I swear I didnt mean it." John starts to beg the avengers for mercy...

"Not to us stupid."

Bucky drops him to the ground and then John crawls to your feet and starts begging.

"Its fine I forgive you." you say kind of terrified and touched that they all care so much.

"You live another day, next time you make my girl cry I will kill you and then cut you into pieces and then I will burn those pieces."

John only nods and runs out the door.

Buckys eyes immediately soften as he walks over to you and grabs the last bag, it says love of my life and there's like a dozen hearts drawn. His hear melts.

"Thank you baby. I love you and I already miss you." you giggle at the hundreds of kisses Bucky gives you.

"Love you too!"

[sunday-bug]

Popping Cherry Blossoms

Pairing: 40's!Virgin!Bucky x Virgin!Girlfriend!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Content: mostly fluff, brief mentions of sex, virginity loss

Synopsis: Bucky and his girl sneak away from the Cherry Blossom Festival for some sweet alone time.

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for AA Spring Bingo; inspired by the song "Hold Her While You Can" by Stephen Sanchez

Prompt/Square: "Cherry blossom festival"/1

Card Number: AAS002

This is the first time you’ve travelled with his family, and you are a bit nervous. His mom and dad are both quiet folks, but you’ve always gotten along with Rebecca. You just really want to make a good impression. The drive from Brooklyn is a little over four hours long, and thankfully the weather is decent with a nice breeze. His parents put the top down as you get into D.C. proper, and Bucky helps you secure your scarf over your hair. 

“Real nice day for this,” his dad says from the driver’s seat, looking out at the cherry blossoms in the distance. 

“It certainly is,” his mom agrees, turning toward the three of you in the backseat. Rebecca is sitting in the middle, always the chaperone. “I’m glad your folks let you come along,” she says sweetly. “And I know Bucky is ecstatic.” You look at him and see his cheeks redden at his mom’s comment. Rebecca giggles in between you both. 

“Here we are,” his dad murmurs, pulling into the hotel’s porte-cochère. Bucky opens his door and slides out, helping his sister and then you. You all stretch your legs, and Bucky sneakily brushes his knuckles up your bare arm.

“James, come help this young man with our bags,” his dad orders, nodding to the porter. Bucky smiles at you sweetly and walks to the trunk, pulling out the bags. 

His parents check in to the hotel and you are led up to your conjoined rooms. One for you and Rebecca, and the other for Bucky and his parents. Your parents agreed to this trip on one condition: separate rooms, and his parents agreed heartily. 

Your bags arrive at your respective rooms and you unpack your items into the wardrobe for your two night stay. You all plan to visit some landmarks in the area on your second day here. Becca flops down on the bed near the door, marking it as hers, which you’re glad for. You love looking out at the stars before you fall asleep. You pace the room a bit, checking your profile in the mirror and blotting your lipstick.

“You look beautiful as always,” Becca says, rolling her eyes. “He thinks you hung the moon, you know.”

You look away from the mirror and smile, smoothing your dress. “Thanks Becca.” 

A soft knock raps on the conjoining door and Bucky’s perfect head of hair peeks through. “Are you ladies decent? We’re getting ready to walk down to the festival.” You giggle and ruffle his hair. “We’ll be out in a moment.” 

You and Rebecca gather your handbags and help each other knot your scarves around your hair as the day was a bit breezy before stepping into the hallway to meet the other three. You all head down to the lobby and Bucky offers you his arm as you step onto the city sidewalk, directing you away from the street. His parents and Becca walk a few feet ahead of you, leading the way to the festival.

“My dad said we could break off once we get there and walk alone,” he says sweetly. You look up at him, the sun shining through his dark hair, and sneak a quick kiss on the cheek, wiping your lipstick off of his soft skin after. 

“Destroying the evidence?” He teases. 

“Something like that,” you chime. 

“I’m glad you could come,” he leans down to whisper into your ear.

“Me too.” 

You all walk in peace for several blocks. The sweet smell hits you before the sight of the actual trees does. The soft perfume of the pink flowers fills your nostrils and you take a deep breath in. The breeze is light enough that you take your scarf off and let the air blow through your curls. Bucky takes a breath and sighs. “They don’t smell as sweet as you,” he brushes against your hair and a shiver runs down your spine.

Becca walks back toward the two of you and hands Bucky some money. “Dad says don’t spend it all in one place and behave. Meet back at this spot in two hours.” Bucky laughs and takes the money from her before putting it in his wallet. You spy the photo he took of you at Christmas in the wallet and smile to yourself, your hand reaching up to touch the locket around your neck that contained a photo of him taken last summer. Becca skips away to join her parents and Bucky steers you across the street to walk under the blooming trees.

You walk arm in arm again, looking up at the perfect pink petals and at his profile. He catches you looking and smiles, his eyes and nose crinkling. “You’re going to be the reason I have wrinkles while I’m still young,” he jokes, kissing your forehead. 

You giggle and look down at your Oxfords. “Well, you’re the reason I have creases in my shoes.” 

“How do you reckon that?” He asks playfully. 

You stop walking and grab his hand before reaching up to kiss his lips. As you break the chaste kiss, you look down at your shoes and his eyes follow, noticing the ever-growing crease in the leather from having to stand on your tiptoes to reach his lips. Bucky chuckles and nods. 

“Then I hope you always have creases in your shoes,” he says, picking up a fallen twig of cherry blossom and handing it to you. You accept it gratefully.

“And I hope I have the privilege of seeing you with wrinkles,” you reply, smelling the flower.

“You will, doll. I promise you that.”

You keep walking down the street until you come upon a steaming cart that smells heavenly. Roman’s Roasted Nuts is printed on the side and you look up at Bucky with pleading eyes. He smirks and walks up to the cart, purchasing a small bag for you two to share. You find a park bench nearby and sit down as he opens the bag. He pulls out a pecan and offers it to you, which you gratefully accept. It’s hot, sweet, and delicious. “Thank you. I’m spoiled by you,” you giggle.

“My girl deserves it,” he says, kissing a bit of sugar from your lips. You blush at the continued PDA. 

“Bucky…” you start, holding his hand in yours.

“Yes, darling?”

“I have the key to Becca and I’s room.”

He swallows and his eyes go wide. “You do?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, taking it covertly from your cardigan pocket to show him.

“Are you sure?” He asks, rubbing your arm. You nod in response and stand up, waiting for him. “Well, we have,” you look down at your wristwatch, “one hour and thirteen minutes until we have to be back here.”

Bucky smirks at you and stands up, offering you his arm again as he looks around the crowd for a sign of his family. “They must be way down the road in the thick of it. Let’s go.”

You both rush back to the hotel, walking a little faster than necessary and not speaking much. You take your cardigan off as you get into the hotel, warmed from the walk back in the sun. Bucky takes it from you and carries it for you. The elevator operator takes you to your floor as you stand there like two kids about to get reprimanded by the principal even though you are both technically adults. Bucky takes the key from your cardigan pocket and unlocks your door slowly, sighing deeply.

“We don’t have to do this, Buck, if you don’t want to,” you assure him. He closes the door behind you both. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I want to. Trust me,” he groans, walking toward you and pulling you in for a deep kiss. He tastes like toothpaste, roasted pecans, and sugar. You open your mouth and let him explore yours with his tongue. He breaks off suddenly, his pupils blown wide. “I just want you to be sure. And I don’t want it to be… bad,” he finally admits.

“I’m sure. And I’m sure it won’t be bad, love,” you say. “Let's give ourselves some grace. We’re both new to this,” you tease gently. “I love you. I want this with you. And only you.”

“I love you so much,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Should we get undressed?”

You nod and turn around, “Unzip me.” He unzips your dress and it falls to the floor, leaving you in your slip and undergarments. He’s seen you in your slip once before by accident when he was picking you up for school and forgot to knock on your bedroom door. You watch him as you remove your slip and hose, leaving you standing in your panties and bra. His eyes travel slowly from your breasts to your waist and legs and back up again. You walk to him slowly and start to unbutton his shirt. He timidly rests his hands on your bare waist and your skin prickles as you work his shirt off and over his broad shoulders until his chest is bare. You plant a small kiss over his heart and he shivers.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, running his hands up and over your bra. You feel his arousal press into your leg and look down. He starts to unbuckle his belt and you feel the first bit of real nerves flood into your body. This is really happening. Finally, but no - not finally… right on time. He pulls his trousers down and is left in his underwear. 

“I think we’re supposed to put a towel down,” you murmur, walking quickly to the bathroom. “Rosemary in fifth period was talking about it. In case… ya know, anything happens.” Bucky just nods and watches you pull the bed covers back and lie the white towel in the center. “Should we get in bed, then?” You ask softly, playing with the clasp of your bra.

“Yes,” he stammers, watching as you unhook it and let it fall to the floor. The smallest noise escapes his throat at the sight of your bare breasts and it sends a wave of heat and pleasure to your core that you’ve never experienced at this caliber before. You’re suddenly both in bed under the covers and Bucky is hovering over you, kissing your lips and your neck desperately. 

“I love you so much, doll. I’m going to marry you someday. I promise,” he murmurs, looking in your eyes. 

“I love you, James,” you whisper. 

You both work your underwear off and lie there for a moment, staring at each other. “Should I…?” Bucky trails off, not sure what to do next. You nod, encouraging him.

“It’s okay,” you say, playing with his hair. “Go ahead.”

He maneuvers himself into the right position and pushes into you ever so slowly. 

“Oh my God,” he hisses. You bite your lip as your body accepts him with a stinging stretch. You make love for the first time together and it’s everything you thought it would be - sweet, sensual, a little awkward, and over fairly quickly. Afterwards, you lie next to each other under the covers for a few minutes and hold hands. 

“That was incredible,” he admits with a soft laugh, kissing your lips. “Did it hurt, sweetheart?” 

“It hurt a little bit, but it was nice,” you say, running your nails gently down his arm. “I’m glad we could be each other’s firsts.”

“First and last,” he corrects with a kiss to your hand. You both sit up and get dressed quickly. You check the clock on the wall and notice that you have twenty minutes to get back to the festival. Bucky picks up the towel and remakes the bed. 

“Destroying the evidence?” You ask with a giggle.

“Something like that,” he remarks.

🌸

[cherry-coffees]

Caitlyn x jealous!reader ♡

cw: 1.7K words | jealousy, best friends to lovers, social media references, a few suggestive comments but nothing crazy

You shouldn't be jealous. You know you shouldn't be jealous. Caitlyn is your best friend — has been for years — but, despite your massive crush on her, nothing had ever happened between the two of you. As despairing as it is, you have no claim over her.

And yet...

Feelings of envy can't help but develop in your chest, coiling around your heart to squeeze it painfully.

Caitlyn spends most of her days tucked away in her office, dealing with all sorts of important things that keep Piltover up and running. And her downtime? It's all spent with you, getting brunch at cute cafes or going out to bars some nights. During the few times she goes out to shop or get her mind off things, you're the one who has to drag her outside of the Kiramman manor, claiming that fresh air is healthy and whatnot.

You shouldn't care about the girls that swarm like bees to a honeypot whenever she goes out. You shouldn't care about the way they giggle, batting their lashes at her as they ask for help reaching something on a tall shelf. They fawn over her height, her position as Commander of Piltover, and wow, I bet she'd be so good in bed.

Not that you can blame them, really. Caitlyn's eyes are a weapon: one flash of blue would have any girl on her knees. It's just—

You're the one who Caitlyn calls in the middle of the night, who gets the privilege of being her best friend and, consequently, smothered in affection. Her fangirls don't have her love, not like you do.

You're curled up at your desk one afternoon, a blanket strewn across your lap and your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop. Oh, how much better it would be if you were in Caitlyn's lap right now. But she's out, gone to some event that had requested her presence. Normally, you'd have gone with her, but the idea of getting out of bed this morning had seemed so unappealing at the time. Caitlyn, wanting you to be rested, had excused it with a wave of her hand and an "I'll see you tomorrow for dinner."

You exhale, chin resting on your palm as you scroll through the various emails in your inbox. As much as you didn't want to leave the house, you miss her. Your sweet, lovely best friend who you've been hopelessly pining after for ages now. You can't help but wonder what she's doing right now.

Thus, the fastest way to find out is through social media.

Caitlyn's social media is dry, containing only a few posts of very practical things. One of her training routine, a few of events she'd been to recently, and another of a meal she was particularly proud of cooking a few weeks ago. To no surprise, there's no updates to be found. You roll your eyes, navigating to her tagged photos. Surely someone had to have posted about her being at the event today.

Your heart sinks at the first one.

It's a recent post: uploaded only a few minutes ago. The location tagged is the same event Caitlyn's at, and sure enough, Caitlyn is front and center, smiling politely at the camera. The girl next to her is beaming, almost glued to Caitlyn's side. When you swipe to the second photo, it shows the same girl hugging her. Caitlyn looks respectful, like she's just greeting someone, but the girl's hand placement draws your eyes. Her arms are wrapped around Caitlyn, her hands finding her waist and completely pressing up against her.

And the caption?

Finally met my wife!!

Oh, fuck no.

You grit your teeth, blinded by seething hot rage. Who is this girl? Or, more accurately, who does she think she is? She has no right to be hanging off Caitlyn's arm like she's flaunting her.

You can't help but click on the girl's account, scrolling through her story posts. She's recently posted a few more photos of Caitlyn, one flooded with comments like:

omg i can't believe i'm meeting Caitlyn Kiramman

she's so hot nghh need her in my bed

she could bend me over and i'd take it

You have no claim over Caitlyn. You know this. She's perfectly capable of flirting with whoever she wants, being with whoever she wants. But that small, ugly feeling in your chest tugs on your heartstrings, whispering possessive thoughts that cloud your mind.

That's your Caitlyn. Yours.

Suddenly, you're feeling a lot less tired than you were this morning. Jaw clenched and irritation coursing through your body, you barely pause to yank on a dress and grab your keys on the way out.

Maybe you should go to that event after all.

|------» ~~~ «------| 

Caitlyn's the picture of elegance at the event: dressed to match in navy blue and tipping her bubbling champagne glass to a few Noxian aristocrats in greeting. She doesn't like formalities, never has. She'd much rather be at the sharpshooting range, her trusted rifle in hand, running through the trees like a bird glides through air. These events were her mother's thing — not hers.

She waves politely at an Ionian ambassador from across the room, a forced smile drawn across her pretty features, when she feels a tap on her shoulder. Eyebrows contorting in surprise, Caitlyn turns, expecting to find another noble or fangirl of hers. The former, she hopes.

Much to her confused amusement, it's you.

You stand with your arms crossed, fierce gaze meeting her shocked stare. You're wearing the nearest formal attire you could find in your closet: a fitted, crimson red dress that falls to the tops of your knees. Your hair is slightly tousled from your (admittedly fast) walk over to the event location. You don't acknowledge it. Instead, you blink up at her, your expression completely blank. "Hi."

"Oh," Caitlyn's breath catches in her throat. Despite your slightly rushed appearance, you're a vision in her eyes. Always have been — not that you'd ever know it. "You—? You came."

"Of course I came," you shrug, dragging the toe of your shoe along the polished, wooden floors of the room. "I can't leave my best friend alone in a place like this."

"But—" Caitlyn pauses, crinkling her nose like she does when she's trying to figure something out. Cute. "But how did you know where the event was?"

Shit. That plan went out the window.

"Um," you hesitate, mind working to come up with some excuse as to how you knew her location. Caitlyn hadn't told you before, and at this point, your only option is to come clean.

Sort of.

"I got it off a social media post," you wave a hand airily, like a nonchalant response you hope she buys. Plenty of people in Piltover had posted about the event; there's no need for her to guess which one you saw specifically.

"Really?" Caitlyn tilts her head, taken aback that anyone would care where she is. As smart as she is, she's oblivious to people's interest in her: Piltover's Commander. Her gaze moves up from your face, darting around the room before she settles on pulling you into a more private corner. "I didn't think people cared much about what I do."

You scoff, unable to stop your eyes from rolling. She can be so dense. Caitlyn knows she's hot, but she fails to recognize that every girl from Piltover is waiting for a chance to swoop in and snatch her up for themselves. And tonight, you just can't keep your comments to yourself.

"You haven't seen all your fangirls' videos yet."

"My fangirls—?" Caitlyn pauses, her hand coming up to rub the side of her face as if mulling the idea over. Then her eyes land back on your face, and the realization hits her like a brick.

Your hardened stare, your slightly pursed lips, and your fidgeting hands all convey one emotion. One that Caitlyn's seen you wear only a few times: once when she went on a random date with a girl from a bar, and another time when she had been venting to you about her ex, and—

Oh.

"You're jealous."

The words fall from Caitlyn's lips before she can stop them. But she's certain: she knows you well enough to figure out your body language. Benefits of being childhood friends, she supposes. Although now—

You freeze, eyes wide and muscles tense like a deer in headlights. "I— well, I don't think it's jealousy exactly."

"Then what is it?" Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. She's competitive in nature, and she's not about to let you dismiss her. Nuh-uh, no way. Not when she knows she's right.

You fumble a few more seconds, glancing around the room helplessly as if something could save you. Nothing does. Damn it.

"Fine," you admit, gritting your teeth in annoyance. "I'm jealous."

Caitlyn hums, a small, smug smile spreading across her face. "There we go, darling," she muses, and you have to fight the flush that threatens to color your cheeks at the nickname. "If only you'd admitted that ages ago."

"Oh." Your breathing stutters, caught off guard by her insinuation. Surely she can't mean—?

"There's no need to be jealous," Caitlyn steps forward, her hands smoothing the hair that frames your face. You hadn't realized she was so close to you before. "I only have eyes for one girl."

You hesitate, mind whirling with possibility. It can't be that girl from earlier. With all the pet names and explicit comments she had made online, it sure seemed like it. At least, that's what the possessive feelings inside your chest are telling you. It can't be her, can it?

It's Caitlyn's turn to sigh at your oblivious head, her hands moving up to take gentle hold of your forearms. She tugs you forward until your chest is against hers and her arms slip around your waist.

"In case you don't understand—" she murmurs into your ear. Her tone is low, almost causing your heart rate to speed up from the way it sends shivers down your spine. Caitlyn would know this if she leaned down a little lower, pressed her lips to your neck to feel your quickened pulse. You almost hope she does.

"—you are the only girl I have eyes for."

totally not self projecting, nope nope nope

hope you enjoyed lovelies <3 wherever you are in the world, stay safe!

~Cherry 🍒

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Woooooow, you're getting fed today. Here's a whole cut section from Rook x Observant Reader. This was one of my early, early drafts. While it's not the angle I ultimately chose, it's well thought out

Context: This is in the middle of your first canonical meeting with Rook when you and Clown Crew are trying to sign up for VDC. He just revealed his uncanny ability to memorize things, including personal information

“You have a good memory. Do you know everybody’s name and height?” you ask.

“Oui, as I said I like to be prepared for any situation,” Rook reiterates with a deadly smile.

You ignore the warning sign and press forward. 

“The names and class I can understand, but where did you get our heights?” you question.

“I can tell just by looking at you,” the hunter answers.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. 

“That’s a specific skill,” you comment. “Is there any benefit other than fact-checking people if they’re lying about their height?”

“I learned it to help narrow down and estimate the length of someone’s gait. However, I can call out a lie of that kind when I see one,” the vice leader replies, amused.

“That’s resourceful,” you admire. “Are the Leech twins the same height?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Non, Monsieur Malfeasance is one centimeter taller than Monsieur Mastermind. Those are two of my other favorite subjects to watch. They’re so interesting.”

Frowning, you decipher the names. 

“Monsieur Mastermind is Jade, but what does malfeasance mean?” you question.

“It’s the fancy word for wrongdoing,” Rook provides.

“Yeah, that’s an apt nickname for Floyd,” you agree before leaning in.

You ask the question you’ve been wanting to ask since the beginning. “Where did you get your hat?”

Rook looks up, touching the object.

“I made it myself,” he reveals with a smile. 

You perk up with a tilt of your head. 

“Can I see it?” you request innocently.

Rook relinquishes his hat with a dramatic bow. “Oui, it’s a délice you’ve taken such an interest in me, [Y/N].” 

You giggle, taking it into your hands. You’re glad he understands your desire to learn more about him. He’s interesting.

You refocus on the hunter’s accessory. It’s surprisingly soft and smooth. You run your thumb along the leather, observing its trim and stitches. The belt buckle is shiny, and the white feather is big and fluffy. The entire item is made with high-quality materials. It makes you wonder…

“Did you personally source the materials?” you inquire. “You said you were a hunter after all.”

Rook’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oui, I did!” He grins. “I’m impressed you made the connection. Most people don’t.”

His emerald green eyes sparkle, fascinated. You glance away with a satisfied smirk. 

“This is an ostrich feather, right? What animal did you use for the leather? Did you make the leather yourself?” you bombard.

He drifts closer to you, answering with ease. 

“Oui, that’s an ostrich feather. I used deer skin. I dried and tanned it myself,” he responds. 

“It’s a work of art,” you comment, before placing the hat on yourself. “It’s well-made and comfortable. It has a nice weight, too. How long have you had it?”

Rook watches you model his hat. His gaze follows you with the narrowed eyes of a hunter. 

“I’ve had this one since I joined Night Raven College,” he explains.

“Have you made any others?”

“Oui, I made the hat that goes with my dorm uniform,” Rook replies with a small and fond smile.

“Is it from the same hide?” you question, still feeling and touching the hat. 

“No, but it is still deerskin,” the hunter answers.

Leona butts in, “He didn’t even make it at the same time. He transferred to Pomefiore halfway through his first year. It’s the only good thing he’s ever done.”

You’ve been watching Rook this whole time. The hunter’s face flickers, displeased at the reveal of personal information. It’s for a split second. It’s gone so quickly that you doubt it was there. However, with one glance at Leona, it’s confirmed. He has a smug and pleased look in his eye. He wanted to gain a negative reaction from the hunter. You file that information away. 

Rook comments, “I do not regret my decision to follow Roi de Poison, but I miss watching you closer while I was in Savanaclaw.”

“Well, I’m grateful I don’t have to sleep with you in the dorm,” Leona retorts. 

It takes a second for Deuce to whisper to you, “Roi de Poison?”

“Vil,” you translate without a second thought.  

“[Y/N], you're most astute, quick, and clever! With my hat, I’m sure you’ll be able to impersonate me in no time.” Rook claps his hands, delighted.

You take his direction. You imitate him, giving a flourish similar to Rook’s when he introduced himself.

“Je m'appelle Rook Hunt, the self-proclaimed Le Chasseur D'Armour. I'm honored to make your acquaintance,” you act with a wink.

You decide to be bold. Bowing, you pull off the hat and hold it to your chest. You grab the hunter's hand and kiss it. You straighten, donning the accessory once more. You take a step back, pleased with your performance. 

“How did I do?” you ask with an eager grin.

Rook wastes no time or words to drown you in praise.

“Magnifique! Beaute! 100 points!” He bursts out, grabbing your hands this time. “The added detail of the kiss was merveilleuse. You could pass for me anytime. You are truly incroyable.”

You smile at his enthusiasm. How can you not? His energy’s infectious.

“The only thing I need to do is get accepted into Pomefiore and then we can trade at any time,” you joke.

Rook looks at you with a glimmer in his eyes. 

“We can solve that,” he tells you, slipping off his blazer. “As the Vice Leader of Pomefiore, I can make you a temporary member. I can’t take the crest off my jacket, so we’ll trade accessories and personas for the afternoon.”

Excitement bubbles within you. You bite your lip to keep the smile off your face, but it doesn’t work. You haven’t had this much fun in a while. You’ve always been fond of plays, musicals, and acting, but haven’t gotten to talk with someone with those interests. You love your Clown Crew, but they weren’t the type to participate in improv. Although, you’re sure their personalities would get them a spot. You match the hunter’s movements, taking your blazer off, and holding it out to him.

“My blazer definitely won’t fit you, but keep it to make sure I come back to give you your items back,” you answer. 

“Oui, I will,” he reassures, draping your jacket over his forearm. “Roi de Poison would scold me for an atrocious fashion violation. However, I will risk it for the joy of such a beaute and radiante person. I’ll take extra precautions to avoid Beautiful Vil’s wrath.” 

Rook gives you a wink as you put on his blazer. It’s too big, but you don’t mind. It smelled like fresh rain. 

“You smell nice,” you comment, “It smells nice, but you don’t wear cologne, right?”

“Oui, I don’t,” he confirms with an interested smile. 

You give a sage nod. “It would give away your position as a hunter.”

Rook hums in agreement. He watches your movements. 

“When and where do you want me to return it to you?” you ask. “Or will you find me?”

“You’re catching onto my habits well, Trickster. I’ll be able to find you,” Rook confirms.

You perk up. “Is that my nickname?” 

The huntsman laughs. “Oui, a special one just for you.”

You grin. 

“Alright see you later—” you start, before pausing. “Do you like hugs?” 

Rook’s cat-like eyes narrow in delight.

“Oui, I would be more than happy to receive one from you,” he replies, before murmuring. “Such innocent prey coming into the arms of a hunter.”

You prove him wrong by pouncing. The wind knocks out of him as he makes a sound of shock. Rook recovers in an instant, chuckling.

“You’re full of surprises, Trickster,” he says.

You pull away.

“And you’re full of secrets,” you tease quietly. 

You giggle, pull away, and sweep out of the room.

"Bye, Rook!" you tell him.

Your friends soon catch up. 

“That was disgusting,” Ace emphasizes when you’re out of earshot. “Next time, warn me when you flirt with a guy.”

“I didn’t know that was your type,” Grim grumbles. “He was weird. He looked like he was going to track and stalk Leona. I don’t want to be next.”

“I’ll keep the attention off of you,” you reassure.

He gives you a wary glare with a scrunched-up nose. “I don’t like him.”

You shrug. “I do. He’s interesting, talented, and more importantly, he let me borrow his hat. He’s entertaining. Besides, I think he’s hiding something.”

Deuce leans in closer, interested. “What do you mean?”

“There’s some stuff that’s off about him. Why does he know everybody’s heights at a glance? That’s not something a normal person would know, even if they were a hunter. He also tensed up when Leona revealed he was from Savanaclaw. I don’t think he likes personal information being revealed despite knowing a lot about everyone else."

“Huh, I didn’t notice that,” Deuce says.

“Yeah, because you’re dense and not in love with him,” Ace snarks. “Is that why you were trying to get close to him?” 

“No, it’s just a bonus that he’s a little mysterious. It adds to the appeal,” you reply.

“I was hoping for the impossible,” Ace grimaces.

You pat him on his back in sympathy.

(Interesting first take! Compared to what I have now, this version of Rook is way more open. The Reader is also much more excitable. Ultimately, I like the official version, but this is adorable. I hope you like it as much as I do... probably more because you don't have the official and giant 40k fanfic at your disposal lol

(The sentence variety isn't as engaging as it could be, but it's good enough. Plus, I have a headache. rip. send me get wells lol... still going to work on Riddle's Dreaming of You fanfic despite the pain lol

(Tell me what you think!)

[itoshiabi]

An Angel

Summary: After saving you from a speeding car, Sakura is left shaken when you call him "angel". Despite his usual coldness, he can't stop thinking about you and when fate brings you two together again, he starts falling for your warmth in a way that terrifies and captivates him.

🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

Your favorite song was playing on repeat, drowning out the world around you as you walked, earbuds stuffed in tight. You were mouthing the lyrics, scrolling through your messages, barely watching where your feet were taking you. The city blurred past.

You didn't see the car speeding toward the crosswalk.

Didn't hear the horn.

Didn't notice the danger— until a hand grabs your wrist and yanks you backward with surprising force.

Your feet stumble. Your phone flies from your grip. You gasp as your back collides with a solid chest, and a car whooshes past where you were standing just seconds ago. Your heart is hammering.

You look up, breath caught.

The first thing you see is his hair—split evenly down the middle, black on one side, white on the other. Then his eyes—one gold, one silver. Unnatural. Hypnotic.

"Angel," you whisper, not meaning to speak aloud.

Sakura blinks down at you, still gripping your wrist. His face is unreadable.

"Huh?" he mutters, flat and a little confused. His brow twitches, not in annoyance but in genuine disbelief that you'd call him that.

You straighten quickly, pulling your arm back. Your face burns. "I—I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention, I had my music on. You saved me. Thank you."

You avoid his eyes, rubbing the back of your neck, heart pounding for more reasons than just the car.

Haruka looks away too, fast. "Tch. Don't walk around like an idiot next time."

But his ears are a faint shade of red.

His heart, usually calm and steady, stutters.

Why does he feel like this?

Why does your voice—flustered, small—echo in his chest like it means something?

He shoves his hands into his pockets, pretending he doesn't care. But your whisper plays again in his head.

Angel.

No one has ever said something like that to him. Not about him. His appearance usually unsettles people—his eyes, his hair, his silence. He's heard people call him creepy, unsettling. He's used to it.

But now?

"Wait," you say, bending to grab your phone. "What's your name?"

He hesitates.

"Haruka. Haruka Sakura."

You repeat it under your breath like you want to remember it. "Sakura. Got it."

You glance at him again. The sunlight catches his mismatched eyes just right.

"You really do look like an angel," you say, this time softer, more certain. "And beautiful, too."

He stiffens.

His eyes widen. He just stares at you like he can't quite process what you said.

"What the hell?" he breathes making you squint your eyes with confusion.

A beat passes.

Then his face flushes crimson, all the way to his ears.

"Wh—Don't—!" He takes a small step back, voice cracking slightly. "Don't say stuff like that outta nowhere!"

You blink, surprised by how flustered he looks. Then you laugh quietly. "Sorry. I meant it, though."

Haruka quickly looks away. He can't meet your eyes. His face is hot, and his usual calm is completely wrecked. His chest feels full, too full.

This isn't normal. But something about you—the way you smile, the way you looked at him like he was something good—it lingers deep in his chest.

That night, he doesn't sleep well.

The memory replays in his head over and over. The sound of your voice. The look in your eyes. The word you called him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Beautiful. Angel.

He thinks it'll fade by morning.

It doesn't and the next day, he surprises himself.

"Hey," he mutters to Umemiya and the others as they hang around. "You guys know someone named Y/N?"

The group quiets.

Akihiko blinks. Hayato looks over, interested.

Umemiya grins. "You actually asking about someone?"

"Shut up," Haruka says sharply, eyes shifting away. "Just answer."

Akihiko tilts his head. "Name sounds familiar… Oh! Isn't she that girl who's always at that Library in the third district? Headphones on all the time, kinda spaced out?"

Umemiya snaps his fingers. "Yeah, yeah! Cute girl. Loves to read books, right? She's one of Kotoha's classmates"

Haruka stays quiet, but the tips of his fingers curl a little in his pockets.

Yeah. That's you.

He doesn't say it.

"Tch. Whatever," he mutters.

Hayato smirks. "You into her?"

"I said shut up."

The teasing fades, and the conversation drifts. But Sakura stays quiet, filing every word away in his mind.

Library of Third district. Headphones. Cute.

The next time he passes through that area, his eyes search the crowd.

And when he sees you again—headphones in, slightly swaying to your music, completely in your own world—it hits him like a punch to the chest.

The feeling.

The warmth.

The ache.

He's not sure what to do with it.

But then—

"Hey, angel boy!"

You spot him instantly. Your grin lights up your face. You walk straight over without hesitation.

He flinches like you've just said something scandalous in front of a crowd.

"You again?" he mutters, trying to sound unimpressed. His heart's already pounding.

"Yup. Destiny, maybe?" you tease.

He looks away. "Tch. Not funny."

You just smile and nod toward the vending machine he's standing beside. "You choosing something, or just giving it the evil eye?"

"They're out of the coffee I wanted," he mutters.

You gasp, dramatically. "That's tragic. Want me to make it up to you with food?”

He blinks, stunned. "What?"

"I was on my way to eat anyway. Let me treat you. You saved me, remember? Still owe you."

He stiffens.

"I didn't save you for that," he mutters. "I didn't want anything."

"I know," you say gently. "But I still want to."

A pause.

"Fine."

The restaurant is tucked between narrow streets, warm and low-lit. The smell of grilled food drifts from the kitchen.

You talk easily—nothing too deep, just soft laughter and stories that fill the air like music. You don't push. You just… exist. Kindly. Comfortably.

Haruka listens more than he speaks.

He watches, memorizing the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way you lean forward when you're excited. The way you slide food toward him without a second thought.

"Try this," you say, nudging a plate over. "It's my favorite."

He eyes it. "I don't like sweet stuff."

"Good thing that one's spicy."

He hesitates. Then tries it.

"Not bad."

You beam like he just said something profound.

He looks away again.

Everything about this is unfamiliar. Strange. Good.

After eating as you guys walk out of the restaurant, it's already dark. The night is cool and still. Stars blink above, faint behind the city glow.

You brush your hair from your face. "Thanks for coming with me. I really liked it."

He shrugs. "Wasn't terrible."

You laugh. "You're getting soft."

He shifts, uncomfortable. Then, after a pause—

"That day… when the car almost hit you." His voice is low, almost hesitant. "If I hadn't shown up… what would've happened?"

You blink. "I guess I would've been hurt?"

He nods once, then falls quiet again.

Then, quietly, almost awkwardly— "Give me your number."

You blink, stunned. "Huh?"

"In case something happens again. You should… call someone. And I'm from bofurin so....."

You smile, warm. "Okay."

You take his phone, type it in, and hand it back.

"No accidents next time, though," you say. "Just call me for food."

He stares down at your name glowing on his screen.

His chest aches in a way that's soft and overwhelming all at once.

He walks away fast, hoodie up, head ducked, as if fleeing the scene of a crime.

But that night, Haruka Sakura lies awake in bed, your name still lighting up his screen.

And for the first time in forever, the weight in his chest feels a little less heavy.

He doesn't know what this is.

But he knows one thing......

He doesn't want it to end.

[haiwii]

୨ৎ ─── GET YOU

✎ᝰ .ᐟ Enhypen as your bf headcanon

HEESEUNG | JAY | JAKE | SUNGHOON | SUNOO | JUNGWON | RIKI

[ ✧ CW ✧ ] fluff, chaos, and a man deeply down bad, g!n reader (?) I don’t think the gender is specified

LiBRARY ## HEAD.c

This was so fun to write 😭

🧃 The Chill-Turned-Down-Bad Start

When you first met, you thought he was that calm, mysterious boy who probably journals about the meaning of life and listens to lo-fi jazz in his room with LED lights. And yeah… you were right. For like, two weeks. Then he accidentally tripped over your bag, did a dramatic “I HAVE FALLEN FOR YOU” on the floor, and you saw a glimpse of the idiot within. From then on, it was game over. He decided you were the one. He told Jay this with complete confidence while wearing Pikachu socks and a mouth full of Pocky.

🍜 Dates With Heeseung Be Like

Think: 50% actual romance, 50% utter chaos. Candlelit dinner? Sure. But he will dramatically say, “This reminds me of our wedding.” (You’re literally in your 20s and eating at Olive Garden.) Movie nights are sweet until he starts reciting the lines with the characters. Or worse guessing them and getting it right. Every. Single. Time. He makes you ramen and tells you he “poured his soul” into it. It’s literally instant ramen, but it’s somehow… better? Heeseung magic.

📱Texting Heeseung: A Horror Story

Sends you 47 memes a day. 38 of them are about ducks. You still don’t know why. You stopped asking after the duck dream he had that “changed his life.” “Good morning, my love 😚💗🌞🌸🌼🐥🐣🌸💗💞💘💓” Sent. At. 4. A.M. He has a very cursed notes app where he keeps nicknames for you. It includes: "My Little Toaster Strudel" "Cuddle Goblin" "The CEO of My Heart, LLC"

🎮 Gamer Boyfriend Heeseung

Yes, he games. Yes, he’s cracked. Yes, he forces you to play co-op games so he can “protect you.” Yells “I GOT YOU BABE” before running into a trap and dying instantly. But if anyone says anything remotely rude to you in chat? He becomes Satan. Voice lowers. Words sharp. You’ve never seen an online user get verbally destroyed so fast. He lets you win sometimes but pretends you beat him fair and square. Then gets revenge in Mario Kart. Mercilessly.

🐥 Love Language? Annoying the Hell Out of You

He pokes your cheek until you give him attention. Whispers “I love you” in the creepiest voice possible while you’re brushing your teeth. Starts fake arguments just to hear your annoyed voice. “No but like—why would you pick Charmander over Bulbasaur??” Steals your clothes. All of them. He looks better in your hoodie than you. It’s unfair.

🧸 But Also… A Secret Softie

Tells you he loves you like 16 times a day, casually. “Love you. Bye. Also bring me banana milk.” Has a folder in his phone of your candid pics. He labeled it “Proof I Scored.” You found it and almost cried because he literally labeled each photo. Stuff like: “Her smile when I said she’s my favorite person” “When she saw the puppy at the park” “The day she said she likes me more than ramen 😭” Whenever you’re sad, he drops everything. EVERYTHING. Even if he’s in the middle of gaming, he’s like: “Nope. Pause. My girl’s upset. Priorities.”

🛏️ Late-Night Chaos & Comfort

Lying in bed at night is either: You cuddling in silence while he plays with your hair and whispers sweet things like “I’m glad you exist.” Or you two laughing so hard at a dumb inside joke that you accidentally wake up the neighbors. Heeseung will tuck you in and say, “Good night, love of my life, mother of our imaginary dog, the moon to my star—” “Heeseung, shut up.” “Okay. But I still love you more than cheese.”

👨‍🍳 Domestic Heeseung Is Real

He can cook. Not like a chef, but enough to make your heart go boom. Tries to bake cookies but forgets the sugar. You eat them anyway. Wears matching aprons with you. Posts it on the group chat. Sunghoon leaves immediately. Jake sends 🧎 emojis. Does your laundry sometimes but gets distracted halfway through because he found an old shirt of yours that “smells like heaven.”

🎤 Idol Things + You

If you show up at a fansign? He breaks character IMMEDIATELY. The staff is like ??? while he beams at you like a puppy. Will 100% write your initials on his setlist or sneak a reference to your favorite color into his outfit. Fans catch on. You get a fanbase too. During live streams: “Who’s your favorite person?” “Oh, Y/N. Easy.” Silence. Confused blinks. “Wait, I mean—uh—my mom?” Too late. Twitter is exploding.

💌 TL;DR:

Heeseung as your boyfriend is the perfect mix of sweet, soft, and absolutely unhinged. He’s the type who would give you the last bite of his ramen and pretend he didn’t cry watching a Pixar movie. He’s clingy in the most adorable way, makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, and genuinely, without a single doubt, loves you like you’re his entire world. Even if he does send you 3 a.m. memes about ducks.

[steddieas-shegoes]

remember to try and forget

for @steddiesongfics using 'delete ya' by djo as inspiration AND i slipped a few short bursts of lyrics in here (thanks @withacapitalp for the suggestion that got me started on this, hugging you squishing you)

rated m | 1581 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: road trip, ex friends with benefits to lovers, temporary heartbreak, angst with a happy ending, robin is a meddling friend and we love her for it, jonathan and argyle also meddle and have a great time doing it, love confessions, getting together

also on ao3

🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️🛣️

A summer road trip should be fine.

Just the guys.

Which includes Eddie. Of course it includes Eddie. Why wouldn’t it? He’s one of the guys.

It’s just that the road trip is gonna be in Steve’s car and he doesn’t really trust anyone else to drive it, and Eddie won the passenger seat in some bet that he’s not even sure Argyle and Jonathan knew they participated in. And he’s made it a point not to be near Eddie for a while now. Pretty much since…well, since Eddie broke his heart into a million pieces and stomped on them and pretended nothing happened.

“We should probably get on the road,” Jonathan says as he closes the trunk. “We’re already an hour behind.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Steve mutters under his breath. “Alright! Let’s go!” He says louder, claps his hands together.

If he makes it through the next four days, he can make it through the rest of his life.

Eddie slams the car door and grins through the window at him.

He may not survive the next four hours.

****

It’s okay for an hour or so. Jonathan and Argyle are keeping conversation going, moving from one subject to the next with seemingly no connecting thoughts between them. Eddie’s tapping his fingers to the music playing and throwing in random quips when Argyle says something that Steve can’t follow.

Steve’s driving, only interjecting if he knows what the hell they’re talking about.

He’s ignoring Eddie.

He doesn’t even notice how he’s wearing a new cologne, or that he has a different ring on his left middle finger, or that his thighs are parted obnoxiously so that one is almost…just barely…touching where his hand rests on the middle console.

He’s not noticing it so much that he nearly drives off the road when they touch.

“Jesus!” Eddie holds out his arms as they slide to a stop on the shoulder.

Jonathan is silent, and Argyle is patting Steve on the shoulder like he’s making sure they’re still alive.

Steve puts the car in park and gets out before anyone can ask what the hell is wrong with him.

It’s so hot, and he wonders why the hell they had to do this trip in July of all months, and he isn’t paying attention at all to know Eddie’s following right behind him.

“What the hell, Harrington?” Eddie grabs his shoulder to get him to slow down. “What’s going on with you?”

A loaded question that Steve doesn’t even want to answer. He knows exactly what’s going on with him. He also knows if he wants to enjoy this road trip, he can’t tell Eddie what’s going on.

“Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” Steve starts. It’s not a complete lie. He was nervous about the trip. “I’ll be fine.”

“Why didn’t you sleep well?” Eddie pushes, because he always pushes until someone pushes back and then he runs.

“Just didn’t,” he shrugs, rubs his hand across his face. He’s turning to go back to the car when Eddie grabs his hand and holds it. He looks down at where they touch and feels that familiar ache, the thing that’s kept him from having any good sleep for months. “Let go of me.”

Eddie does, but he doesn’t move away. Steve sees him swallow, hopes it hurts the way he’s been hurting since Eddie broke his heart.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You really wanna know?” Steve feels manic, like he did that night he ended up at Robin’s house, barely able to see past the blurry vision his anger and heartbreak gave him. She sat on his legs just so he wouldn’t pace a hole through her floor and made him listen to Blondie and Madonna to calm down before he was allowed to talk. Too bad she isn’t here now. “What’s wrong is that I put myself out there and got shot down again. What’s wrong is that you were okay when we were just fucking around a little but the moment I wanted more, you couldn’t even look at me. What’s wrong is that you agreed to go on this stupid road trip knowing I was coming and didn’t care that it would kill me to be close to you and not be able to do anything about it!”

His heart is racing, his breath is coming in short bursts. He doesn’t want to get back in the car.

“Steve…”

“Don’t, Eddie. You made it clear enough that this is one-sided and I just have to get over it. I don’t need to hear it again. I just need a few minutes.” Steve probably needs a lot more than a few minutes. He wishes he could just delete Eddie from his head the way he deleted the kids’ late fees at Family Video. “Go wait in the car.”

Eddie doesn’t move. Steve doesn’t either.

He can hear Jonathan and Argyle talking by the car, but they don’t come closer.

“I agreed because I miss you. I wanted the chance to talk to you,” Eddie finally says quietly. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”

“Right. I’m sure you’re sorry that I can’t fucking drive us on our dude getaway or whatever.”

The anger bubbles up in his chest. He feels it boiling under his skin, making him shiver and shake like a volcano about to erupt.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know how to love you when you needed me to!” Eddie says much too loudly.

Argyle and Jonathan are silent now, hopefully not watching whatever is happening as Steve’s eyes widen and he finds Eddie’s heated gaze already on him. They’re glassy, tears gathering as if he has anything to cry about.

He doesn’t get to cry; He’s the one who said he didn’t want anything more from Steve.

“You didn’t even try,” Steve hears how his own voice breaks, feels ashamed that Eddie’s getting to see his pain. He wipes sweat from his forehead and a tear from his cheek. “You didn’t even try. Why wasn’t I worth trying?”

“Steve, you were. You are.” Eddie cautiously rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t deserve you then, I damn sure don’t deserve you now. But I do want you to know I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leading you on and making you think I didn’t want you when I did and I do and I’m sorry for telling you that none of it mattered when it meant everything to me.”

“So you talked to Robin.”

He’d be mad at her, but he knows what probably happened. She got mad enough to confront Eddie, Eddie was terrified to piss her off more, he explained his side of things and she got mad enough to give all of Steve’s side of things. She has no filter when she’s mad. Neither does Steve, apparently.

“She talked to me first. She’s terrifying when she’s mad,” Eddie shakes his head. “But she loves you enough to tell me I’m a fuckin’ idiot. And I love you enough to tell you that I was a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Dude, what is going on?” Argyle’s asking Jonathan.

“I think they’re finally figuring out they love each other,” Jonathan answers.

“Why did you tell me you didn’t care how I felt?” Steve ignores them. “I spent every night with you for months. Every night. I kept coming back. And you let me. And you pretended like it was good and it was going somewhere and you looked at me like it meant something and I thought-“

“You thought right. I swear you did,” Eddie is cupping his face in his hands and he barely chokes back a sob. “I’ve never…had the chance to do that with someone. I never felt real love for someone, not like this. I dunno! I was dumb!”

Steve laughs. He can’t help it. It makes Eddie smile.

“You were so dumb,” he says quietly. His shirt is sticking to him, and it’s starting to become all he can focus on. They should go. They can talk when they get to their first stop in a few hours. “Are you done being dumb?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever not be dumb, but I’m gonna do my best to love you anyway,” Eddie’s voice is full of promise and hope. He wants to believe it.

“Robin was right.”

Both of them turn at Argyle’s words, brows creasing together in silent question.

He’s beaming at them as he explains, “She said you guys would figure it out if we did this!”

Steve turns back to Eddie, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of him. “Did Robin make you come on this trip?”

“Yeah. Insisted I needed time away from Hawkins. You?”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head. “Said I needed to have some time with someone other than her before I turned into a lesbian.”

Eddie snorts. “We got tricked. If she thinks I’m not inviting her to the next campaign, she’s mistaken.”

“She won’t play the nerd game.” Steve pats his shoulder. “C’mon. We have a long drive and those two will need to stop for food soon.”

“Wait.” Eddie grabs his hands tight, his face schooled back to something more serious. “This was too easy, right?”

“Oh, you aren’t done,” Steve smirks. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do. We’re getting our own room tonight at the motel. You still have some forgiveness to earn.”

[streamsofmoon]

vi x f!reader

synopsis: when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night/when you think about me all of those years ago...

a/n: i said i wanted to write something based on good luck babe by chappell roan and here we are :)

When you wake up in the middle of the night, it's with a gasp. A gasp so harsh that it leaves your throat sore for a second. Your heart's a thundering drum in your chest, and you try to calm it down—try to breathe in and out.

It almost doesn’t work until you feel your muscles start to relax. Until you're able to rest against the headboard with a heavy sigh, your soul weary as you look around the dark room.

Beside you, your husband sleeps peacefully. Unknown to the troubles that plague your mind and the woes that sit heavy on your spirit.

He makes you happy; he does everything for you—goes above and beyond for you. Out of all the men that have tried to capture your attention, he succeeded with his kind and soft nature. He is, what many would call, a dream.

But it's horrifying to find out when you don't love someone like that. When you don't love someone who is so startlingly right for you. Because love is a funny thing; it's unbalanced and unpredictable and inconsiderate with how it behaves. It's an awful thing to experience, especially when it refuses to go where you need it to.

Your wedding ring is oddly cold against the warmth of your finger. It's chilling when you rub your thumb against it; it provides a reason for you to take it off. There are other reasons, but those aren't ones you're able to conquer just yet.

Because love is the defining factor once more.

You're happy.

You're happy.

You should be—

"So you’re going to marry him?" Vi asks you on your wedding day. She's gorgeous in a two-piece suit that fits her like a glove. It's hard to take your eyes off her, especially with the way she's looking at you.

"I am," you tell her, fixing the necklace around your neck. It was a gift from your future husband, golden and covered in diamonds. "Isn't that what people do when they're in love? Get married?"

Vi scoffs and murmurs, "oh please," beneath her breath, loud enough for you to hear. Loud enough to have your hands still as you stare at her in the mirror, eyebrows furrowed.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" You question, a bit of anger injected in your tone. "And don't tell me nothing, we both know you're not shy with your feelings."

"Okay," Vi says, sliding her hands into her pant pockets. "You wanna know what I think? You don't love him."

Your heart drops a little despite knowing where this conversation is heading. "Not this again," you say softly, turning around so you can look at Vi. "Vi, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep dictating how I feel." You point towards the dressing room door, the one that leads out to where you'll say your vows. "I love him and I am going to get married to him and you need to—"

Your next sentence is cut off by Vi's fast approach, and her lips smashing against yours. You gasp in surprise, fighting back weakly for a mere second before you're succumbing to her kiss. Your mouth opens eagerly to welcome her tongue, moaning as she kisses you deeply. Her arms around your waist feel like home and the way she makes you feel with a single kiss...

Your future husband has never been able to achieve what this feels like.

And you doubt he ever will.

When Vi pulls back, it's reluctant, and she kisses you gently one more time, like she can't help herself. Then she's resting her forehead against yours, breathing you in as you clutch at the lapels of her suit jacket.

The moment stretches on for almost too long until Vi asks, one more time, "You're going to marry him?"

No, you want to yell. No, I'm not going to marry him. I'm going to run away with you and be happy with you.

But you don't say that.

Because you can't.

You aren't allowed to.

"...I am," is what you say, voice weak and thin with your pain. "I have to."

Vi doesn't reply, but the way her arms tighten around you says more than words can.

Her lips are light when she kisses your forehead, soft and lingering, before she's walking out of the room and she's...gone.

And you haven't seen her since.

You wish you could cry, but the numbness won't let you. It only offers you the hellish sanctuary of loud thoughts that shake you mercilessly, leaving your head ringing.

Your husband shifts beside you, the sheets shifting with him, and your heart breaks a little more.

And as you stare off into space, you can't help but wonder.

[theeafterparty444]

Quiet Hours

Remmick x Reader

Summary: You and Remmick were supposed to be a casual thing—no strings, no feelings, just tension and release behind closed dorm doors. But when he shows up outside your room in the middle of the night, needy and jealous, it’s clear something’s shifted. What was once just sex has turned into obsession. He doesn’t just want your body anymore—he wants you. And tonight, he’s not leaving until he’s sure you remember exactly who you belong to.

Wc: 5.7k

He shouldn't be here.

That’s the first thought in your head when you see Remmick leaning against your dorm door past 1:30 a.m.—hood up, lips red, fists in his hoodie pocket like he’s trying not to knock again.

“I didn’t know if you were coming back,” he mutters. “You were with that guy. From class.”

You raise a brow. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t answer. His jaw flexes.

“I just don’t like people looking at you like that. Or you looking at them.”

A beat.

“’Cause I know what you sound like when you’re under me. Know how you taste when you’re shaking. And he doesn’t.”

Your stomach clenches.

You unlock your door and say nothing.

He follows you in like gravity, like he’s trying to stay chill—but his hands are already twitching like he wants to wreck you.

The second the door shuts, he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours—hot, needy, a little reckless. You can taste the way he’s spiraling. His hands grip your face like he hasn’t touched you in weeks. Like you’ve been out of reach too long.

“You wore those shorts on purpose,” he pants against your lips, walking you backward. “The tiny ones. You wanted attention.”

“I wanted coffee,” you shoot back, tugging his hoodie off.

“Liar.” His lips move to your neck, biting just hard enough to make your thighs press together. “You knew I’d see.”

“Maybe I wanted your attention.”

He groans like it physically hurts.

“You’ve got it, baby. Fuck, you’ve got it.”

Your shirt is gone. Bra unclasped and flung somewhere. His hands are everywhere—palming, squeezing, thumbs rolling your nipples until you're arching under him.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “Barely touched you and you’re soaked, huh?”

He drops to his knees and shoves your shorts down, mouth open and greedy.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, eyes locked on your dripping pussy. “You’re fuckin’ dripping.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh slow—then licks one stripe up your slit that makes you gasp.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “You taste like everything. I could live down here.”

And he proves it.

Remmick eats like it’s his last meal.

Messy, hot, tongue deep inside you while his nose presses your clit. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as he moans against your pussy like it turns him on more than it does you.

“Let me hear it,” he says between sucks. “Let them fucking hear you.”

You’re panting, hips grinding into his mouth without shame.

Then he slides two fingers in, slow, and curls them just right.

You scream.

“Atta girl,” he growls, fingerfucking you steady while licking your clit like a man possessed. “Come on. Give it to me.”

You unravel—loud, legs trembling, pussy clenching around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

You gasp and writhe, trying to close your thighs.

He just growls. “One more. Be a good girl and give me another.”

He sucks hard on your clit and you snap—back arching off the bed as your second orgasm hits harder, messier.

You’re panting, dazed, but he’s already stripping—shirt gone, sweats shoved down, cock heavy and red and leaking against his stomach.

“Look what you do to me,” he pants, stroking himself slow. “I could fuck anyone on this campus and all I want is you.”

You crawl back on the bed, open your legs.

“Then come take it.”

He fumbles for a condom, but hesitates.

You blink. “You good?”

“I want you raw so bad,” he groans, head falling to your shoulder. “Wanna feel every fuckin’ flutter.”

Your pussy clenches.

You reach into the drawer. “Wrap it up. If you go raw, I’m not leaving you alone again.”

He laughs, breathless. “Bet.”

He pushes in slow.

You both groan.

“You always this tight for me?” he grits, voice strangled. “Fuck—feel like your pussy’s choking me.”

You wrap your legs around him, pull him deeper.

He starts slow. Deep. Rolling his hips until you’re panting.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “So wet. So fucking full. You love this, don’t you?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Say it.”

“I love your cock,” you gasp. “I love how you fuck me, Remmick.”

He curses and fucks you harder, hands gripping your hips.

You claw at his back, dizzy with the stretch.

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he growls. “Mouth open, eyes all dumb, begging for more. This pussy’s mine.”

You nod again, barely coherent.

Then his thumb presses your clit.

“Gonna come for me again?”

You cry out.

“Come on, baby. Cream all over me. Let me feel you soak this dick.”

You shatter, clenching so hard around him he stumbles into his orgasm seconds after, grunting deep in your ear.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m coming—Jesus—”

He stays buried inside you, trembling.

You both lie there, covered in sweat and each other, breathing hard.

Then:

“I hate seeing you smile at other guys,” he whispers. “Makes me wanna fight someone.”

You laugh, breathless. “You’re insane.”

He kisses your shoulder. “I’m obsessed.”

You stroke his hair. “I know.”

A pause.

“You staying?”

He doesn’t move. “Try and make me leave.”

The End ❤︎

@001-side, here's your slightly needy Remmick.

[halfpsychic]

turning this into a headcanons post because im struggling to write it. pope cody x cat owner gn!reader.

° He comes over to your place like usual and is met with a ball of fur sitting on the couch. That is not usual. You hadn't warned him about a new pet.

° She was one of the cats who were at the shelter the longest. She looked so lonely. And defeated. Just looking for someone to love her. Reminded you of a certain someone…

° Just. So awkward with the cat. Tensing when she sits on his lap (even asks if you can take her off the first few times), staring at her in confusion when she meows at him. He doesn’t say anything but when you offer to let him give her a few treats, he watches her mouth just in case she bites him (she doesn’t). He knows absolutely nothing about cat behaviour and is confused why she doesn’t always like belly rubs or why she swats at him if he pets her for too long.

° It takes him sooooo long to properly warm up to her. He gets the hang of petting her pretty quick, but he’s still lost on how to play. She doesn’t fetch. He has to scramble around the floor picking up all of her toys to throw again. He can’t figure out how to move around her stick toys to entice her. The cat just stares at him like he's stupid. Then she'll turn around and chase dust floating in the air.

° He learns physical affection with her. When you’re dating, he subconsciously starts petting you when he’s next to you. It's nice, though. His hands are so big and warm, you start to see why cats love it so much.

° Doesn't coo a lot at her (at first). Silently scratches her chin and her ears.

° Pope getting confused when you call out pet names you usually call him. Walking into the living room and saying "Sweetheart, what are you doing?" to the cat and Pope responds "Watching TV," before realizing you're staring at the cat. Or coming back into your bedroom in the morning to the cat sleeping on the bed beside Pope. Leaning down carefully to not wake either of them, cooing, "You're so cute," to the cat and Pope murmurs, "Thanks," back...

° Staring contests with her from across the room.

“Pope, stop staring at her.”

“No. She has to blink first.”

° He hates how much she sheds. Always on you about brushing her to try containing the situation. Buys you lint rollers and pet fur removers so he doesn’t leave your place covered in fur. Lets you brush her so he doesn't get covered in fur.

° Once he gets used to the fact that no matter how hard he tries, he'll always end up covered in her fur, he starts getting really into grooming her. Gets all kinds of brushes and does his best to control her shedding situation. Nightly brushes while she sits in his lap, and sometimes it moves to the floor so she can roll around.

° Pope is so gentle with her. Always worried he’s going to play too rough with her by accident, but he never does. He’s aware of his strength.

° Before you know it, he’s picking her up and sitting down on your couch with her in his lap. She doesn’t mind. She likes how firm his grip can be when he pets her and how big his arms are when he holds her. Once he gets comfortable with her, he's better at playing rough. Not too rough, but he finds it amusing when she attacks his hand. He doesn't care if she bites and leaves a mark. Once in a while, he'll seek out her sharp claws and get her riled up so she attacks his hands. All in good fun, though (totally not worrisome behaviour).

° When Pope leaves, she meows at the door after him, and very often tries to run out after him. If he forgets a jacket, she’s curled up on it (and Pope is groaning when he gets it back because it is covered in her fur). That cat becomes attached quick.

° (in reference to my other work, Perverts) He can’t sneak into your place in the middle of the night anymore because she hears the door click open and runs to see who is there. And when she knows it’s Pope, she meows at him for pets or to play. It disturbs his secrecy.

° (prompt req from this list) Pope can be a busy guy so when he hasn't been around for a few days, his absence is felt by two living creatures now. Depending where you are in the relationship, she’ll meow at you constantly to play with her (which she does not engage with because you don’t do it the way he does it), she’ll gravitate towards his side of the couch, or she’ll sleep on his side of the bed, on top of his pillow (and he huffs about the fur she leaves on it later). In the beginning, he doesn't really understand how she could miss him. She's just a cat. But every time he comes over after being gone for a few days she's all over him, and soon enough it gets through his head that she does have feelings, too, and most of those feelings are about missing him.

He calls late one night. The cat is curled up in his spot on the couch, the opposite end of where you're sitting, and it's almost offensive. But you get it. You miss him, too.

Your phone rings, startling her awake for a moment, her head lifting up at the intrusion.

"The cat misses you," you say instead of a greeting.

"Yeah, I bet she does," Pope responds. "What about you?"

A soft smile creeps onto your face. No matter how many times Pope offers you his attention, it pulls you back into the shyness that overtook you in the beginning. "Yeah, I guess," you respond, attempting to be nonchalant but the need in your voice still shines through. "When are you coming home?"

Pope ignores the way his heart beats faster when you call your place home. "Tomorrow night. Promise."

"Good. She really misses you. She won't sit with me, she likes your spot on the couch better."

"Give her the phone."

"What? She's asleep."

"I want to say goodnight."

You roll your eyes but obey anyway, stretching over on the couch to put your phone by her (sleeping) ears. The volume on your phone isn't loud enough for you to hear what he has to say. It's just between him and the cat.

Bringing the phone back to your ear, you ask, "Any goodnights for me?"

"Goodnight," he replies in a soft voice. "I told her to take care of you while I'm gone."

Pope always knows just how to take your breath away. "Goodnight Andrew, I love you."

a/n: had this in my mind because i love and miss my cats and thank you @dastmalchianss for the prompt request <3. Vaguely based off of my baby…. my pretty princess…. my beautiful Lou

masterlist ko-fi

[sadiesdoll]

hiiii! i love your writing so much 💕 i had an idea for a sevika x reader, where sevika goes to the gym quite a bit and reader decides to join her just for fun.

. ݁₊ 🪽 . ݁˖ sevika helps you stretch.

contains: semi-public sex, size kink, strength kink, praise kink, abs riding, clothed grinding, light dom!sevika, mild overstimulation

Enjoy ♡

You didn't really mean to join Sevika at the gym.

It had started out as a joke—something you'd teased her about every time she came home looking like she'd bench-pressed a whole city block. But then one night, half-curled on the couch and high off the smell of her sweat-damp collar, you mumbled something like "maybe I'll come with you sometime..." and Sevika had just raised an eyebrow and said, "Alright. Tomorrow."

And now here you are.

Standing in the middle of a mostly empty gym with way too much equipment, way too many mirrors, and absolutely no idea what the fuck anything is.

Sevika's already working on something behind you—grunting low, the heavy clank of weights echoing every time she lifts. You glance over your shoulder just in time to catch the sleeveless hell she's got going on: arms flexed, tank top damp with sweat, gray joggers hugging her hips so perfectly it should be illegal.

You blink. Then look away fast.

Focus. You're here to bond. Support your girlfriend. Try something new.

You walk up to one of the machines— something with big padded handles and complicated-looking instructions—and confidently grab one of the bars.

Then freeze.

"What does this even do...?"

"You're about to dislocate your spine, baby."

You yelp and spin around. Sevika's behind you now, all towering and smug and shimmering with sweat, towel slung around her neck like she owns the entire building.

Which... technically, she kind of does. The gym manager adores her. Let's her in after hours. Always tells her to "lock up when you're done, champ."

"I-I knew that," you lie immediately, stepping back from the machine.

Sevika snorts. "Sure you did."

And before you can blink, she's stepping behind you—hands on your hips, warm and huge and grounding-and leaning down, her breath brushing your neck as she speaks.

"Let me show you."

Your pulse spikes. She's not even trying to be sexy. That's the worst part. She's just being her—confident and unbothered and strong as fuck.

She reaches around you to grab the handles, her arms bracketing yours, her body flush against your back. You feel the ripple of her stomach muscles every time she exhales, feel the press of her thighs behind yours.

"You wanna engage your core," she murmurs, adjusting your stance with ease.

"Keep your arms loose. Don't lock your joints."

You nod, barely absorbing the words. Her hands dip lower—grazing your stomach, guiding your hips back into place.

"Right here," she says, her voice rough and low. "This is where you wanna feel it."

You whimper.

Whimper.

Out loud.

Sevika freezes for a second. Then—fucking smirks.

"Y'know," she murmurs, voice practically a purr now, "you're not really here to work out, are you?"

You try to turn around, deny it, say something—anything—but she hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you off the ground like it's nothing. Just fucking picks you up and carries you two steps over to the stretch mats like a goddamn protein-drunk caveman.

You squeak. She laughs.

"Sit down," she says. "We'll try something easier."

You drop to your knees on the mat, cheeks hot, heart racing. You're so flustered you don't even notice Sevika lowering herself down too—until she's flat on her back, arms behind her head, sweat glistening on her chest, abs flexed under her tank like they were sculpted just to ruin your life.

"C'mere."

You blink. "What?"

Sevika taps her stomach. "You wanna learn, right? Come ride."

Your jaw drops.

"I-I thought we were stretching?!"

She smirks. "We are. I'm stretching you." 

She tilts her head. "C'mon, baby. Use me.

Let me make you feel good."

You hesitate for half a second.

Then slowly, very slowly, you swing one leg over her hips, straddling her warm, solid frame. Her abs are like concrete beneath you, and the second your thighs brush them—your whole body reacts.

"Oh," you breathe.

Sevika smiles. Lazy. Hungry.

"There you go. Just like that."

Her hands slide up your thighs, slow and heavy. You rock forward. Once. Tentative.

Her abs flex on purpose.

You gasp.

"Feel that?" she murmurs. "That's all you, baby. Keep going. Take what you need."

You don't even realize how you got here.

One second you're standing on shaky legs, cheeks hot and thighs sore from Sevika's "gentle guidance" on the stretch mats—and the next?

She's flat on her back beneath you, glistening with sweat, arms folded behind her head like she knows she's your undoing.

"C'mon, baby," she murmurs, voice low and lazy. "Right here."

She taps her stomach with two fingers— right between the ridges of her rock-solid abs.

"You said you wanted to try everything."

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again—like maybe words will come out if you just try hard enough.

But nope.

You're too busy staring.

The way her abs flex and ripple under the low gym lights, the way the sweat shines along her chest and drips down her neck, the way her joggers are hanging just a little too low on her hips now—

God.

"W-What if someone—"

"There's no one here," Sevika interrupts, cocky. "We're alone. Lights are off out front. Security system's armed. Doors locked."

You swallow. That should make you feel better. But all it does is make your heart pound.

You're really gonna do this.

In the gym. On Sevika's abs. While she watches.

You climb over her slowly, thighs straddling her waist, knees sinking into the mat. You're already warm between your legs-buzzing with tension from the sheer filth of the moment. The second your clothed cunt brushes against her stomach, you feel it.

The heat. The pressure. The flex.

Like her body was made for this.

Sevika's eyes drop to the spot where you hover over her, and she bites down on a groan.

"Shit," she mutters. "Look at you."

Her hands grip your hips—gentle but firm, grounding you like you might float away.

"You nervous, sweetheart?"

You nod, your skin tingling with warmth. "A little..."

"That's okay," she breathes, voice velvet-dark. "You don't have to do anything. Just sit right here. I've got you."

You let her guide you down slowly. Her abs are hot and solid beneath you—each breath she takes making them twitch, flex, pulse right against your soaked underwear.

You gasp. Your hips jolt.

Sevika grins. "Yeah. That's it. Feel that?

You're already making a mess."

You slap a hand over your mouth. She catches your wrist.

"Uh-uh. Don't hide from me, baby."

She presses your hand to her chest instead—right over her racing heart.

"Feel that? You're the reason it's beating like this."

You moan—actually moan—and Sevika's stomach tightens. The flex sends a jolt straight to your clit.

You grind. Just once. Just to feel it again.

It's heaven.

The ridges of her abs roll beneath you with every movement, perfectly shaped to catch on the exact spot that makes your legs shake.

She doesn't rush you.

She just lies there. Watching you. Letting you use her. Whispering little praises every time your hips stutter.

"Good girl..."

"Look at you, making a mess on my abs like you were made for it."

"Fuck, baby, keep going—just like that."

And God, the eye contact—the eye contact is killing you. Her head tipped back, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, lips parted just enough to show teeth every time she groans your name.

You feel her abs flex again beneath you—this time harder, on purpose—and your hips stutter.

"S-Sev..."

"Yeah, sweetheart?" Her tone is smug now. Wicked. "Gonna cum on my stomach like a needy little thing? You gonna soak me right here in the gym where anyone could see?"

You whimper. You're so close. Your puffy clit reacting to every grind. You didn't even know you could get off like this, but—

Sevika leans up suddenly on one elbow, her face right in yours.

"Be a good girl," she growls, "and cum for me."

You do.

Hard.

It hits you like a goddamn wave—legs shaking, thighs clenching, your cum dripping down your thighs, a cry tearing out of your throat as your body grinds helplessly down on her, soaking through the thin fabric between you.

Sevika's arms wrap around your waist instantly, holding you steady as you ride it out. Her lips brush your ear.

"Fuck," she whispers. "You're so fucking perfect when you lose control like that."

You bury your face in her shoulder, panting, too wrecked to speak.

She chuckles—low and smug.

Then she grabs your ass with both hands and squeezes.

"Round two," she murmurs, voice dark again, "starts when you stop shaking."

thank you so much for the request <3

[gilbertscurls]

love that lets go — matt sturniolo

It’s the way he won’t look at you anymore that hurts the most.

Not the shouting, not the silence that followed. Not the way he shut the door with more finality than force. Not even the sound of your name left unsaid, floating somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom—no. It’s the way Matt’s eyes skim past you now like you’re a ghost of a thought, a figment of a dream he forced himself to wake up from.

Because he saw forever in your eyes once.

And he smashed it.

It started the way all things begin—with wonder.

There was a time Matt would trace invisible lines across your skin with a kind of reverence, like your very existence defied logic. He’d stare at you like he was memorizing, terrified that if he blinked too long, you’d disappear. You used to catch him watching you when you weren’t looking, lips parted just slightly, eyes soft like dusk.

And you let yourself believe in it.

In him.

In forever.

But Matt was never good with permanence. He’d flinch when you talked about “someday.” The word always made him tighten his jaw, like it was a noose slowly pulling. You chalked it up to nerves, to fear, to all the ways trauma worms itself into soft places. You told yourself he just needed time.

But time doesn’t heal when someone’s busy cutting open the stitches.

You remember the night everything cracked. The memory lives in you like a splinter under skin—too deep to remove, too sharp to forget.

He came home late, rain soaked and silent, like the storm outside had followed him in. You reached for him, reflexive, warm. He recoiled.

“Don’t,” he said, and the word landed like a slap. Quiet. Brutal.

You asked him what was wrong. You asked him if you did something. You asked him—God, you asked him everything but the one thing that mattered.

Are you leaving me?

And he said nothing.

Until he did.

“This isn’t what I want anymore.”

There are moments you still replay, even now.

The first time he called you “home.”

The time he kissed your shoulder and said, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The time he held you too tightly in the middle of the night and whispered, “Don’t ever leave.”

You never planned to. That was the problem.

You believed in the version of Matt that let himself be loved. You watched him bloom in tiny ways—a held hand, a whispered promise, a smile that reached his eyes—and you thought: This is it. This is where we begin.

But Matt has always been good at starting things he doesn’t know how to finish.

He says it in pieces.

That it was too much.

That it scared him.

That he couldn't give you the life you deserve.

He says, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

But that’s not true.

Because Matt knew exactly what he was doing.

He looked at you, saw the forever you kept offering—steady and infinite—and decided it was kinder to destroy it than let it rot.

He didn’t trust himself to hold something that precious. So he smashed it before it could be taken from him. Before you could realize he wasn’t enough. Before the world could remind him that good things leave.

He saw forever.

So he broke it.

And now?

Now you live in the after.

Where songs feel like landmines.

Where your phone lights up and your heart still hopes.

Where every version of tomorrow feels duller without him in it.

You wonder if he thinks of you. If he regrets it. If the silence weighs as heavy on his chest as it does on yours.

But the truth is—Matt is the kind of person who doesn’t come back.

Not because he doesn’t care.

But because he cares too much.

And caring, for Matt, feels like drowning. So he chose the surface. He chose air. He chose safety.

He chose to leave.

You still love him.

Of course you do.

How do you stop loving someone who built a home in your ribs and then set fire to it?

How do you un-know a soul you memorized in moonlight?

You don’t.

You just carry the ashes.

And maybe, in some other life, Matt would’ve stayed.

But in this one?

He saw forever.

So he smashed it.

And left you standing in the wreckage, still calling it love.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick, @whore4chris, @ivysturnss