#I love you every artist that worked on this

[mahajio]

This is soooooo GOOOOOD!! Oh gosh, where do I even begin? Seriously! This is perfect! Every single panel is jam-packed with so much, like, what's the word? Like, you wanted to convey something here, and by golly you succeeded!

That first panel, with Laios facing away with that expression on his face… it's perfect. Falin may have forgiven her parents, but Laios still hasn't. I always thought that one post-canon extra where Laios and Falin talk to Marcille about their parents was super insightful and really made me want to see Laios reconcile with his old man and ma one day. This comic is exactly that and SOOOO MUCH MOOOREEE!! I am not crying. I am not crying. I am not crying. That tear? It isn't there. I don't have tear ducts, whaddiya talkin' about? Fuggedaboudid!

It's like… I love that Falin manages to convince Laios to at least see them. It's such a good moment. Like, after all that's happened, I feel at least part of why Laios agrees is because, like… how can he refuse Falin on this? One thing I also love aside from how nervous everybody looks, is that he is not happy to see his father at first, and only looks up when he says his name. OOooooh GOOOOSH, and the way father Touden cups Laios' face like that, finally seeing Laios all grown up—which, like, he hasn't seen him AT ALL since he was a kid! He never thought he'd see him like this… All grown up… Laios' retort made me sniffle, and his father's response straight up had me bawling. It is… so good. I also really appreciate what you did with Marcille and Kabru in the background. The both of them are tragically unable to reunite with their fathers, and for Kabru his biological mother, too. They didn't get to see them all grown up, and the timing on Marcille's tears as well as Kabru's expression make this work so magnificently... Uuugrrugugh, the way Laios seems to lighten up at least a little bit while, like, looking super hesitant to receive a gift, before laying his eyes on the ouppy killed me. I think that you struck gold by having the Touden parents gift their son an ouppy, given their whole history with dogs 'n' stuff.

I AM CRYING. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUUUUL AND I AM RAMBLING AND PROBABLY OVERLOOKING SOME DETAILS, BUT ALSO THIS IS TOOOOO GOOOD FOR ME TO BE COHERENT ABOUT IT WHATSOEVEEEEEER!!!!! I am in shambles. I am in shambles. I was waiting 'til I could make a more coherent comment, but every single time I try, I go right back to barely coherent rambling. This is too poignant a comic for me to handle, I'm sorry.

Thank you so much for being such an incredible artist. This comic is perfect.

Let's try this again

[imnotkaizer]

can you write paige with a pillow princess gf 💗💕💕💞plz ty

⊹ ࣪ ˖ PAIGE X PILLOW PRINCESS GF — all you need to do is lay down, she will never let you top anyway. smut. munch!p.

“Look at you.” she purrs, her voice low and velvety, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

“All spread out for me, just waiting.” You bite your lip, heat already pooling in your core.

Paige has this effect on you always has.

She’s the tide, and you’re the shore, helpless against the way she crashes over you.

“I was thinking” you say, your voice teasing but shaky “maybe tonight I could take charge for once.”

Paige’s lips curl into a smirk, and she steps closer, the mattress dipping as she kneels at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, baby” she says, her tone dripping with amusement “you know that’s not how this works.”

Her hands find your ankles, her fingers warm and firm as she gently tugs you closer.

“You don’t top, you just lay there, looking pretty, while I make you feel good.” You pout, though the flutter in your chest betrays how much you love this dynamic.

You’ve tried to switch roles before, to pin her down and take control, but Paige is unyielding.

She thrives on your surrender, on the way you melt under her touch. “But what if I want to make you feel good?” you challenge, propping yourself up on your elbows.

She chuckles, a low, throaty sound that makes your thighs clench.

“Trust me, princess, making you fall apart is what makes me feel good.”

Her hands slide up your calves, her touch deliberate, igniting sparks along your skin.

She pauses at your knees, parting them slowly, her eyes locked on yours.

“Now, be a good girl and stay still.”Your breath hitches as she leans forward, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

The silk slip rides up, exposing more of you, and paige’s eyes darken with hunger.

“So beautiful” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the edge of the fabric, teasing but not quite touching where you want her most.

“You’re gonna let me take my time, aren’t you?” You nod, already sinking into the haze of her control.

Paige is an artist, and you’re her masterpiece, every touch a brushstroke designed to unravel you.

She pushes the slip higher, her hands gliding over your hips, then hooks her fingers into the delicate straps and tugs it off entirely, leaving you bare beneath her gaze.

The cool air against your skin is a stark contrast to the heat building inside you, and you squirm, earning a playful tsk from Paige.

“None of that” she says, her hands pressing your thighs back down.

“You don’t move unless I say so.” Her voice is firm but laced with affection, a reminder that this is her domain, and you’re safe in her hands.

She starts slow, her lips mapping a path across your body.

She kisses the curve of your hip, then the soft plane of your stomach, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

Each touch is deliberate, building anticipation until you’re practically trembling.

When her mouth finally grazes the apex of your thighs, you gasp, your hands clutching the sheets.

“Paige” you whisper, your voice barely audible, a plea wrapped in need.

She glances up, her eyes meeting yours, and the intensity there steals your breath.

“That’s it, princess” she says, her breath warm against your core.

“Let me hear you.” Her tongue flicks out, a slow, deliberate stroke that sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

You arch, but her hands are there, pinning your hips to the bed, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

She works you with a rhythm that’s both torturous and perfect, her mouth exploring every inch, alternating between soft licks and firmer pressure.

The wet heat of her tongue is relentless, and you’re helpless against the way she coaxes moans from your lips.

Your fingers tangle in her hair, not to guide but to anchor yourself as the world tilts.

Paige hums against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your body.

She’s relentless, her tongue circling your clit with precision, then dipping lower to tease your entrance, only to return with a slow, deliberate suck that makes your vision blur.

“Fuck, Paige” you gasp, your voice breaking, and she chuckles softly, the sound muffled against your skin.

“Language, princess” she teases, but there’s no real reprimand in her tone.

She loves when you lose control, when you’re reduced to nothing but sensation and need.

Her fingers join her mouth, one slipping inside you with ease, curling just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

She adds another, the stretch perfect, her movements slow but deep, matching the rhythm of her tongue.

You’re unraveling, every nerve alight, your body hers to command.

The fairy lights above blur into a golden haze, the room shrinking to the space between you and her.

Your thighs tremble, and paige’s free hand presses against your lower stomach, grounding you even as she pushes you closer to the edge.

“Come on, baby” she murmurs, her voice husky, lips glistening as she glances up at you. “Let go for me.” her words are your undoing.

The coil in your core snaps, and you cry out, your body arching as pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Paige doesn’t stop, her mouth and fingers guiding you through it, drawing out every shudder, every gasp, until you’re a trembling mess beneath her.

When you finally collapse back against the pillows, chest heaving, she crawls up to lie beside you, her body warm and solid against yours.

She pulls you into her arms, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as you catch your breath.

The candlelight flickers, casting soft shadows across her face, and you can’t help but marvel at how she looks flushed, smug, but so tender it makes your heart ache.

“Still wanna top?” she asks, her voice teasing, but there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes you melt.

You laugh, breathless, shaking your head.

“Not a chance.” She grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter again.

“Good,” she whispers, her breath mingling with yours. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

And as you sink into her embrace, the fairy lights still twinkling above, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Being her pillow princess is a role you’re more than happy to play, night after night, in the soft glow of her love.

🔖 — @addl0vee @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @paige05bby @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode @latenighttalkinqwp @avvwritesstufff @prettygirl-gabi @yailtsv @bebitts @heartsforari @usuallyshadowybasement @authentic-girl03 @private-but-not-a-secret @evanpeterstoe @destinybueckers44 @youmeandjennessey @starfulani @cherryswisherz @bueckersworld @paiges-1vur

[kdinjenzen]

As a trans woman voice actress who's been doing VO professionally for 12 years I've been keeping myself out debates on social media about the SAG video game strike aside from an occasional "Please support voice actors during this time, we've lost a lot of livelihood in the pursuit of fair treatment."

What I will say is that getting all your information from sensational YouTube videos, short videos with half the information, or third/fourth hand from other fans who have gotten their info from these sources it is only going to harm the industry more by perpetuating and spreading it.

Fans, regardless of what you're a fan of, I know that you want more of "the thing you like." But understand that when a strike is happening if you're getting more of that something and suddenly the entire cast is replace... you have to understand that it's coming at the cost of people's livelihoods.

From the voice over artist perspective… we WANT to work, but we also want to ensure that we will still HAVE work in 10 years time.

And with things progressing as fast and as aggressive as they are, all your "favorites" won't be able to work at all if things continue down this path.

In seriousness without the fans a lot of "household names" in the VA industry wouldn't have what they have now, and I assure you that they are forever grateful for your support.

When these high profile VAs are talking about what's at stake, they're talking to you and appealing to your hearts.

For those of us who are marginalized, who struggle to book things because of our gender, the color of our skin, our sexuality, etc, and don't have that level of support, we are struggling even more during these times.

We don't have the pull nor platforms to truly tell you how we're suffering now.

But understand that we WANT to work, we want to CONTINUE to work, and what we're fighting for right now is a FUTURE where we can make that sustainable and not be replaced by cloned or generated voices.

Union? Non-Union?

It doesn't matter which or what because it'll all be a wash in the end if this is able to move forward as the cheap, lazy, easy way will cut out the people who have built this industry will take over every aspect of it.

I'm a trans woman voice actress.

I love my art, my craft, my colleagues, my industry and I love the fans that support these efforts so that we can make wonderful experiences.

I want to be able to work and to do more than struggle.

I want to continue using my voice to craft worlds and characters.

[yuna542]

~Yours~

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: 18+, bullying, manipulative behaviour, Smut, under 18 DNI!, pet names, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, Overstimulation, explicit smut, confessions, fluff, bdsm, mentions of alcohol, Minsung happening!, Han and Minho in a secret relationship

Word Count: 13K

Note: I really loved writing this. Let me know what you think

"What's wrong?" came Chan's soft voice, catching you off guard.

You blinked, still staring at your phone. You'd been glued to the screen longer than you'd realized.

"Nothing," you answered quickly. Too quickly. You forced a smile and grabbed your makeup kit, pretending to tidy up the mess of palettes and brushes on the vanity table.

Chan raised a brow, slipping his phone into his pocket. He leaned forward in his chair—never a good sign. That meant he didn't believe you. That meant you now had his full attention.

As the stylist and makeup artist for Stray Kids, you'd been spending nearly every day with them for the past few years. The team felt more like family lately, mostly thanks to Chan's warm and grounded energy that pulled everyone together even though it was the most stressful season.

"She's lying," Minho muttered as he walked past, already in his hoodie, bag over his shoulder. The concert had ended an hour ago, but you were still here, frozen in thought, barely making progress packing up. The messages on your phone had taken you somewhere else, somewhere you didn't want to return to.

Minho knew you better than anyone. You owed this job to him. You'd met backstage years ago, when he was still dancing for BTS and you were working as their part-time makeup artist. You always believed in him, and when Stray Kids became his reality, he returned the favor by getting you on the team.

You'd known the boys for a long time. Minho had kept you distant at first, worried one of them would flirt with his best friend. But on tour, things changed. You grew close. Bonds were built. Trust, laughter, late-night chats. And Chan... Chan had a way of making you forget how careful you were supposed to be.

"You're restless... something's bothering you," Chan said, eyes following the frantic way your fingers rearranged brushes that didn't need rearranging.

"In two hours we're flying back to Korea," you said flatly, dodging.

"Y/N," he said gently, but you cut him off with a dismissive wave. "It's nothing. Really."

But your phone lit up again—and this time, you weren't fast enough. Chan caught the name.

"Who's Madison?" he asked, voice casual—but not really.

Hyunjin came closer, overhearing as he set down his controller, apparently done playing with Felix for the night.

"She's... no one. Just a college friend."

The college you'd dropped out of to chase this dream.

Minho, now lounging across the sofa, immediately sat up, and his expression darkened.

"Madison? What does she want from you?"

You closed your eyes briefly and exhaled. You should've said nothing.

"She just wants to meet up. When we get back."

Chan tilted his head, studying you.

Minho stood now. "You're not actually going, right? After everything?"

The others looked between you, confused.

"Who is this Madison?" Seungmin asked.

Before you could reply, Minho cut in—his voice sharp and unfiltered.

"She's a manipulative bitch who used to tear Y/N apart every chance she got. Her and her group of plastic princesses treated her like she was dirt."

You sighed, tugging your bag onto your shoulder. "It was years ago, and you only met her once."

"Once was enough," he growled. "The way she looked at you—like she was doing you a favor by breathing the same air."

And you knew he wasn't wrong.

Madison had been cruel. High-maintenance, charming to the outside world, and poison behind closed doors. She'd called you a friend while whispering about your insecurities, making you feel like you'd never be enough.

"I just want to see if maybe she's changed," you said quietly.

Minho shook his head, already defeated. He knew he couldn't stop you.

⸻

"You work for that band now, right? Stray Kids?" Madison asked. For the fourth time already.

You forced a laugh and nodded, sipping your drink. "Yeah. I'm their stylist and makeup artist."

The table of women—each more dressed-up and decked-out than the last—oohed in excitement. They were the same group from back in uni. Expensive shoes, heavy perfumes, and surgically precise smiles.

The night had started surprisingly fine. You'd hugged, exchanged the usual "You look amazing" lies, and made small talk. Madison had even said your outfit was "so effortlessly cool." But as soon as you mentioned the band's name, her mask began to slip.

"Wait, how did you get into a company like that?" Madison asked, tilting her head like a confused kitten. "That's a huge label. Don't they look for people with real credentials?"

There it was.

You took a long sip of your gin tonic. "One of the members. We've known each other for years. He recommended me."

"Ooooh, insider connections," one of the girls purred, nudging another. "So who is he? Hyunjin? Felix? I heard Felix is close with all the girls."

"No. Minho. Lee Know. We worked together before Stray Kids."

"Ahh. Makes sense. I mean, with a dropped-out degree and... let's say modest experience, it would've been super hard to make it otherwise." Madison smiled sweetly and placed her hand over yours, pretending concern.

"But that's okay! You've always been resourceful."

Your jaw clenched. You wanted to scream. Instead, you nodded. "We've always supported each other. That's how we made it."

Finally, she withdrew her hand—but the smug gleam in her eyes didn't fade.

"I think Changbin's the hottest," one girl blurted, breaking the tension with giggles. "He has that rough vibe."

"I'd go for Han," another chimed in. "Cute, funny, probably a freak."

"God," Madison laughed, sipping her drink. "What about you, Y/N? Eight hot men, and not one tried something? I would've had a boyfriend by week two."

You smiled tightly. "We're all friends."

"Really?" Madison asked, tilting her head. "All that time together, and not one kiss behind the scenes? Not even a late-night affair?"

You shook your head, heart sinking.

"I mean, come on," she laughed.

"If Bang Chan would just smile at me, I'd let him ruin my whole life. You don't think about that? Or do you already have a thing with him?"

The blood drained from your face.

"We're close," you said quietly. "That's it."

"Mhmm," Madison hummed, exchanging a look with her blonde friend. "Well, if you ever get tired of being his comfort person, just give me his number, yeah?"

You blinked at her.

"I mean, idols need someone exciting, right? Someone with class. And let's be honest—you're sweet, but..." She gave you a smile that made your stomach turn. "Sweet isn't always sexy."

You stared down at the table, vision blurring slightly.

"But hey, professional boundaries, right?" she added with a laugh. "That's why you work there and not someone like me."

The table shimmered under the soft lighting of the lounge, half-empty cocktails scattered like fading illusions of a good night. Madison's laugh, high and polished, cut through the murmur of the music like a blade wrapped in silk.

Madison smiled sweetly.

"So be for real. You're really with them now. Like, full-on part of their team?"

You nodded, careful. "Yeah. Styling, makeup, performance looks... I work with their creative director too."

"Wow." She sipped her drink. "I mean, I guess someone has to do that stuff. But I didn't know they'd go for someone so... low-profile. You always were kind of the quiet one, weren't you?"

You tried to laughs softly, brushing it off, but by now everything that was coming out of you, where silent huffs.

„I guess. I just like to stay behind the scenes."

"Oh, totally. It's your thing, right? Being invisible but helpful. Like in Highschool! You always carried my bag and didn't complain once!"

Everyone laughed at this little anecdote about you, which was obviously just to make you even more insignificant.

Another sip. Another smile. The others glance at each other and giggle, unsure if it was a compliment or a slap.

Your heart stings even more, but you hid it with a practiced smile.

Madison leaned in again with that annoying smile.

"And what's it like? Traveling with them? Living in that world—glitz, lights, screaming fans. Do they even see you? Or are you like... furniture?"

The table snickers. One girl fake-gasps, "Madison!" But it's playful. No one's really calling her out.

You're tone is cold by now.

"They treat me well. We're a team."

"Hmm." She stirred her drink with her straw. "That's cute. You're kind of like their emotional support stylist. A little older-sister energy. Or like a pet? No, wait... like a really loyal assistant. You're just always there, right?"

Your throat tightens. You sipped your drink just to have something to do.

Madison changed her tone, syrupy-sweet again

"Back to Chan! Tell us everything."

„Maddy you're obsessed!", one girl laughed.

You stiffened slightly.

"He's so dreamy on camera. Is he like that in person? Or is it all PR and lighting? I just can't believe he's not that hot in real life too.

You hesitated but couldn't resist to smile when you thought about him. His smell, the messy hair and his hugs, which were the best thing after a stressful week when he just wants to see your smile again.

"He's real. Grounded. Kind."

Suddenly she's mock-gasping:

"Awww. You're really blushing. That's adorable."

She leaned over to the others.

"She's totally in love with him. Like she used to be in college. Remember? Her little Badboy-phase? I guess some things never change."

The table bursts into laughter. Your chest burns.

Y/N:

„We're friends... He never... We're just good friends."

Madison tilted her head, pouting.

"I mean, you have to know he's out of your league, right? Like, if he never tried to hook up with you even though you're spending so much time, I mean—men are easy—I think you're just not his type" she waved a hand dismissively.

„He would be head over heels for you though, Mads", some other girl said, all of them giggled in unison.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You wanted to leave so bad.

She smirked.

"Maybe he keeps you around because it's comfortable. Like an old hoodie. Not sexy, but familiar."

Some of the girls held their hand before their mouths, there she added quickly, "Oh my God, that was rude—sorry!" with a laugh, clearly not sorry.

Another girl joined in:

"But for real, if he's single, you should just shoot your shot, Mads. You're totally his type."

Madison grinned.

"Right? I mean, I wouldn't say no to a little K-pop prince. Maybe I'll drop him a DM. Unless Y/N's marked her territory?"

She raised an eyebrow across the table at you like it's all fun, like this isn't a series of sharp little knives landing over and over.

You were barely holding it together by now. It was so much worse than you could imagine.

"He's not a prize to win."

"Aww. Spoken like someone who already lost."

That's it. It was enough.

Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you stood up, the noise drowned in the thrum of the music.

"I'll be right back.", was everything you could get out without exploding.

No one stopped you.

Not even Madison, who just said over the music:

"Don't cry in there, babe. You'll ruin your eyeliner. And that wing is the best thing you've got going tonight."

You didn't cry in the bathroom.

Not at first.

You stood there, gripping the edge of the sink, cold marble against trembling fingers. You stared at your reflection, at the winged liner Madison had just mocked. At the eyes that looked dull and distant now. Your dress clung to you, your skin too warm, too exposed. You didn't recognize yourself.

You weren't sure if it was the drinks, the music, or the words still echoing in your mind like poison.

"Sweet isn't sexy."

"She's not his type."

"You're like furniture."

You tried to shake them off. You tried to laugh them away like you used to in college. But they hit differently now. Now that you'd spent all this time working your ass off. Now that you'd finally built something real. Now that you—

Now that you were starting to fall in love with someone who probably never even looked at you that way.

Chan.

His name was a weight in your chest.

The warmth of his hoodie when he'd draped it over your shoulders during late-night rehearsals. The way he always remembered your coffee order. The softness in his eyes when he asked if you'd eaten. The jokes. The quiet comfort. His scent on your pillow when you accidentally fell asleep backstage and he'd stayed to keep you company.

And then... Madison's voice again:

"If he's never tried anything, you're just not his type."

Something cracked. Quietly. But completely.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid, pressing a hand over your mouth. Not to muffle sobs—yet. Just to stop breathing so loud. Like the room might hear you fall apart.

You weren't enough.

Not stylish enough. Not hot enough. Not exciting enough. You were just... there. Like an old hoodie.

Tears blurred your vision now, spilled before you could stop them. Your eyeliner was ruined. You let out a shaky breath—then another. And then—

⸻

Your makeup was holding on—barely. Your composure, not so much.

Your fingers hovered over your phone again.

It was the second time Chans name was on your screen. He called you right after he saw that you were online. Almost as he waited for exact that moment.

Maybe it would help.

Just... hear his voice. Talk to him and forget this stupid evening for a second. And if you wouldn't answer the phone he would just be worried.

"Y/N?" came Chan's voice, soft and warm like a lighthouse in a storm. "Hey. Just checking in. Is everything alright?"

You opened your mouth to say yes, but it caught in your throat.

"Y/N?"

"...Hi," you finally breathed. "Yeah. I'm... it's fine. Just loud in here."

"You okay?" He paused. "You don't sound fine."

You tried to clear your throat quietly, wiping under your eye with the back of your hand. "I just needed a breather."

There was a beat of silence.

"You're crying," he said, quiet but certain. "What happened?"

You shook your head, even though he couldn't see. "It's nothing. I'm just being stupid. I shouldn't have come here."

"Is it Madison?" His voice darkened immediately. "What did she say?"

You let out a broken laugh, trying to hold yourself together. "God, where do I start?"

"Start anywhere," he said, softer now. "I'm here."

You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, leaning back against the cold tile wall.

You stayed silent for a while. Trying to hold yourself back, make him believe everything was perfectly fine.

But the moment he said your name with so much concern, everything broke out of you.

"She said I'm invisible. That I'm just... there. Background noise. Not hot, not exciting. Not the kind of girl anyone would choose. All the things she told me back in Highschool all the time."

You swallowed hard. "She talked about you a lot She's really into you, Chan. Maybe you should make a move", your voice sounded mocking, strong, but Chan just huffed.

„I told her we're just friends but she just wouldn't stop..."

Silence.

You kept going, the dam breaking wide open.

"She made it sound like I'm pathetic. Like I'm your pet or something. Said you probably keep me around because I'm familiar. Comfortable. But not sexy. That I'm like some old hoodie—soft and safe but not wanted."

Chan still didn't speak. You could feel how tense the silence was, like the air had thickened.

"She laughed about how I used to follow her around, how I carried her bag in high school. She said I don't belong in the world I'm in now. That someone like me shouldn't be working with someone like you."

You wiped at your eyes again. "And the worst part is, I believed her. I actually... started to believe her again. That I'm not enough. She's right... We're just friends and I'm happy about that, but I'm definitely not in your league."

"Y/N," Chan finally said, his voice lower than you'd ever heard it.

You waited, throat tight. And immediately you regretted everything you said.

"You listen to me right now," he said, steady and calm—but there was fury underneath. "She doesn't know who the hell she's talking about. And I swear to god, if I hear one more word like that out of her mouth—"

"Chan..."

"No," he interrupted, his voice softening but still firm. "You're not invisible. You're the only one I see. Every day, you walk into a room and suddenly the air feels different. Calmer. Better. You're the reason I sleep at night when things get bad because I know you're there the next morning. Doing my Makeup, cheering me up no matter what. Your the reason the team holds together sometimes. You are everything she isn't, and that's why she hates you."

You bit your lip, your chest tightening.

"Please just forget what I said." you whispered. "Falling apart over a stupid night out... I shouldn't have said anything. You're probably busy."

"You don't have to be strong all the time," he said gently. "Not with me."

A pause. Then, lower:

"Where are you right now?"

"Club down by the water," you said quietly. "VIP section. Madison rented a booth."

There was a beat of silence.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm coming."

"No—Chan, you don't have to—"

"I'm already in the car. We're getting back at that bitch, together. You'll see. Just play along!"

And then the phone was dead.

You stared at the screen until it faded black and suddenly you woke up, when you understood that he would really come.

As fast as you could, you touched up your makeup, got your hair done and breathed in and out several times.

The bathroom door creaked open.

You stepped out, trying to collect yourself, as you walked back to the booth.

As soon as you arrived you almost stumbled over your words:

„There she is! What were you doing so long? We thought you ran off", Madison laughed and you didn't need to guess what they talked about when you were gone.

„No, I had a call... It could be that..."

But that's when all of the pair of eyes were averted and glued to the entry of the VIP-Section.

He was actually there, walking in without having to show his ID. The security knew exactly who he was, since the boys were here often.

Bang Chan. Jeans-Jacket thrown over a black Shirt, eyes burning with quiet fury—but softening instantly when he saw you.

He must have already drove off while you were talking on the phone. How could he be here so fast?

His hair was messy, falling into his forehead, his face outrageously handsome and you could feel how the air tensed. All the girls and especially Madison made sounds that almost sounded like chickens.

„Omg that's him", they squeaked.

Immediately you stood up, ran up to him.

You placed a hand on his chest to stop him before he could reach the table and whispered, "What are you doing?"

When you looked up at him, you had to hold your breath. He smiled, wrapped his arms around your waist, and his thumbs slowly began to circle over your hip bones.

"At least pretend you're happy to see me."

"No, that's not... Channie, I don't want them to know I cried in the bathroom like a little girl because they were mean to me. Please—this is just going to get really awkward for you."

He didn't waver, just looked at you calmly, then gently placed his hand against your cheek. He had never touched you like that before.

"You look incredible. That dress is seriously hot on you," he murmured, eyes trailing down your body.

Your cheeks flushed so deeply you thought you might actually faint. What was he doing?

"Come on. Let's have a good night," he said with a smirk and tugged you toward the table.

The whispers stopped instantly the moment you two arrived. Every single girl stared at him in stunned silence.

"Hey," Chan said casually. "I was nearby, called Y/N to see what she was up to, and thought I'd drop by on my way back. Hope that's alright?"

Madison was the first to recover, her voice a squeal. "Yes! Totally! Have a seat!"

She patted the empty spot right next to her, already inching aside, but Chan didn't even glance at it. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on you—and only you.

And then you realized... he was still holding your hand.

Without letting go, he led you around the booth and sat down to your left, deliberately placing you between him and Madison.

The tightness in Madison's jaw could've cut glass.

Back at the table, it was all fake smiles and weirdly timed laughs as Chan settled in beside you like he belonged there. Like he did this every Friday night. His arm slid behind your back, casually draping along the booth's edge, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder. You were hyper-aware of every inch of him, of how close he was, of the warmth radiating off his body.

And the worst—or best—part? He wasn't even pretending. This wasn't some over-the-top performance. He was relaxed, charming, soft-spoken, and all of it was for you.

"Y/N told me you guys go way back," he said, voice smooth as honey, glancing around at the girls with a perfectly polite smile. "That's cool. Always nice to meet her friends."

"Totally," Madison said, her voice tight as she took another sip of her drink, eyes flicking between you and Chan like she couldn't decide whether to smile or scream.

"God, you're even hotter in real life," one of the girls whispered, not even trying to hide it. "I didn't think that was possible."

Chan chuckled politely. "Thanks. But I think Y/N's the one turning heads tonight."

That shut everyone up for a second.

Your heart skipped several beats. Madison looked like she'd swallowed her lip gloss.

He wasn't done.

"You should've seen her earlier," Chan went on, eyes drifting to you again. "I told her she looked good enough to shut down traffic. Guess I was right."

Someone choked on their drink. You didn't dare look at Madison. He was doing that full aware and he had fun with it.

Chan leaned in slightly toward you, voice lower now—just for you. "You okay?"

You nodded, still dazed, not trusting your voice yet.

"Good," he murmured. "Because I'm not letting you disappear on me again tonight."

You blinked at him, startled, but he was already smirking at his glass, swirling the amber liquid inside with effortless grace.

He lifted his glass, still watching you. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, drawing out the word like it belonged to you alone.

You nodded stiffly, pulse hammering in your ears.

"Good," he murmured.

Madison's smile faltered. She recovered with another sip of her drink. "So, Chan," she purred, "Y/N tells us you two are just friends?"

He finally turned toward her, but the look in his eyes wasn't curious—it was cold amusement.

"Yeah," he said with a slow, lazy grin. "That's what she says."

The girls around the table giggled, but there was an edge of uncertainty now. Madison tilted her head.

"Just friends," she repeated, trying to sound playful. "But you came all the way here for her?"

Chan didn't miss a beat. "She's worth showing up for."

You stared into your drink, and he reached over, rubbing a hand between your shoulder blades, his touch intimate and familiar.

"I mean," Madison pushed, "that's sweet and all, but don't you usually go for—" She paused, her eyes flicking over you. "Someone a little more your speed?"

Chan raised a brow slowly. "Oh? And what speed do you think that is?"

"I don't know," she giggled, too high-pitched. "Someone a bit... flashier?"

He smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You know," he said, voice smooth like honey over ice, "Loud, shiny, easy to spot. That kind burns out fast."

He leaned closer to you, the side of his thigh brushing yours. "It's the steady glow that stays with you. That's the one that warms you up at night."

Madison opened her mouth to say something, but the waitress arrived before she could, holding a tray of shots.

Chan leaned back, giving you a wink. "Perfect timing."

The table whooped, tension shifting into distraction as glasses were passed around.

"Come on," Chan said, handing you one. "One night off. Let go a little."

You hesitated, but the way he looked at you, like this night was yours and his alone, made you forget everything else.

You took the shot.

Then another.

And another.

„So you're like friends with benefits? Or dating? Come on tell us!", another girl exclaimed and Madison almost killed her, by just looking at her.

Chan tilted his head. "What do you think?"

You tried not to combust on the spot.

„It's pretty much up to her now ..."

You weren't even sure how many drinks you'd had by now. The club was buzzing louder, your skin was tingling, and Chan had moved even closer, his thigh pressed firmly against yours now under the table. There were Shot after Shot, Cocktail after Cocktail. You didn't know how he was able to act that convincing. It couldn't be real, but why would he do all that? Just to get back at them? All that effort just for a small revenge he shouldn't even care about?

The conversations were flowing by now and everyone adored Chan not just for his looks in no time. But he played his part way too well.

He leaned in again, his cologne warm and clean and a little dangerous, and said quietly in your ear:

"You're either ignoring me... or trying really hard not to look like you want to kiss me."

You turned to face him, heart tripping.

"That obvious?" you murmured, lips barely an inch from his, starting to grin like an idiot. You were playing around, trying to get back at Madison, but it felt so real, that your heart was pounding like crazy. And you knew your heart would be shattered at the end of this evening.

Chan gave a slow, satisfied grin and leaned back just enough to look at you properly.

„Only to me."

Before you could reply, ask what this was about, Madison cut in again.

"So, Y/N," she chirped, swirling her drink. "Are you, like, seriously not sleeping with him?"

You blinked.

Chan tilted his head slightly, gaze sharpening like a blade, but his voice stayed calm.

"Madison," he said, smiling like a wolf. "Do you usually talk about other people's sex lives at the table?"

She flushed, laughing. "I mean, sorry, but come on. You're both just so... intense. Like, all the eye contact and brooding. It's kinda obvious something's happening."

Chan shrugged lazily. "Maybe we like keeping things to ourselves. You ever try that?"

"Ouch," someone muttered from the other side of the table. There was giggling. Madison had no chance against the sass of Chan. He was the Leader of 7 chaotic men, who where Teenagers when they started. He knew exactly how to put someone in their place.

You hid a smile in your drink.

But Madison wasn't done. She leaned toward Chan this time, lips pouting, voice syrupy sweet. "I mean, no offense, but it's just... unexpected. I thought you would go for girls who are, I don't know"

"Shallow?" Chan interrupted smoothly.

She blinked. "No. I was gonna say... bolder. More exciting."

He gave a half-smile, slow and dangerous.

"Trust me," he said without taking his eyes off you, "she's plenty bold. She just doesn't need to prove it by being loud all the time."

That shut her up. The entire table went quiet for a second.

You could feel your face heating, but Chan wasn't done. He turned toward you again, resting his arm along the back of the booth, fingers grazing your shoulder and down your arm.

"You know what I like?" he asked you, eyes still locked with yours.

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"When someone can walk into a room and own it, without even trying." He gave you that soft, lazy grin again. "That's hot."

You bit your lip, your pulse thudding in your ears.

Madison scoffed under her breath, but no one was paying attention to her anymore. Not when Chan was looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

Then the shots arrived.

"Last round before we get wild," the waitress announced, sliding a tray onto the table.

"Let's make it a toast," Chan said, smoothly grabbing two and handing you one. He raised his glass and looked around the table.

"To good company," he said. "And knowing exactly who's worth your time."

You met his eyes as you both threw back the shot.

It burned, but it wasn't the alcohol making your heart race.

The energy at the table had shifted, less laughter, more heat. You were tucked comfortably into Chan's side now, your legs brushing under the table, the slow burn of tequila pooling warm in your chest. He hadn't taken his eyes off you for more than a few seconds at a time, and every brush of his fingertips against your thigh under the table felt like a secret promise.

Madison, clearly not used to being ignored, was on her third attempt to interrupt the vibe.

She leaned in again with a sugar-sweet smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So, Chan... tell us, what's your type now?"

You didn't flinch. You didn't have to. Chan beat you to it.

"Madison," he said lazily, his voice thick with amusement, "you'd have to know my type to recognize it."

She bristled. "And I don't?"

He turned his head slightly toward her, but his hand stayed firmly on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, possessive circles, going up to the hem of your dress. They couldn't even see that, but he continued anyway. "If you did," he said, voice dipping lower, "you'd stop assuming it was you."

The table went dead silent for a beat again.

Someone choked on her drink again.

"Oof—damn," someone muttered.

Madison's eyes flicked to you, her smile now a tight line.

„But she is? She's not the usual kind of flashy girl, a idol would want to be with."

Chan just grinned, wide, cocky, like he was thriving on the tension. He leaned in close to you, but said it loud enough for the table to hear:

"That's the point."

You felt your pulse stutter as his fingers tightened slightly on your leg. His thumb now under the soft fabric of your minidress, making you almost press your thighs together.

"I don't do 'usual,'" he added, biting his lip softly while staring at yours dangerously.

"I do addictive."

His voice dropped, rough and intimate, just for you, even though the entire table was pretending not to listen. His thumb slipped a little higher under the fabric of your dress, dragging heat along your skin.

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck betraying you as he leaned in, slow, deliberate. His mouth hovered just beside your ear now, his breath a warm tease against your skin.

"And you, ..." His words came out low and sinful. "You're already ruining me since the day Minho brought you into the company."

Your breath hitched, involuntarily pressing your thighs closer together. His smirk deepened at the movement, eyes darkening like he owned the reaction. Was all this still acting? You couldn't believe this could be real. It was way too perfect to be real.

Meanwhile, Madison was sitting in stunned silence across the table, trying to pretend she wasn't watching every second. Chan didn't even spare her a glance now, his world narrowed to you.

You turned slightly to meet his eyes, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Chan..."

"Mmh," he hummed, brushing the tip of his nose along your cheek.

„Channie please... I'm... You...", but you couldn't form a whole sentence, when his hand was less than an inch from your core, still moving up, and you tried to calm yourself. The lace panties were definitely already ruined, even though he didn't do anything.

„If you say my name like that one more time I probably can't stop..."

Your cheeks flushed, but it wasn't from embarrassment. It was the way he said it, full of quiet, restrained chaos. Like he knew exactly what he could do to you, what he would do to you, and was enjoying every second of the buildup. But if this was over and he knew that you on your part weren't acting at all... You could never ever look him in the eyes again.

„You don't have to pretend anymore... I think it's enough", you whispered as soon as Madison chatted with another girl, glancing still at you two.

His eyes were immediately on yours again. You could see the effect the alcohol already had on him, but his eyes were clear, honest. But he didn't respond. There was confusion in his face.

"Fuck it," he muttered suddenly, pulling back with a smug grin as he stood up and reached for your hand. "We're getting out of here."

"Where are you going?" Madison snapped, eyes narrowing.

Chan didn't even look at her.

"Somewhere worth my time."

He pulled you with him, a protective hand low on your back, guiding you through the crowd. The alcohol was buzzing through your system, but it wasn't what made your head spin. It was him. His voice, his touch, the way he owned every room, every look, you.

"Wanna dance?" he asked softly while leading you to the dance floor.

You blinked. "Now?"

"Were at a Club right?," he said, already standing, holding his hand out to you. "Come on. Just a few songs."

You took it.

The music hit you the second you stepped onto the dance floor, warm bass, thudding beat, flickering lights. Chan didn't hesitate. He pulled you close, one hand resting low on your waist, the other brushing your hair back.

The music pulsed through your body, thick bass reverberating through the floor as the club lights painted flashes of red and blue across Chan's face. You were both tipsy, laughing harder than you should at something stupid he whispered into your ear, but the warmth of his hand on your lower back wasn't something you could blame on the drinks.

It was deliberate. Possessive. Hot.

You moved with him, teased each other until your hip rolled against his. You could hear him silently hissing, but his moves were fluent, experienced and very very distracting.

Even though no one was watching you anymore.

Chan leaned in close, his breath hot against your cheek as the beat shifted to something darker, slower. His voice rumbled against your skin, low and wrecked.

"I really couldn't believe you're that blind before tonight..."

You blinked up at him as he twirled you around, lips parted as your breath hitched, your body already melting into his. You stumbled against his chest confused.

"What?" you dared.

He didn't answer. Instead, his hand slid up your sides, until it was wrapped tight around your waist, drawing you flush against him. His hips moved with yours, slow and dirty, like the music was just for the two of you.

And then he said it.

"You think I was just acting earlier?"

His mouth brushed your ear now, every word setting fire to your skin.

"You think I flirted with you at that table just because I had to play along?" He tilted your chin up, making you look him dead in the eye. "Y/N, I've had a crush on you for months. And I thought it was obvious..."

Your breath caught.

His lips ghosted across your cheek, barely touching.

"But I just didn't dare to tell you, since you didn't do anything about it. I figured someone like you wouldn't even look at me twice."

"You're insane," you whispered. You couldn't even believe one word he was saying.

"And you're drunk," he smirked. "Which is the only reason I'm even telling you this now, because tomorrow, I'm gonna pretend I didn't after you finally rejected me."

Your hands were firmly closed around his neck, and you still waited to finally wake up from this unreal dream.

„I had no idea... I thought you're just friendly. I thought I'm not your type... You're lying right? You’re trying to tease me? That's not funny Chan!"

You could feel him chuckling deeply and for at least a few seconds, then he pulled you even closer, his hands brushing up your sides, his thumbs pressing into your skin right under your boobs. He pushed you backwards until you were a bit aside, only a few people were standing or sitting in the back area of the dance floor.

The music wasn't that loud here and Chan wanted to make sure you'd hear every word he would say. You were standing in a lightly lit corner, him still holding you tight. You felt his firm stomach pressed against your body and just looked at him stunned.

You were flushed from dancing and just the right amount of tipsy, when you turned to find Chan watching you not with his usual soft gaze, this time it was darker. Intense. Like he was done pretending.

His eyes closed for a second like he was at war with himself. Then he looked down at you, slow, dragging, and everything he'd ever hidden was suddenly there, plain as day.

"You really didn't know?" he asked, voice low, wrecked.

"That every time you hugged me, I had to fight not to touch you like I wanted to?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

"That when you wore that black dress to the company party a year ago, I had to sit with my hands in my lap the entire night?"

He let out a dry, soft laugh.

"I got hard just looking at you. Couldn't even get up without embarrassing myself."

You swallowed hard, heat coiling in your stomach.

„Chan..."

"I've wanted you for so long it's fucking embarrassing," he said, stepping in even closer, chest pressed against yours.

"I'd leave Aftershow-parties early because you were dancing with the backup dancers and I couldn't take it. I'd lie awake thinking about your body, your laugh, the way you look when you're mad at me."

Your hand pressed against his chest instinctively, either to steady yourself or make sure he wouldn't vanish.

"I used to jerk off in the shower after hugging you, every time after you did my makeup, standing so close in your small tops and shorts," he said, voice barely above a whisper now, eyes locked on your mouth.

He pushed you further back, until your back hit the wall and you were completely at his mercy.

"And then show up the next day at the concert pretending nothing happened."

You felt the breath leave your lungs in one slow exhale, your thighs clenching together as heat rushed down your spine.

"Fuck, Chan..."

"I wasn't acting tonight," he added, his fingers brushing the side of your ribs, up until his thumb brushed over your nipple.

"Not for a second. I wasn't trying to make anyone jealous. I just... finally let myself touch you the way I wanted."

Everything rushed back to you in flashes, his hands on your body while hugging you, the looks he gave you, when you talked about your dates with random guys, the low murmur in your ear, his fingers under your dress earlier at the table.

Every smirk. Every stare. Every time he'd pulled away like it was taking every ounce of willpower. His small comments you never took seriously when you wore your new outfits at work. His friendly teasing when he'd say things like "You're lucky I have self-control" when you showed up in a tight dress you wore only for him, or "You keep looking at me like that and I might forget we're just friends." You laughed it off, not realizing how close he was to meaning every word.

You thought he was just a flirt. Just smooth.

But he'd been losing his mind over you this whole time.

"You hid it so well," you whispered.

He smirked, stepping even closer.

„No, doll. You just weren't paying attention."

As his hands touched your boobs, desperately like he wanted this to happen for a long time, you leaned your head against the wall, looking up at him pleading.

„I can't believe it... It's just that I had a crush on you for years now. And you never gave me anything. It felt like you weren't even aware I'm right there!"

He sighed, looked at the ground for a moment, before his hand wandered to your cheek, caressing your jaw, until he touched your lips softly.

"All those times I pulled away? It wasn't because I didn't feel it. It was because I felt too much."

You swallowed, breath catching.

"I'd touch you, and my whole body would react. I couldn't hug you too long without having to hide how much I wanted you. When you dabbed my sweat away in the middle of shooting M/Vs or when you just sat next to me during movie nights at the dorm..."

His voice was deeper now, rough.

"You'd wear those damn skirts and look at me like I was your boss, talk to me like I was your best friend sometimes, and I'd have to act like I wasn't going crazy."

You blinked at him, overwhelmed by the honesty dripping from every word.

"I tried to be respectful. I tried to be good. But God, every time you laughed, or leaned against me, or whispered something in my ear... I wanted you, thought about bending you over the next surface and finally fucking you like you deserve it…“

He stepped so close you could feel the heat of his body. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, the other other one grabbed your hip again.

"I still want you. So much it fucking hurts."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep the walls up.

Your breath hitched.

"I know it's a lot," he added quickly. "I just couldn't watch her tear you down. Not when she doesn't even see you. Not when she has no idea what it means to be loved the way you should be."

Silence bloomed between you, loud and sacred.

„I have dreamed of this for so long... I thought it could never happen. I thought I was imagining things."

"That's my fault," he whispered, forehead resting against yours. "I thought I was protecting you. Protecting us. But I just ended up hurting both of us instead."

You closed your eyes, your heart thudding violently in your chest. Every part of you wanted to believe him. Every part of you wanted to just fall.

„If you don't believe me yet..."

His voice got clearer again, and when you opened your eyes again he shielded you completely from the world. He grabbed your hand and pushed it suddenly against the bulge in his pants. Your eyes widened as you felt how big it felt under your fingertips.

„That's what you're doing to me. This whole evening, all the time..."

He watched you closely, his breath against your lips as you felt his rock hard dick even through his pants.

"Let me make it up to you," he growled, his voice a low rasp against your lips.

„Let me show you what I've been holding back."

You breath stuttered and this time he didn't pull away. His lips crashed on yours but you were already pulling him down into you.

Your mouths crashed together like tension snapping. Desperate. Starved. His hands buried in your hair, yours gripping the collar of his shirt as your bodies pressed and ground against each other like you were trying to crawl inside his skin.

It was hot. Too hot.

You tore away first, gasping.

"I, I need air."

Chan didn't say anything, just grabbed your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and pulled you toward the exit.

You had to pass the booth where Madison sat, and of course, she clocked you immediately.

"Wait a second!" she called out, standing halfway. "Please, just sit with us for a little bit. I want to sort things out. Really."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden plea.

But before you could even think of answering, Chan stepped in front of you, solid, steady, like a wall. Protective in a way that made you want to rip his clothes off right now.

He looked at Madison the way someone looks at a child who doesn't know the damage they're doing. A little pity. A little disbelief. And zero tolerance.

"There's nothing to sort out, Madison," he said calmly, though there was a razor-sharp edge beneath his voice.

„She wasted enough time, trying to be the better person and giving you another chance..."

Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but the way Chan's arm slid around your waist and pulled you in close made her freeze. He wasn't subtle. He didn't want to be.

"I'll take her somewhere, were her talents, her hard work and her amazing personality is appreciated," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers.

Madison flushed, jaw tight.

But Chan didn't flinch. Didn't soften.

He leaned in closer to you, hand at the small of your back.

"Come on, baby. Let's go."

You let him lead you past her, heart pounding at the pet name, the heat of his body, the absolute certainty in the way he chose you without hesitation.

And as you walked away, you didn't even need to look back.

Because for the first time, you knew you were the one being fought for.

Outside, the night air hit your skin like a shock, but Chan's warmth was already wrapping around you again.

The night was sharp and cool, the wind biting at your flushed skin. You stumbled into the alleyway beside the club, laughing breathlessly. He steadied you with both hands on your hips.

"You okay?" he asked, a little too soft, a little too close again for you to keep your sanity.

You nodded.

"Tipsy. But fine."

He arched a brow. "Still think I was acting?"

He slipped out of his Jacket and put it over you shoulders, engaging you with his scent.

You shot him a half-lidded look, lips curling. "You're still flirting."

"That's not flirting." He grinned like the devil and stepped into you, pushing you gently back against the brick wall. His hand slid up under the jacket, fingers dragging up your bare thigh.

"This is me losing control."

You were drunk, yes. But you felt everything.

His mouth brushed your jaw, kissing down to your neck with infuriating slowness. You tilted your head back, sighing as his teeth grazed your skin.

"You're dangerous," you breathed.

"Yeah," he whispered. "But only for you."

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. "What are we doing, Chan?"

He looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

"Getting a cab. And then..." His smirk returned, but it was darker this time, tinged with heat. "Taking you home."

You felt beautiful.

You felt wanted.

And you kissed him.

Right there, under the streetlights in a dark alley, in the middle of the night, while every inch of you screamed that this moment was real. You kissed him because you'd wanted to for so long. Because no one had ever looked at you the way he was now. Because you needed him to know that even if you didn't feel like enough tonight, you still wanted to be his.

And when you pulled back, he smiled like he already knew.

"Come on," he said. "My place. Now."

He couldn't wait a second longer. He couldn't think of anything else than ripping that damn dress off.

You just nodded.

And when he kissed you this time, finally, fully, like he'd been starving for it, it was everything but gentle.

You tiptoed barefoot behind Chan through the dim hallway, your heels in your hands, the quiet creak of the floorboards under your weight sounding way too loud in the silence of the late hour. You already visited the dorm of the boys but you were mostly at Minhos, Felix, I.N and Seungmins dorm for movie nights.

"Shhh," Chan whispered, shooting you a wicked little grin over his shoulder as he guided you through the apartment like a thief.

„They're all asleep. Hopefully."

Hyunjin, Changbin and Han would be definitely at home since they had some days off after the last concerts. It would be way too complicated to explain what was going on with you and Chan at the moment.

You passed the living room, and there, half-sprawled on the couch under a blanket, you spotted Han, clearly tangled up with someone.

You pressed your hand against your mouth while staring at them.

His hand was buried in someone's hair, soft moans slipping past his lips while there was a fierce makeout-session going on. Netflix already asked if they're still watching but that wasn't the case obviously. There were clothes laying everywhere around, hard breathing and kissing sounds echoed in the dark room.

You blinked, stunned and suddenly Chan grabbed your hand before you could look closer.

"Don't stare. Trust me, you don't wanna know," he muttered under his breath, lips quirking.

You didn't even get the chance to wonder who the hell Han was pressed up against before Chan yanked you forward and slipped the both of you into his bedroom. He shut the door with a soft click, locking it.

Silence. A soft, red glow from the LED-lights in Chans room. It smelled like cedar and clean linen and him.

Then a breath. Then him, suddenly everywhere.

He shoved you back against the door before you could take another step, his body pinning you with an urgency that set your skin on fire.

"You almost ruined me," he growled lowly, his hand wrapping around your throat just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken. "All those nights thinking about you, all those moments I had to bite my tongue instead of dragging you into a corner and making you mine."

His lips crashed onto yours, and this kiss wasn't sweet as before, it was messy, possessive, pure need. His other hand was already hiking your dress up, fingers bruising into your thigh as he lifted your leg around his waist.

"You know how hard it was?" he rasped against your lips. "You'd touch my face, my body while working on those stage-outfits and I'd have to hold back, pretend I didn't want to fuck you against the nearest wall. Pretend I wasn't hard the entire time."

"Chan—"

"No. Tonight, you listen and won't doubt a second how much you're wanted."

His eyes burned into yours, hand slipping into your hair and tugging your head back just enough for his lips to drag down your neck.

"I'm not holding back anymore."

He dragged you to the bed, pushed you down gently, but the glint in his eyes was anything but soft. The dark edge in his gaze made your pulse spike as he crawled over you, slow and controlled like a predator savoring his prey.

Chan grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, while the other traced down the side of your face, your throat, your chest, until you were writhing beneath him.

"I'm gonna wreck you, baby," he whispered against your ear, teeth grazing your lobe. "So no one else ever gets to look at you and wonder what you taste like. What you sound like."

Your breath caught, your thighs pressed together, the heat between them unbearable now. His fingers slid between them without warning, two, confident and slow, teasing, curling just enough to make you gasp and arch.

"And you'll take it, won't you?" he growled, lips bruising against your neck as he moved faster, darker.

"You'll let me ruin you."

And god, you wanted to let him.

Your moan broke open in the dark, echoing in his room like a confession.

„You're that wet for me? And I didn't even know all evening."

He growled, pushing his fingers deep into you before he pushed them into his mouth, tasting you, looking at you from above. You couldn't move with your hands pinned against the mattress.

„You taste even better than I imagined, doll."

You looked him straight into the eyes, your breath going slowly.

„I have touched myself too, you know", you breathed, while he opened your legs with his knee. Watching how your dress slid up, exposing your ass, your soft thighs and the black lace panties which were soaked already.

„Tell me", he demanded, enjoying the desperate whimpering, as he pushed his knee right onto your core.

Then he let go of you, unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside. You straightened up, eyes wandering all over his abs. Which you adored every time he changed during concerts, when you brought him his clothes.

„When you were changing at concerts or running around half naked in the backstage, pretending you didn't notice the looks you got from all the female staff-members... Or the one time I told you about the terrible date I had..."

He raised his eyebrows.

„The stupid background dancer? I was so jealous back then..."

You nodded, kneeling next to Chan, touching his shoulders, letting your fingers slide over his chest, his abs, down to the hem of his pants.

„The date went terribly wrong because I moaned your name while making out..."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your hips, lifting you up on his lap like a toy.

„That's why he couldn't look me in the eye since...", he laughed, pushing the straps of your dress of your shoulders, kissing your chest while kneading your ass in his hands.

Your little pants were like rewards for him.

„I also touched myself at night, after movie-nights at the dorm. We all we're squeezed together on that small couch, you accidentally touched my tits, my thighs, my back while watching the movie... I was so horny that night."

Softly he brushed your hair out of your forehead.

„I had no idea... I would have let you sleep at my bed and took care of you. But didn't you sleep in Minhos bed that night?"

You cheeks immediately turned red, your ears glowing, while that damn knowing smile of Chan almost made you shy.

„I touched myself when he was asleep next to me... I'm still embarrassed."

But Chan grabbed your chin and pushed his middle against your core to prove his point.

„That's so fucking hot."

He watched your body, and his eyes were shimmering with arousal.

„Strip for me, babygirl and tell me everything I missed during all this time."

He leaned back, as soon as you climbed off his lap and it was crazy to finally tell him all your dirty secrets.

Sensual you started to slip out of your dress, while he watched every move, unbuttoning his pants.

„I'd would always watch you rehearse from the back of the studio or through a cracked door, pretending to be just passing by. But the way you moved, confident and raw, sweat dripping down your neck and your shirt clung to your body... You had no idea, did you? Every time I watched you dance, I could barely breathe."

Your voice was soft and he just shook his head, his eyes wandering all over you body, as you stripped your dress off.

"After concerts you'd sit so close to me, shirt soaked, still catching your breath... and I'd just nod along, pretending I wasn't dying to touch you."

Your lace underwear was hugging your body smoothly. Making him sigh: „so fucking sexy"

Under his breath, while you were taking your bra off, throwing it at the floor.

He reached out, wanted to touch your tits, but you just smiled, fought of his hands and let him struggle for a bit more.

He imagined them in his hands for so long, squeezing and touching them until you'd beg him to fuck you.

But you weren't done.

„You remember those 2 a.m. calls right after those first big events I worked at? Your voice were enough to drive me crazy."

Where his voice was low, gravelly, intimate. You'd talk about anything and everything.

And you'd lie on your bed, completely turned on, fantasizing about him saying those same things with his hands on you.

"You'd talk to me like I was special. Whisper things. And I'd be there... hand between my legs, biting your name into my pillow", you added and he couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed your waist, ripped your panties off of you, and watched your body as you were standing between his legs.

„That time at the airport, you put your arm around me to guide me through the crowd, the chaos there. You always touched me like you owned me, and I hated how much I wanted it to be real", you breathed and whimpered suddenly as he spread your legs with his.

His hands grabbed your hips until your cunt hovered in front of his face.

„I told you I'll make all that up to you. I'll make you moan my name every day", he muttered and you sinked your nails into his neck, when he suddenly sucked on your glistening pussy, holding you up straight while licking through your folds, making your legs already shake. But when his tongue entered you, you couldn't stop whimpering like a kitten.

You could feel his smile against your core, his nose bumping against your clit while he was eating you out.

„Channie please please..."

You couldn't stop bubbling when he finally looked up at you.

„Say it! Come on babygirl."

He licked your juices off of his lips, his hands wrapped around your thighs.

„Fuck me, Chan. Please fuck me."

And that was it.

He grabbed your arms, pushed them on your back and forced you onto the mattress in seconds.

A startled gasp tearing from your throat while your face was pressed into his sheets.

"Did you think I brought you here to play nice?" he snarled into your ear, voice low, rough, a sound that made your knees weaken.

His body caged you in, one hand around your throat, just enough pressure to make you moan, while the other slid up your thigh, dragging your legs apart. Your ass in the air, so he could use you like he imagined it so many times.

You could hear how he got rid of his pants and underwear and then he grabbed your face, pulled you to his chest and you could already feel the size of his dick against your ass.

You barely managed a whisper his name before his mouth was on yours, not kissing, devouring. Tongue demanding entrance, teeth nipping hard at your bottom lip until you tasted blood and moaned against him.

"Been dreaming about ruining you," he muttered, hand sliding between your legs, forcing you on all fours. "Making you cry on my cock. You have no idea the fucking self-control I've had to keep."

His fingers slipped into you, slow at first, but deep, like he wanted to make you feel the weight of every second he'd waited. He growled when he felt how wet you got already with every move he made.

"Fuck. You're dripping for me."

You tried to reach for him, desperate, but he caught your wrists and pushed them on your back, pushing your chest against the mattress, hands trapped  painfully in one of his. The other hand stretched you even more when he added another finger.

You gasped as his palm landed hard on your ass, the sound echoing in the dark room, your body jerking forward against the headboard.

"Count," he growled. "If you lose track, I start over."

"One," you gasped.

Another slap, sharper.

"Two."

"Good girl. You look so fucking good like this," he hissed, voice dark with hunger. He watched the red mark on your soft skin he left. "All mine. I want to mark you up so bad they'll see it tomorrow. The members won't even need to ask."

He was harder than you'd ever seen anyone, panting against your neck as he grinded himself into your bare ass, not even inside you yet, and already cursing under his breath like he was going to lose it.

"You feel that?" he rasped, letting you grind back against his cock. "This is what you do to me. Every time you walked in wearing those little skirts, every time you hugged me and pressed that perfect body against me, I had to go jerk off in the fucking shower just to breathe before I could go on stage."

You whimpered, needy and wrecked and still untouched.

"Please," you whispered, voice shaking. "I want you."

"Oh, baby," he said, pulling his belt free from his pants a slow, lethal hiss of leather. "You're gonna feel how much I want you."

After just a blink of an eye he tied your hands up on your back.

„I want you to cry my name. So every time you'll call my name from now on, I'll think of you, tied up, with my cock pounding into your perfect little cunt."

And with that you felt his tip at your entrance. It was too big, you already knew that. When he pushed himself into you, starting to fuck you so good, you were already seeing stars, you couldn't stop moaning his name like a mantra.

Chan groaned deep in his chest, hips slamming forward as he buried himself fully. His hands gripped your hips hard, pulling you back onto him with every thrust like he couldn't get deep enough, close enough. Like he was trying to carve himself into you.

"Fuck—" he growled, voice shaking. "You feel like heaven. You were made for me, weren't you?"

You could barely answer, your words melted into gasps and broken sounds as he set a relentless pace, every snap of his hips pushing you closer to that edge. You were completely exposed to him. Hands tied, body trembling, senses overloaded. But never once did you feel unsafe, because every brutal thrust was laced with something else. Something raw. Desperate.

Need.

"God, you have no idea what you've done to me," he rasped into your ear, body flush against your back now, chest slick with sweat. "Every time you smiled at me, every time you greeted me in the morning, I had to bite my fucking tongue just to not show you how bad I wanted you."

You whimpered, unable to form a response when he suddenly reached around, fingers finding your clit and circling it with ruthless precision.

"You think this is just about fucking?" he snarled. "No, baby. This is about all the time I waited. All the nights I hated myself for wanting you this much."

You clenched around him, and he hissed. His rhythm stuttered, just once, and then he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing, yanking your wrists free from the belt.

"Look at me."

Your eyes locked. His were wild, pupils blown, jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

"I'm not hiding anymore," he said roughly. "You want the truth? I was jealous every damn time another guy made you laugh. I was furious when you thought I wanted Madison. And I've been dreaming of you, of this, for so long it drove me insane."

He grabbed your thighs and drove back into you, deeper now, with his forehead against yours.

"You're mine now. Say it."

"I'm yours," you whispered, breathless, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it all felt, the pleasure, the emotion, the years of silence finally breaking.

„I can’t hear you babygirl.“

„I‘m yours!“, you moaned, eyes rolling back as he grabbed your neck again, while the sound of skin slapping got even louder.

"You're goddamn right," he growled. "And I'm not letting you go. Not after this. Not ever."

He kissed you then, rough at first, then slower, softer, full of all the things he'd never said. His hand laced into your hair, the other gripping your waist as he rocked into you, lips dragging down your neck. Fucking you even deeper into the mattress.

When you came undone under him, trembling, crying out his name with tears running down your cheeks, he was right behind you, moaning against your throat like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And when it was over, and your limbs were tangled with his, your bodies a mess of sweat and bruises and silk sheets, he kissed your temple and whispered:

"You're not imagining this time. I'm here. I'm yours. And I'm not going anywhere."

The next morning, you stirred awake to the warmth of sunlight and a weight that hadn't left your side all night. With a quiet sigh, you turned your head, Chan's face was the first thing you saw. With a pleasant sigh you just noticed again how much you adored his face, puffy and bare. His curls were framing his head chaotically while his lips were plush and so kissable, slightly parted, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

He must have cleaned you up, since you fell asleep immediately after he hugged you tight and apologised for being that rough all over again.

But you never had better sex in your entire life. You watched the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, your body still wrapped tightly in his arms, like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. When the first sunbeams enlightened the room, you couldn't resist, touching his cheek, his curls and his lips. He didn't look real at all and you couldn't believe the last night happened.

Before you could react, he grabbed your hand with closed eyes and kissed your knuckles.

„You're awake?", you asked smiling and he just groaned sleepy.

„Do you keep going if I say no?"

His morning voice was raspy and let you giggle softly.

He slowly opened his eyes, looked at you with a soft smile and pulled you into his tight embrace.

„How are you feeling?"

You cuddled against him under the sheets, pressing your cheek against his chest.

„Good."

„Just good? I feel like flying."

„Ask me again after I showered", you teased him, and he pinched you softly in the side, what made you squeak.

„But hurry okay? Ich won't let you get far away from me today."

As you stood up and searched for something to wear, he smiled so broadly that the sun didn't even had a chance to compete.

„Sure... Just close your eyes and I'll be back in a second", you answered and slipped into a Shirt from him.

„I hope so... I think I'll need another round to start the day. Your pussy is addicting.“

„You horny menace," you snorted with a teasing grin, throwing a pillow at his head.

Chan caught it effortlessly, eyes trailing down your legs as you made your way toward the door in nothing but the oversized shirt. His shirt. His gaze was dark again, hungry, but playful. "You walking around like that and calling me horny? That's not fair."

You smirked, hand already on the doorknob. "Then close your eyes, Mr. Bang. Or deal with the consequences."

"I will. Later," he murmured under his breath, voice low and thick. "And trust me, there will be consequences."

With heat blooming in your cheeks, and between your thighs, you slipped out of his room, the air in the hallway cooler against your skin.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen light left on overnight. Your skin still tingled from the feel of Chan's mouth, his hands, the way he'd claimed you like he'd been waiting for years

The apartment was quiet, only the faint sound of the city outside humming through the windows. You tiptoed down the hallway toward the bathroom when a door creaked open and,

"Shit," you gasped, nearly running into Minhos big and very naked chest.

He was shirtless, his hair a mess, lips slightly swollen, and his eyes wide when he saw you. For a second, neither of you spoke. Your gaze instinctively dropped to the deep scratch marks down his torso, leading all over his back and a very familiar Hoodie in his hands.

Han's hoodie.

Your mouth opened a little.

Minho froze like a deer in headlights, then raised a single brow.

He froze when he saw you. You froze when you saw him. The smell of sex was sticking to you both.

The puzzle pieces clicked, violently.

Minho gave you a long look, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. "You're not really the sneaky type, you know."

Your cheeks flushed, but you lifted your chin. "You either, apparently."

His brows raised, caught. "Touché."

"Han?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

He shrugged a shoulder, smirk still lingering.

"Oh my God!" you blinked, mouth now fully parted. "You were the one on the couch with Han tonight..."

Minho tilted his head, a sly smirk forming on his lips. "I wasn't exactly hiding it, was I?"

Your cheeks flushed as you remembered what you'd seen the night before, Han tangled up in someone's arms. You hadn't realized it was Minho.

"I thought... I didn't know, you are..." you started, but he just waved a hand.

"Don't overthink it." he added with a smirk.

„Most people don't know... Just Changbin at the moment since he can’t knock on doors like a normal person being... I wanted to tell you, but seems like you had secrets yourself..."

Before you could respond, Han's voice came from inside the room. "Minhooo, honey, come back to bed, your abs look too good to be wasted standing out there."

You raised your brows. "Wow."

Minho shrugged and stared at the shirt you were wearing.

"Yeah."

There was a pause. He slipped Hans Hoodie over his head. For Jisung it was oversized but it fit Minho perfectly.

"I mean, you and Jisung? I knew you two were close, but..."

"Not really public knowledge," he said, now fully dressed but barefoot, raking a hand through his hair.

„But I guess you and Chan aren't exactly trying to stay hidden either."

You blinked. "You... know?"

Minho chuckled under his breath. "Sweetheart, you're wearing his shirt. Just his shirt in fact... Those marks on your wrists are very obvious as well. And I just walked out of Han's room when you sneaked out of his. We're kind of in the same boat."

Just now you realised the red marks on your wrists, which were probably caused by the belt, Chan used.

You crossed your arms.

"You're not worried? About... you know, Chan being your leader? I'm just your stylist."

Minho leaned against the doorframe, eyes glinting. "Should I be? You're not just our stylist. You're my best friend and Chan is family. It could be worse, right?"

You shrugged, uncertain.

He took a step closer.

"Look, whatever's going on with Chan... you're not just some random girl. Trust me, I've seen the way he looks at you."

Your heart fluttered.

"He's all bark usually. But you? You make him lose control. That says something."

You bit your lip, glancing away. "It's just... weird. All of it. I've had feelings for him for so long."

"And now he's the one tangled in you," Minho said softly, with a knowing glance. "About time he made a move. His lovesick blabbering wasn't bearable anymore."

Then, his smirk widened again. "Just... try not to be that noisy next time. We do share walls, you know. Or at least let us join…“

You gasped and slapped his arm, scandalized.

He only laughed and went back to Jisungs room without any further comment.

You slipped quietly back into Chan's room after your shower, the soft creak of the door alerting him. He was sitting up now, shirtless, hair messier than before, his bare chest catching a sliver of morning light.

He looked up instantly, eyes narrowing with gentle concern.

"You okay?"

You nodded, closing the door behind you. "Yeah... just ran into Minho in the hallway."

Chan's brow lifted. "Minho?"

You walked over, crawling back into the sheets, the warmth of his body pulling you back in. His hand instinctively settled on your waist like a magnet, grounding you.

"Yeah," you murmured. "Apparently, he spent the night with Han."

There was a pause. Then—

"...What?"

You looked up at him, lips curving. "I know. I thought I was being scandalous sneaking out of your room. Turns out there was a secret relationship in front of us all this time."

Chan blinked, then burst out laughing, chest shaking beneath your cheek. "Han and Minho? Seriously? They spent the night? Like fucking and stuff?"

"I literally walked in on Minho sneaking out with Han's hoodie. There were scratches all over his body..."

"Oh my god," he groaned, dragging a hand through his curls. "That little punk didn't tell me anything. Both of them... I thought Han was seeing a girl secretly."

Chan exhaled deeply, then gave a dry laugh. "That little shit. No wonder they've been acting weird the last few weeks."

You tilted your head. "You really didn't notice?"

"I thought they were just being... clingy. Han's always affectionate towards Minho, and Minho's Minho, he acts like he's annoyed but leans into it anyway."

You looked up at him, mischief playing at the edge of your mouth. "What if he says the same about us?"

Chan tilted his head, eyes darkening. "There's a difference. I want everyone to know."

Your heart stuttered.

He said it so casually, but the possessiveness in his tone sent heat through you.

"I told Minho," you said softly, watching his expression carefully, "That this wasn't just random. That it's... serious to me."

His gaze locked with yours, something deeper flickering behind the dark brown. "Did you?"

You nodded. "I said you weren't just some fling. Because you're not. And I've had feelings for you for way too long to pretend this is casual."

Chan reached for you then, dragging you fully into his lap, hands gripping your thighs. "Say that again."

"What part?"

"The part where I'm not just some fling."

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his jaw. "You're not. You've never been."

His grip tightened. "I swear, I've been going insane wanting you. Knowing you were right there all this time, acting like you didn't see what you were doing to me."

You smiled against his skin. "You didn't make it easy either."

He pulled back, brushing his lips against yours without kissing you. "I didn't want you to feel like that... But now? Now I'll make damn sure no one else gets the chance."

His words were low, heated, edged with that same fire that had pulled you under last night.

You pressed your forehead to his. "You jealous of Minho and Han stealing the scandal spotlight?"

He growled softly. "Jealous that they got to touch each other last night... while you were in my bed screaming for me? Never.“

You shivered.

Chan's lips curled. "Now be a good girl and remind me what you were wearing when you ran into Minho..."

You laughed. "Your shirt."

"Damn right."

⸻

[pineappleoracle]

Touché live reactions from the gc

The next batch of pages for Touché are up! Thanks again to @echobsilly for the shading! Huge help <3

Trigger warning for short imaginary depiction of bodily harm (hand trauma)/blood.

Read from where we left off, here.

Read from the beginning here!

[bnpd]

❛❛ the bed's getting cold and you're not here ❜❜

now playing : the heart wants what it wants by selena gomez ♫⋆.˚

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend left to travel the world for a press tour that'll last months. the distance between you causes a rift. however much it hurts, you love him and you'll choose what your heart wants above all else. will you soon regret your decision?

DRABBLE WORD COUNT: 1.2k tags: angst pairing: jungkook x reader

author's note: not proofread, I wrote this after I saw this jungkook edit. i miss jungkook so bad </3

It’s been weeks since he left for his press tour. And the ache in your heart remains. 

Long periods of time where he’d leave you cold and wanting. Days gone without contacting one another. 

Every other week you’d schedule a video or voice call, and those 30 to 60 minutes would feel amazing. Until he’d get pulled away for a meeting, or a responsibility in his heavily packed schedule. 

He'd send you endless pictures and videos of his favorite sights, but it only stung more. Not being able to be there for him or experience these new sights with him. How could you? You had a life back home.

A life full of work and personal responsibilities. Maybe you could leave it behind for just a moment, but you had already gave up so much for him.

You had so much to lose while he had an inch. You lost so much in the process of it all.

Secrets about your relationship ruined your friendships. No one could know you were dating Jungkook, sneaking around created mistrust within your friendships.

You had to be cautious or else word would get around and suddenly everything would get blown out of proportion. The pinch of privacy would diminish in a heartbeat. 

You began to put him above your friends. How could you not? The way he made you feel was electrifying. It was him or no one. 

He didn’t treat you wrong, never disrespected you or made you feel less of who you were as a person. He completed you. But his work as an idol meant so much more to him. It consumed him and his time. 

You understood. You met him as someone who was dedicated to his craft. Somebody who spent day and night proving himself in a dance studio or a record booth. 

You sigh as you watch your call go to voicemail. Your throat tightens, and tears begin to blur your vision. 

You swallow the lump in your throat before setting your phone face down on the table. Too much of a coward to antagonize yourself over a possible message from him. 

He promised. And he broke it.

Lately, he’d been blowing you off. You knew how much this press tour meant to him. How much time and dedication he put into this. How content he would feel after finishing. How he needed this to feel more worthy of his role as a singer. 

This time it felt a little different. He’d always make it to your scheduled calls. He’d never miss a date or a detail. You were beyond worried. 

Some say it’s a weakness, staying, but it takes so much of you everyday. It’s a strength in itself, although some say it’s a weakness. Like today. 

Today, it feels like your heart pounds against your chest at the thought of him, yearning for him. 

Sometimes you weaken—sometimes days feel never ending and you find yourself wondering what the future holds. It’s during days like these where the ache feels too uncertain, and the unknown renders you helpless. 

It pains you to watch him all over your social media, smiling and content. While you curl up on his side of the shared bed on most nights, watching him from the other side of the world, waiting to even hear from him directly. 

You met him 7 years ago. You were working as a tattoo artist–still are–and he came in with his friend, looking for a sentimental tattoo—something that would stick with him. 

So, you drafted up some pieces for him based on what he shared with you. Shockingly, he only wanted a four letter word on his knuckles. You happily obliged. 

Then, he kept coming for more tattoos. And more, and more.

As a tattoo artist, sometimes you get close to a client. Especially when said client appreciates art, and an outside perspective on his thoughts through another artist's point of view. 

Then two years down, he asked you out. 

You should have known better than to involve yourself with a lifestyle like Jungkook’s. You had dealt with quite a few semi-popular clients throughout your years of working. But Jungkook? He was by far, the most special one.

The media had begun to speculate about your relationship, but Jungkook never made a comment on it and soon they forgot about it. Or they buried it under the rest of the endless theories. 

Soon though, things began to get a little hectic. With how fast BTS was rising to fame his time for you began to dwindle. 

You wish you were strong enough to leave and find better. But you don’t want to. Your heart is content in being where it is. With him. Where it belongs. 

Even as he takes it with him far away. 

You smile pitifully before blowing out your birthday candles. A pain in your chest explodes and it begins to invade your insides, suffocating you. It leaves you breathless and winded. It wounds you so strongly that you rub your chest in a futile attempt to ease the pain. 

It hurts more when you recall the last conversation you two had. Was he still upset?

“Baby…come on, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like what?” You frown, knowing he won’t see it, but the yearning in your chest makes you ache all over. 

“Like that.” You can hear the slight frustration in his tone and it almost makes you burst out in tears. You try your best to keep your composure. For his sake and yours.

“I’m not trying to be like anything,” you murmur, “I just miss you. It’s been several days where I haven't heard from you.” 

He sighs on the other end of the phone before speaking, “I miss you too, and I know. I’m sorry for that. But hearing you like this isn’t making it any easier for me.” 

You feel incredibly annoying. It hurts to miss him everyday.

Maybe expressing your feelings about it may not have helped. 

But in the end, you're just as hurt and sometimes the emotions bottled up come out unwarranted. “And you think it’s any easier for me?” 

Now you’re just peeved at his reaction. When you told him about the ache in your chest from his absence you didn’t mean to offend him. You simply wanted to find safety in his reassurance. 

So, you continue to push a little more, “Is it so wrong to miss my boyfriend? I’m sorry if my tone doesn’t sound like the happiest person in the world. I just miss you.”

“Well, I’m trying to have a conversation with you and you’re just bringing my mood down with all this shit.”

His rough tone laced in annoyance stuns you to silence. 

“Okay. Then, I’ll just take it somewhere else.”

“Wait–” You hang up the phone before the tears begin to fall freely. 

Truthfully you felt guilty after your conversation with Jungkook. After you cried out, you reflected and realized that his words held some truth. Would you have felt good if your partner called you and they sounded a bit dejected? Of course. 

So you texted him an apology, acknowledging his feelings and your mistakes. 

Unfortunately for you, he never replied. 

The next phone call never acknowledged the incident. But you did—countless times in your cage of a mind. 

Jungkook was, by no means, awful to you. Before he left on his press tour, he was the most amazing boyfriend. Which is why you give him some leeway.

He’s a busy man, an honest and loyal one. You trust him with your life. He’s worth the ache, you convince yourself. He’s worth the sleepless nights full of sadness and endless insecurities. A man like Jungkook is rare to come by. 

So, you’ll hold onto him until you can’t—until your arms ache and they physically can no longer withstand the strain. 

You’ll wait for him, for as long as you must. You just hope you’re still worth coming home to when he returns. Then, you hope tomorrow goes easier on your hopelessly devoted heart. 

NOTES: ngl might make a part 2 of jungkooks pov, using a JB song that fits this exact scenario. and I AM CURRENTLY ACTIVELY WORKING ON GOJO FIC, ITS LONG ASF !

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my tag list :

©2025 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[deancaspinefest]

Congratulations to all of the amazing artists and authors who participated in the ninth round of the Dean/Cas Pinefest!

It was a difficult year for a number of our fandom friends, leading to a couple of last minute schedule changes and pinch-hit assignments that brought our total number of participants to just 25 authors and 24 artists -- but even with those unexpected changes, 26 teams gifted the Dean/Cas fandom an impressive 787,104 words of pine-filled fic, and 83 gorgeous works of art.

As always, the wealth of creative talent we've been blessed with in this fandom has blown us away, and it's especially wonderful to see the love for our favorite hunter and angel going strong after all this time.

Speaking of which... we’re not done yet!

Registration for the 2026 Dean/Cas Pinefest will open to authors and artists on June 1st 🌲

If you're thinking that seems earlier than we usually open for business, you'd be right. Because this will be our TENTH(!) round, we're planning some extra fun. We'll share details closer to registration time, but we hope you'll all take part!

Follow us here on Tumblr to make sure you don’t miss out on any details!

Under the cut, you’ll find links to every masterpost from the 2025 round, and you can also check out the collection on Ao3. Make sure to let the authors and artists know how much you enjoyed their creations with a like, kudos, or best of all, a reblog, rec, or comment!

If Only the Cat Could Talk Written by TwinOne, with art by golby moon

Love’s Menagerie Written by SamandDean76, with art by Mörökölli

When You Least Expect It Written by FriendofCarlotta, with art by seidenapfel

Where the Angels Walk Written by LoversAntiquities, with art by szlez

hummingbird Written by Abi_in_the_Cosmos, with art by adromelke

Some things I still can’t tell you Written by andimeantittosting, with art by sidewinder

Stone Can’t Cry Written by Hectatess, with art by Sketcheun

Cosmic Consequences Written by MittenWraith, with art by Categoryfour

Stairs in the Woods Written by blackhorsedances, with art by Kolumander

If I Loved You Less Written by one_more_offbeat_anthem, with art by TFWDuke

Angel Kisses Written by casblackfeathers, with art by onowey

I built you a garden, don’t you know? Written by karlo1469, with art by MercurialKitty

i hear them all calling my name Written by thatapolloguy (wingsandaharp), with art by medicatedmaniac

Looking Back, Fundamental Romance Written by Susu_st, with art by onowey

You Lose Some, You Win Some Written by gay_dinosaur_1701, with art by Aggiedoll

The Width of a Circle Written by imogenbynight, with art by Randi

Holy Roller Written by flowerssinherhair, with art by girlinthemirrorbluenight

The light will lead you home Written by Desirae, with art by thestarsmakemedream

Searching For Burning Feathers Written by Altiria, with art by stonelions

The Royal Runaway Written by Tossukka, with art by daffodilsonaprettystring

Hand in Hand Written by golbygloom, with art by aerialworms-art

The Magic Words (that make everything all better) Written by iamianweareme, with art by TwinOne

willing to bite my own chain Written by an_ardent_rain, with art by verobatto

Fanfic Dreams Written by seidenapfel, with art by Witchy-Worm

begin again Written by dothraki_shieldmaiden, with art by Witchy-Worm

Something in the Water (pinch-hit ficlet) Written by imogenbynight, for art by hexentaenzerin

And once you’re all caught up on this year’s crop of pine, there are 811 works of art and 253 fics (totaling almost 10 million words) to be found in the previous eight Pinefest rounds!

Until next time… happy pining!

[billiesbabygirleilish]

Drunk In Love

Warnings: Alcohol (Billie is absolutely wasted), language

dedicating this to @billiesbby

~*~*~*~•~•~•~*~*~*~•~•~•~*~*~*~•~•~•~*~*~*~•~

~*~*~*~•~•~•~*~*~*~•~•~•~*~*~*~•~•~•~*~*~*~•~

You were halfway through brushing your teeth when the front door slammed open like a horror movie jump scare.

Then came the unmistakable sound of someone tripping, swearing loudly, and groaning, “WHY IS THE FLOOR SO SLIPPERY?”

You poked your head out of the bathroom to find Billie sprawled face-down in the entryway, one shoe off, one arm flung dramatically over her head, and her beanie somehow covering only her left ear.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, walking over. “How much did you drink?”

She rolled onto her back with a groan, blinking up at you like she couldn’t tell if you were real or a hallucination. “I’m not drunk,” she said confidently. “You’re just spinning.”

“That’s not how that works.”

She tried to sit up. Failed. Fell back with a soft oof and giggled. “Okay. I might be a little drunk.”

“A little?”

“I only had…” She paused, counting her fingers. Then gave up. “Math is hard right now.”

You reached down to help her up. She grabbed your hand but immediately used it to pull you into a clumsy, dramatic hug. “You smell so good. Like a candle. But, like, a sexy candle.”

You laughed and tried to steady her. “Okay, sexy candle’s gonna help you not throw up on the floor. Deal?”

She nodded solemnly. “You’re so smart. You should be president. I’d vote for you. Twice.”

You walked her to the couch, her arm slung lazily around your shoulders like dead weight, giggling every time she tripped over nothing.

“Baaabe,” she slurred, flopping onto the cushions like a ragdoll. “Did I tell you how much I love you?”

“Not in the last five minutes.”

“Well I do. Like, a lot. You’re, like, my favorite person. Ever. You’re like—” she hiccuped, eyes wide like she just had a revelation. “You’re like a burrito of love. And safety. And boobs.”

You snorted. “You are absolutely wasted.”

“Not true,” she said, finger in the air. “I’m… artistically intoxicated.”

“Mhm. Let’s get this glitter off your face, Picasso.”

You grabbed a makeup wipe and started cleaning her up as she leaned into your touch with a dreamy smile. “You’re so gentle. This is like a spa. A sexy spa. With love. And snacks.”

“You want water?”

“No. I want you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You have me. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“Lucky me,” she whispered, eyes fluttering. “I’m gonna marry you. Just as soon as the ceiling stops spinning.”

You kissed her forehead, tucking a blanket around her as she snuggled deeper into the couch. Her hand reached for yours, clumsily locking your fingers together.

“Don’t leave,” she mumbled, already drifting.

“Never,” you whispered.

Even when she was shitfaced and covered in body glitter, she was still yours.

And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing.

[concreteangel92]

I'm so happy that your requests are open hehe🥹💕

I'd kill for some soft work of yours, like the whole day spent together with Noah doing something together. Going to the zoo or beach day or painting each other (the tiktok trend you know) and then finish it with some soft smut, Noah talking you through it, holding hands, soft touches and stuff🥹

Basically the softest version of Noah you can think of haha, please and thank you💕

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: soft smut, praise, PiV, just some overall cuteness basically haha

The painting trend is such a cute idea that I had to use that one for this request! I hope you enjoy ☺️

So this is soft, gentle!Noah….mean dom!Noah is next on my request list 👀

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @renegadebirch @floodflameschosen @ami--gami

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

“So, what are we doing again?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin as Noah flopped into the chair across from you. “Painting each other.”

He raised an eyebrow, already smirking. “Like… one of your French girls?”

You reached over and gave his arm a playful slap, the both of you laughing. “Shut up, Noah! No. I saw this cute trend on TikTok and thought it would be fun.”

He leaned back with that cheeky smile, eyes lighting up with mischief. “You gonna post this on TikTok, babe?”

You giggled as you got comfortable in your chair. “That depends on how good they turn out.”

The next hour passed in a mix of giggles, paint smudges, and stolen glances. Every time you peeked up from your canvas, Noah was already looking at you, his gaze warm, soft and intense. It made your stomach flutter every time.

You wiped the back of your hand across your forehead to move some hair from your face, unknowingly streaking a bit of paint across your cheek. “Right… I think I’m done.”

You set your brush down and looked at your “masterpiece,” already cringing internally. You were no artist but you’d tried.

Noah, who had finished a few minutes before you, was watching you with a grin, clearly holding back laughter.

“Let me see, then,” he said, eyes sparkling.

“No, you first,” you said quickly, hiding your canvas from his gaze.

He shrugged and turned his around with a dramatic flourish.

You gasped. It was…actually good. Like, really good. Not perfect, but you could see yourself in it, the way your eyes squinted when you laughed, the curl of your smile. Your heart flipped a little.

“Okay wow…that’s actually really good” you admitted.

He looked pleased. “I used to draw a lot when I was younger. You make a good muse. Ok now yours”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly turned your canvas around.

Noah stared at it for a second, then burst into laughter, not cruel, just utterly amused. “What the hell is that?”

“Shut up!” you laughed, covering your face. “It’s….abstract!”

“It looks like a Picasso painting went through a blender!”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, it was genuinely bad. “In my defense, you wouldn’t sit still!”

Still chuckling, Noah stood up and came around the table. “Hold on, you’ve got something…”

He reached up and brushed a smudge of brown paint from your cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered longer than it needed to, fingers grazing your skin softly.

Your laughter faded with a smile as you looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was.

He leaned in, his voice softer now. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Your breath caught just a little. “Even with paint all over me?”

“Especially then…I’ve loved painting with you today” he murmured.

You smiled, your voice low. “Yeah?”

“Mm. Especially when you’re so cute when you’re focused on creating your ‘masterpiece’”

You giggled and blushed as you looked at your painting again.

“Guess I wont be quitting my day job any time soon”

“Maybe not just yet babe” he whispered and then his lips met yours.

The kiss was warm, slow, and sweet, his hand gently cupping your jaw. You melted into it, fingers still streaked with paint curling into his shirt as he pulled you closer.

His mouth was soft, coaxing, and when his other hand slid around your waist, your body responded easily, pressing into him like you were always meant to fit there.

He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “You wanna…?”

You nodded before he could finish. “Yeah.”

Noah pulled you back into another kiss and you felt his hands wandering over your body as he lead you backwards towards the sofa, both of you removing different articles of clothing until you were both pressed against each other’s bare skin.

“You’re so fucking perfect”

He took his time, worshipping every inch of your skin with lips and fingertips, like he was still painting you, only now with devotion instead of a brush.

A choked gasp left your throat as you felt him slip inside, stretching you beautifully as he started a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts.

You both moaned into each other, your lips never leaving the other for long. You both took your time, feeling no need to rush, you were both completely lost in the moment.

“Noah…”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer. You could feel every inch of him, buried deep, the pressure building with every gentle but firm stroke. Sweat slicked your skin, making each brush of your bodies feel even more intense. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world, not wanting this moment, this connection, to ever end.

His hips never stopped, every thrust was sending a warm ache through you as you felt your stomach twisting beautifully. You moaned into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Noah…” you whispered, breath catching as he rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made your eyes fall shut and your head to fall back against the sofa.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as one hand slipped between your bodies to touch you, coaxing another desperate whimper from your throat. “So good for me…you’re so fucking beautiful…”

You couldn’t hold back your cry as you fell apart underneath him, your body trembling in his arms as your nails dig into the skin on his back.

Noah’s hips stuttered once, twice, then he was spilling into you with a low, drawn out moan, clinging to you like he was falling apart too. His breath came in hot pants against your skin, his hands cradling your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You both relaxed into each other’s arms, your breathing laboured as you both came down from your highs.

Noah leant up and he brushed away some of your hair which was now damp against your face as he smiled down.

“I love you so much”

“And I love you Noah, I couldn’t imagine ever being apart”

[cozmikvi]

Hey. You. Yes, You. Did you know there are ways to support your local punk scene without having to go to live shows.

now, I know the best thing to do when supporting bands is to show up to their shows, however, If you are socially awkward, people stress you out, if you got insane anxiety, or if youre a parent and work 2 jobs to survive, YOU ARE STILL PUNK. YOU ARE STILL AN ACTIVE MEMBER OF THE SCENE, if you use some of these little tips and tricks.

attend a show if possible ONLY when you can, even if you dont know who is playing, but always bring a friend who is a comfort post to lean on.

Find local artists through socials. Every single music venue around you has Insta/Facebook/Twitter/TikTok, and if they are awesome Bluesky/Tumblr, If you find a punk/harcore adjacent band flyer. SPREAD THE LOVE. share em around get more eyes on it, tag the venue and every artist listed, help them get people who can attend shows, Do some listen along content highlighting said bands and point your audience to the shows and their socials

Speaking of spreading the love. If artists around have any flyers made on socials, download the image, print/trace it, Make hundreds of those bad boys and put them up where the hell ever you want. IRL eyes attract IRL attention, and IRL attendance, and its a major fuck you to algohell.

BUY THEIR SHIT. So you found a small band that sound fucking awesome, They got bandcamp? Buy a single, Patreon? 1 month donation, Merch market? Get a shirt or Patch.

Make. A. Zine. They are STTUUUUPID SIMPLE, like mad easy and super fun. Dont gotta be this artistic masterpiece, just make a lil collection of doodles and essays and poems, List local shows, bands, socials for the bands, donation links, political activism, The world is your toilet, so throw some shit around!

Are you yourself an artist? See above, but also, DM local bands offer your services, Flyers, Album art, Logo design, stickers, shirts, DIY shit is awesome and if you got some design and drawing talent, [i know you do dont doubt yourself] bands make music, thats really it, some if not most arent fluent in other mediums, lighten the load, trust me, theyll love it.

Lastly; Dont sweat the dipshits. People online are legion. Lots of conformists or true scottsmans all over the damn place, If some slackjaw cishet [yes its mostly dudes, almost always against femmes in the scene] dingus is givin you shit for "nOt bEiNg pUnK eNoUgH" tell that dipshit to go fuck himself, its a much better use of both of your times. Dont listen to every lil tiktok rando, or annoying tumblrite, If you are punk, if you have punk values, if you are doin shit. Fuck em. Keep livin life, and struggle on, cuz for every dipshit chirper, there are thousands of awesome and cool peeps who are waaayyy worth your attention.

punk is a beautiful community full of talented people and unfortunately in an internet age, the most toxic and immature aspects are brought to the limelight, it is up to us as a community and individuals within, to not bother with this garbage, Putting people down, especially if they might be disabled, or anxious, or femme, or just "not cool enough for you", Is not "Supporting the scene" Youre just being a dick. To all the baby punks out there, Have fun, Struggle well, Stay Safe, Dont Die.

If you got anymore awesome tips, put em in the tags, scream em to your cat, tell a friend, share it, spread the love,

[halo-stylinson]

"they're not being forced to do anything, this is just their job now and they stunt willingly!" are you fucking stupid.

rant incoming, strap in folks.

ive seen a shocking amount of longtime larries lately downplaying the severity of harry and louis' situations, acting as though their signals and codes are "coincidences," and pushing the idea that harry and louis have full control over their PR moves when that has never once been the case in the past 15 goddamn years. and its not just disappointing, its frustrating. where has everyone's critical thinking gone? what changed?

you all talk about how much holivia damaged harry's public image and compare holivia to mcdumblinson, but then in the same breath act like louis is choosing to stunt with zara. is the cognitive dissonance that thick? or are you all now suggesting harry willingly participated in holivia? both of those potential options concern me, frankly.

we can all agree zara is actively damaging louis' public image, right? so, why on earth would louis be stunting with her of his own free will? are you suggesting he's that stupid? because hes not. louis is incredibly intelligent and to pretend hes stupid enough to continue pushing this stunt when its clearly not helping him is insulting.

but i know what question will be begged: "they're multi-millionaires! they're grown men now! dont you think they have the money and freedom now to do what they want?" if that was the case, there wouldnt be anymore stunting. ever. money does not equate to freedom, nor does age. has everyone suddenly forgotten the kinds of contracts these men are under? the professionals they are stuck working for?

in terms of pure financials, yes, they probably could buy out of their contracts. and where would that leave them? blacklisted from the biggest companies in the industry, smeared in retaliation by the media those companies own, and honestly? their lives could be at stake. think of how many incredibly famous artists have died for political reasons or because they challenged the agencies that own them. this isnt to fearmonger, this is to bring up PRECEDENT. precedent you all seem to have willfully forgotten.

but even on top of all that, are we forgetting that these boys have been groomed since they were 16-18? jeff azoff has been scouting harry since 2013, and hes only one example of the terrible people these men have been surrounded by since they were teenagers. harry and louis have never escaped sony. when they respectively escaped syco, they both signed to other labels sony owns. harry has been signed to columbia (and the azoffs) since 2016, and louis has been signed to his companies and labels since 2020 when syco music dissolved. which makes me beg my own question- what the fuck do you all think has changed? in the past 5-9 years (respectively) what do you posit has changed to give harry and louis this freedom youre all claiming they have? theyre still closeted. theyre still being forced to stunt. theyre still being forced to surround themselves with shitty people.

louis looks beyond uncomfortable in every photo with zara. he is clearly not doing this willingly. harry is a genuinely good person, hes not willingly hanging around the likes of KID HARPOON, who GROPED HIM AT THE 2023 GRAMMYS. or did we all forget that? i think we did. zara is from love island, a show louis HATES. shes the type of person he never associates with normally. the azoffs are RIFE with controversy that could make its own fucking masterpost. if you think our harry and louis, two very smart, very kind, very intentional men, are WILLINGLY surrounding themselves with these types of people, you are biting the media koolaid and HELPING THE PROPAGANDA SPREAD.

AND ON TOP OF ALL OF THAT, i want to REITERATE that these two men have been lied to and coerced and groomed since they were teens. that means, in case none of you have ever been in abusive dynamics with authority, that they likely dont know all of their escape options. firstly, their options for escape are few and far between, and at absolute BEST would end their careers and turn them into GP punching bags because of the smear campaigns that would follow any pushback or contract buyouts. secondly, the professionals and lawyers theyve been surrounded with for the past 15 years are all cogs in the industry music machine. even back on TXF we know their lawyers were paid off by syco to push them in the desired direction with what they signed. that was just one reality tv show, and its a microcosm of the industry at large. not only do they have limited options, they dont even know what all of those options are. its not like their abusive managements are gonna tell them how to leave. thats not how this works.

but again, even if they had access to all of their options, even if they had access to unbiased legal advisors, even if they wanted to end their careers- they wouldnt escape without being hurt in some major way. im not talking out of my ass here. look at other cases of major celebrities who have left their labels or publically denounced the industry. look into major artists who have mysteriously died. hell, look into the p. diddy case and the people he put hits out on. open your fucking eyes and look at the precedent you older fans were AROUND FOR. i wasnt even HERE, and i can see it.

my last point is anecdotal, but stick with me here. when you are a victim of an abusive authority figure- in HL's case, the entire industry full of abusive CEOs and managers- for as long as they have (15 years, mind), it becomes less scary to stick to whats familiar. they know its bad, they clearly hate stunting and being closeted, but its a familiar fire to burn in. i know that feeling. i spent 17 years under an abusive authority figure and during the brief windows where i thought i could feasibly get out, i was too scared and far too conditioned to try. taking a stab at HL, id guess this is where theyre at. maybe they could, in some lucky way if everything were to align, escape and minimize the harm they suffer from it. but theyve been conditioned against trying, conditioned against believing in that possibility, and conditioned to go along with what theyre told.

so again i ask, what do you all think changed? why do you think harry and louis are suddenly free to do as they please, after all these years, when theyre still signed to the same companies and still showing signs of distress? when theyre still coding their clothes as a subtle cry for help- which, by the way, never stopped. why on earth did everyone up and decide they stopped coding their clothing? because 1 popular larrie blog said it, and the rest of you parroted it like gospel? was a real reason ever given for that spontainious conclusion, or are you all just reverting back to the comfort of willful ignorance and slurping up the media slop?

nothing has changed with their situations. a lot of you just seem to have stopped fighting for them. its easier to be complacent, to only care about when new music is coming, to not worry about harry and louis as people. to not worry about supporting them and making sure they know that some of us pay attention and know their truth. some of you are losing those tenents, and its upsetting to watch as a newer larrie who has all the conviction in the world to fight for these boys and show them that they are supported.

the attitude ive seen from some of the older larries on here lately is akin to what id expect from the GP, or solos, but not larries. you are all smarter than this and you damn well know it. the downplaying and disregarding of things like louis' plead for our support, the coded clothing, the subtle hints that theyre still being controlled, is actively helping their managers and PR teams sell narratives like mcdumblinson. through your complacency, saying everything is "just a coincidence" or "the boys' choice," you are aiding the enemy in their pursuit.

this fandom has lost enough voices. i dont want to watch the remaining prominant voices turn into blind sheep and merge with the GP. thats the last thing HL need right now, in such an age of ignorance and finding comfort in participating in a lie. do better, reopen your eyes that i know must have been open at some point for you to become larries. not for some random tumblr user, but for harry and louis. they need all the support they can get right now.

[bluegiragi]

Hey Gira!

I know you probably get a lot of messages like this and I'm not sure if you'll even read this but I'll write it down anyway cause you deserve all the love and support.

Ever since I first found your art I've been completely enchanted by it, I just love how much time you put in every art you make, let it be monster au or non monster au. I've been a huge fan of your monster au, because of the story and because how amazing your artstyle is and how much you improved. Everytime you post an art I'm like the meme "KENDRICK DROP ANOTHER DISTRACK AND MY LIFE IS YOURS' but more like "GIRAA DROP ANOTHER MONSTER AU ART, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS" plus I always counted on which day the next part would come out-(that may be creepy but your monster au is one of my hyperfixations)

All the while I respect you and admire you for your skill and how much you care about your own health, I'm glad you take breaks every now and then to make sure you yourself are feeling better, your health is the most important thing and I respect you for not forgetting to take the time you need while also making sure to make the best of your art.

This is all probably extremely cheesy and I'm sorry if it is, I'm just very enthusiastic about things I love and about artist that are as good as you and overall I'm too friendly but everything I just wrote down is geniune and I support you.

it's not cheesy at all! and you're not too friendly either, I really appreciate the effort you went to to send in this message, it's extremely flattering :) I'm really glad you enjoy my work so much! I try to give my best to this job every day so it makes a real difference to hear there's people out there who see it <3

[bratzkoo]

WGM episode 7 | dk

episode 7: photoshoot

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: seokmin x reader Genre: fluff Rating: PG-13 Word count: 2.9k~ Warnings/note: fluff, fake marriage, and real feelings. cursing, seokmin curses a lot in his head.

summary: WE GOT MARRIED is back. Seokmin and Y/N pairs up to shoot 10 episodes for a special. Turns out, there are more things happenings off-camera than what meets the eye.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @ateez-atiny380 , @aeerio . @vernons-wifey12 , @odevote118 , @btskzfav , @codeinebelle , @syluslittlecrows, @minghaofied , @ikbennatas , @armycarat2612

requests are close, but you can just say hi! | masterlist series masterlist | previous episode | next episode

[Opening sequence: Highlights from Episode 6, showing their decoration adventure and resolved argument over the rug]

Narrator: "After successfully creating their cozy love nest, our newlyweds are taking their relationship public with a special photoshoot for a popular magazine!"

---

Seokmin sat in the makeup chair, trying not to fidget as the stylist applied what felt like the seventeenth layer of something to his face. He was no stranger to photoshoots—they were a regular part of idol life—but this was different. This was a couple photoshoot. With Y/N. For a major magazine.

The PD had informed them last week that they'd been selected as the featured couple for _Newlywed Life_ magazine's monthly spotlight. Apparently, their "We Got Married" pairing had been generating significant buzz online, with viewers particularly taken by Seokmin's impromptu wedding song and their cooking disaster turned success.

"You're very popular," the PD had said, looking smugly satisfied with the ratings. "The public is invested in your love story."

Love story. The phrase made Seokmin's stomach twist with a complicated mix of emotions. Because the problem—the increasingly undeniable problem—was that he was starting to forget this was all fabricated for television.

"You're thinking too loudly," came a familiar voice, and Seokmin's eyes flew open to see Y/N being led to the makeup chair beside his. "I can practically hear the internal screaming from across the room."

"That obvious, huh?" Seokmin asked, managing a smile despite the riot of butterflies her presence instantly triggered.

"Only to someone who's spent six episodes watching your every facial expression," Y/N replied lightly. "Your ears are also a dead giveaway. They're already turning pink."

Seokmin's hands flew up to cover his treacherous ears. "They're just... warm from the lights."

"Sure they are," Y/N teased, settling into her chair as the makeup artist began working on her. "Nothing to do with being nervous about the shoot."

"Why would I be nervous?" Seokmin asked with exaggerated innocence. "It's just a nationally distributed magazine where we'll be portrayed as a loving couple with potentially millions of people analyzing our body language and chemistry. Totally casual."

Y/N laughed, the sound still doing dangerous things to his cardiac rhythm even after all this time. "When you put it that way, it sounds completely reasonable to panic."

"I'm not panicking," Seokmin protested. "This is my calm, collected pre-panic state. The actual panicking comes later, right before the camera starts clicking."

The makeup artist working on him sighed dramatically. "Please stop making expressions while I'm trying to contour."

"Sorry," Seokmin apologized, attempting to arrange his features into a neutral mask. "I'll just sit here expressionless like a good idol."

"Impossible," Y/N commented. "You're physically incapable of having no expression. Your face has two settings: extremely animated or asleep."

"I can be stoic!" Seokmin insisted, attempting to demonstrate with what he hoped was a serious, brooding look.

Y/N burst out laughing. "You look constipated."

"Perfect!" Seokmin declared. "That's exactly the vibe I was going for in this photoshoot. 'Local idol appears constipated next to his gorgeous fake wife.' It'll be revolutionary."

Both makeup artists were now giving them exasperated looks, though Seokmin caught the whisper of "They're so cute together" from one to the other.

If only they knew the truth. Except lately, Seokmin wasn't entirely sure what the truth was anymore.

---

An hour later, they were ushered onto the set where the photographer and creative team waited. The concept, they were told, was "Domestic Bliss"—capturing the sweet, intimate moments of newlywed life.

"We want natural, authentic interactions," the photographer explained. "Forget the cameras are there. Just focus on each other."

Focus on each other. That wouldn't be difficult. Seokmin already found it nearly impossible to focus on anything else when Y/N was in the room.

She looked breathtaking in a simple white dress, her hair styled in soft waves, makeup natural and glowing. Seokmin himself had been dressed in light beige slacks and a blue button-up shirt, sleeves casually rolled to his elbows. They looked like they'd walked straight out of a romance drama.

"The first setup is in the kitchen," the photographer continued, leading them to a beautifully arranged kitchen set. "We're recreating your famous carbonara success."

Seokmin and Y/N exchanged amused looks. Their "famous" carbonara had become something of a running joke between them, with Y/N regularly texting him photos of pasta dishes she encountered with captions like "not as good as ours" or "they clearly didn't respect the egg yolks."

"Remember," the photographer said as they took their positions, "natural and intimate. Like you're cooking together on a lazy Sunday morning."

Natural and intimate. In front of fifteen crew members, three cameras, and the PD watching from the sidelines. TOTALLY NATURAL.

As the first shots began, Seokmin found himself hyper-aware of every movement, every expression. He'd done countless photoshoots before, but never one where he had to pretend to be in love with his co-star. The pressure to appear convincing was overwhelming.

"You're too stiff," the photographer called out after several shots. "Loosen up! You're supposed to be comfortable with each other."

Y/N sidled closer to Seokmin, speaking low enough that only he could hear. "Remember our actual cooking disaster? When you added enough gochujang to burn a hole through the pot?"

Despite his nerves, Seokmin laughed at the memory. "Or when you insisted that 'a pinch of salt' meant literally one pinch for the entire dish?"

"Hey, cooking instructions are unnecessarily vague," Y/N defended herself, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Perfect!" the photographer exclaimed, capturing their genuine moment of laughter. "More like that!"

And just like that, the ice was broken. As they moved through different poses—stirring a pot together, Y/N pretending to feed Seokmin a taste of something, Seokmin playfully dabbing flour on Y/N's nose—the awkwardness gradually faded. They fell into the easy rhythm they'd developed over the past few months, the banter and gentle teasing that had become second nature.

"Now let's move to the living room set," the photographer directed after they'd captured enough kitchen shots.

The living room setup was designed to look cozy and intimate, with a plush sofa, soft blankets, and warm lighting. This, Seokmin realized with a flutter of nerves, was where things would get more physically affectionate.

"For this series, we want to capture those sweet, quiet moments couples share," the photographer explained. "Reading together, cuddling, just being close."

Cuddling. The word sent a jolt through Seokmin's system. They'd maintained a careful physical distance throughout most of their filming, with only occasional hand-holding and the cheek kiss at the wedding. This would be new territory.

"Is that okay?" the photographer asked, seeming to sense their hesitation.

"Of course," Y/N replied smoothly, though Seokmin caught a hint of pink in her cheeks. "We're professionals."

Professionals. Right. This was just work. Not at all an excuse to hold Y/N close without the awkwardness of having to initiate it himself.

They settled on the couch, initially sitting with a respectable few inches between them. The photographer frowned.

"Closer," he directed. "You're supposed to be married, not strangers on a bus."

Y/N scooted closer, until their sides were pressed together. Seokmin could feel the warmth of her through his shirt, could smell her perfume—something light and floral that had become achingly familiar.

"Still too formal," the photographer sighed. "Seokmin, put your arm around her. Y/N, lean into him like he's your favorite pillow."

Oh god. This is fine. This is normal. Just a normal day pretending to cuddle with the woman you're definitely not developing real feelings for. COMPLETELY FINE.

Seokmin carefully placed his arm around Y/N's shoulders, hyperaware of every point of contact between them. She hesitated for just a moment before relaxing against him, her head finding a spot against his shoulder that somehow felt perfectly natural, as if they'd sat this way a hundred times before.

"Much better," the photographer approved. "Now look at each other like you're sharing a secret."

They turned their faces toward each other, and Seokmin's breath caught in his throat. Y/N was so close—close enough that he could see the individual flecks of color in her eyes, the slight imperfections in her makeup that only made her more beautiful. For a moment, he forgot about the cameras, the crew, the pretense of it all.

"Hi," Y/N whispered, a small, almost shy smile playing at her lips.

"Hi," Seokmin whispered back, momentarily lost in the unreality of the moment.

"Perfect!" the photographer exclaimed, the camera clicking rapidly. "That connection! Hold that!"

Connection. Was it still acting when it felt this real?

They moved through several more poses on the couch—Y/N reading a book while Seokmin looked over her shoulder, both of them laughing over something on a prop tablet, Seokmin pretending to play with Y/N's hair while she closed her eyes in contentment. With each setup, the initial awkwardness faded further, replaced by a comfortable intimacy that scared Seokmin with how natural it felt.

"Last set," the photographer announced. "The bedroom."

Seokmin nearly choked on air. "B-bedroom?"

"Nothing inappropriate," the photographer clarified quickly, catching their expressions. "Just morning coffee in bed, maybe looking at a laptop together. Wholesome newlywed stuff."

The bedroom set was tastefully arranged with plush white bedding, soft pillows, and warm lighting. Despite the photographer's assurances, Seokmin felt his heart rate spike at the thought of being in bed—any bed, even a prop one—with Y/N.

"Shoes off," the photographer directed. "And get comfortable against the headboard."

Seokmin slipped off his shoes and cautiously climbed onto the bed, hyperaware of every crease he made in the perfectly arranged comforter. Y/N followed, settling beside him with what appeared to be casual ease, though he noticed her careful maintenance of a few inches of space between them.

"Perfect. Now, Y/N, lean against Seokmin's chest. Seokmin, one arm around her while you both look at this laptop."

This is fine. Just work. Professional actors being professional. The fact that my heart is about to beat out of my chest is completely unrelated to anything happening right now.

Y/N shifted, leaning back against him tentatively. Seokmin wrapped an arm around her waist, trying to appear natural while fighting the urge to either freeze completely still or pull her closer.

"Relax," the photographer called. "You look like you're posing with a mannequin, not your wife."

Y/N turned her head slightly to whisper to him. "Your heart is racing. Are you okay?"

She could feel his heartbeat. Of course she could. She was pressed against his chest.

"Just... warm under these lights," Seokmin lied poorly.

"Mmhmm," Y/N hummed skeptically, but she mercifully didn't push the issue.

Instead, she surprised him by fully relaxing against him, her body softening as she sank more naturally into his embrace. The gesture of trust—even if just for the cameras—made something warm bloom in his chest.

"There we go," the photographer approved. "Now look at something on the laptop together—like you're planning a trip or reminiscing about photos."

They pretended to scroll through vacation destinations, making genuine comments about places they'd each like to visit someday. The conversation flowed easily, almost making Seokmin forget they were being photographed.

"Last few shots," the photographer announced. "Looking at each other, like you've just woken up and you're happy to see each other's faces."

They set the laptop aside and turned toward each other. In this position, lying on their sides facing one another, the intimacy was undeniable. There was nowhere to hide, no way to create distance without being obvious.

Y/N's eyes met his, soft and warm in the golden lighting. She smiled—not her camera smile or her professional smile, but something smaller and more genuine that made Seokmin's chest ache with longing.

"Just like that," the photographer said softly, the camera clicking gently in the background. "Perfect."

For a suspended moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them, looking at each other with an honesty that transcended the artifice of their situation.

Then the photographer called, "That's a wrap!" and reality came rushing back in.

---

Later, as they changed back into their regular clothes and removed the layers of makeup, Seokmin found himself struggling to regain his emotional equilibrium. The shoot had felt too real, too close to the feelings he was desperately trying to keep contained.

"That was... something," Y/N said as they waited for the PD to finish discussing details with the magazine staff.

"Yeah," Seokmin agreed eloquently, still not fully trusting himself to speak normally.

"You were really good," she continued. "Very natural. I almost believed we were actually married at some points."

Seokmin tried to laugh, but it came out slightly strangled. "All those performance classes finally paying off."

Y/N gave him a curious look, something unreadable in her expression. "Right. Performance."

Before she could say more, the PD approached them. "Great work today! The magazine loved the shots. They want one more thing, though—a couple selca taken by you two for their social media."

"We can handle that," Y/N said, pulling out her phone. "We're practically selca experts at this point."

They positioned themselves against a plain wall, Y/N holding the phone out in front of them. Seokmin automatically put his arm around her shoulders, the gesture now familiar after hours of similar poses.

"Smile!" Y/N directed, but just before she took the photo, she turned and pressed a quick, light kiss to Seokmin's cheek.

The resulting photo captured his perfect look of surprised delight, eyes wide and a brilliant smile breaking across his face as Y/N kissed his cheek with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"That'll get the fans talking," she said casually, showing the photo to the PD, who approved enthusiastically.

"Definitely using that one," the PD agreed. "Great initiative!"

As the PD walked away, Seokmin touched his cheek where Y/N had kissed him. "A little warning next time?" he asked, aiming for teasing but landing closer to breathless.

"Where's the fun in that?" Y/N replied with a smile. "Your genuine reactions are always the best."

For the show, Seokmin reminded himself. It was all for the show. The kiss, the closeness, the casual affection—just creating content for the viewers, feeding the narrative of their fake marriage.

So why did it feel so real?

---

That evening, as Seokmin arrived back at the dorm, he found several of his members gathered in the common area, clearly waiting for him.

"How was the couple photoshoot?" Jeonghan asked with a knowing smirk.

"Fine," Seokmin replied, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "Very professional. Normal workday."

"Then why are your ears the color of kimchi?" Seungkwan observed mercilessly.

"It's hot outside," Seokmin protested weakly.

"It's literally raining and 15 degrees," Joshua pointed out.

Seokmin groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "I'm not discussing this."

"Discussing what?" Mingyu asked innocently. "Your completely professional, not-at-all-emotionally-complicated relationship with your fake wife?"

"Exactly that," Seokmin confirmed, throwing an arm over his face. "Nothing to discuss because it's just work."

There was a moment of suspicious silence before his phone buzzed with a notification. Automatically, he pulled it out to check.

It was from Y/N—the selca they'd taken, now posted on the magazine's Instagram account with the caption: "Love is in the air! Exclusive couple photoshoot with #WeGotMarried's favorite newlyweds coming in our next issue! #RelationshipGoals"

The members, who had naturally crowded around to see his phone, erupted in a chorus of teasing sounds.

"Just work, huh?" Hoshi said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"That's called method acting," Seokmin insisted, even as his ears burned hotter. "Creating content for the viewers."

"Method acting usually stops when the cameras turn off," Woozi pointed out unhelpfully. "That kiss looks pretty genuine to me."

"It was for the photo!"

"Keep telling yourself that," Jeonghan said, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "But maybe start thinking about what happens when the show ends."

When the show ends. The thought sent a chill through Seokmin that he wasn't prepared to examine.

Later that night, alone in his room, he found himself staring at the selca again. Y/N looked so natural beside him, so right. The casual affection of her kiss, the genuine surprise and happiness on his face—it didn't look staged or performed. It looked... real.

His phone buzzed with a new message.

Y/N: Magazine editor says we "have amazing chemistry" and wants to feature us in next month's issue too. We must be better actors than we thought.

Actors. Right. That's all this was.

Seokmin: My years of variety show training are finally paying off.

Y/N: The cheek kiss was genius, if I do say so myself. #ContentCreation

Seokmin: Very sneaky. Didn't peg you for the surprise attack type.

Y/N: There's a lot you still don't know about me, fake husband. 😉

That winking emoji would be the death of him.

Seokmin: Looking forward to discovering all your sneaky tactics over the next few episodes.

Y/N: Be prepared. I'm full of surprises.

Seokmin set his phone down, a complicated mix of emotions swirling in his chest. With each episode, each text, each moment spent together, the line between reality and pretend was becoming increasingly blurred. The problem wasn't that he couldn't tell the difference anymore.

The problem was that he didn't want to.

[serenaoffaerun]

I'm making this its own post because I don't want the callouts for using reference material in artwork nonsense on my posts. And I certainly don't want friends dragged into things any more than they already have been.

So I'll just say this on its own in response to a hater post from calla-lilly-flower, whom you should block because they're just a shit-talker:

You know what I find the most funny? You, calla-lilly-flower, seem like EXACTLY the kind of person to make a callout blog. Your arguments are so far out of touch with reality that I truly don't think you realize how childish you sound.

We're going after reference images now?! Then every artist out there is FUCKED. You know who doesn't use references? BAD ARTISTS and 0001% of a talented group. Show me someone today drawing hands or feet and I'll show you someone with a folder on their phone or pc with pictures of hands and feet.

Give me a break.

I have sat and watched Calolily work on many pieces, some practically from start to finish, and they have more talent in one finger than a lot of people will have in their lifetime.

Clearly being an artist (or being a member of what is supposed to be a loving and supportive fan group) is not your calling if you can't grasp some of the basic concepts and shame others for using STANDARD INDUSTRY TOOLS at their disposal. As someone with a background in psychology, I suggest you stop projecting and put your energy into somewhere you can thrive. All this does is ostracize you further, and I'm sure you have skills that could be used as a force for good if you tried.

Let me tell you who IS worth following and supporting:

@calolily

@floweryanarchy

@redmedic

@ayvaines

@lunarwench

There are others, but I just want it made known where I stand and I will support these people with my full chest. They've been nothing but kind and supportive to me and don't have anything to prove to ANYONE. Just fellow goobers out there creating the art and stories they want to see in the world. You'd be blessed to know them and their content.

[lordfreg]

The art is arguably the best thing about the show; the extremely detailed backgrounds make it a visual marvel, especially in the movie. Every character design and species choice feels intentional and like they had everything planned out. Every intricate detail with the kraangs mech suit all working in sync made me absolutely beam at the robot designs (and wonder what Professor Honeycutt would look like). Along with the massive lore drops in the background, making it reachable over and over, studying every tiny detail and reference. The way the city is so vibrant and full of people and life (especially at night) is so refreshing since most of the time, the TMNT New York barely has more than a few people at a time, so seeing a city be, well, a city is amazing.

Just a few examples of the beautiful artistry in this show.

(Thank you @randomrottmntscreenshots for the pics)

The writing is another good thing about it, because it's stupid but not pointless like so many other shows do nowadays. Every line has context and a deeper meaning and fleshes out that character (intentionally or not) and gives a sense of a family growing closer together and genuinely working to grow closer. The only criticism I really have is that there's just not enough time in a 15-minute episode to really get into the gritty bits and just not enough time cut between entertainment and story to flourish a naturally growing relationship. But I absolutely give props to the writers for doing the absolute MOST with the limited time and money that they had. Also, the artists again for the amazing character/world designs.

The story is also to die for, adding so much mystery and making the world/universe feel so BIG. When I was watch the 2012 TMNT, we literally went to space and had the world explode, but it didn't feel like the universe was all that big (probably due to bad set up/framing) but with Rise, it's set up in such a way that you KNOW just how HUGE this multiverse is. The massive skeleton in the prison dimension and the mere size of the kraangs tech (compared to the size of the trisaradons) implies that there's obviously a planet huge enough to home them, but there's obviously big enough to kill them (kraang or not is still unclear). It also has elements of magic, which I absolutely love. It gives more mystery and power to the whole series, making it feel far more

The character development is also amazing. Each character having a flaw and overcoming it (or not) makes me so happy. Seeing Raph give Leon the leader position made me feel something, especially since Raph immediately becomes more playful and relaxed once he realizes that Leo has got it, which made me relate to his character so much more. Also, shout out to April for actually pursuing journalism instead of being a reporter or A Teammate™️ to the turtles. The dynamic between the brothers and their friends are absolutely amazing. Though they may be rough, they are realistic. The personalities match up with their species choices, and it leaves the story and world open to the fans and I thinks that's why we have such a big fandom and such a strong community.

And that's it for now sorry I'm so tired 😮‍💨

I asked this on my Posts Tab, but I wanted to ask it here too...

Tell me, why do you like Rise? What does this show mean to you?

And, ultimately, why should we fight to save Rise of the TMNT?

❤️🧡💜💙

[chaoticdreamersthings]

Summervibes

WARNING explicit RPF CONTENT! Read at your own risk, mdni

Pairing: Joost x reader

description: You and Joost meet at the festival and decide to spend the evening and the night together.

warning: smut, 18+, unprotected piv, fingering

Word count: 6,5 k

author's note: my baby is yours... english is not my first language so i apologize if there are any grammatical errors.

You sit on the grass dry from the burning sun, with three of your friends. The music in the background is tempting you to rejoin the crowd in front of the stage, but you need a break after the last concert. The heat is suffocating, and realistically, you should probably be hydrating with water instead of sipping beer - but who cares? You’re at a festival.

“We are going to be so hungover tomorrow” you say, finishing the beer and lazily crushing the plastic cup between your hands. “Not saying that it wasn’t worth it, though” 

You’ve always loved the festival season for the beautiful chaos it brings. Dancing barefoot, drinking until sunset changes into night, and forming instant bonds with strangers who feel like lifelong friends. it was a chance to release all the anxiety and just be happy, without all the worries connected to work and day-to-day life. For once you can just be messy and happy. 

“So, what is the next concert on our schedule?” Your friend asks, wiping away the sweat from her forehead. 

You take a look on a schedule you created months ago on your phone to know which stage you should go to. 

“It’s Yeat” you say, frowning as you squint at your phone screen. “Do we even listen to Yeat?” You shake your head. You can’t remember even one song of his.

Your friends laugh.

“No, but isn’t it the point of a festival? Getting to know new artists?” One of them says.

“You’re right” you reply with a smirk. „we can go, but I think we have to make a stop for water on our way. This heat is killing me.” 

“I think you meant beer.” She corrects.

And they are right - the line for water is so long that you decide to just go with another beer. Hydration can wait.

Even though the stages aren’t far from each other, the heat outside makes anything feel much more exhausting, and a short walk feels like it takes forever. You know you should be drinking water instead of beer, but the vibe of being just a little drunk at the festival is not incomparable. 

When you finally reach the stage, it is finally getting dark and a little colder, which was very needed after the heat of the day. You’re pretty sure your forehead is already sunburned - you can feel it every time you touch it - but that’s a problem for tomorrow. For now, the alcohol is your painkiller.

You glance around the crowd and can’t help but notice - most of them are young men. Everywhere you look it’s tank tops and backward caps. 

“This is better than Tinder” you joke, raising your eyebrows at your friends. It might just be the alcohol talking, but you’re more than open to the idea of a little festival romance. You’ve never done that before, and something about this chaotic day makes it feel like a perfect time.

As the concert starts you come to the realization that maybe being in a group of men wasn’t the ideal setup. The number of shirtless sweaty boys is a little overwhelming, and the empty cups after beer are constantly being thrown in the air. 

Then, without warning, you’re dragged into a mosh pit.

To your surprise - you are actually enjoying it. Jumping around, bumping into people, screaming random words, even though you don’t even know the song, but it doesn’t matter. Your mind is blissfully blank, letting the music carry you wherever it wants.

Until someone crashes into you hard.

It’s a heavy hit from someone who is definitely taller. No one notices. The crowd keeps dancing, shouting. Panic tightens your chest. Your heart is pounding with sudden fear that someone’s going to crush your hand or step on your ribs. Before you can figure out how to get up, you notice someone reaching out a hand to you.

You look up and notice a guy shouting something, but you can’t hear him. You grab his hand and let him pull you to his feet. He leans in, trying to say something again:

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to knock you” he says, a little breathless.

You shake your head, laughing softly as you brush the sand and dirt from your skirt. “Don’t worry about it.” You say.

You glance up at him, and notice he is actually… kind of cute. Blonde hair, bleached and a little messy, an honest smile. And those eyes - crystal blue, like a clear sky on a summer day. There’s something familiar about him, like you’ve seen his face before. He’s tall - no wonder he managed to completely knock you over. 

He’s still standing there, his eyes locked on you. Maybe he’s just checking to make sure you’re okay. Or maybe he’s looking for a reason to stay. 

Your brain searches for something - anything - to say. Something to keep this moment from drifting away. 

“You will buy me a beer and we’ll be even” you say, your lips curling into a smile.

He returns the smile - he definitely likes the idea. You can see it in his eyes. He’d knock you over again if it meant getting to buy you that beer.

“All right, we have a deal then! But let’s stay here until the end of this set? As you could see, I was really enjoying myself. Maybe a little too much” he adds with a chuckle.

You nod in agreement, but your thoughts are drifting almost immediately. You spend the rest of the concert trying to focus on the music and the artist on the stage, but your attention keeps sliding toward the boy next to you. He seems so effortlessly cool, and you want to watch him vibing to the music, swaying gently. There’s something magnetic about him. You want to watch him but you don’t want to seem like a creep, so you dance a little, trying to look as casual as possible, even though your thoughts are far from calm.

But he wants to keep his promise - you can see it. He could easily disappear in the crowd, dive back into the mosh pit, But he doesn’t. He lingers by your side, like he’s afraid if he lets you out of sight now, the moment might slip away for good.

“So… i didn’t catch your name” he says, just as the music dies down.

“Y/N” you answer, glancing up at him  “And you are…?” 

He is so tall he has to lean down to speak into your ear.

“Joost. So, want to go get that beer?” 

“Yeah um… just let me find my friends first. Are you alone here?” 

Your eyes scan the crowd. In the low light, it’s impossible to tell one person from another. You already know it’s going to be nearly impossible to find them now, but you try anyway -half hoping they’re nearby, half hoping they’re not. 

“Yeah. I usually go to concerts alone,” he says with a shrug. „There’s always a good chance I’ll meet someone new. Like you.” 

You keep looking around - your friends couldn’t find a worse moment to vanish. You give it a minute or two, then reach for your phone. The signal is almost nonexistent, but you send a message anyway.

“We can catch them later - unless you’re afraid of hanging out with just me.” He says, looking around.

You feel his hand gently press against your back. It’s barely a touch, but it shoots a chill through your spine. 

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol rushing through your veins, or the fact that it’s been ages since someone new made you feel this kind of way. Or maybe it’s just the magic of the festival: the lights, the music, the breeze of the night. There’s something about this guy you’re drawn to. His presence is exciting, yet somehow comforting all at once. You could follow him through a crowd of strangers and somehow still feel grounded.

You send off a quick message to your friends to check where they went and the reply makes you smile - “Go enjoy your moment with the tall, hot guy! We’ll catch you later… or tomorrow!”. It’s exactly the push you didn’t know you needed, and now you feel more than encouraged to see where this goes. You already know tomorrow they’ll be dying to hear every detail.

You join Joost in the line for a beer. 

“So, any particular shows you want to see?” he says, leaning slightly toward you.

“Mmm… i want to see Lady Gaga, but there’s still some time left, so we can go anywhere” 

It’s not exactly the truth. You had a whole schedule planned, but none of that matters anymore, as you prefer to spend more time with him. 

You take your beers and, not long after, you find yourselves at one of the DJ sets of the night. With the next beer you feel the alcohol buzzing more deeply through your system. You exchange a few playful sentences, and then - without a word - he takes your hand and you start dancing together. He makes you feel completely at ease. That wide grin on your face is not leaving, even for a second. 

“You’re a good dancer” you shout to him, but you’re pretty sure he doesn’t catch a single word.

He steps in closer, the kind of closeness that feels intentional - too close for just conversation. His fingers wrap gently around your waist, and he leans in until his lips are almost brushing your ear. 

“Sorry, what? I didn’t hear you.” 

You don’t know if he really missed what you said, or if he’s just using the noise as an excuse. Either way, you’re not complaining. 

He’s dangerously close now, you feel his breath against your skin, it tickles your cheek. The scent of cigarettes mixed with something clean and alluring - probably cologne - wraps around you. It’s intoxicating in the best possible way. Your fingers drift to the back of his neck, and bring him just a bit closer, closing the last bit of space and whisper into his ear:

“You’re a good dancer.”

He pulls back just enough to catch your eyes, before leaning in again, close enough that you can feel his warm breath.

"Of course. I’m a musician” he says, his voice low and confident. 

“Oh, really?” You say, intrigued. "You’ll have to play me some of your music.” 

He looks at you for a moment longer, and his other hand slides gently to your hip, drawing you even closer. For a moment everything spins - the music, the lights, the crowd. Your heart pounds against your ribs at the warmth of his body close to yours.

“I can show you later.” He says, his gaze is fixed on your face, drifting from your eyes to your lips. You nod silently. 

The meaning is clear - you are not just agreeing to hear a song.

A smile spreads across his face, as he takes in your reply. Your silent answer has been received loud and clear - and the energy between you shifts, charged with unspoken possibilities. Whatever the night brings, you’re ready for it.

You continue dancing together like the music was written just for this moment, and he keeps getting closer, his movements growing bolder with every beat. The music in your ears is deafening, the crowd around you seems to disappear, when his hand finds the curve of your lower back pulling you into him. 

The beat drops and everyone around you is having the time of their lives - but your world is narrowed to the space between your lips and his. You can feel his breath against your mouth. You lick your lips, the anticipation is almost too much to bear. You barely notice the fireworks on stage, or the artist screaming into the mic. All that matters is when his lips finally meet yours, right there in the middle of the crowd. He kisses you with urgency - like he’s been waiting all night. One hand slides to your cheek, then up into your hair. The other one is still on your lower back. Your hands wrap around his back as you part your lips, letting his tongue meet yours.

He’d probably want more - somewhere quieter. But right now, this moment is everything. The fireworks over your heads, the crowd, the music - this is the kind of scene you only see in the romantic movies. This is more than enough.

At least for now.

He deepens the kiss and you feel his hand slide down to your ass and giving it a small squeeze. When the two of you finally part, it’s only to meet each other’s eyes. You’re both breathless and smiling. You chuckle, biting your lip, a little overwhelmed by what just happened, but he doesn’t say anything. His hand remains on your face, his thumb brushing slowly your cheekbone in a gentle gesture.

“What a great kisser you are. Wish I could do a lot more than just that” he finally says.

„Then do it.” 

“I will. If you let me” he grins. 

You smile, fingers brushing as you take his hand. You have to move to another stage, but you feel so torn between enjoying the concerts you came to see and just spending time goofing around, flirting and kissing with him. You can’t miss Lady Gaga, but after that kiss the idea of waiting for the next step feels almost unbearable. You want more - and you feel it in every inch of your body.

Just walking from stage to stage becomes a challenge. You pause every few minutes to steal another kiss or to share a spontaneous laugh. It feels as you’ve known each other for years, but in the back of your mind you know that tomorrow - when the alcohol was worn off and reality settles back in - you’ll return to your usual, more reserved self. 

As you make your way from one stage to the next, you pass a cotton candy stand, and the scent of sugar hits you with a rush of nostalgia, you haven’t had cotton candy since you were a kid. You decide to share one. The sweetness of the sugar only adds to already intoxicating atmosphere, the kisses are becoming even more delicious. You laugh when some of the cotton candy sticks to your nose, and he’s quick to lean in and kiss it off. 

You make it to the crowd for the Lady Gaga concert right before it starts. Through the show, he never let’s you forget he’s there - his arms occasionally wrap around you from behind, or he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He sings along with you to some of the choruses, and even though you are a little upset that you didn’t get to experience it with your friends, you are more than happy to have him by your side. 

The concert is a spectacular show - lights, choreography, incredible vocals. The two of you chat about it on your way to the taxi area, sharing your favorite moments and talking about what you want to see in the next days of the festival. Before you reach the parking lot, you stop for one last beer, which you drink almost all at once. You’ve probably had more beer today than in the whole past year. At this point, it feels like beer might actually be flowing through your veins.

When you get to the taxi area, there’s no need for discussion. The decision has already been made in the subtle way that the night unfolded. You just end up in a backseat of one of the cars, side by side.

The car starts, and you lean back against the seat, your head sinking into the headrest. The leather is cool against your skin, a nice contrast to the lingering warmth of the night. You turn a glance at Joost again. After an entire day spent in the sun and dirt, and after countless beers, he still looks ridiculously good.

“Tired?” He asked, with a lazy smile.

“A little.” You say, though it’s more than a little. You’re absolutely exhausted. Every inch of your body aches from the dancing, walking and from that damn sun. But none of this matters. Sleep can wait, but this moment can’t. What if you never see each other again? 

He rests his head beside yours.

“You know…” he says softly, his hand brushing along your thigh. „The traffic is insane. It’s going to take forever to get there.” 

“I know” you say, turning your head to look at him with a small pout. You wish you could be alone with this man, but the presence of the driver is impossible to ignore - especially with his occasional coughs from the front sit. 

You feel his lips almost brush your ear when he whispers: 

“I don’t want to wait…” 

A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers curl more firmly around your thigh. You shift just enough to meet your eyes. He’s so close, noses nearly touching, breath shared in the quiet car. Your heart begins to beat faster.

You’ve kissed him more times that you can count tonight, but this one feels different. - Maybe it’s the enclosed intimacy of the backseat, or maybe the quiet certainty that this is only the beginning.

His other hand finds the back of your neck, fingers touching your hair, and he pulls you toward him, and your lips meet again. He tastes like beer and cigarettes, but it doesn’t matter - you probably do too. What matters is the hunger in his kiss. Each one more desperate than the last, each time he presses closer, deepening it. It feels addictive.  

His hand tightens at the back of your neck, pulling you closer, like even skin to skin isn’t close enough. Like he’s not just kissing you - he’s claiming the moment and you with it.

You feel his hand moving up your thigh and a familiar sensation stirs in your stomach. You wanted it just as much as he did. And you definitely didn’t want to wait either. His lips trail toward your ear, and you almost close your eyes from how good it feels. You’d give him everything he asked for - everything - if you were somewhere else - but when his hand reaches for the button of your skirt, you shake your head, bringing yourself back to reality.

“Not here” you say, your voice low but firm. 

As your eyes flick to the rearview mirror, you meet the driver’s gaze. He looks away quickly, but your cheeks flush red - you’re almost certain he knows exactly what was about to happen. Maybe he’s seen it all before - drunken hookups, bold couples, wild nights - but still the idea of being the girl fucking in the car makes you feel deeply embarrassed. 

Joost pauses and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You can feel how much he wants more - how easily he’d ignore the driver if it was up to him - but he respects your boundaries. His hand shifts from the back of your neck to wrap warmly around your waist.

The traffic is unbearable, making you wish you could just get out and walk to the apartment. You told him to wait  but every inch of you aches for the same craving he has. And you aren’t sure how long you could hold back. 

You lift his hand to your lips and press a kiss to it, eyes closing. Your lips trace gently over the lines of his tattoos. God, what those fingers could do…

“Y/N” he says, nudging you slightly - pulling you from the mess of your thoughts.

“Hmm… sorry what?” You are a little embarrassed, that just thinking about his fingers got you completely lost in thoughts.

“Don’t fall asleep.” He says, a little concerned.

“I’m not.” You quickly reply.

And you aren’t - not even close. The car is barely moving and it’s getting harder to stay calm. You could already be at the apartment by now, your mouths meeting again, your hands exploring, making the most of the night instead of wasting time in the back of a slow cab.

"How much longer is this gonna take?” Joost asks. The impatience in his voice is obvious.

“Like… twenty, maybe thirty minutes” the driver replies.

You let out an annoyed groan and glance over at him. There’s no way you’re waiting that long. 

“is your apartment in the New York City or what?”

He laughs. 

“It’s way too far from the festival for what I paid for it.” 

You try to keep yourself composed, and not even look at him, afraid of falling for that flirtatious stare. But the second you feel his lips near your ear, you know you are done waiting. Home or not, you are going to let this guy touch you wherever he pleases. 

He whispers that he can’t wait to be alone with you, and you feel your breath speed up. You turn to him, your mouth finding his in another kiss - slow at first, then hungry. Your hands slide across his back as his fingers press into your hip, pulling toward him until the seat touches your body beneath his weight. 

He breaks the kiss only to brush your hair from your face, his eyes burning through the low light. Then he brings a finger to his lips, letting you know to be quiet. You bite your own lip in response as his hand trails up your thigh, heat blooming through your body. 

You know you shouldn’t let it happen - not here, with the driver so close. But after tonight, the idea of holding back feels impossible. And more than anything, you don’t want to say no.

And yet… you don’t care.

You don’t care if the driver hears it, or sees it. You don’t care if someone catches you - the desire for him is too strong. All logical thoughts disappear with his touch. With each soft stroke of his fingers on your skin, the hesitation falls away.

He’s so close now. Close enough to touch you in ways you’ve been imagining since the moment your eyes met.

You feel his hand sliding a little higher up your thigh again, his fingertips gently exploring the soft skin there.

“Can I?” He finally whispers, right into your mouth.

You nod, as your breath is becoming quicker. His touch finds you, soft and deliberate through the fabric of your panties. You’re suddenly grateful you chose a skirt instead of shorts - this would be a lot harder to manage in the backseat otherwise.

He presses his fingers your crotch, and a soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to control yourself if he keeps going. 

As if he can hear your thoughts, he moves his hand to your mouth, gently placing his fingers there. He shakes his head slightly, silently telling you to keep quiet. 

And though you’re almost certain he’d love to hear every sound he pulls from you, that part of the night can wait - just a little longer.

His fingers trace slow, deliberate lines over the fabric of your panties, and you try to control your breathing as each movement is stoking the fire already burning in you. Oh, he will be the death of you. He smiles, looking at you - he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Your pupils go wider and wider with the lust for him growing stronger with each touch. 

You take a glance at the driver to check if he’s aware of what’s happening in the back of his car. You’re sure he’s seen worse, but you are still not convinced that being fucked in front of a stranger is the kind of memory you want - especially once the beer wears off.

“He can’t see that…” Joost whispers right into your ear. „And even if he can, so what? Just enjoy the ride, baby.”

You look at him, the weight of his body is on you, you are completely at his mercy now. You feel him pulling your panties to the side, and you know you’re lost in the moment - you’re too drawn to him to say no. The sweet touch of his soft fingers, going up your slit, moving the soft fabric of the underwear to the side. You find yourself lost in the sensation, trying to stay grounded, not wanting to rush it, yet craving more with every passing second.

“Did the thought of being caught make you this wet?” He whispers softly, his breath brushing against your ear. The heat in your cheeks rises, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s the risk or just the connection between you that makes everything feel so intense. He collects the slick, and moves the fingers up, drawing small circles on your clit. You feel your pulse quicken, heart racing and you would have let out your first moan, if it weren’t for the hand over your mouth.

He pulls his face away a little to look at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he watches  your every reaction. He knows he can’t let you make a sound, he instead focuses on the way your eyes roll back, clouded with pleasure. Just as he’s about to slide a finger inside, the car makes a sharp turn and comes to a sudden stop in front of a white building.

“We’re here” you hear the driver’s voice, flat and emotionless. It’s hard to tell if he was aware of what was happening in the backseat - maybe he just assumed you were kissing. 

Joost pays the driver, and you quickly fix your hair before exiting the car. You feel the pulsing between your legs, but you do your best to remain composed, though it’s hard to hide your rapid breathing, and your flushed cheeks from mix of desire and embarrassment. You catch the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror once more, and you are almost certain he knew. What happened in the backseat wasn’t exactly subtle, but somehow, it felt like he didn’t care.

You close the door behind you and let Joost guide you to the appartment. The sun is slowly rising, which means the ride must have taken longer than you’d expected, but you’re relieved to finally be at his place. 

Well, almost at his place. Before you get there, you feel him press you against the wall. He couldn’t wait for it either. 

“Where did I stop, hm?” His tone his playful and low, as he places one hand above your head and the other between your legs. „Oh right.” 

You feel him play with your panties a little bit, before he slides one finger inside you, and moves it inside and out, first slowly, then speeding up a little.

“Joost…” you breath out, feeling the pleasure building up in your lower belly. It feels like everything fades away, leaving only the intensity of his gaze and the rhythm of his fingers moving in and out of you. You moan his name, as he adds another finger,.but before you can let yourself adjust to his pace, he pulls them out and looks straight in your eyes, as he licks them, closing his eyes as if it was the sweetest thing.

You clench around nothing, and feel your knees weak from desire. He finally takes out the keys to the apartment. You hold on to the wall behind you, rubbing your legs together to feel some friction as his fingers disappeared at the worst possible time. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, louder than the sound of the key turning in the lock.

He opens the door and steps aside, but you don’t need an invitation. As soon as the door closes, there’s no coming back. The moment you’re inside you’re on him, pulling him into a desperate kiss. You pull his shirt up, and help him take it off. 

“Come on.” You say, your voice low and eager.  “Take me to bed.”

He smiles, pleased at how horny he’s made you.

“Your wish is my command.” He says with a smirk, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. He sits on the bed, pulling you gently onto his lap. His hand reaches under your skirt, pulling the delicate material of the panties down. He has no intention of wasting any more time either. The tension between you is building with every touch. 

“Let’s get rid of those.” He murmurs. 

The panties land on the floor, and he lifts your skirt higher to have better access to your crotch. His fingers go back to their place, and you allow yourself to open your legs a little more, making him give you a bold smile - oh he’s so proud of how needy he made you. The sensation of his fingers thrusting inside you sends you into madness, your breath is quickening with the realization that you are getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

You lick your lips as he gently guides you to sit on top of him, your legs fall to either side of his, your body hovering over his, his face inches away from yours. His fingers move quickly in and out of you. Every thrust is sending jolts of electricity through you. Your head involuntarily tilts back in pleasure, giving him more access to your neck. He licks a long stripe from your collarbone to your chin. 

You moan loudly as he adds another finger, stretching you out, and making you arch, trying to maximize the pleasure. He’s hitting all the right spots, making your body feel like it’s on fire. Just when you think it can’t get any better, his thumb goes to your clit, sending another shiver down your spine. You feel the orgasm coming, and he reaches out to grip your arm, helping you stay steady. You’re losing your mind, completely surrendering to him as he drives you to the edge. Your body is shaking with pleasure, your mind is completely empty, there’s only this intense wave of fulfillment while his strong hand holds  you in place. He lets you ride your high and you lose count of how many times you cry out his name, your fingers digging into his arm with each movement of his fingers.

“Oh God…” you moan, your hands balling into fists as you struggle to come back to your senses.

“You think I’m done with you?” He whispers, his lips brushing your ear. The confidence in his voice is unmistakeable - this man knows what he’s doing.

You know it - he’s far from done. And you are more than ready for more.

He takes off your t-shirt, and your bra effortlessly, his lips never leaving yours. Your fingers trace the lines of his tattoos. He’s even more stunning than you had imagined, just the sight of him leaves you breathless.

He shifts your position, your back now pressed against the mattress, as he leans over you, one hand resting on your inner thigh. You reach up to gently cup his cheek. The heat between you is undeniable, but in that moment, you take a pause to admire him. His light blue eyes lock with yours, burning with intensity, his cheeks flush red, his hair is messy and you realize with a hint of amusement that you’ve been pulling on them when you were riding your high. Everything about him seems to be just perfect.

You’ve only just met, yet everything between you feels like it has been unfolding for years, like you’re not strangers but two lovers who’ve known each other’s bodies perfectly. As he leans in, his lips are hovering just above yours, he kisses you slow and deep, adding to the electric connection between the two of you. 

He positions himself between your legs. He unbuckles his belt and takes of his pants, never taking his eyes off your face. He slides down his boxers in a swift motion. You can’t help but admire how stunning he looks in the soft glow of the sunlight. He slides your skirt down your legs and admires how good you look at his bed, completely naked and ready for him. Your eyes are fixed on his bdy, your hair spread across the pillow, with soft rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds, softly illuminating your body. He thinks you look absolutely stunning, and he wants nothing more than to be inside you, kiss you, and hold you - even if it’s just this one night, though he would gladly do it every night if he could. The sight before him is captivating - your beautiful body, fully exposed for him. He wishes he could hold on to this moment forever.

You feel him slowly sliding inside of you, as you close your eyes and breathe out. He is is big and you need a moment to adjust to his size. He knows it, and he is as gentle as possible despite the great desire you feel for each other. You lift up your hips a little to help him reach deeper. His hands rest on your hips as you feel him fill you deeper and deeper with every move.

You feel his grip on your hips tighten, as he speeds up the pace. He gently lifts your leg, placing it on his shoulder, and presses a soft kiss to your calf. You can’t keep your eyes off him, mesmerized with the way he looks, the way his muscles flex, the way the drops of sweat are shining on his forehead, the way he exhales slowly, eyes closing as he loses himself in the moment.

You take one of his hands from your hip and place it on one of your tits, and he starts circling his thumb against your nipple, and then pulling and twisting it, making you lick and bite your lips completely lost in the moment. You close your eyes again, and feel his hand moving from your tits to your neck and giving it a squeeze.

“Hey. Look at me.” He says. He wants you to remember - remember that it’s HIM doing all that to you.

You slowly open your eyes again and look at him, as he is thrusting deep inside of you, reaching the depths you didn’t even know existed. His other hand moves from your calf to your clit, but before he even starts drawing circles again, he says:

„Wait… Turn around.” 

He helps you to flip over. You arch your back exposing your entrance for him again and he slides in once again and returns to previous pace. The sound of skin hitting is filling out the room now, as he takes a firm grip on your hips. You bury your face in the pillow, arching your back as much as possible to let him reach the deepest parts of you. Your face doesn’t stay on the pillow for too long, as you feel him taking a handful of your hair and pull it back, forcing you to get on all fours. You feel him pick up the pace, tugging your hair, making you moan again and again and repeating his name, while single teardrops run down your cheeks. You enjoyed it to no end, and the grip he had on your hair is just a sign of how much he is enjoying himself.

You feel his hand reaching to your clit again, tapping his finger on it, and then absolutely abusing your sweet spot, not wasting time for gentle touches and calm movements. It makes your legs shake, your moans getting louder, you completely lose the control of the sounds coming from your mouth. He loves to hear it. Its’s all him - he makes you lose your mind, he makes you scream and squirm below him. Your desperate screams while you’re having the most intense orgasm you could imagine fill out the room. Your face hits the pillow again, as you close your eyes enjoying the high that he brought you to. 

Your moans and cries only drive him to the edge, he is now pounding into you, throwing his head back, his hands back on your hips. If you looked at him, you’d see the veins in his neck popping out, his mouth open, and quiet „Fucks” coming out of his mouth. 

He finishes deep inside of you while holding your hips so tightly you’re sure his hands will leave bruises. But you don’t mind, he drove you to the edge, he made you scream louder than ever, and you are sure that the first thing you will do after waking up, will be to repeat this. There was something mesmerizing about the way you communicated without words, how effortlessly your bodies seemed to align.

He lies down right next to you, his chest rising and falling with the heavy breaths he takes,. He’s wiping the sweat from his forehead. You want to say something, but you’re still trying to catch your breath, so you need a minute to come back to your senses. 

“That was…” you try to find the right words, but the only thing you can do is shake your head, overwhelmed of what just happened. Nothing you could say would ever explain the way he completely surpassed everything you had imagine.

“Yeah” he whispers, his voice barely a breath.

You feel the urge to wrap your hands around him, but the heat is suffocating, and the only thing you truly crave now is a cold glass of water.

“Tired?” He asks softly, his fingers searching for yours. He already knows the answer but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yeah. You had me out of breath” you laugh softly.

He stands up, and you can’t help but admire how incredible he looks: naked, his body covered in tattoos, the sunlight casting a soft glow on his skin. And that look of pride on his face. You wish you could look at him every day, especially when he’s like this.

He goes to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water, which you drink down quickly. He smiles, pulling you into his arms.

“Let’s get some sleep. You have to be ready for the next day of the festival.” 

“Are you going to spend it with me too?”  You ask, your voice hopeful.

"Of course. And the night after too. At least, I hope so.”

You can’t help but smile at his words. None of this unfolded how you expected. You thought it would just be a reckless one-night stand in the backseat, something you’d leave behind without looking back. But his arms felt so welcoming, his lips on your skin so comforting, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling asleep beside him and waking up to the smell of coffee he’d made. 

Festivals always made you wish time would stop - but this year you had a whole new reason for that wish.