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ravens-bird · 3 months ago

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Yours to Keep - Sylus.

Pairing: Sylus x F!Reader.

Tags: Boyfriend Sylus, fluff, smut, kissing, fingering. this was supposed to be like soft sex (and it is) but I almost got carried away. Blame the man not me. Not Beta'd we die like Caleb. MDNI‼️

Nicknames used: Sweetie, Kitten, Sweetheart.

Note: Based on the prompt "Making love, except it’s on the bedroom floor" (link)

wc: 3.6k.

Sylus had long since stopped being surprised by your tendency to do random things on a whim. By now, he knew better than anyone to not question the little things that you did just because they felt right.

Like when you decide that having a whole block of cheese as a midnight snack was completely normal, or when you apply random products and make questionable concoctions in the name of skincare and then drag him into it while calling it a ‘spa day’.

Sure, watching you Do Your Thing was quite amusing to him, but sometimes he wished he could take a look inside your head and Understand.

Case in point, he wasn’t sure why you were sprawled out on the plush carpet beside the bed, akin to a cat that curled up and napped anywhere it deemed a worthy spot. His red eyes flicker with quiet amusement as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching you.

“You do know we have a bed and a desk in this room right, Sweetie?”

You don’t bother looking up, shrugging in response as you spread out your haul from the gift shop — a thick leather-bound scrapbook, three different types of decorative tape, a set of colourful markers — and Sylus stopped counting.

His eyes furrow. “What are you doing?”

You finally glance up at him, blinking at him as if he was being silly. “Scrapbooking? Duh.”

His lips twitch at the corners, though the sigh he lets out is equal parts amused and exasperated.

“I can see that,” his tone is dry. He straightens up, pushing off the doorframe as he saunters towards you, a little curious. When you pat the space next to you, urging him to join you, he doesn’t hesitate.

He lowers himself onto the floor beside you, stretching his long legs out in front of him as he leans his back against the bedframe, taking in the mess— ahem, the arrangement of art supplies. The carpet is warm, and the faint evening light streaming in through the window paints the room a warm gold.

You scoot closer to him, nudging the scrapbook towards him. “Wanna help?”

He hums in thought, reaching for one of the photos from the pile you'd set aside — probably to include in the scrapbook, he assumed.

It was from one of your first public dates together, taken at Café Destiny — with you striking a peace sign, half out of the frame, while the camera had caught him mid-sip, eyes on you instead of his drink.

He smiles, picking up another one.

This one was from the new year celebration, taken by the twins — you were beaming, while Mephisto perched on your hand, with a tiny white ruff around his neck — an imitation of the Grumpy Crow plushie, looking thoroughly affronted and a touch betrayed, with his head turned towards Sylus who was standing out of frame.

Sylus hummed in amusement, flipping through a few more photos. His sharp eyes softened as he took in the little snapshots of your time together — laughing over coffee, wandering through night markets, you dozing off on his shoulder in the back of a car after an auction. Most were candids.

He briefly ponders how much you might have bribed Luke and Keiran for these.

“You’re really into this, huh?” His voice is softer now, more curious than teasing.

You smile, turning back to the task at hand. “Of course. It’s our memories.”

There’s a warmth spreading through him that he doesn’t quite know how to react to. So instead of trying, he just picks up the Polaroid camera beside him, aims it at you, and snaps a picture.

The flash makes you startle. “Hey!”

His crimson eyes gleam with mirth as he shakes the developing photo in front of you like one would dangle a feather-toy in front of a curious cat.

Once it clears, he holds it up for the both of you to see. For a quick picture, it had come out rather well, but it looked a little silly - because he had snapped it right as you closed your eyes.

Your pout lasts all of three seconds before you’re giggling, reaching for the camera yourself. Sylus doesn’t resist when you take it from him, instead hooking an arm around your middle and pulling you to him.

You squeak at the sudden movement, instinctively grabbing onto his arms as he settles you into his lap with ease, resting his chin on your shoulder as he keeps a lazy hold on your waist. Trying to ignore the way your heart flutters, you lift the camera, angling it so both of you fit in the frame. “Alright, smile.”

Sylus huffs but obliges, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

You press the button, the camera clicks, and as the photo develops, you glance down at it with satisfaction.

“See?” you say, turning the picture toward him. “We look cute.”

You glance up at him, still in his arms, expecting him to study the image but instead he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You let out a small, surprised noise before melting into it, reaching up to touch his cheek softly.

When he pulls back, your smile is dazzling.

Sylus has always wondered how it would feel like for his heart to race — either out of fear or excitement. Lately, he’s been experiencing it often, thanks to you — though, oddly enough, it seemed to be due to a secret third thing.

Which was not much of a secret, anyway.

Everyone around him — at least, those he considered relevant — knew he was smitten with you. But still. His chest feels full.

So full that, when you giggle again, he doesn’t think — just shifts the scrapbook and the photos aside, guiding you gently down onto the carpet with him as the camera slides out of your grip, falling into the carpet with a muffled thud.

You let out a small gasp, eyes wide, as he flops you down, one arm bracing the back of your head as he mindlessly shoves the camera aside.

His name barely leaves your mouth before he’s pressing his lips to yours, fingers grazing your waist with his free hand. He kisses you slowly, deeply, and you lose yourself in his kiss, his touch, the scent and feel of him, that you forget entirely about what you were doing.

He pulls back a little and your breath is shaky as he nips at your bottom lip, before he swipes his tongue over it, soothing the sting. His hand slides up, cradling your jaw with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter. His thumb traces just below your eye, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of you.

His face is so unguarded, so open, that words fail you.

Sylus despised vulnerability.

The mere thought of giving someone that kind of power over him had always been unbearable. Not that it was a common occurrence or anything — but with you, it was different. You made it feel less like a weakness and more like something he could surrender to — something safe.

He may not always find the right words to tell you how he feels, but in moments like this, his touch speaks for him.

Desire sings in his veins as you tug lightly on his collar, kissing him again. When his tongue teases the seam of your lips again, you open your mouth, and the noise of satisfaction that escapes your lips has his ego soaring.

He was determined to drag out more such sounds from you.

He goes easily when you flip him over, relaxing under you as you straddle his waist, feeling the press of his hardening erection against your heat. He watches you with a quiet intensity as you settle yourself over him, taking the lead, and his sharp intake of breath when you roll your hips gives you immense satisfaction.

His hands trail up your thighs to rest on your hips. “I’d rather take the initiative,” he speaks, red eyes sparking. “But I must admit. It is quite nice seeing you on top like this sometimes, kitten.”

You roll your eyes playfully, tipping forward to kiss again. He sighs against your lips, squeezing your side in response, before his fingers begin fidgeting with the material of your shirt.

You splay your palm against his chest, right above his heart, while resting the other on his shoulder, letting him hold you up and his hand sneaks beneath your clothes, caressing the skin underneath.

Before long, he starts moving his hips too, jerking upward to grind against you and you gasp into his mouth, and his responding groan sends a spark of desire straight down to your cunt, and suddenly, there’s just too many layers of clothing separating the two of you.

Sylus seems to be thinking the same, because when he tugs at the hem of your shirt, you pull back, pulling it off immediately so that the only thing covering your upper half is your bra. When you reach for the buttons of his shirt immediately, he chuckles lightly.

“You’re rather impatient today, Sweetie.”

You ignore his comment, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing them off his shoulders, and the amusement vanishes from his eyes when you run your hands down his front, all the way down to the waistband of his pants.

He sits up then, pulling you into him as he presses hot, wet kisses against your lips, your cheek, your jaw, and your neck, trailing down to the swell of your chest before he unclasps your bra in one quick movement, baring your breasts.

You feel a wave of heat wash over you, tinging your cheeks red — not in embarrassment, but because of the way he looks at you. His eyes rake over you slowly, and the quirk of his mouth tells you that he's enjoying it immensely.

That, and the way his cock hardens further underneath you.

His voice is a quiet rumble as he cups one breast and gives it a little squeeze, “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Sylus—” His name is barely out of your mouth before he rolls a pert nipple between his fingers, and you whine. “Stop teasing.”

He chuckles again, “Your wish is my command, kitten.”

And when he takes your other breast in his mouth, his wet, hot tongue pressing against your nipple, your nails dig into the smooth, pale skin of his shoulder. His shirt was shoved off one shoulder, resting at the crook of his elbow and the sight of him like this, with his mouth on your chest, a faint blush on his face, is truly one to behold.

Your fingers get lost in the strands of his hair, tugging at them as he worries the sensitive flesh with his teeth, when his right hand trails down to the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips readily when he tugs, and he pulls back to slide your shorts off you with ease.

“So eager,” he murmurs teasingly, as if he wasn't the one who started all of this. You don’t get to retort, because his hand is on you again, rubbing you against the fabric of your damp panties.

Sylus's fingers ghost over the material, teasing the sensitive skin beneath, before applying just the right amount of pressure that sends a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly, and your breath catches in a soft whimper as he finally pushes your underwear aside, dragging his fingers up to circle over your clit.

When you buck your hips against his hand instinctively, craving more friction, impatient and a little desperate for him to just touch you properly, god damn it all, he gathers some slickness in his fingers, slowly pressing into you.

A delicious mix of relief and tension flooding over you.

He thrusts his fingers in and out slowly at first, and you moan at the sensation, clenching around him. when he curls his fingers ever so slightly, and finds that one spot that has you crying out and grinding into his hand, he picks up his pace. Soon, you start to feel the waves of pleasure heighten, and you wrap both arms around him, holding on.

When Sylus gently presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, keeping his pace steady as he breathes against your mouth, you could do little except cling to him, and you come hard, drenching his hand, lap and your panties as well as your thighs.

He flips you over gently, letting you rest on the carpet on your back and you immediately try to stop him.

“We’re going to ruin the carpet—!”

“I don’t care about the carpet, Sweetie.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, pushing you back down gently. “Not when I'm on top of you.”

He pulls your panties off easily, and you help him take his shirt off, running your hands down the swell of his muscles appreciatively, and gasp in pleasure when he presses his clothed erection against your core.

You reach down, palming him through the material of his pants, as he kisses you again, and with great patience, he kneads the softness of your body, running his hands up and down teasingly yet carefully, as if he was trying to etch the memory into his mind.

“Sylus, please.” You whimper, empty and needy, already starting to feel aroused again, and he caves, letting you unzip his pants and take them off along with his underwear.

He reaches for the nightstand and takes a condom out. You bite down on your lip in anticipation as you watch him roll it onto his fully erect cock. Despite the number of times you’ve done it before, the Moment Before was always a little intimidating.

He lines himself up at your entrance, breath quickening as he looks down at you, gaze soft yet burning with anticipation.

"Are you ready, Sweetie?" His voice is low, laced with desire and affection.

You nod, heart racing as he presses a gentle kiss to your brow as he begins to slide inside. Your breath hitches as he sinks deeper, burying himself to the hilt.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

You nod quickly, urging him to move. "Mmm, you feel so good."

"You're so tight," he breathes against your lips as he kisses you sloppily.

When he starts to move, your toes curl with the sensation and you wrap your legs around his waist. His breath shudders as he picks up the pace, and the wet squelching sounds of his dick sliding in and out of your cunt, paired with the sounds escaping you both, adds a layer of lewdness to the whole ordeal.

“Shit, you feel so good, Kitten,” Sylus’s praise unleashes a swarm of butterflies in your tummy, and you grip his shoulders harder, your head falling back.

Just as you feel your climax start to build, Sylus slows down, making you whine but he merely hushes, uncurling your legs from around him and shifts.

“Patience, sweetheart.” Despite the commanding tone of his voice, his eyes and touch are gentle. But what you wanted was not gentle. Not right now.

However, your protests are once again thwarted as he lifts your right leg up, pulling you closer by the hips, still inside you.

You’re about to ask him what the hell was he trying to do — though you have an inkling as to what it is, when he slinging your leg over his shoulder and moves again, thrusting inside you. Deep.

Your garbled moan gets a devious smirk in response, as he tilts his hips just enough, angling himself to hit your G-spot, his cheeks splotched red to match his eyes. Strands of light hair stick to his forehead, while beads of sweat dot his brow and temple.

There are four red half-moons on each shoulder, from when your nails dug into him, and the half faded hickeys on his collarbone begs for attention.

He looks so sexy like this.

Your breath stutters as you catch his eyes, and the way he’s looking at you — the intensity of it, makes you wonder what you must look like to him. Naked and flushed, panting as your breasts bounced with the momentum of his thrusts, the sight of him moving in and out of your wet cunt…

“Lost in your head again, Kitten?” The huskiness of his voice carries a hint of warning in it — something dangerous. “When I’m still inside you?”

You quickly shake your head, but he’s unconvinced as his pace slows down yet again.

“Sylus—” You gasp as he presses his thumb against your pussy again, rubbing your clit with just enough pressure for you to whimper. You try again. “Please.”

Sylus chuckles, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your skin. He watches you with sharp eyes, drinking in every little reaction as he drags his thumb in slow, torturous circles.

“Please, what?” His voice is a whisper of sin, teasing, coaxing. His hips barely move now, keeping you right on the edge, just out of reach.

You squirm beneath him, fingers digging into his arms, nails biting into his skin in frustration. He loves that—loves how desperate you get for him. But he’s not done playing.

“You get lost in that pretty head of yours so often,” he murmurs against the side of your calf, pressing a lingering kiss to the bend of your knee. “Maybe I should fuck you hard enough to remind you exactly where you are.”

His crass words send a shiver down your spine, anticipation crackling through your veins. Your breath catches when he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with a force that steals what little air you had left.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls as he turns his head to bite your leg slung over his shoulder, leaving an imprint on the skin, setting a brutal rhythm that has your body arching off the carpet, your moans spilling freely now. His fingers don’t stop either, overstimulating you and pushing you closer and closer to the ledge.

And this time, there’s no room for wandering thoughts—only him, only this.

Not that your thoughts ever strayed far from him to begin with.

But now, your mind is blissfully blank, lost in the waves of pleasure as your body tenses and trembles beneath him.

Your release crashes over you just as he continues his pace, dragging out every sensation, every spark, until he follows soon after — burying himself deep inside you with a low, shuddering groan as he too chases his high.

You sigh a little as he pulls out, feeling the sudden emptiness in you as he rolls off of you, laying next to you, breathing a little heavily. You both lay there for a moment, with you being drowsy after coming twice.

You’re only half aware when he gets up to dispose of the used condom, and don’t protest much as he scoops you into his arms, holding you to his sweaty torso.

He breathes you in, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispers softly, "I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you."

And in the silence that follows, you feel your heart swell. The words come out before you can rethink them, breathless and full of warmth. "I’m all yours to keep."

Which is true. You don't think anyone else could quite make you feel the way he does, and anything else couldn't compare.

So when you smile, holding onto him like he’s your whole world, he finally understands why people compare love to the sun, the moon, and stars.

Because here, right now, having you in his arms—he has them all.

“Have you caught your breath yet, Sweetie?” His fingers rub lazy circles on your back as you nuzzle into his side. You hum sleepily in response.

Then he chuckles, voice dark with intent. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyes snap open. “Sylus, are you serious?”

He tilts his head, amused. “What? You look so pretty all wrecked like that. How could I resist?”

“No way! First, you interrupt my scrapbooking, and now you want to continue?” You scoff.

“That’s not a no,” he drawls in response, before sneaking his hand down and giving your ass a quick, teasing squeeze. You yelp, swatting at him as he grins against your temple.

“It is,” you wag a finger in front of his face playfully. “Let’s just clean up and get dinner already!”

Sylus sighs, clearly reluctant to let the... session end, but after a moment, he gives in. “Fine, fine.” He pushes himself up, then effortlessly scoops you into his arms, making you squeak, before he carries you to the attached bathroom.

But as the warm water starts to stream down your bodies, his hands find your hips, his lips find your neck, and well…

Who’s to say that you both will only shower, though?

The night is still young.

Note: found the Praying Mantis position quite hot, despite its name being very... yeah. I think it's Sylus for me (get it??? 🤣)

Masterlist.

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htchnr · 9 months ago

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ミ★ turn into the noise ꜜ LOGAN HOWLETT.

𖦹 masterlist. 𖦹 buy me a ko-fi!

「 ꜜsummary,, after a long and difficult day, all you want is Logan. so he takes care of you, gently rubbing away at your worries until you feel a little better. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, old man!Logan ⋆ non described problem that makes you feel awful ⋆ sickeningly sweet fluff ⋆ hurt/comfort ⋆ unmentioned age gap ⋆ Logan is so sweet and gentle i'm gonna throw up. ꜜwc,, 1,1k. 」

Logan hears the truck pulling up outside the cabin as he finishes up doing the dishes. he dries his hands, already moving to the front door to greet you. his smile drops however when he sees your scrunched up face, clearly trying to hold back tears.

" what's goin' on, honey? " his voice is gentle, dropping the dish towel on the small table by the door.

you shut the door and drop the keys into the hand carved wooden bowl Logan made you a few years ago on the same table. you shake your head, eyes shut as you try not to let the tears slip down. " oh, sweetheart, " he mutters, big, calloused hands reaching for you. they pull you in by your shoulders, wrapping his strong arms around you as he holds you tight.

you clench your eyes shut as you bury your face into his warm, firm chest — trying so hard to keep it all in. but the moment those two words sound from his lips, the dams break. you let out a sob, your own shaky arms wrapping around him.

Logan's heart breaks at each sob as he holds you, not daring to let go. he sinks with you as your knees buckle, carefully lowering you down to your knees as you clutch at the back of his flannel.

he holds you like this for what feels like an eternity, your smaller frame shaking against his larger and sturdy frame with each brutal sob.

you slowly calm down, your sobs reducing to sniffles as you slouch against him in his arms. " let's get you out of these clothes and into somethin' more comfortable, yeah? " his voice gentle and raspy.

you nod against his chest, clinging to him as he easily lifts you up and into his arms as he carries you to your shared bathroom. Logan sits you down on the toilet seat cover, kneeling before you with a grunt as he gently takes off your shoes. he presses occasional kisses to your shins, slowly pulling off your socks and setting the shoes aside along with the socks.

Logan shuffles around to kneel beside you, helping you shrug off your coat, which he lays on top of your shoes. he gets up with groans and the pops of his knees, moving to stand between your knees. his rough hands pull your sweater up and you raise your arms as much as you can muster to aid him. he pulls the sweater over your head and drops it with your coat.

next are your jeans — he wraps an arm behind your torso and lifts you up enough to pull them down your hips. he carefully rests you back down, kneeling down again with the audible protest from his knees to pull your jeans down your thighs. he trails sweet kisses down each inch of newly exposed skin, laying your jeans on top of the pile.

he stands up, not without another groan and crack of his old metal bones. " c'mon, sweet girl, let's get that makeup off, we're almost done. " his voice is low, not wanting to break the peaceful and healing spell that's woven around your two.

you nod and Logan lifts you up and gently sets you down on the cold marble of the counter. he leans down, ever so sweetly lifting your legs to open a drawer to grab a few of your makeup wipes. he closes the drawer, easing your legs back down.

he opens the pack, a calloused yet painfully gentle hand coming up to hold the side of your face. he pulls out a wipe with his other hand and tenderly starts wiping off your makeup. you close your eyes as he swipes at the product on your skin, nuzzling your face into his warm and welcoming palm.

he smiles sadly, his thumb rubbing a few loving figures against your cheekbone before holding the other side of your face. he grabs a new wipe, his thumb rubbing figures into the clean and slightly slippery skin as he wipes off the remainder of the product.

he presses a few more swipes across your skin, dropping the used wipes into the small trash can beside the counter. " there we go, all done. " his voice soothes, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders as he pulls you against his chest once more.

you more than happily accept, burying your face against his chest as you wrap your arms around his waist. he sighs sadly, pressing a firm kiss to the top of your head. " tell me when you're ready to let me in. i'll always be here, however long it takes. " your face scrunches up as you nod, a few tears dripping down your cheeks and soaking into his flannel.

he presses one more kiss to the crown of your head before he pulls away. " let's get you into bed and comfortable, yeah? " you nod, sniffling as you try to wipe your tears away. Logan takes a hold of your hand, in their stead he lovingly and gently wipes away your tears with the comforting pad of his thumb.

he picks you up, his old metal bones protesting a little as he carries you up the stairs to the bedroom. he slowly lays you down onto the soft blankets, moving away only to pull his own clothes off. he moves to pull the blankets back enough for him to get in, pulling you against him as he lifts the blankets over you.

you let out a shaky yawn as you curl up against Logan's bear chest, your soft fingers tiredly dragging across the plain of his scarred skin. he wraps his arms around you, pulling your top leg over his hip as he holds you as close as he can. " i'll stay for as long as you need. " he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

you bury your face in the crook of his neck, placing a silent kiss of appreciation to his skin.

it seemed impossible the moment you came through the door — but now in Logan's arms, you feel as though tomorrow, and all the days after don't look so dark anymore.

#<{🪩©2024 htchnr}>#<{🏷️logan howlett}>#hurt/comfort #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett oneshot #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett comfort #wolverine #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x female reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine oneshot #wolverine comfort #hugh jackman

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Kickstarting the audiobook of The Lost Cause, my novel of environmental hope

Tonight (October 2), I'm in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab. On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

The Lost Cause is my next novel. It's about the climate emergency. It's hopeful. Library Journal called it "a message hope in a near-future that looks increasingly bleak." As with every other one of my books Amazon refuses to sell the audiobook, so I made my own, and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/the-lost-cause-a-novel-of-climate-and-hope

That's a lot to unpack, I know. So many questions! Including this one: "How is it that I have another book out in 2023?" Because this is my third book this year. Short answer: I write when I'm anxious, so I came out of lockdown with nine books. Nine!

Hope and writing are closely related activities. Hope (the belief that you can make things better) is nothing so cheap and fatalistic as optimism (the belief that things will improve no matter what you do). The Lost Cause is full of people who are full of hope.

The action begins a full generation after the Hail Mary passage of the Green New Deal, and the people who grew up fighting the climate emergency (rather than sitting hopelessly by while the powers that be insisted that nothing could or should be done) have a name for themselves: they call themselves "the first generation in a century that doesn't fear the future."

I fear the future. Unchecked corporate power has us barreling over a cliff's edge and all the one-percent has to say is, "Well, it's too late to swerve now, what if the bus rolls and someone breaks a leg? Don't worry, we'll just keep speeding up and leap the gorge":

https://locusmag.com/2022/07/cory-doctorow-the-swerve/

That unchecked corporate power has no better avatar than Amazon, one of the tech monopolies that has converted the old, good internet into "five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four":

https://twitter.com/tveastman/status/1069674780826071040

Amazon maintains a near-total grip over print and ebooks, but when it comes to audiobooks, that control is total. The company's Audible division has captured more than 90% of the market, and it abuses that dominance to cram Digital Rights Management onto every book it sells, even if the author doesn't want it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

I wrote a whole-ass book about this and it came out less than a month ago; it's called The Internet Con and it lays out an audacious plan to halt the internet's enshittification and throw it into reverse:

http://www.seizethemeansofcomputation.org/

The tldr is this: when an audiobook is wrapped in Amazon's DRM, only Amazon can legally remove it. That means that every book I sell you on Audible is a book you have to throw away if you ever break up with Amazon, and Amazon can use the fact that it's hold you hostage to screw me – and every other author – over.

As I said last time this came up:

Fuck that sideways.

With a brick.

My books are sold without DRM, so you can play them in any app and do anything copyright permits, and that means Amazon won't carry them, and that means my publishers don't want to pay to produce them, and that means I produce them myself, and then I make the (significant) costs back by selling them on Kickstarter.

And you know what? It works. Readers don't want DRM. I mean, duh. No one woke up this morning and said, "Dammit, why won't someone sell me a product that lets me do less with my books?" I sell boatloads" of books through these crowdfunding campaigns. I sold so many copies of my last book, *The Internet Con, that they sold out the initial print run in two weeks (don't worry, they held back stock for my upcoming events).

But beyond that, I think there's another reason my readers keep coming back, even though I wrote a genuinely stupid number of books while working through lockdown anxiety while the wildfires raged and ashes sifted down out of the sky and settled on my laptop as I lay in my backyard hammock, pounding my keyboard.

(I went through two keyboards during lockdown. Thankfully, I bought a user-serviceable laptop from Framework and fixed it myself both times, in a matter of minutes. No, no one pays me to mention this, but hot damn is it cool.)

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/13/graceful-failure/#frame

The reason readers come back to my books is that they're full of hope. In the same way that writing lets me feel like I'm not a passenger in life, but rather, someone with a say in my destination, the books that I write are full of practical ways and dramatic scenes in which other people seize the means of computation, the reins of power or their own destinies.

The protagonist of The Lost Cause is Brooks Palazzo, a high-school senior in Burbank whose parents were part of the original cohort of volunteers who kicked off the global transformation, and left him an orphan when they succumbed to one of the zoonotic plagues that arise every time another habitat is destroyed.

Brooks grew up knowing what his life would be: the work of repair and care, which millions of young people are doing. Relocating entire cities off endangered coastlines and floodplains, or out of fire-zones. Fighting floods and fires. Caring for tens of millions of refugees for whom the change came too late.

But with every revolution comes a counter-revolution. The losers of a just war don't dig holes, climb inside and pull the dirt down on top of themselves. Two groups of reactionaries – seagoing anarcho-capitalist billionaire wreckers and seething white nationalist militias – have formed an alliance.

They've already gotten their champion into the White House. Next up: dismantling every cause for hope Brooks and his friends have, and bringing back the fear.

That's the setup for a novel about solidarity, care, library socialism, and snatching victory from defeat's jaws. Writing it help keep me sane during the lockdown, and when it came time to record the audiobook, I spent a lot of time thinking about who could read it. I've had some great narrators: Wil Wheaton, @neil-gaiman, Amber Benson, Bronson Pinchot, and more.

I record my audiobooks with Skyboat Media, a brilliant studio near my place in LA. Back in August, I spent a week in their recording booth – "The Tardis" – doing something I'd never tried before: I recorded a whole audiobook, with directorial supervision: The Internet Con:

https://transactions.sendowl.com/products/78992826/DEA0CE12/purchase

When it was done, the director – audiobook legend Gabrielle de Cuir – sat me down and said, "Look, I've never said this to an author before, but I think you should read The Lost Cause. I don't direct anyone anymore except for Wil Wheaton and LeVar Burton, but I would direct you on this one."

I was immensely flattered – and very nervous. Reading The Internet Con was one thing – the book is built around the speeches I've been giving for 20 years and I knew I could sell those lines – but The Lost Cause is a novel, with a whole cast of characters. Could I do it?

Reader, I did it. I just listened to the proofs last week and:

It.

Came.

Out.

Great.

The Lost Cause goes on sale on November 14th, and I'll be selling this audiobook I made everywhere audiobooks are sold – except for the stores that require DRM, nonconsensually shackling readers and writers to their platforms. So you'll be able to get it on Libro.fm, downpour.com, even Google Play – but not Audible, Apple Books, or Audiobooks.com.

But in addition to those worthy retailers, I will be sending out thousands – and thousands! – of audiobook to my Kickstarter backers on the on-sale date, either as a folder of DRM-free MP3s, or as a download code for Libro.fm, to make things easy for people who don't want to have to figure out how to sideload an audiobook into a standalone app.

And, of course, the mobile duopoly have made this kind of sideloading exponentially harder over the past decade, though far be it from me to connect this with their policy of charging 30% commissions on everything sold through an app, a commission they don't receive if you get your files on the web and load 'em yourself:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell/posts/3788112

As with my previous Kickstarters, I'm also selling ebooks and hardcovers – signed or unsigned, and this time I've found a great partner to fulfill EU orders from within the EU, so backers won't have to pay VAT and customs charges. The wonderful Otherland – who have hosted me on my last two trips to Berlin – are going to manage that shipping for me:

https://www.otherland-berlin.de/en/home.html

Kim Stanley Robinson read the book and said, "Along with the rush of adrenaline I felt a solid surge of hope. May it go like this." That's just about the perfect quote, because the book is a ride. It's not just a kumbaya tale of a better world that is possible: it's a post-cyberpunk novel of high-tech guerrilla and meme warfare, climate tech and bad climate tech, wildcat prefab urban infill, and far-right militamen who adapt to a ban on assault-rifles by switching to super-soakers full of hydrochloric acid.

It's a book about struggle, hope in the darkness, and a way through this rotten moment. It's a book that dares to imagine that things might get worse but also better. This is a curious emotional melange, but it's one that I'm increasingly feeling these days.

Like, Amazon, that giant bully, whose blockade on DRM-free audiobooks cost me enough money to pay off my mortgage and put my kid through university (according to my agent)? The incredible Lina Khan brought a long-overdue antitrust case against Amazon while her rockstar DoJ counterpart, Jonathan Kanter, is dragging Google through the courts.

The EU is taking on Apple, and French cops are kicking down Nvidia's doors and grabbing their files, looking to build another antitrust case for monopolizing GPUs. The writers won their strike and Joe Biden walked the picket-line with the UAW, the first president in history to join striking workers:

https://doctorow.medium.com/joe-biden-is-headed-to-a-uaw-picket-line-in-detroit-f80bd0b372ab?sk=f3abdfd3f26d2f615ad9d2f1839bcc07

Solar is now our cheapest energy source, which is wild, because if we could only capture 0.4% of the solar energy that makes it through the atmosphere, we could give everyone alive the same energy budget as Canadians (who have American lifestyles but higher heating bills). As Deb Chachra writes in her forthcoming How Infrastructure Works (my review pending): we get a fresh supply of energy every time the sun rises and we only get new materials when a comet survives atmospheric entry, but we treat energy as scarce and throw away our materials after a single use:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/612711/how-infrastructure-works-by-deb-chachra/

Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. We have shot past many of our planetary boundaries and there are waves of climate crises in our future, but they don't have to be climate disasters. That's up to us – it'll depend on whether we come together to save ourselves and each other, or tear ourselves apart.

The Lost Cause dares to imagine what it might be like if we do the former. We don't live in a post-enshittification world yet, but we could. With these indie audiobooks, I've found a way to treat the terminal enshittification of the Amazon monopoly as damage and route around it. I hope you'll back the Kickstarter, fight enshittification, inject some hope into your reading, and enjoy a kickass adventure novel in the process:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/the-lost-cause-a-novel-of-climate-and-hope

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/02/the-lost-cause/#the-first-generation-that-doesnt-fear-the-future

#pluralistic #audiobooks #the lost cause #crowdfunding #kickstarter #spoken word #climate #climate emergency #monopoly #drm #amazon #audible #skyboat #science fiction #hope not optimism

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cherryblossompink303 · 3 months ago

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Patience: ~Lobelia girls academy strikes back!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: You get swept away by the zuka club ➼ what to expect: "You do realise you just showed that in a theatre full of people" ➼ warnings: Lobelia academy ➼ Part Eighteen | Part Twenty

"Y/n-chan! Please come out and play!" The host club sing from outside your door one day.

Much to their surprise on older woman who is certainly not you opens the door instead, slightly bewildered by the encounter. "Oh apologies we must have the wrong apartment" Tamaki says.

"We have the right apartment, I've been here plenty before" Kyoya points out

"It's Kyoya isn't it? Y/n's fiance? I'm her cousin, c/n, y/n is out with some girlfriends of hers at the moment" the reply confuses the host club "Girlfriends? I thought we were her only friends at school?"

"Perhaps some european friends came over to visit?"

The answer confused even kyoya, the last time that you had met up with a 'friend' outside of them in Japan it was because of the plan that the two of you have been carrying out but kyoya had no idea who you could possibly be meeting up with.

"I don't believe they go to the same school as you, the uniforms were different than the one y/n wears...they did say where they were from....what was it...lobelia academy?"

The host clubs faces fall "Did you just say..." "Lobelia?"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Lobelia Girls Academy strikes back!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Chizuru where's our guest?"

"In the changing room of course"

You must admit you were unsure of how you ended up in this situation, when you realised that Chizuru's family just so happened to be one that you needed to gather intel in you were really hoping to not have to deal with the entire zuka club. But here you are.

"How's that size?"

You must admit even though you do not like Lobelia academy, the uniforms were much more comfortable than Ouran's. "You're gorgeous maiden, i mean, y/n" You appreciated at least that this time Benibara was being a little less pushy at least.

"You look absolutely beautiful! Seeing you in that dress! You look like a princess!"

"Oh my dear, you and that uniform were destined for each other! It's most beffiting an innocent girl like you. yes. One still unfamiliar with young love's first tender kiss" You desperately avoid bursting out laughing at benibara's words because if you were anything, innocent and unkissed was not it.

"Now hold on! What is this? Could someone explain it to me? Cause one moment I am going to talk to Chizuru at a coffee shop and the next i'm here. The three of you have about as much subtlety as the host club does"

"How dare you maiden! We are nothing like those idiots! Oh, forgive my outburst, it's only natural for you to be upset after all, in our haste, we whisked you away this morning in your nightdress"

"Those weren't pajamas you know, it was just a white summer dress, it's warm out"

"All theatrics aside maiden, we have a small favour to ask of you. As you may know, one of our responsibilities at the zuka club is to arrange the regular performance of musical numbers and original plays"

"Today is called pink carnation day when we celebrate the birth of the white lily leagues founder by putting on the most glorious production of the entire year. We've been rehearsing non-stop in preparation for today's performance"

"Tragically the leas actress in our play was in a terrible accident and is currently in the hospital but even so without her you know what they say, the show must go on which means..."

"This is your big opportunity to be a part of the theatre!"

"i can't. I'm sorry"

"You would only have to memorise a handful of lines, for most of the play, the character you'd be portraying is silent."

"The role is actually more symbolic than anything"

"She just stands there looking beautiful"

"You can manage that now can't you? We promise it'll be the easiest thing ever"

"I'll let myself out"

Benio falls to the ground wailing "Forgive me! I fall short of your legacy! You must be so ashamed oh mother!"

"Benio don't talk like that"

"Benio's late mother was a distinguished graduate of st lobelia academy, prominant in the white lily league"

you sigh "Fine, whatever, i'll do it" in a way saving yourself the dramatic wailing from them but also remembering you kinda need to stay anyway.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Why are we here?" your cousin asks, looking up at the school from behind the gates along with the rest of the host club "The zuka club is dangerous, they are desperate to steal y/n away to their school"

"Y/n doesn't really seem like the type that would get involved with their kind."

"Something tells me she is not in there willingly"

"That being said, even if she doesn't get along with the zuka club, she always did like the theatre" your cousin ponders, leaning against the wall. "Really?"

She nods "For sure, she was good at it too...well, that was until her father went a little too far on criticising a show she was in. She has never set foot on stage since"

"Really? she gave up doing it for something her father said?"

She sighs "My uncle...is a difficult man, you can kinda tell he wasn't made to be a father, or really wanted to be one for that matter, and y/n was thirteen, you have to be really careful what you say to a girl that age and he just didn't understand that. He got really into her head about it"

"Do you think that maybe Y/n joined the zuka club so that she can do theatre again without the prying eyes of her father"

"Oh no that makes sense!"

"What are we going to do?"

"Kyoya! We are going undercover! Order us some lobelia uniforms!"

"I've got an easier plan"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Oh Marianne how many lonely nights have I prayed that we would be together again? and how many times have the powers demanded that we remain apart? That our love is forbidden?"

"Oh my lord frederick" You must admit while you are quieter than you used to, it was scary how quickly you fell back into old habits. Benibara dramatically falls to the ground, feigning injury.

"I'm slain by this fatal gunshot wound, alas I am to draw breath no more"

"My lord frederick!"

"Marianne, with your arms holding me close, all this pain becomes naught. I am overwhelmed with peace. Lovely angel, your gaze is my paradise, and you are the very image of my beloved mother"

"My lord frederick!"

unbeknownst to you the host club were squatted just outside the window of the rehearsal room, now dressed in benio fanclub t-shirts "Can you see her? What's she doing?"

"It looks as though she's playing the heroine of some sentimental tragedy"

"She is pretty good, at least more natural than benibara is"

You start singing, voice slightly shaky as you try to not let the anxiety surrounding the last time you performed over take you.

"Hey newbies! If you want to be part of the Benibara fan club, you have to follow the rules! Now, up on your feet! To be a full-fleged member, your conduct must be of reprouch at all times now all together with enthusiasm! Let me hear those fan club mantras!"

"Lady Benibara, please hang in there for your adoring fans today. Lady Benibara, you look magnificent. Lady Benibara please hang on for your adoring fans today"

Tamaki leans over to your cousin to whisper "Okay now we're in, what's the rest of your plan?"

"Blend in. If you want to get close with the Zuka club, you've got to prove you're a die-hard fan. And watch yourself, these girls seem pretty competative, even more than you can imagine"

"Right! Let's give it a rest"

The host club falls to the floor in exhaustion. "Glad to have you newbies"

"What do you like most about Benibara?"

"Oh, only everything! The way she walks and sings, and the way she looks in coattails. why even the shape of her head!" they suppose that acting must run in the family.

"I'm just so excited to see the play. It's supposed to be a tragedy"

"It's called 'the senorita's love' Lord frederick fakes his own suicide as revenge against his father for coming between he and his lover Marianne. But the gun he uses, supposedly filled with blanks, is acturally filled with live rounds"

"Oh that's so terrible"

"I have my suspicions about the girl playing marianne though"

"Whoever she is if she ruins lady benibara's play our very own maiden warriors will be waiting patiently in the wings to critique her performance!"

"Well that's not going to help y/n's self confidence at all"

"Don't worry, we're getting her out of here."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"So you've managed to worm your way in after all, you vulgar incompetent host club. My dears it's almost time I'm counting on you!"

Your cousin looks around as she and the host club are sat in the theatre "Now hold on, where did Kyoya run off to?"

"Now that you mention it, I haven't seen him in a while."

"Hey look he's up there!" Honey points up to the sound booth of the theatre where a teacher is walking around with kyoya. "It is such an honor having one of the ootori boys dropping by to pay us a visit"

"That Jackass"

"He moves quickly"

"Very nice set up" Kyoya smiles at the teacher "and that's the orchestra pit I take it?"

"That's right, and just above that we have our fully equipped digital backdrop, here let me show you" The teacher presses a button "We can project any high resolution image and use it as part of the scenery without unnecessary set changes, isn't technology just amazing?"

"Yes" Kyoya smirks.

The benibara fan club flood the theatre in anticipation. "At this point we'll just have to rescure Y/n mid-show" the curtain rises to an applause, revealing you in centre stage singing. "Well at least it looks like she has embraced being back on the stage at least, we should let her have this chance to enjoy it"

"We can sneak her out of here afterwards"

"Oh my lord frederick" Benibara dramatically falls to the ground, feigning injury.

"I'm slain by this fatal gunshot wound, alas I am to draw breath no more"

"My lord frederick!"

"Marianne, with your arms holding me close, all this pain becomes naught. I am overwhelmed with peace. Lovely angel, your gaze is my paradise, and you are the very image of my beloved mother"

"My lord frederick!"

"The kiss scene is coming up!"

"But the scene falls just before the embrace right?" "Of course, Lady benibara would never actually kiss her"

"Kiss scene?" Tamaki takes notice of the girls whispering. "Hmm, kiss scene? Revenge?"

"Ah, and yet, the love I bear for you and the desire I have for revenge are not things which can simply be forgotten" Spotlights fall on the host club, which is when you take notice of their presence "Senpai? C/n?"

Benibara stands, grasping your wrist in a tight grip and pulling you to fall into her "Right before their eyes I'll steal your first kiss"

"Huh?"

"All for the sake of revenge"

"No lady benibara!" "You can't really kiss her!"

Tamaki runs over but slips on banana, a platform in the stage starts to rise "Victory is mine, you poor ignorant buffoon! Now behold while we embrace"

"You're crazy lady" You try to get out of Benibaras grip

Up at the sound booth Kyoya is on the computer "Yes, please forward that to me...don't ask questions"

the backdrop falls "Stop it! Get off me!" the backdrop activates, displaying a picture of you and kyoya...kissing. "What?" "Oh no!"

"What on earth is this photo?"

"So as you see Y/n has already had her first kiss" the twins point out. "Y/n what is this?" Your cousin asks "I'll explain later"

"Maiden you mean to tell me"

"Y/n jump down well catch you" You manage to land by being caught by the twins "Don't let her go! This is not over yet! I don't care how many kisses she's had. the next one will be mine" You run off the stage, kyoya waiting for you at the back of the theatre. "Nice dress"

You roll your eyes "Whatever, let's go" He takes your hand, the two of you running out of the school. "I'm guessing that was you"

"Someone had to come up of a competent plan around here" You laugh "You do realise you just showed that in a theatre full of people" The two of you stop in front of the school gates while Kyoya texts for a car. "So? Our engagement is going to be announced by the end of the year anyway, and I doubt that many Lobelia students talk to ouran girls anyway"

"I...I guess so"

"I've texted c/n to meet us out here, I say we go back to the flat and order in italian"

"As long it is proper cheese, most cheese here is terrible, that's going to be a fun car journey"

Next time on patience 'Until the day it becomes a pumpkin!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja @meme848 @mistyhydrangeagarden @nanaloverz @hyuninslutbbgirl @rebel-author-chick

#kyoya ootori #kyoya ootori x reader #kyoya x reader #ohshc #ohshc kyoya #ohshc x reader #ouran high school host club #ouran highschool host club #ouran host club #ouran hshc #kaoru hitachiin #ouran #ouran kyoya #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh

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lamnwar · 7 months ago

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Locker room Shenanigans // Kagami Taiga x Fem!Reader

MDNI 18+ knb kinktober entry!!

A/N: someone said "anything with kagami" and I love them for that bc that dude is so fiiiine I couldn't do a kinktober without writing about him yk 😫 it's 3.2k words bc I'm horny. Context: what can you, as a basketball team manager, do to cheer up your ace after a defeat? Warnings: Semi-public sex (in the locker room, people can hear them), riding, nipple play, unprotected sex, pussy eater kagami!, slight size kink (I couldn't help myself 😔✋🏽)

“Shit.”

Taiga’s harsh word is shortly followed by a loud clank! that echoes around the empty locker room. You sigh, still hesitating to get inside to look after your player.

He’s never really known loss since his high school days, ever growing to be one of the top players in Japan – if not the best player, which never fails to amaze people considering how extraordinary he already was as a teenager. Talent like that, and that you can say so with confidence from your years of career as team manager, is something incredible yet fragile. Of course, as a sportsman, he knows that you cannot always win. It doesn’t matter how insanely good you are, the game sometimes is nothing more than a product of luck. A mystery force driving the ball from one side to the other of the court, only to lead one team to the top, while the other falls from grace.

It does hurt to see the gut-wrenching look of defeat on the face of your players – you spend so much time with them that their feelings become yours, as if you are bonded by fate. But what really gets you, is seeing Taiga Kagami lose. The frustration written all over his face as he considers any mistake his; because after all, he’s the ace, the one that should carry the team to the top. But sometimes, it’s just not enough.

“Hey” your voice resonates in the empty lockers, forcing the tall man to throw a quick glance at you.

He’s silently slumped against the metallic doors, fingers fidgeting with the ring around his neck. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since the rest of the team has already left the gymnasium. Out of consideration for the red-haired player, you figured he might need some time alone. You’ve stayed behind, not willing to admit that you’re worried about him. Well, in all cases, what can you do? For all you know, he sees you as nothing more than his manager. Yet, you still sit next to him, your hand resting on the one that slumps on his knee. You give it a small squeeze, looking to be supportive.

“You know, I’m not even mad that we lost. I’m just... frustrated.”

You hum in agreement – it’s a fairly normal response to have after being through that kind of loss. The kind that feels like they could have been avoided, yet you can’t really pinpoint the moment things went to shit.

“While I agree that you should vent out that frustration, let’s not break the gym’s locker, yeah?” you chuckle softly.

“Sorry about that, I wasn’t thinkin – ”

“It’s fine, but if you’ll allow me, let me help you out here.”

He sighs, a slight scowl that you’d find cute overwise on his face. But this time, it is a clear expression of his thoughts, and you suddenly feel stupid for even thinking that there’s anything you can do to actually help him.

“I’m listening.”

He’s got nothing to lose, he thinks. He doesn’t expect you to change his mind, but at the very least do something – anything, really – just to make him forget about that daunting feeling for defeat, even if it’s just for a second. You’re taken by surprise, not expecting him to be willing to take any help, let alone from you. He must be truly in a bad state for him to agree to this, you ponder. The hand you had on his leaves as you scratch your cheek, in search for something to say.

“Ah... maybe you should vent it out? Like, in a better way.”

God, you’re a fucking disaster at giving advice.

“So, no punching around? Got it” he lets out, words laced in sarcasm.

You can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your lips – that’s just how lame your advice sounds. Well, you’re not wrong either. Whatever way he feels, wrecking the locker room can’t be the right way to cope.

“You know” you speak without much restraint on your thoughts, “I shouldn’t say that because I’m your manager, but getting shitfaced might help.”

He scoffs – ah, first time that you hear him laugh so far! A small fire warms your inside at the sound. You may not have realised so far, but nothing breaks your heart quite like seeing your players in despair, especially Taiga. What truly gets you is seeing a guy who is always so fired up and loud suddenly... quiet. Just a limp body full of brooding. So that scoff, however small it is, is enough to remind you how much he counts.

“Don’t we have a special training tomorrow?” he rests his head back against the lockers, a hint of a pout on his face.

“Then what do we have left? Alcohol’s out of the way, intense physical activity too...” you click your tongue. “And I really don’t see you do some meditation to feel better.”

“Yeah that breathing your feelings out bullshit is... well, bullshit.”

You laugh softly – that is such a Taiga thing to say. And to be fair, you might share his point of view on the topic. It might help letting out the breath you’ve been holding for too long, but any sort of meditation may, in this current situation, be just as efficient as putting a band-aid on a broken bone. You sigh, eyes falling on the furrow between his eyebrows. You lead your thumb to the crease, pulling the skin up. It’s a fairly childish move, one that makes him let out a semi-annoyed “ah!”.

“What do you do when you get frustrated?” he asks, swatting your finger away.

“Hm... I don’t often get frustrated like that. And if I do, it’s not in the same context.”

“I get that, we do not exactly have the same job here.” He hums, supporting his head in the palm of his hand. “Then what gets you frustrated?”

You stay silent for a minute, thinking. You do have a few things that gets you annoyed, leaving you feeling powerless because it’s out of your control, or just not that easily to solve. The small little things like slow walkers on busy streets, or when you try to teach basic decency to the shittiest guys. But really, nothing that comes as close as how Taiga must be feeling right now. And of course, there is the one thing that frustrates you the most, but that you probably shouldn’t bring up: your months-long period of celibacy.

You’re not proud to say that you haven’t had sex in so long that it sometimes eats at you in ways you wish it wouldn’t. And the worst is that you can’t really do anything about it. It’s not like you to have one-night stands with strangers, and for as much as you try to convince yourself that your fingers are enough, they’re clearly not. It doesn’t help either that you work with basketball players – tall, fine, muscular men who gets you going when seeing them show off their athleticism on the court. Although, to be fair, basketball players aren’t generally your type; but they’ve come to become, in your state of depravity.

But, of course, that’s not something you could say to Taiga Kagami. Especially not when he’s your player that turns you on the most. And yet...

“I get damn frustrated from not getting any” you blurt out.

You can’t tell what motivated you to say it out loud. Maybe because you wish that the embarrassment that comes with it will overshadow Taiga’s feeling of defeat? Because it sure is some kind of entertainment to make fun of your touch-starved self.

“Real” he responds.

You look at him briefly, surprised that he hasn’t laughed at you. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. Being a loser that cannot get fucked is not something that you are proud of, but if making fun of you is all it takes to put a smile on the ace’s face, you don’t mind (that much).

“What, like you don’t pull” you chuckle, incredulous, “don’t give me that.”

“It’s not that, it’s just that I don’t feel like having sex with just anybody” he shrugs, a ponderous filter in his eyes, “so I just kinda... wait for the right person to come. But damn, it’s atrocious.”

You laugh, and soon after, so does he. The sound travels straight to your heart, pulling on it with such might that you fear that he might tell already that you like him.

“Fuck, what am I talking about with my player?! Isn’t that a sexual harassment case in the making?”

The tall man chuckles, leg bumping with yours. You can’t say that you’ve cheered him up, but at the very least, he’s no longer sulking. You stop for a moment to observe the fatigue on his face, all this inner turmoil manifesting himself in his chapped lips, and the clench of his jaw, and the way you can tell that he’s been trying hard not to cry or look weak in any way.

“You might be onto something, though. Maybe a good fuck is what I need.”

“I cannot agree or deny.” You huff, a slight blush on your face. “Hope you find what you need for that.”

He hums, then lets out a long sigh. The gym is awfully silent, now that most players and most of the public is gone. You can hear the administrative staff outside the lockers, but there is some sense of peace right where you are, next to Taiga.

“Wanna go for a drink?” he suddenly ask, getting you to respond with a confused expression.

“What? Didn’t we agree that alcohol is out of the way? Not to mention that it’ll ruin your recup –”

“No, dummy” he punctuates his words with a small hit on your head, “I’m hitting on you.”

“Wh- where does that come from?!”

“You need to fuck, so do I. And I like you so I’m trying to be proactive... or something like that.”

You blink, not quite sure how to react to such an overflow of information. What should your brain start to analyse first, anyway? Should you focus on the reflection that led him to say something like that, figure out what kind of process is behind this conclusion? Or should you take in the new fact that he likes you? So much for you to take, and you don’t even realise when your finger went up to hook in the ring around his neck, or when you pulled him closer, and you can’t even tell what pushed you to kiss him.

Taiga is stunned, to say the least; but it seems that his reflexes aren’t only quick on the court, because his astonishment is only short-lived. By the time you register what’s going on, he’s got his hands on your cheek, holding you firmly, yet in a tender touch, as you taste his lips against him. The kiss is unusual, confusing. Wanted, yet not. His lips are soft, but his touch isn’t. You keep wanting more but you know you shouldn’t. It’s just too hard to stop, though, and the way your player grabs you makes you understand that you’ve started something that you can’t run away from. You pull away, panting, dazed by the feel of his touch on you. He looks like a dream, out of your reach despite his hands on your hips that hoist you up on his lap.

“Taiga...” you sigh, not sure of what you are pleading for.

“If you wanna stop, just tell me.”

You stay silent, watching his fingers pull on your top. It doesn’t even cross your mind to stop him. What is it, really? Is the frustration you’ve been feeling all this time from not getting fucked in so long? Or is it the attraction you’ve always felt for him, for once being expressed?

“Should we... they’re people outside. The door isn’t even locked!”

“I can keep quiet, can you?”

You stare at him, his challenging tone flipping a switching in your brain. You help him get you rid of your top, leaning in to give him a full-mouth, hearty, kiss.

“Bet. You gotta do a good job at keeping me quiet, too, though.”

He hums, soft lips trailing kisses down your neck to your collarbones, a certain urgency in the way it navigates on your skin on its way to your chest. You swallow your breath, feeling the warmth of his mouth on the sensitive skin of your breasts – your bra being a ridicule barrier between what you both want and the reality. He doesn’t bother removing your underwear, rather pushing the cups out of the way. You mumble a few swear words when he attaches his mouth to your nipples, his tongue and lips working languidly, almost as if he’s hiding malicious intents under his ministrations.

“Fuck, Taiga!” you grit your teeth, fingers intertwined in his hair as to pull him closer to your skin.

“Always wanted to do that,” he chuckles, letting go of your nipple in a wet pop! “every time I see you in your tight shirts, making me wonder if I’ll ever get to taste you.”

You laugh, flicking his forehead playfully. “Ah, so there’s some stuff other than basketball in that big head.”

He nods, lifting you up to sit on the bench. You let out a gasp, not expecting him to manoeuvrer your body with such ease. But at the same time, he is arguably one of the physically strongest players of the league – should you really be that surprised?

“Pants off, Manager. Gotta prep you nice if you’re gonna take me.”

“Cocky, aren’t you?”

He lifts an eyebrow, settling between your thighs.

“Huh? I’m not joking, that shit can tear you. It’s no use if I hurt you.”

You look at him, processing that piece of information. For the amount of time you spend in the lockers surrounded by half-naked men, you’ve learned not to look down there, out of decency. The last thing a team manager should be doing is staring at her players’ packages. But for some reason, you resign at not pushing your luck with Taiga. All things considered, he most likely has a massive cock.

You urgently let your pants and underwear slide down your thighs, pooling at your ankle as your dripping cunt presents itself to the player’s dark eyes. He swears, spreading your thighs enough for him to admire your needy hole – clenching desperately, and yet, he hasn’t done a thing.

“Well, might actually not need that much prepping” he ponders, letting his rough digits roam between your lips, spreading them open as your arousal coat his fingers. “You’re a bit greedy, aren’t you? Barely touched you.”

“Shut up, it’s been a while!”

“I know that much.”

His soft laughs reverb against the skin of your thighs, kisses and nips decorating them as he gets closer to your vulva. Oddly, the sight warms your heart – there is a certain beauty in seeing a man that was previously defeated now sporting an elated smile, and all that, thanks to your pussy.

An impatient, yet mind-boggling lick at your cunt, Taiga hums at the taste of your honey on his tongue. You let out a loud whimper, quickly covering your mouth when you consider the voices coming from the hall outside. It’s so hard to keep quiet when you have Taiga Kagami between your legs. His tongue is strong and agile, quite like him on the court, reaching the right places to make you squirm, almost sliding off the metal bench if it isn’t for his solid hold on your thighs. He’s a man starving, quenching his appetite in your oasis, taken by desperation, a greedy need to vent out all his troubles in your pussy.

“Fuck that, I wanna fuck you.” He groans, licking his lips.

“Not gonna make me come?”

He shakes his head, standing up to pull his sweats down, boxers stained by the bit of pre-cum he’s already leaking just from enjoying your body so far. You fuss, the loss of his tongue on your aching clit feels like a betrayal of the worst sort. The red-head lets out an amused huff – it’s somewhat cute, seeing his oh-so-serious manager losing her shit from how much she needs to get fucked. An amused smirk on his lips, he tugs your pouting ass on his lap; you gasp, the feeling of his bulge against your pussy making you realise that this is really happening.

“Wanna ride me instead?” he hums, manoeuvring with one hand to extirpate his cock from its confines. “See if I was really being cocky early, hm?”

You feel like a slut for being that eager, shamelessly grinding against him, not even hiding your impatience to feel him in. Hell, you don’t even care about how uncomfortable the metal feel under your knees as you straddle his lap – no, it’s all pointless compared to the god-sent feeling of his bulbous tip at your entrance, prying the doors open to make you curse like a sailor. You sink down on his dick, fingers gripping his shoulders with all your might. Have you been depraved for that long? Or does it feel heavenly to bounce on his cock because it might just be the best one you’ve ever had?

Your half-lidded eyes fall on his figure – he’s not even fully undressed, clothes dishevelled while his naked manager ride him like the most experienced whore. Curious ears catch winds of your moans, moans that Taiga tries as much as he can to swallow with his sloppy kisses, but he can’t even help himself. The grunts that leave his throat; feeling your walls clenching around his cock, forcing him to hold you by the waist to guide your movements to match his desperation.

“Holy fuck, you take me so well” he groans – no, it’s more of a raspy whine.

“Dick... so good!” you babble, in deep struggle to be coherent.

You may try as hard as you can to use your words to clarify the chaos in your mind, but you are no poet. Just the nicest manager on Earth, most certainly, letting her player deal with her frustration by pounding into her like a man depraved. Sex written all over your faces, you don’t bother to keep quiet anymore. The more he goes, the harder it gets. You roll your hips frantically, the knot in your stomach that you’ve missed for so long menacing to unravel.

“Ah! Shit sorry, I don’t think I can’t pull out of that pussy...” he pants, trying his best to delay his orgasm just so he doesn’t come too fast.

“Don’t!”

Your hurried answer makes him chuckle – he could never expect that from someone he thinks of as the personification of responsibility. But there’s no point in asking question or getting confused. He’s got one thing in mind, and that’s the fuck all of the frustration out of both your systems. Mind too busy with your body to think about his loss, about the daunting feeling of failure. Who fucking cares, when he has you?

“Shit!”

You mewl, clenching tight around him as you’re hit by the waves of your orgasm, triggering Taiga’s. He spills heavily, thick thighs trembling under you as he sloppily thrust all his cum in your voracious hole. He pants, head falling on your shoulder in solace.

No but seriously, can Taiga Kagami truly know defeat, when he’s never once failed at making a pretty girl come?

#yayyy! manage to only be 1 day late on schedule #so i wet a bit crazy with this one #it's kagami yk 🤭🤭#kagami taiga #kuroko no basuke #knb #knb smut #kagami smut #knb x reader #kagami x reader #knb kinktober

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zylokv · 4 months ago

Text

CIGARETTES AFTER... — park jhyo

❝ you’ve got me exactly where you want me, don’t you? ❞

synopsis — a chance collaboration with jihyo leads to more than just chart-topping hits. between late-night studio sessions, unspoken tensions, and a celebration that turns unexpectedly intimate, the lines between professional and personal begin to blur

word count ! — 2.3k

— park jihyo x reader !

genre — oneshot.

the room was dimly lit, the faint hum of the air conditioning barely masking the quiet anticipation that lingered in the air. as you stepped inside, the sharp scent of polished wood and freshly brewed coffee greeted you. jihyo stood near the grand piano, her posture relaxed yet poised, a small notebook cradled in her hands. she glanced up at you with a welcoming smile, her presence radiant without trying too hard.

"you made it," she said, her voice carrying warmth and ease, like you’d known each other for years.

you shrugged, pulling the strap of your bag off your shoulder and setting it down on a nearby chair. "couldn't exactly say no when the jihyo asked for a collaboration," you replied, your tone teasing yet sincere.

her laugh was soft, a little shy, but it carried the kind of confidence that came with knowing she deserved the compliment. "flattery works, but i’m hoping your skills do too."

you chuckled, pulling out your laptop and a pack of cigarettes from your bag. glancing at the ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall, you slipped the pack back into your pocket, but not before jihyo noticed. her lips quirked into a faint smirk.

"bad habit?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"occupational hazard," you replied, settling into the chair across from her. "helps me think."

jihyo nodded, setting her notebook down on the piano and taking a seat beside it. "so, you listened to the demo?"

"yeah," you said, opening your laptop and scrolling through your notes. "it’s good—great, actually. but i think we can push it further. make it... rawer."

"rawer?" she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly. "how so?"

you leaned back, studying her. "the lyrics— they’re personal, right? i can hear it in your voice. but the production? it’s too clean. too polished. if we strip it down, let your voice carry the weight, it’ll hit harder."

jihyo was quiet for a moment, her eyes locked on yours as she processed your words. then, she nodded slowly. "i see what you mean. but... being that vulnerable? it’s a little intimidating."

"it’s what makes it real," you said, your voice low and steady. "people want to feel like you’re singing to them, about them. give them that, and they’ll never forget it."

she smiled, a small, genuine curve of her lips. "you’re good at this."

"i try," you replied with a smirk. "so, let’s hear what you’ve got so far."

jihyo moved to the piano, her fingers brushing over the keys before she began to play. her voice filled the room, rich and emotive, each note carrying a weight that made you stop and really listen. she sang with a vulnerability that was rare in this industry, and for a moment, you were completely caught up in the sound.

when she finished, the room fell into a thick silence, the kind that only follows something extraordinary.

"damn," you said finally, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "you weren’t kidding about this being personal."

jihyo laughed softly, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "yeah, well... it’s kind of terrifying to put it out there."

"that’s how you know it’s good," you said, standing up and moving toward the piano. "but let’s work on the arrangement. the melody’s strong, but i think we can strip it back even more."

the two of you spent the next few hours tweaking the song, your ideas bouncing off each other in an easy rhythm. jihyo was sharp, quick to pick up on your suggestions and add her own twist. it was rare to find an artist who was not only talented but also collaborative, and you couldn’t help but admire her even more for it.

at one point, you stepped outside for a quick smoke break, needing a moment to clear your head. the night air was cool against your skin as you lit a cigarette, the flicker of the flame briefly illuminating your face. you took a slow drag, the nicotine settling your nerves, before exhaling a plume of smoke into the dark.

"thought you might’ve bailed," jihyo’s voice came from behind you.

you turned to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a playful smile on her lips. "needed a minute," you said, holding up the cigarette. "bad habit, remember?"

"so you keep saying," she replied, stepping closer. "but i have to admit, you’ve got a certain... charm about you."

"charm?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. "coming from you, that’s saying something."

jihyo laughed, the sound soft and melodic. "don’t let it go to your head."

"too late," you said with a grin, taking another drag before stubbing out the cigarette on the wall. "ready to get back to it?"

"always," she said, her eyes meeting yours briefly before she turned and headed back inside.

as the night wore on, the atmosphere in the studio shifted. the professional boundaries blurred ever so slightly, the late hour and shared laughter creating a quiet intimacy. jihyo’s guard slipped just enough for you to catch glimpses of the woman behind the idol—the one who was just as passionate and driven as you were.

by the time you wrapped up the session, the song had transformed into something raw and powerful, a reflection of the connection you’d built over the course of the night. as jihyo gathered her things, she turned to you with a small, grateful smile.

"thanks for pushing me," she said softly. "i think this might be the best thing i’ve ever worked on."

"that makes two of us," you replied, your voice equally low. "same time tomorrow?"

she nodded, her eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "yeah. see you then."

as you watched her walk out of the studio, a faint smile tugging at your lips, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger—both professionally and personally.

-----

the studio became your second home over the next few weeks. every day brought a new dynamic between you and jihyo—playful teasing, heated debates over arrangements, and those rare moments of unspoken understanding when the music seemed to create itself. despite the long hours, neither of you ever seemed to tire of the process. it felt more like art than work, and with jihyo, the energy was infectious.

she was a perfectionist, often caught pacing the room or scribbling new ideas in her notebook while humming under her breath. but there was also the side of her that laughed loudly at your terrible jokes or playfully scolded you when you teased her about a missed note.

“you’re worse than the trainers,” she huffed one evening, plopping down on the couch beside you. she crossed her arms, a mock pout on her lips, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

“you hired me for my ears, not my tact,” you shot back, leaning back with a smug grin. “besides, someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“oh, and you think that’s you?” she challenged, sitting up straighter, her gaze narrowing.

“i know it is,” you replied smoothly, holding her gaze. the tension lingered for a beat too long, and she looked away, laughing softly to break the moment.

“you’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head, but her smile remained.

-----

on the day of her solo pre-release, jihyo was a ball of energy. she flitted around the studio, double-checking mixes and fussing over the smallest details. you watched her from the corner of the room, cigarette perched between your fingers, the faint haze of smoke curling upward.

“do you ever stop with that?” she asked, pointing at the cigarette as she crossed her arms.

“do you ever stop worrying?” you countered, taking a slow drag before stubbing it out. “the track’s perfect, jihyo. you’ve done everything you can.”

she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “i know. it’s just... what if it doesn’t connect? what if i—”

“hey,” you interrupted, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of her. “it’s going to connect. because it’s real, and it’s you. trust me.”

her eyes softened, and for a moment, the confident leader she usually projected on tv was replaced by someone far more vulnerable. “thanks,” she said quietly. “i needed to hear that.”

“anytime,” you replied, your voice equally soft.

the release was a massive success. jihyo’s solo dominated the charts within hours, her name trending worldwide. the celebration was planned quickly, the members of twice insisting on a gathering at their dorm. you arrived late, your schedule delayed by another session, but the noise and energy of the party hit you the moment you walked through the door.

“finally!” nayeon exclaimed, dragging you into the living room. “we were starting to think you’d bailed.”

“never,” you replied with a grin, glancing around for jihyo. she was by the drinks table, chatting animatedly with momo and sana, a glass of wine in hand. her eyes met yours across the room, and her smile brightened in a way that made your chest tighten.

“you’ve got competition,” nayeon teased, following your gaze. “jihyo’s been talking about you non-stop.”

“noted,” you said, smirking as you made your way toward her.

jihyo greeted you with a raised glass, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and excitement. “look who decided to show up!” she said, her tone teasing but warm.

“had to make an entrance,” you replied, handing her the small gift you’d picked up on your way. “for the star of the night.”

she opened it eagerly, revealing a personalized notebook with her name embossed on the cover. “you didn’t have to,” she said, her smile softening as she ran her fingers over the cover.

“i wanted to,” you replied simply.

-----

the celebration had been a roaring success, laughter echoing through the walls of the private venue. twice’s voices carried energy and excitement, jihyo at the heart of it all, glowing with pride from her successful solo debut. you had stayed by her side most of the night, quietly content with seeing her bask in the recognition she deserved.

but as the party wound down, you both found yourselves stepping out onto the balcony, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the room you’d left behind. jihyo leaned against the railing, her smile softening as she stared out over the twinkling cityscape.

“needed some air?” you asked, your voice low.

“yeah,” she said, turning her head to you. “it’s a lot... in a good way. but still, a lot.”

you pulled out a cigarette from your jacket pocket and lit it, taking a long drag before offering it to her. her eyes flicked to it, hesitating.

“does it help? is that your only guilty pleasure? what else?” she teased, but there was a curiosity in her tone.

“smoking,” you sarcastically replied, taking a drag. “but you already know.”

“besides that,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “something... less self-destructive.”

“you,” the word slipped out before you could stop it, and you saw her freeze for a moment, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink.

“you’re drunk,” she said, but her voice was softer, her eyes not meeting yours.

“not enough to lie,” you replied, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “jihyo, you’re... incredible. on stage, in the studio, here... it’s kind of hard not to notice.”

she looked up at you, her expression unreadable. “you’re bold when you drink,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“maybe,” you admitted. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t mean it.”

“jihyo,” you started, but the way she turned to face you fully stopped you mid-sentence. the soft glow of the city lights outlined her features, her expression open but unreadable.

“what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t answer with words. instead, you leaned in, testing the waters with a touch—a hand brushing her waist, your lips ghosting over hers. her breath hitched, and for a split second, you thought she might pull away. but then she leaned in, her hands finding their way to the lapels of your jacket, pulling you closer.

the cigarette fell from your fingers, forgotten as her kiss deepened, her lips soft but urgent against yours. the taste of smoke lingered between you, mingling with the sweetness of her.

the balcony’s quiet became your cocoon, shielding you from the world beyond. her fingers tangled in your hair, your hands gripping her waist, the kiss growing hungrier with every passing moment.

when you finally pulled apart, her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips slightly swollen. she laughed softly, the sound laced with disbelief and something deeper.

“you’re... something else,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“is that a good thing?” you asked, your voice rougher now.

she didn’t answer, instead pulling you back in for another kiss, her smile pressing against yours.

-----

the air between you two was electric, charged with anticipation. every time your eyes met, a spark seemed to jump between you, igniting something deeper. she was close now, just a breath away, her lips hovering, tempting, as if asking you to bridge the gap.

“you’re killing me with that look,” she murmured, voice low and almost teasing, her hand resting on your chest, fingers tracing the outline of your shirt. it was the smallest of touches, but it sent a wave of heat through you.

you smirked, leaning in slightly, your lips brushing against hers in a soft, slow kiss. the heat of it spread like wildfire, burning through any distance that remained between you. her hands found their way to your neck, pulling you deeper, a subtle command. you responded, matching the urgency in her movements, your hand sliding down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric.

the kiss grew hungrier, more intense. each brush of her lips against yours was like a spark, setting off a chain reaction. you both leaned into it, letting the kiss deepen, your lips pressing harder as your bodies drew closer. there was no space left between you, just the undeniable pull that seemed to guide every movement, every touch.

your breath quickened, your hand finding the small of her back, pressing her even closer, your heart racing as the air between you thickened with the promise of more. she gasped against your lips as your fingers trailed down, grazing the curve of her waist, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. her touch was soft but insistent, hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the contours of your chest.

“you sure know how to make a girl lose control,” she whispered between kisses, her breath warm against your skin.

you chuckled, the sound low and full of meaning. “maybe I’m just getting started,” you teased, your voice rough with desire.

her hands slid up to your shoulders, pulling you toward her, closing the distance even further. her lips parted for a moment, as if she was about to say something, but instead, she kissed you again, more deeply this time, her tongue teasing at your lips. you responded immediately, your hand finding its way to her hair, pulling her closer, fingers tangling in the strands as you lost yourself in the kiss.

the room seemed to disappear around you, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the heat of the moment. everything about this felt right—the closeness, the shared desire, the unspoken connection that had been building for so long.

you slowly broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, your foreheads resting together as you both breathed heavily. the silence between you was comfortable, full of promise. she smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips.

“you’ve got me exactly where you want me, don’t you?” she murmured, her fingers trailing along your jawline.

you grinned, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “you have no idea,” you whispered back, your voice thick with anticipation.

-----

later, when the night had melted into the early hours of the morning, you found yourselves tangled together in your room, the aftermath of passion leaving you both breathless. the intimacy lingered as you reached for another cigarette, lighting it with a shaky hand.

jihyo propped herself up on one elbow, watching you. “you really are full of surprises,” she said, her tone teasing but warm.

you exhaled a plume of smoke, offering the cigarette to her once more. this time, she didn’t hesitate. she took it, her lips brushing against your fingers, the act feeling far more intimate than it should have.

the two of you shared the quiet moment, the cigarette passing back and forth as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains. neither of you spoke, the silence filled with an understanding that didn’t need words.

when the cigarette burned down to its final ember, she leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “don’t ever stop surprising me,” she whispered.

“so... this changes things,” she said, her voice raspy.

“only if you want it to,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“i think i do,” she said, leaning in for another kiss.

and with that, the night faded, leaving behind the memory of smoke, laughter, and the beginning of something neither of you could quite name yet. ----

a/n — just jihyo smoking... lol i wrote this last night having been inspired while out with friends.

#kino.#zylokv #twice #jihyo #twice jihyo #jihyo x reader #gender neutral #kpop girls #kpop girl group #twice members #san #momo #parj jihyo #oneshot #nayeon

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makeitmingi · 8 months ago

Text

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 2]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.2K

With an iced tea in hand, you unlocked the glass doors of your shop and entered. You turned on the lights, placing your tea on the counter and your bag in your locker. Since you were the only worker here, there was no one else to use the lockers but you.

"Roses, tulips, carnations..." You grabbed your notepad to check the incoming deliveries today. The first thing you did was check on your plants and water them.

"You're growing well." You smiled softly, seeing the plant that you sprout, moving the pot away from the direct sunlight.

"(y/n)?" You heard the familiar voice of your supplier at the back door and went over.

"Good morning, Mr Lee. Do you have any surprises for me?" You giggled. You had a good relationship with all your suppliers, they always helped you bring in quality products.

"Well, besides your usual orders, I have some hydrangeas if you would like." He climbed into his truck.

"Here." He pushed the bucket to show you.

"Oh, they're absolutely beautiful. I'll take them." You smiled. He nodded and helped you bring everything in, he usually knew where everything went.

"Sunflowers aren't selling too well." You shook your head in disappointment, seeing your sunflowers there.

"Sunflowers aren't trendy anymore. Have you seen what's on the internet? My daughter told me that girls are content with just bouquets of baby's breaths now. How times have truly changed, right?" He chuckled with a click of his tongue. You nodded and moved the roses into the refrigerated area.

"It's a minimalist thing, no? Bigger isn't better anymore. No one comes in for traditional bouquets anymore." You sighed, going to the cash register to get the money.

"Tell me about it... And this should be everything." Mr Lee said, glancing over the flowers that he brought in.

"Thank you, this is the payment." You handed the money to him. He nodded and placed it in his pouch.

"Also, Mr Lee. I remember you mentioning that Mrs Lee keep getting her hands burnt when she's working at her restaurant. I made her an aloe balm. This should help soothe the burns." You held the tin out.

"Oh, you're too kind, (y/n). Thank you so much for making this." He patted your shoulder.

"Have a nice day. See you next week." You walked him out.

"See you." The both of you bowed to each other and he jumped into his van before driving off. You returned to your counter and began your work for the day.

"Let's see..." You checked the online orders that you had and printed it out for reference.

Moving to your work bench, you began to prepare the flower preparations for each other. You trimmed the stems, removed the excess leaves and cut thorns away before wrapping them up with either cellophane or tissue paper.

"Hello? Are you open?" The bell above the door jingled. A girl walked into store, carrying a pot with her. You cleaned your hands and walked out to the front.

"Yes, we're open. How can I help you?" You smiled.

"My fern seems to be wilting and I can't seem to revive it. Can you help?" She asked.

"Let's see what's the issue." You escorted in. She placed the pot on your work table and you inspected it. The girl patiently waited, watching you as you checked it.

"From what I see, the soil isn't draining water properly. It's retaining too much water and suffocating the roots of the plant." You said.

"What? Can that happen?" She blinked.

"Yes, so that suffocation prevents the roots from absorbing the vitamins and minerals. You should mix a well drainage soil of this ratio and move your fern in." You wrote the ingredients down.

"And I can find this at the plant store?" She asked, reading through what you wrote down.

"You should be able to find the components. But if you don't mind waiting, I can mix some for you to take home." You offered. Hearing that, she let out a sigh of relief and nodded her head excitedly. You went to your storage area to grab the different soil components that you need.

"Peat moss, sand and potting soil." You mixed the components into a bag, adding some fertiliser as well since the fern currently lacked essential nutrients.

"For two weeks, put two drops of this plant reviver into the soil even if you are not watering it." You handed her a small vial.

"Thank you. Actually, do you mind repotting it into the new soil for me? I'll pay you." She requested.

"Alright." You took the fern out and got rid of the old soil. You poured the new soil in, creating a well to put the fern in. After that, you loosely covered the roots with the soil.

"Done." You smiled, removing your gloves.

"Thank you. This is actually my mum's plant and I'm helping her take care of it. I know nothing about plants." She said in embarrassment.

"No worries, the plant should be fine from here. If there are anymore issues, you can come back." You chuckled and rang up her bill. She nodded and paid.

"Thanks again." She bowed and walked out of the shop. After that, you went back to preparing your orders. There were some pick ups today so you wanted to make sure that everything was in order for a smoother pick up.

"Hi, I'm here for a pick up?" A guy walked into the store.

"Sure, can I see your order number?" You asked. He showed you the confirmation email and went to retrieve his order. It was a flower box instead of a bouquet.

"Just make sure everything is okay for you before paying." You said, rounding the counter to the cashier.

"Do you mind changing the ribbons to pink too? She really likes pink." He requested.

"Of course." You grabbed the ribbon. With pink flowers, you wanted to add contrast with a different coloured bow but since he wants it to be pink, there was no issue with changing it.

"That's better. Thanks." He handed you his card.

"I wrote the congratulatory message as you stated in request email but if you'd like to write your own message. This is a spare card, on the house." You handed him the blank card.

"Thank you, I don't know what else to write but if I come up with something I'll add it." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. You hummed and rang up his bill, writing the invoice and handing him a copy, along with his credit card. With a grateful bow of his head, he left the shop.

Before you knew it, the clock hit 1pm, with customers coming in to buy, place advance orders or collect orders they've placed.

'Closed for lunch.'

You sat behind the counter with a tired sigh, taking out your lunch box. Your meals usually consisted of sandwiches or leftovers from dinner the night before.

Which was why Mrs Kim would usually come with food for you, always disapproving of how your eating habits.

RING!

"Sorry, we're closed at the moment." You said from behind the counter, not looking at the door. But you didn't hear the second ring of the door opening again so you stood up.

"Oh!" Your eyes widened in surprised as Hongjoong stood there, looking around the shop.

"Hongjoong sshi..." You blinked, maybe you were dreaming. Maybe your guilt was too much that the male was appearing in your dreams.

"Good afternoon, (y/n) sshi. Is this a bad time? Should I come back at another time?" He asked with a slight tilt of his head, fingers resting on the buttons of his blazer. You shook your head, reaching to get a tissue to wipe your mouth.

"It's fine. What can I help you with?" You came out from behind the counter to properly greet him. He patiently waited as you pulled a chair for him to sit.

"Please, would you like something to drink?" You offered.

"No, I'm fine. Actually, (y/n) sshi, I came to apologise for my reaction during my mother's funeral." He stood back up.

"What? There's nothing for you to apologise for, Hongjoong sshi. I should be the one apologising, I overstepped and said too much. It wasn't appropriate of me." You bowed deeply.

"You didn't overstep at all. Your intentions were good, I reacted poorly." He bowed back.

"No, you're grieving, it's normal." You smiled softly.

"Thank you for understanding." Hongjoong held his hand out but remembered that it was bandaged and cursed under his breath, hiding it and putting his other hand out for you to shake. If you were phased by his injury, you didn't show it. You smiled and slipped your hand into his to shake.

"I should go and let you carry on with your meal." He said once you both let go.

"No, it's fine. You can stay if you'd like." You smiled softly. He let out a small hum and continued to look around your shop, observing all the plants around.

"So, this is where my mother hung out?" He asked, picking up a stalk of rose from your work bench and twirling it.

"Sometimes... She would come for lunch or tea. We would just chat over food." You replied awkwardly.

How much were you supposed to say about Mrs Kim to her own son? You didn't want to sound like you were boasting about your time with her either, that wouldn't do any good.

"I see." He said, placing the flower back down.

"Hongjoong sshi..." You rubbed your arm, unsure of how to continue this conversation.

"Sorry for making you uncomfortable. Just... The truth is, you know a lot about my mother that I don't. You've spent time with her while I didn't so I can't help but feel curious. My relationship with her wasn't as good as she made it out of be." He informed.

"Oh. Hongjoong sshi, it's not my place to judge you or your relationship with Mrs Kim. Whatever relationship I had with her is vastly different from your own." You said.

"You're very kind, (y/n) sshi." He complimented. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

"I should go." He stood up.

"Wait before you go. Your bandage, do you want me to help you replace it?" You pointed. Hongjoong looked down and saw the blood beginning to seep through.

"It's fine, I shouldn't take up more of your time." He shook his head.

"Not at all. I can help if you'd like." You offered. With a soft sigh, Hongjoong sat back down.

"I'll go get my medical kit. Be right back." You told him and went to the back room to get what you needed. You also took a salve that you usually used for wound care.

"I'm not a doctor but I am first aid certified and I study medical plants in botany so you don't have to worry." You smiled and took a pair of cutters to cut away the bandages that Yeosang had wrapped around Hongjoong's hand. Hongjoong quietly observed you, not saying anything else while you focussed.

"I made this salve for wounds. It should help with soothing the wounds and healing." You explained, cleaning the blood.

"Do you always make your own medicine?" He asked.

"No, I just make simple stuff. I'm still learning." You giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear before applying a thin layer of the salve over the cuts and wounds.

"Does it hurt?" You looked up at him. He shook his head and you sighed in relief.

"You can bring that home with you to apply when you change bandages. I have some more." You explained.

"You do a better job than my brother." Hongjoong said after observing how you properly wrapped a new bandage around his hand and secured it in place.

"You should remove the bandage after 3 days to let the wounds breathe and dry." You said.

The entire time, you never once asked Hongjoong about how he got injured or acted differently. You treated it like any other scrapped knee and healed him. Usually, people would be scared or ask him how he got injured like that.

"Thanks." He looked at his newly bandaged hand.

"You're very welcome. If you see signs of infection or get a fever, go to a doctor." You advised. He nodded and took the small pot of salve, putting it into his pocket.

Will he use it? Probably not. But he saw how dedicated you were and for some reason, didn't want to disappoint you by not taking it.

"Bye, Hongjoong sshi. I'll see you around?" You blinked at your own words, uncertainty in your voice.

"Have a nice day, (y/n) sshi." He didn't address it, merely bowing his head and leaving your shop. You let out a long exhale, feeling like you've been holding your breath the entire time.

"Ah!" You suddenly remembered the silk handkerchief that you had washed and in your bag.

"Too distracted." You scratched your head and went to the counter to eat a few more bites of your lunch before you had to reopen.

You were not too bothered that you hadn't returned the handkerchief to Hongjoong. Even if you did feel guilty, you had an inkling that you would be seeing Hongjoong again soon. What ate at you more was how foreign Hongjoong spoke about his mother, like she was a stranger that he didn't know.

"Hongjoong, where are you?"

"I went out to run an errand, Seonghwa. Don't worry, I didn't drive. I got the driver." Hongjoong sighed, sinking into the backseat of the Rolls Royce he was in.

"I'm not worried about that. I just wanted to make sure you didn't do something dumb like blow up a building."

"Geez that happened ONCE, let it go... And I'm going to work, I have to go to my club." Hongjoong said, looking at his bandaged hand.

"You don't have to go back to work right away, Hongjoong. The boys and I can take over while you take a few days. You've needed to take a break for a while."

"I'm the leader of Ateez, Seonghwa. I don't need all of you to take over my work." Hongjoong replied.

"But..."

"Yes, my mother died. But sitting around isn't going to bring her back to life. I still have roles to fulfill, I'm not going to let anyone strike us just because I'm down. There are people counting on us, relying on us." He continued.

"Alright. Stay safe then, Hongjoong. I'll see you at the docks meeting at 5pm?"

"Yeah, thanks Seonghwa. I'll see you later." Hongjoong hummed and hung up. The car stopped before Hongjoong's club and the manager came out, opening the door for him.

"Good afternoon, Mr Kim." The manager bowed. The club wasn't open yet so Hongjoong could get some administrative work done.

"Get me a drink and come up to the office." Hongjoong said, walking into the club.

"Yes, sir." He bowed. Upon his entrance, all the workers stopped and bowed down to greet their boss This was the main club Hongjoong worked out of so they were used to seeing him around.

"Give me 10 minutes. No one is to enter." Hongjoong told the guard who stood by his office door.

"Yes, sir." The guard bowed.

Hongjoong entered his office and sat down in his chair. There were some things he needed to do and catch up on privately, without any interruptions. As the leader of Ateez, he had to keep track of the other Ateez members and their work, on top of his own. But the boys always did their work so it wasn't hard on him.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"S-Sir?" Hongjoong heard the timid voice of the club manager outside his door, making him look up from his phone where he was sending messages to Yunho.

"Has it been 10 minutes?" Hongjoong asked back, tucking his phone into his blazer pocket.

"Yes, sir." The male on the other side replied.

"Come in." Hongjoong said. The door opened and the male came in with his iPad and Hongjoong's whiskey in hand. Hongjoong nodded over to the chair and the manager bowed, taking a seat opposite him.

"Update me." Hongjoong took a sip of his drink. The manager began to update Hongjoong on the business.

"We have been thinking of letting our bartending apprentice go. He had been drinking on the job and getting drunk." He informed.

"Who?" Hongjoong leaned forward.

"This is his profile. The next page has some employee complaints and customer complaints that were logged." The manager informed, pulling up the ex employee's profile and handing it over to Hongjoong to look it over.

"I won't read this, let him go. I won't let anyone be caught lacking in my business. One complaint is as good as ten. Make him compensate for what alcohol he took." Hongjoong instructed.

"Of course, sir." The manager nodded, taking back the iPad and going through the other updates.

"Continue to manage necessary manpower and suppliers to the club. Revenue is still good." Hongjoong told him.

"I will. Thank you for giving me this responsibility, sir." The manager bowed from his seat.

"This is the list of VIPs coming. As usual, make sure they are well taken care of." Hongjoong slid over the list of VIP names and the dates that they would be coming.

"Of course." The manager folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

"You can go." With that, Hongjoong waved him off and he left. Hongjoong may seem cold and merciless but he treats his employees right, at least those that do their job well. He is a perfectionist and always wants the best, there shouldn't be anything that's lacking when it came to his business.

"Send Wooyoung and San for that private poker game. That's wheret they'll meet our informant." Hongjoong said to those that were in the group call.

"Oooh, I can get a new suit done." Wooyoung's focus and excitement was obviously on other things.

"What about the governor meeting that's coming up, hyung? Are you going with Seonghwa hyung?" Jongho asked.

"Seonghwa should go with Yunho. They know how to work the charm. Plus the governor's wife seems to favour Yunho." Hongjoong thought out loud, making the other laugh.

"No one can resist that face." Seonghwa chuckled.

"Yunho's ears just turned bright red." Yeosang informed and the others could hear Yunho's yell of protest in the background.

"Wait, what time is Seonghwa hyung and Hongjoong hyung settling the issue at the docks? I want to tag along, I could use some action. It'll be fun." Mingi asked.

"Oh! Me too! If Mingi's going, I want to go!" San agreed. Hongjoong could hear Seonghwa wanting to interject but it was ignored. Hongjoong and Seonghwa could never fight the younger ones, they were simply outnumbered.

"You guys always make a mess when you get involved... This time, call your own clean up crew." Seonghwa hissed.

"You gave in way too easily, Seonghwa ah." Hongjoong laughed and leaned back into his seat.

"I already have enough to think about. I have to pick my battles. Plus, if they can handle it for us, I won't risk getting blood on my new coat." Seonghwa said.

Series masterlist

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gunsatthaphan · 4 months ago

Text

~ Monthly BL Breakdown: December 2024 ~

🎆 Happy New Year!!! 🎉

Hey everyone! This will be my last breakdown as I have decided to discontinue the tradition. Making compilation posts requires a lot of work and dedication and unfortunately the engagement is not big enough for me to have the motivation to keep going. Thank you to those who have liked and reblogged and said nice things, I appreciate that very much!! 🧡 I will continue to run my blog as usual so I will remain available for asks about anything (as long as they're nice) and I will continue to post updates here and there. Thank you 🧡

Disclaimer: ALL shows can be streamed here or here, as well as on Youtube and other platforms. For more info on where to watch what, check out this post!

As always feel free to add stuff! -> previous breakdowns

What came out this month? (green = seen/currently watching)

🌟 Addicted Heroin Special Episode - December 1st (Thailand)

🌟 Tokimeki Bomb - December 1st (Japan)

🌟 Hidden - December 3rd (Thailand)

🌟 You Want Some? - December 5th (South Korea)

🌟 Be Moon - December 6th (China)

🌟 Eyes on You - December 11th (Hong Kong)

🌟 ThamePo: Heart that Skips a Beat - December 13th (Thailand) ✅

🌟 The Renovation - December 14th (Thailand)

🌟 Only For Fans - December 15th (South Korea)

🌟 Eternal Butler - December 20th (Taiwan)

🌟 Gangster And His Boyfriend - December 21st (South Korea)

🌟 The Way Home - December 24th (China)

🌟 Sangmin Dinneaw - December 29th (Thailand)

Monthly Likes / Dislikes

❣️ - ø 👎🏻 - ø

New series & movie announcements

🎥 Lost on the River (starring JudoFluke) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 I'm Not Wrong - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 Love Destiny from Hell - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Concealed and Blended - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 City of the Sun - Date TBA (China)

🎥 Secret Relationship - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 Love and Punishment - Coming March 2025 (Taiwan)

🎥 Desire - Date TBA (China)

Other news from the BL world

❗️ The winners of GMMTV's BL contest Y-Find have been announced. A total of 4 submitted plots by Thai fans will be adapted into series. The winning titles are My Lovely Pet, Who Killed My Boo?, Lost Time and รักนี้พอดีเป็นของพระรอง. Further production steps have not been disclosed by the company.

❗️ The Japanese BL I Became the Lead in a BL Drama is getting a sequel. The title as well as a premiere date have not been announced.

❗️ The Japanese lgbt dating reality show The Boyfriend is getting a second season. Further details are unknown.

❗️ Former Be On Cloud actor Barcode Tinnasit has joined GMMTV.

❗️ In a public statement, the writer of the novel Pit Babe, which was adapted into a series in 2023, announced that they have removed the Omegaverse elements from the sequel as it no longer complies with their beliefs and principles. These changes will be carried into the upcoming series adaption by Change 2561 in 2025.

❗️ The yearly Y Entertainment Awards were held on December 1st. The following BL actors/productions won:

Last Twilight: Best BL of the Year

Aof Noppharnach: Best BL director of the Year

Pooh Krittin: BL Prince of the Year

Pit Babe: Best Production of the Year

"Re-Move On" by GeminiFourth: Best OST of the Year (My Love Mixup)

Up Poompat: Best BL Lead Actor of the Year

❗️ WETV released their 2025 lineup on December 5th. The following BL productions were announced:

Shine (sequel to ManSuang, starring Mile P. and Apo N.)

Love of Silom (starring Up P. and Poom P.)

Top Form (adaption of the manga Dakaichi, starring Smart C. and Boom R.)

Knock Out (starring Gunner N. and Nice B.)

Me and Who (collaboration with Domundi, starring Big T. and Park A.)

Upcoming series & movies for January:

👉🏻 The Boy Next World - January 5th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Ossan's Love Thailand - January 6th (Thailand)

👉🏻 When It Rains It Pours - January 9th (Japan)

👉🏻 Idolfactory 2025 lineup event - January 12th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Impression of Youth - January 15th (Taiwan)

#doreens monthly bl breakdown #thai bl #bl drama #upcoming bl #update #bl news #thank you for supporting my breakdowns! 🧡#i had fun with them #happy new year!!! wishing everyone love and happiness and health!!

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jennifercheckapologist · 2 months ago

Text

Bandit Like Me- 01

✮ Pairings: Ellie/Reader | Abby/Reader | Dina/Ellie | (Past) Jesse/Dina

✮ Characters: Musician!Ellie | Pro Athlete!Abby | Bassist!Dina | Drummer!Jesse

✮ Summary: It's the first night of Ellie's solo tour and you've got two tickets.

✮ Word Count: 2,000

✮ A/N: Me when I take a million years to start writing. Apologies to the people who asked about this series being continued forever ago because you're still getting tagged in this now.

◁ II ▷

12:45 PM

The first time you met Abby Anderson, she was drenched in sweat and one hundred percent certain you were the love of her life. Amazingly, five years later, she would find herself in the same condition– only in the kitchen of your New York apartment instead of a dorm room in Louisiana. You take her love confessions even less seriously now than you did back in college. Then, she was loud, cocky, and hot-headed– everything you rolled your eyes at back in college– and now she's grown into a much calmer woman.

Of course, she still carries that same ego with her, evidenced by the certainty in her step and the straightness of her spine. Abby was the product of hard work and absurdly high expectations, and it shows now more than ever. One day, you'd looked up, and the girl who pulled all-nighters just to hear you talk for longer had grown into a woman who religiously slept eight hours every night.

Even now, as she holds your back tight against her front to mouth lazily at your neck, you can't believe she's grown up right alongside you. You make a weak attempt to squirm out of her hold, to no avail. She's warm against you, and even though she's being gentle, something in you aches when she holds you like this.

“You smell like outside,” you whine, wrinkling your nose at the scent of sweat and grass covering her skin. You’ll miss this when she’s gone. Nearly everything becomes Abby when she’s away. Freshly mowed lawns are Abby, black hair ties are Abby, the blonde girls in your bed are not Abby, but they do their best to substitute. You shake the thought of her absence from your mind– it’s too early for that.

She releases you with a chuckle, “Well, you'll never guess where I've been.”

“Funny,” you grumble as you steady yourself. You don’t go too far, not when you know these are your last days with her for a while.

“Yeah, yeah,” she plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, “We’ll take a shower and it'll be fine.”

“Are you busy tonight?” You hum as you take her hands in yours. It sounds a little more eager than you intend it to, and your face warms at the sound of it. You can sense the rejection before she opens her mouth. It's the way she interlocks her fingers with yours, the subtle squeeze she gives, and– of course– the way that she sighs heavily before she finally looks you in the eyes. You've been getting rejected by Abby for so long that it barely registers enough to sting anymore.

“I need to finish packing tonight,” Abby finally murmurs, pouting just enough that you know she's worried she might be making a mistake. You’re not sure if she’s regretting turning you down or reminding you that she’s leaving you soon.

“Don’t look at me like that,” You say, giving her hands a reciprocal squeeze. “It's fine. It's just a show.”

Abby lets go of your hands to pull you back into her by your waist. “A show?”

“Yeah, remember a few months ago when we went to Ellie Williams’s listening party?” You wait for her to nod before you continue, “Well, I talked with her bass player, Dina, and I asked her to save me a ticket for opening night. I was joking, of course, but she found my Instagram. Next thing I know, I’ve got two tickets to the first night and an invite to the after-party they're throwing to celebrate.”

Abby frowns at you as she mumbles, “Oh, an after-party for Ellie.”

“Oh,” you mock, the beginnings of a smirk tilting the corner of your mouth, “why didn't you tell me you and Ellie are on a first name basis?”

“We should go,” Abby suggests, happily ignoring you. She seemingly has no idea her hopes of appearing casual about the ordeal have already disappeared with the way her grip on you tightened at the mention of Ellie.

You smile up at her, your voice filled with faux innocence as you reply, “Abby, baby, you have to finish packing tonight.”

“It can wait. Everything can wait.” Abby pauses to think. “Everything but you. Aren't you always saying I need to learn to have fun again?”

“Is that what this is? You having fun?”

“What else would it be?” Abby questions.

“Well,” you pretend to think for a few beats. You wait just long enough for her to begin squirming under your gaze. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re jealous.”

“Good thing you know better,” Abby replies as she lowers her mouth back to your neck to give you one more kiss.

9:15 PM

There’s always a moment right before she steps onstage when Ellie can convince herself she has stage fright. It crawls up her spine, a burning sensation along the skin urging her to just start running. And yet it freezes her in place with her guitar pick heavy against her palm and her mouth dry.

When she first stepped on stage, she was an awkward teenager clinging anxiously to Joel's leg, secure in the knowledge that they were there for him. Even still, she’d always check for exits, and think of every way she could possibly fuck up. Where do my hands go? What am I supposed to say first? Maybe I’m not supposed to be here.

Now, with the lights down and the crowd buzzing, she wondered momentarily if she could make a run for it. Apparently, it didn't matter if she was fourteen, trailing behind Joel with her handed-down guitar slung over her shoulder, or twenty-four, with the whole world at her fingertips. She’s nearly jumping out of her skin as she forces herself to look at her band. Dina’s eyes are already on her, warm and wide and reassuring. She feels herself nodding in response before her eyes meet Jesse’s. His are just as welcoming, but loud with excitement as he spins a drumstick in his hand absentmindedly.

For a long time, she’d tried to convince herself that each show would be the last time it happened. She swore that the next time, her hands wouldn’t shake and her palms wouldn’t sweat. Next time, she wouldn’t feel her heart pounding in her throat as she surveyed all of the bodies in the audience. Next time, she would feel ready. Eventually, she let that dream go.

She was destined to step onto the stage prepared to escape, but a glance at Dina, the weight of the crowd’s excitement to be there– with her– turned into something as the lights came up. Suddenly, that white-hot fear was chased up her spine by something even warmer. It was intoxicating; the heat of the lights focused on her, and all of the eyes staring up at her, excited just to share a space with her. All of her fear melts into excitement.

One second she’s drowning, then the first gasp of air, and suddenly, she’s above water again, and that’s when everything shifts; she isn’t just Ellie anymore.

“We all know why we’re here tonight,” Ellie breathed into the mic. She was golden, center stage, her guitar in her hands like an old friend.

She lets the audience clap and scream like they always do, their excitement like rainwater washing over her. As she surveys the faces in front of her, everything feels like a good omen. How could she have doubted making the first tour stop in the city she now called home? How could she forget why she loves it so much? It’s finally quiet again when she opens her mouth to continue, “For those of you who don’t know, I put out a little album not too long ago. Archivist was a bit of a passion project. For a long long time I wasn't sure it was ever going to be anything until I wrote this one song, and I knew I had to finish it.”

She can taste the next few hours on her tongue as she hears Dina’s steady bass strumming. It’s the absurdly priced water she will drink in between songs, the salt in the sweat she’ll lick off of her lips, the sticky, sweet lip gloss she will lick off of someone else’s– maybe something even sweeter at the end of the night if she’s really good.

Ellie allows herself to laugh along with the crowd at all of her jokes. Over the years, she's gotten better and better at pretending she hasn’t practiced playing coy for them, with only the eyes of her bandmates watching.

She'd almost forgotten the euphoria of a packed show. It’s a good audience. Their eagerness to be part of something chases away any leftover apprehension in Ellie's body. She can tell they’re itching to sing along to her new stuff, not just waiting for her to play old duets she wrote with Joel. For the first time in her life, this was all hers.

It all makes her feel silly for ever doubting herself. Yes, their last rehearsal had been terrible, but that was clearly a sign that tonight was going to be good. They are going to be perfect.

It's the first night of the rest of her life, and she is going to be perfect.

11:00 PM

“You deserve a shot.”

You do, don’t you? It’s hard to argue with a beautiful blonde staring at you, holding out tequila like something holy. She looks so good, and you do too– you can feel it. You’re covered in glitter and sticky with a new layer of sweat to replace the one you’d worked up during the show. Before you know it, you’re tipsy on top of it all. All in all, it was a great day to be you. Especially now that Abby is preparing to pour another shot down your throat.

You allow yourself to close your eyes, melting into her touch when she grabs your jaw with one hand to guide your head back. Your mouth opens up for her involuntarily to swallow back the liquid. She could do anything– lead you anywhere— in this moment, and you probably wouldn’t care. She presses a firm kiss to your mouth when you finish. It’s all a good reminder of how much you love having her like this. This Abby, free and eager to touch you, is the one who taught you what it meant to have a muse. She keeps her hold on your head firm as she trails sloppy kisses along your neck.

“I think you have a little stalker,” Abby teases, her breath warm against your ear. She taps two fingers to your jaw to make you open your eyes, “and she looks real excited to see you.”

You swing your head with enough force that Abby almost jerks her hand away from your face, and there she is: Ellie Williams in the flesh again.

She looks just as good as she did a month ago- maybe even better. She’s leaning into her shiny, new rocker persona heavily; her eyes are shielded by sunglasses, but her hair is tied back, leaving her freckled face nearly unobscured.

You turn to say something to Abby, but she’s already slipped away by the time you’ve shaken yourself from your Ellie-induced stupor. You can’t help but be thankful she’s gone, though. It means you don’t have to be embarrassed by the way you grin when Ellie finally reaches you. A few months ago, she barely knew you existed, but now she’s holding her arms out to hug you as if she’s known you her whole life.

You let her take you into her arms, finally returning the hug as she greets you loudly. Her voice is just barely loud enough to compete with the music playing as she says, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, rockstar.”

@macaroni676 @diddiqueen @lmaoo-spiderman @ravyaryn

◁ II ▷

#ellie williams #abby anderson #the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #ellie x you #abby tlou #ellie tlou

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kedreeva · 2 months ago

Note

As with most of your asks, I'm considering getting quail. I see you often say you've selected for or against a trait. How inbred are your flocks / Do you often bring in outside stock or do you just with with the controlled genetics you know? Don't mean to be rude!

So before I answer, you need to understand that "inbred" doesn't work like however you think it works (or you wouldn't be asking this question). Line breeding is the practice of breeding stock back to its own bloodline, and it serves at least 3 important purposes.

The first is that pairing offspring back to parents allows for the perpetuation of mutations in color and pattern and other genetics (ie pairing a mutant gene with a second matching mutant gene produces the mutation if recessive). Pretty much every mutation, unless it has spontaneously mutated twice, shares a bloodline to some degree with every other animal that has that mutation.

Related to that first point is the second- pairing offspring to parents or each other allows you to match mutations (health wise), bringing any health concerns to the surface faster. This may sound like a bad thing, but the faster a health problem manifests in the phenotype, the easier it is to weed it out of a bloodline through selection and culling. Since related animals are most likely to have the same mutations, pairing them lets you find out if the stock is carrying anything without showing it; from there you can decide if it's something you can get rid of through breeding or if you need to find new stock.

Lastly, line breeding is an incredibly important style of breeding when it comes to rapid production animals, as once you've established a healthy line by weeding out the deleterious genes, that line should be able to produce quite a few generations that are all healthy. Introducing "fresh" blood just to introduce fresh blood, when there are no current health concerns, is just creating animals that may suffer, for no reason.

The caveat is that there IS eventually a point where you see degradation in a bloodline. For things like mice, it's reckoned to be around 100 generations with zero new blood. For something bigger, like a horse or an elephant, the reproduction rate and number of available animals is inhibitive to such a thing even starting. For quail, I haven't really heard of a limit, but I would assume it's upwards of ten generations, and honestly probably more like 50+ similar to mice. Provided you're not allowing health problems to persist, obviously.

So, all of that said, my quail have been bred to related birds, and "how much" depends on which line. The Celadons are on the 6th and 7th generation, and currently undergoing an outcross as they've had poor quality genetics since before they came to me (I've selected for as much as I feel I reasonably can to improve them, but at this point they just plain old need more genes, which is a problem with pretty much ALL 100% celadon lines... People get a homozygous line and then since they don't know enough about genetics, they never outcross so they don't lose it. It's why most Celadons are red range/tuxedo/Tibetan, despite that pattern being impossible to feather sex). The jumbo browns were on their second generation, but I'm getting rid of all of them in favor of the wild type ones. The fee are technically second generation from the SLB group, and the wild type x celadon cross babies and the WT x SLB cross are both F1 offspring, as the WT are new blood. The wild type line is on F1, being bred to a different WT male than the one that was their father, but he's still related since he came from the same breeder. HOWEVER, I also have 2 dozen wild type eggs from a second breeder that are completely unrelated currently cooking in the incubator.

So, aside from the Celadons (who I'm gearing up to outcross), pretty much all of them are F1 and F2, and no one is getting past F7. It will probably take me the next year or two to establish the lines I want again, at which point I will largely line breed unless there's something wrong.

The best time to bring in fresh genetics is at the start of the line. You grab multiple lines, you set up extra breeding groups, you cross at the outset to give yourself a wide gene pool to start with, and then you whittle it down from there. If you're really sure you'll need to, there's also the option of maintaining several separate lines concurrently, so that down the road you can cross them without bringing in truly unknown factors.

#quail #asks

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buzzcutlip · 10 months ago

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Cracks and Gaps - The Worst Day (part I) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 7434 words ao3

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother's restaurant. As an editor, you can't miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy.

A/N: I've started writing this story a looong time ago last year. There will be two more parts. I would like to thank @carmyboobear for being the most incredible beta and helping me out on the rocky journey. They're a very special person to me, and also a fantastic and inspiring writer themselves. Please, check their Carmy stories if you haven't!

THE WORST DAY

The first time you meet Carmen, you are both a little over twenty and in Copenhagen. He is staging at Noma, and you are interning at a design studio where everyone is very “green.” From one of your conversations with Carmen, you learn that Pop-Tarts and Cheetos are illegal here. In Europe. Most of the sodas that stained your tongue crazy colors when you were a kid are banned too. He lectures you on Scandinavian agriculture and food production.

Carmen is skinny and short—still a bit taller than you, though—with sharp, high cheekbones and bulging eyes. You don't know enough about each other to be “friends,” but he is a good companion. Your high school friend Becky knows Carmen’s older sister; that’s how you found each other in Denmark’s capital.

On two rare occasions, you get drunk together, and that happens only when he is stressed from work. Like, stressed STRESSED. You'd think he only drinks special natural wine from Lofoten or something, but his choice of poison is canned Budweiser. Maybe he misses home as much as you do. Maybe that’s what leads you to almost kiss him the second time. Carmen lives on a boat, and he takes you there, where you drink vodka mixed with herbs and licorice that Carmen concocts, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates. The drink tastes good. Weird. You don't hide your grimace. Neither of you comments on the alcohol ratio. It's more vodka than anything else, that's for sure.

Carmen is not your type, physically or character-wise—you are an introvert yourself, so you need someone to bring you out of your shell. Obviously, doing an internship on a different continent is a huge step, one that is only on you. He also smokes a lot and probably doesn't wash his hair. You've heard about his crazy mother and bonkers family from Becky, so you understand why Carmen is Carmen. Why he’s run off to Europe. It's just—his face—his eyes, when he's telling you about his dream job at Noma or Alchemist—they glow, and he becomes so animated, the quiet excitement seeping to the surface, and there's fondness blooming in your chest. He also knows a thing or two about sports, as you do, the subject bringing you back to Chicago, and the longing for “home” and “familiar” is terribly strong in the moment, enhanced by the alcohol. And Carmen, the boy sitting opposite you, with burns on his hands and ripped jeans, is both of those things put into one.

Nothing happens between you two, but the urge to press your own lips against his lingers after you leave in a taxi, not brave enough to ride a bike under the influence.

You try to stay in touch after Copenhagen, messaging Carmen on his empty Facebook profile, sending a text once in a while, mainly at Christmas, and when you have some terrible junk food, just to make fun of him. When he FaceTimes you, he’s in Paris, and you’re in Dublin. The next time, he’s in California.

He rarely ever answers messages on the phone. Usually, it's an emoji, sometimes a word or two. Soon, there are no answers, and you can't be bothered. You carry on with your life in Chicago, and it doesn’t take long before you start seeing Carmen Berzatto in the paper, on the internet. The young prodigy chef, everyone says. Reluctantly, you read the articles, thinking about the Copenhagen Carmen, smiling at his photos. He's grown up, filled out. His hair is curlier, his shoulders wider, his biceps stronger. He looks good. Good and sad, you think to yourself, and decide not to text him to congratulate him on his star career. Carmen is not one to care about what you think of it.

It's only when you hear from Becky that Mikey Berzatto has died, that you think of Carmen properly, after years full of work in the magazine office, one shitty almost-boyfriend, and summers spent in Europe, writing about sustainable travel and solo adventures. Becky says that he's inherited a restaurant from Michael. You decide against sending him condolences—too personal.

But about ten months later, there's whispering that a fancy restaurant, The Bear, is replacing The Beef of Chicagoland, and it's actually your boss who tells you that you should go check the place out.

You are not into that whole haute cuisine thing, to be honest. You never understood those tiny little portions and strange ingredients and their combinations. You prefer good pasta with Bolognese sauce or roasted chicken with mashed potatoes. Sometimes you wonder if Carmen's strange relationship with his family is what's keeping him away from his Italian roots and forcing him to work in pristine, starched whites in sterile kitchens, cooking intestines and antlers, making it art.

---

Becky gives you Natalie Berzatto’s phone number to get in touch with her to try to schedule an interview for the magazine feature. Your boss, Rob, hopes that Carmen could even make it to the cover soon when The Bear takes off. You’re not sure how you feel about bypassing Carmen completely and going straight to his sister.

So one Thursday, in early May, you decide to walk there, unannounced. You corner the building, passing a big glass window, and before you make it to the main entrance, you nearly collide with a very wonky wooden stepladder. With Carmen Berzatto on top of it, fiddling with a screwdriver or a similar tool, and a signboard.

The second you make contact with the ancient stepladder, Carmen shouts, "Fuck!"

“Sorry,” you yelp, and one glance at the man high up confirms that you are indeed dealing with the Chef himself.

“Could you watch out?” he says angrily as he makes his way down, measuring every step carefully.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, waiting anxiously for Carmen to—hopefully—recognize you. To anyone walking by, you must look like an idiot, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting motionless and stiff for a guy to climb down a ladder.

You don’t know what you had been expecting but definitely not Carmen staring at you with his huge, bloodshot eyes for seconds that feel like minutes. You nearly turn around and walk away, no joke.

He looks—

“You look—” you start. Terrible. But also, like, gorgeous. Terribly tired but hot. Is it awful of you to think that?

“Hi,” Carmen says, one hand going into the big mess of his hair, the other one into his pants pocket. He's avoiding your eyes, which makes you even more nervous, makes you think it was not such a great idea to come here.

“Hi!” you say, probably overly enthusiastically. “You're back in Chicago,” is the first thing you can think of.

He nods. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, congrats on the new place,” you say, gesturing to the building behind him, newspaper covering the windows. “I'm really sorry, I thought it was already open,” you explain, tugging on the hem of your lilac sweatshirt nervously. Can he tell you’re lying? “Becky mentioned something about it.”

“No, we’re opening next week,” Carmen says, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

“I'm really curious,” you smile carefully, testing the waters, wondering how he's going to react. You haven't seen each other in more than five years, and Carmen's never been exactly friendly. Not like mean, but definitely not easily approachable. “I work for this magazine, and we would love to do a feature on this,” you say, leaving out that it's you who would be writing it. Who wants to write it. Not only about the place but about Carmen, the enigma, the quiet boy, the excellent chef.

He only nods, clearly not sharing your enthusiasm. “Maybe later,” he taps the cigarette against the palm of his other hand. “When we're ready for this kind of thing.”

“Of course,” you agree quickly.

“Might be a while.”

“So what is the big plan?”

Carmen looks at you, measuring you. Like he thinks you have some ulterior motive. He lights up the cigarette, taking a long drag from it, and you fight not to scrunch your nose in disgust. The older you get, the more you hate the smell. Especially when someone is blowing out the smoke aimlessly—almost—in your face.

“My partner—Sydney, she’s hung up on the stars. So I guess a fine dining kinda place,” Carmen says, flicking the cigarette butt in the general direction of the gutter. The second sentence comes out more like a question than a statement, but you are still processing the first one.

“You run a business with your girlfriend?” you swear you don’t mean it to sound so accusing.

Carmen takes a step back, physically—bumping into the stepladder behind him—and mentally, too. “No! She—Sydney’s my business partner.” The defensive tone tells you exactly how your words sounded though. You wince. “We’ve been working on the new concept together with Nat, and the whole crew, actually. It’s—it’s a family business, I guess—uhm. We had only like three months to finish, and—”

You can see he’s really flustered. He’s starting to stutter, hand nervously scratching his neck. You hate the sight, hate that you’ve made him feel like this.

“I’m sorry!” you interrupt him. “It came out all wrong. I shouldn’t have said that,” you say urgently, hoping to see him relax back to his non-caring, nonchalant, tired-looking self. How could you mess up so quickly? Is that your special ability or a curse?

“‘s fine,” Carmen says, and he does relax a bit, shoulders dropping an inch. He doesn’t look friendly though. Or in the mood for a chat. “I just—she’s a business partner,” he repeats obstinately, face red.

The moment grows awkward. In your coat pocket, you touch a pack of chewing gum and start fiddling with it. “I—my office is nearby so I thought I could come around and see the progress,” you say into the void, trying not to cringe too much. “Maybe I would take a few colleagues for dinner.”

“The reservations aren't open yet,” Carmen says in a flat voice. You can’t call him out because it’s probably true anyway. Plus, you just lied again—the offices are not close; you had taken the L—and you feel bad about it.

There’s not much left to say, you realize. He’s not giving you any space to turn this “accidental” meeting into a proper conversation. You shuffle your feet nervously, feeling stupid.

“Alright. It was nice seeing you!” you say, as it’s about time to end this. “Hope everything’s gonna work out great!” you add in a cheerful tone, already setting to walk back to the station.

“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” Carmen says back, lighting a second cigarette.

What a nightmare, you think as you walk through the busy streets.

—

In the following weeks, you almost forget about The Bear. Rob complains about the nonexistent article on the new, already hyped-up restaurant and wasted opportunities, but what can you do? The not-at-all-accidental meeting with Carmen had been a disaster you actively try to erase from your mind. Working on your regular column and material for the website keeps you busy. Then Becky calls out of nowhere, and you two arrange lunch at The Marq. You end up swapping hilarious stories from the last two months you hadn’t seen each other, and you secretly pray she doesn’t ask about Natalie Berzatto or her brother. You're out of luck, because she does—of course she does—and you have to lay the cards on the table.

“You did contact Nat first though?” is the first thing Becky asks.

“I didn’t,” you shake your head. “I didn’t want to exclude Carmen right at the very beginning,” you admit.

“Oh god,” Becky rolls her eyes at you, taking a small bite of her salmon cake sandwich.

“I knooow,” you quickly stop her, feeling like ordering something stronger than the simple soda you’ve been drinking.

“I think you should still call Natalie,” Becky says, pointing at you with a determined frown. “I went to see her and her new baby just last week. She asked about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Apparently they could really use some help getting the word out about The Bear. A good excuse to talk Carmen into an interview maybe? An exclusive one?” She wiggles her eyebrows, knowing how cool it would be for you to come up with this.

��Maybe,” you muse, playing it cool. Inside, you are already hyped up about the possibility of scoring the first interview with the former best chef in the world. Is he still good at all? Why did he disappear? Why is he back?

—

The anxiety of the following days forces you to actually text Natalie. You’ve been checking online websites and Instagram accounts apprehensively, worried that a medium might publish something about The Bear before you get a chance. Rob isn’t a dick, but you wouldn’t want to look incompetent in his eyes. So far, you’ve been able to steer away from conversations about the new Carmen Berzatto restaurant at work. Your work ethic makes it difficult for you to let The Bear go without a fight.

That’s how you find yourself in front of Natalie’s door. When she opens it, she doesn’t hide her fervor.

“Oh, finally! Hi! Please come in.” She ushers you inside. You’ve never seen her in person, only on Becky’s Instagram, maybe, and even though the exhaustion is apparent on the woman’s face, you can spot the similarities with Carmen in her features right away.

From the dark hallway, she leads you to the sitting room. When you look around, it’s hard to find a clutter-free space. Every surface is covered with baby clothes, baby diapers, baby wipes—clean and dirty—bottles—full and empty.

“Sorry for the mess,” Natalie appears next to you, snatching away a baby muslin from the sofa. “Have a seat, please,” she nods. “The baby’s asleep. Hopefully for the next—” and she checks her watch, “another twenty minutes.”

As you sit down, Natalie collapses into an armchair, not minding what appears to be a pile of freshly washed newborn onesies and other clothes underneath her.

“Thank you so much for stopping by,” she says sincerely, and you notice the many stains on her purple t-shirt.

You smile. “No problem.”

“Becky said that you know stuff about Instagram and social media and marketing and all that?” Natalie’s eyes are wide and hopeful.

“I would say so,” you nod.

“I’m not sure what Becky mentioned already,” Natalie says as she starts pulling the baby clothes from under her and folding them absentmindedly. That definitely says something about the state she’s in, without Becky describing the situation to you—not only with The Bear but also Nat herself. “Carmy’s putting so much into the restaurant—we all are—so much hope,” she babbles, “none of us have slept properly in weeks—months! And now the baby...” Natalie’s gaze becomes unfocused for a moment before she blinks rapidly. “The timing’s not so great,” she forces out a weak laugh, and you smile again, already feeling bad for her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“I understand. It’s hard,” you empathize, feeling genuinely bad—not for The Bear—but for Natalie.

“I’m not a marketing guru, but I can research things,” she carries on, more confident now. “But I can’t be there all the time, y’know? It’s just not possible. If—if someone could help with keeping the place afloat and spreading the word—” she stops talking and folding, looking directly at you. “That would be just so awesome,” she finishes quietly, her bottom lip wobbling.

You know that Nat’s not trying to emotionally blackmail you, even though the situation kinda feels like it, and you do feel for her.

“I can help, yes.”

“I’ll talk to Carm and Sydney, and we’ll figure out how much we can offer you!” The relief and excitement are apparent in the way Nat jumps up from the armchair.

“That’s alright, really,” you say calmly, putting a hand on her arm now that she’s closer. “We can discuss this later,” and you give her another encouraging smile.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying comes from somewhere in the house. Poor Natalie freezes, her hand going to touch her chest. She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Thank you. Thank you,” and she takes a hold of your hand, squeezing it. “I’ll tell Sydney to get in touch with you—or you can actually just go to the restaurant; they know about you.”

That makes you slightly uncertain as you remember your first attempt at an unannounced visit to The Bear.

“Alright,” you nod with a polite smile. After all, you’re getting something out of this too.

—

Sydney texts you exactly 22 minutes after you leave worn-out Natalie and her baby behind and invites you to come to The Bear the next day. To make yourself appear more untouchable, you reply that the soonest you’re available is next Monday. Make them wait.

It gets you on edge, though, and more than once you think of Carmen in his tiny Copenhagen kitchen, how things used to be. How easy it is to grow apart. Not that you’d been friends exactly. Hard to be anything like that with a person as closed off as Carmen Berzatto.

On the agreed Monday, you dare to finish early at work and take the train to The Bear. Your stomach is in knots, even though you’ve been pretty brave about the whole thing. It’s just—you’re not sure how Carmen’s gonna react when he sees you, and you’re already thinking about the worst possible scenarios. Just stop! you tell yourself resolutely, forcing yourself to concentrate on the simple but well-thought-out marketing plan you prepared to present. Without being asked. If Carmen sees that you actually KNOW things, he might change his opinion about you. Not that you KNOW his opinion, but—maybe he would actually acknowledge you finally.

It’s just after the family meal when you arrive. A tall man who introduces himself as Richie lets you in instantly, and he’s clearly been informed about your arrivall. As soon as Sydney is notified of your presence, she rushes to you from the kitchen in the back, wiping her hands on her apron. You notice right away that she’s friendly and calm, and it relaxes your nerves. There’s no doubt she loves the restaurant and her job, and you see that she worries as much as Natalie does, or even more.

“We’re opening in two hours, so it’s a bit wild in the back, but maybe you wanna see the kitchen?” Sydney offers as she’s showing you around the newly restored restaurant, opening the heavy door. “A quick peek,” she adds as a loud cracking noise comes out of the exact door.

You’ve been to a couple of kitchens, and you must say that this one’s definitely on the chaotic side of the scale. People in white aprons run here and there, no one’s still, not even for a second. There’s a good amount of shouting and a huge amount of swearing. In the middle of everything, there’s Chef Carmen Berzatto. He looks like a character from Cartoon Network. His wild hair is sticking out in all directions, dark tattoos covering his arms and hands, face sweaty, eyes ready to pop out of his head. He’s shorter than most people you see circling the kitchen, but the loudest one. He shouts orders, and you notice the vein on the side of his neck—it sure is ready to burst. You wonder how far he is from having a heart attack.

“Or maybe next time,” Sydney mutters, gently pushing you out of the way and shutting the door again. She leads you to one of the brown wooden tables where you settle again.

“Is he always like that?” you ask Sydney, actually glad that you’re not in the room where the storm’s currently happening.

“Only when he’s stressed,” Sydney explains shortly, an apologetic smile on her lips.

When it comes to money, it’s obvious The Bear doesn’t have much to spare, that much is clear. Sydney is extremely apologetic and sweet about it.

“There’s a marketing budget—previously non-existent—that we’ve set aside and can offer. It’s just not much, I’m afraid,” she tells you, jittery.

You want to reassure her, to tell her that you're doing it for Carmen, for an old "friend." But from what you've gathered, Sydney doesn't even know that Carmen knows you.

So you just smile and reassure her anyway. "I'll put it on my resume. I can use more cases with social media for hospitality," you lie.

Nodding, Sydney clarifies, "Yes, just Instagram. Please. Carmy doesn't want to put anything in the press. Yet."

When a curious Richie joins you at the table, you present the Instagram plan to both of them. Even though Richie can't help making a few rather stupid remarks that only he finds funny, they both listen carefully. You see a lot of skepticism on Richie's face, probably because he doesn't understand some of the big words, you guess, but Sydney seems to be really into everything from pictures of the food and the weekly specials, to quick reels showing potential customers a little bit of behind-the-scenes action.

"Oh, I'm sure Cousin will be thrilled to have people sticking their noses into his business," Richie says, and you're not sure how serious he is. But Sydney shushes him, and you carry on, showing her the mock-up of the possible Instagram feed to set the mood for the profile.

For the next three weeks, you go to The Bear twice a week to gather some content—photos and videos. You talk to the crew and film those who are okay with it. Your presence is met with mixed emotions, but Sydney's gratitude and kindness make up for every suspicious glare and exasperated sigh when you find yourself in someone's way. Besides the restaurant, you take your neighbor's dog for a long walk every Saturday morning, call your mom and dad to check in, scroll Instagram instead of finally starting an actual book, and often wonder why Carmen is so hostile towards you.

Generally, you try not to hang out in the kitchen directly, especially not when Chef Carmen is present. Being uncomfortable in a new environment makes you positively anxious, causing you to go through a whole pack of your favorite cinnamon Simply Gums a day.

You also remember to always tie your hair up—not that the staff there wear hairnets or anything, but you don't want Carmen to find another reason to frown at you. He's been basically only frowning or ignoring you. Hard to tell which one is worse.

You always clean your hands super thoroughly, like during COVID, singing the "Happy Birthday" song to time it before daring to even stick your finger in the restaurant. Sydney offers you an apron to protect your work clothes, which you refuse. You sense from some people there that you're not entirely welcome.

But the more you avoid Carmen, the more likely you are to bump into him. You know Murphy's Law. So one morning, he just appears from around the corner, carrying a tray of mushrooms.

For a second, you're actually horrified that he's going to introduce himself. Before that can happen, you blurt out, "Uh—do you remember me? Copenhagen?"

Carmen stops and looks at you, wiping his wet hands on the towel attached to the string of his white apron. "Yeah," he confirms, "yeah, I do." He says your name, all soft and correct, along with your surname, and with his eyes fixed on you, you're frozen to the spot, affected whether you like it or not. Then he leaves to taste Tina's roasted peppers.

Obviously, your mind can't let the episode slip away. As you type copy for the upcoming Instagram posts, you pause every so often to cringe at how embarrassing you behaved. Of course, he remembers you, for fuck's sake! You're working in his restaurant—kinda.

"Hey! Copenhagen! You wanna see this?" Carmen yells a bit later from the other side of the kitchen, and you falter, deciding whether you're really going to answer to him calling you that.

You bite your tongue and trail hesitantly to the station where Carmen is with Tina and Ebraheim, gathered around a saucepan.

"Tina, chef, this is excellent. Well done," Carmen says to her as you approach, then turns to you.

"This is what we wanna share with the world. Perfect red pepper sauce. Simple but delicious."

"Okay," you respond, taking in the expectant way all three of them are looking at you. Like you're some kind of magician. Or a fraud.

"Just," Carmen adds before he sets off, "no recipes leave this kitchen," and he waits for you to confirm.

"Right."

Slowly, you start to question why you're helping The Bear. Is it because two years ago you thought of Carmen and what you might have felt for him? What could have been? More than the chef himself, you find yourself growing fond of the place and the employees—some of them! Seeing the Instagram followers number increase fills you with pride and satisfaction. Fuck Carmen.

---

Mornings are usually the only time when Carmen isn’t around, and you try to time your visits so your paths don’t cross.

Wanting to snap photos of the new tableware and make a quick, fun video reel, you head into the kitchen. There's no one around—Sweeps is probably hiding somewhere, and Sydney might be in the office. Not wanting to bother anyone, you set your always-heavy handbag on a chair and start looking for everything you need. There's no reason for you to feel like you're sneaking around, but you can't help feeling nervous. That’s when your clumsiness strikes, and you manage to knock over a glass of water. Rolling your eyes, you get on your hands and knees to wipe the spilled water with a rug that you hope is meant for cleaning, as you’re very aware of every item having its particular function here.

You straighten up and stretch to get one more plate from the shelf. Then you lose your footing on the still-wet tiles. Your foot slips, and the top plate falls to the countertop with a loud cracking noise. You react quickly, trying to break the fall, but there's no use. The plate shatters to pieces.

Of course, it’s Carmen himself who emerges from the door leading to the office, and you wince—both physically and mentally—preparing yourself for a very unpleasant collision.

“What’s going on?” he asks as he approaches you, eyebrows pinched. He’s not wearing his chef whites, just a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans.

“Sorry, I—” you start apologizing as Carmen stands next to you, assessing the damage.

“What—what’re you doing here?” he asks in a very flat voice, staring at the pieces of ceramic.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to tidy this and also pay for the plate, obviously,” you ramble, reaching down for the shards.

“Don’t,” Carmy barks, stopping you by grabbing your shaking hands in his. His hands are big, the tattoos making them look harsh and crude, even though the touch is gentle. “Don’t cut yourself,” he adds quietly, holding you until you relax your arms and then a second longer.

He must sense your nervousness. “It’s fine, I’ll get it,” Carmen assures you, catching your eye. “Hey,” he lays a soft hand on your arm, ��step away, I’ll clean this.”

Nodding, you step back and wait patiently, disconcerted, watching as Carmen carefully handles and discards the shards, then checks the floor for any tiny fragments. He turns back to you.

“Are you okay?” he checks.

“Yeah.” And you’re more thrown off balance by having Carmen pay attention to you, all of a sudden, than by damaging the kitchen’s equipment.

He studies you for a moment, his face unreadable, and you’re the one to look away first. Which you hate, by the way.

“You wanna see some stuff I’ve been working on?”

“Sure,” you agree, taking a deep breath to relax further. “I’m sorry. The loud noise—” you wave your hand in the air vaguely, rolling your eyes at yourself. “Just scared the shit out of me, I guess,” you finish with an apologetic smile.

“You’re alright,” Carmen confirms and disappears for a bit. In the meantime, you have a small meltdown, shaking your head at yourself for being so, so very terribly lame. Luckily, before he returns with a tray of different dishes, you pull yourself together.

Carmen sets the tray down, revealing an array of colorful and sophisticated meals that instantly catch your curiosity.

“Any allergies?” he asks.

“Passion fruit—easily avoidable. Sometimes kiwi,” you list. “And grumpy chefs,” you add cheekily, feeling bold.

Carmen pauses. “I’m not grumpy. I’m focused.”

“You weren’t like this in Copenhagen,” you say softly, leaning a bit closer to him, your body language signaling that once you had been comfortable around each other.

“I’m more focused now,” Carmen retorts, stubborn and maybe a bit offended. “Back then I—uhm—I felt comfortable around you. It was easy.”

“And now?” you almost whisper.

But Carmen ignores the question, pushing the first bowl closer to you. “Here, taste this… or take a picture and then taste it.”

And you understand that the re-bonding is over.

---

Soon, you drop the habit of visiting the restaurant only in the mornings. One reason is that spending time with Carmen, talking to him or watching him cook and explain things, makes you late for work twice in a row. That usually never happens as you take pride in being on time at the office. You don’t work at The Bear for money, but you hardly think about it that way. When you decide to pop in during the morning, Carmen shares his deadly strong black coffee that he mills himself with you. It’s bitter but heavenly. Secretly, you like drinking it while chewing your favorite cinnamon gum, which somehow makes the taste even better—smoother and richer.

The second reason—you discover that Carmen is much calmer in the evenings after service. Less jittery, more relaxed. His blood flows slower, you think. His heart pumps with more ease. Sydney and he share thoughts and plans for the restaurant with you while you all sit at an empty table. It’s nice, you think, while watching Carmen’s hands play with a napkin. His hands are especially nice.

It’s Saturday and raining as you find yourself sitting in Gordon Ramsay's Burger. Nothing could’ve surprised you more than Carmen asking you to go out eat together. Had he felt bad for ignoring you at the beginning? You’re watching the rivers of raindrops on the big glass window, waiting for Carmen. As usual, you’re ten minutes early, and after you order a Life’s a Beach, the first thing on your mind is you're just early, he didn't stand you up, and then: this is not a date, babe! Which instantly startles you into sitting up straight and looking around, as if someone could see your embarrassing thoughts. Why are you even thinking about this?? Then Carmen arrives, wet patches on his shoulders and jeans that cling to his thighs. He chooses the Chicago hot dog and three different burgers with a bunch of sides. While he only nibbles on them and writes down notes on his phone, you feel bad for wasting the food and eat more than you should. Carmen studies the buns very carefully and asks you a lot of questions about the food, some of which you find amusing and actually—endearing. When you go to bed that night, your belly’s uncomfortably full. You dream that you’re pregnant and about to go into labor, and you’re pretty sure that Carmen’s the father. And, honestly, do you need a book of dreams to explain the meaning? Fuck.

---

All goes to hell next week when Carmen sees you eating a sandwich from the corner shop down the street. Instead of having your regular lunch with Becky, you’ve chosen to run to The Bear so you could see Marcus unveil his new dessert. But before that, you popped into the nearby deli to order a mozzarella and sundried tomato sandwich. No one at The Bear had ever explicitly invited you to the family meal, and you would never dare to have free food there. But the way Carmen looks at you while you sit on the step by the back exit, eating the rather dry sandwich, is indescribable. The stern look on his face is back, with a closed-off facade. His eyes are cold. Before you take it all in, you wave at him awkwardly, chewing. Carmen retreats back inside wordlessly, leaving you confused and a little hurt.

Unfortunately, the atmosphere surrounding you doesn’t improve when you return to work, the stupid sandwich sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone. You have a big argument in the meeting room while planning the next month's issue. Then one of your co-workers makes a nasty remark about your single life. The afternoon drags on painfully slowly, which forces you to message your cousin—an astrologist extraordinaire—to check what the heck is going on with the universe.

Tuesday morning is rough. The second you wake up, you know you’ve overslept because you never get up without the alarm ringing angrily. A single glance at your phone proves it to be true. Right after, you notice three missed calls from Sydney and two from Nat. There are no text messages, though.

At first, you intend to call Rob to beg for a home office day, something you rarely ever use. But as soon as you check your calendar, you’re reminded of the big conference happening from 11 a.m. until 5 p.m. You rush to work, finishing your makeup on the train, then enter the office building to quickly run through notes with your colleagues. The first time you have a chance to make a quick phone call is when you finally go to the bathroom. It’s Natalie who you manage to reach first, as the lunch rush at The Bear is just unfolding. Over the cries of Natalie’s baby, you hear half-sentences about a recipe, Carmen, and a leak. It’s hard to put it all together. At 4 p.m., Nat finally sends you a text. It says: “Recipe’s published in Taste of Home. Carm’s mad. Says someone leaked it.”

It contains a link to the Taste of Home website, with Carmen’s perfect Berkswell Pudding recipe in the Top Recipes of the Week, marked “Chef’s tip.” You check it again to make sure, and surely—it’s one of the dishes Carmen introduced to you just last week. You didn’t dare to photograph it, much less taste it. You remember concentrating on the way his lips moved when he explained the preparation process, not much on the cooking itself.

What’s clear to you is that the "Someone" from Nat’s message is actually you.

A gloomy dread settles in your stomach as the meeting goes on and on. You barely pay attention, which makes everything even worse. You’re scared of what’s happened in the restaurant, and you’re worried that you’re going to miss something important in the meeting.

When you run for a second quick bathroom break, instead of peeing, you think of your next step. You could try to call everyone in the restaurant, try to find out what the hell is going on. But you don’t want to be seen as hysterical. You check Instagram and possible messages to find traces of a catastrophe. There’s nothing. Again, you open the website with the recipe. The photos are pretty sloppy, definitely not something Carmen would prepare. As you check the ingredients, you notice there are some major differences from Carmen’s dish. All in all, the only thing that stops you from texting Carmen is your pride. And true fear.

Absolutely dreading facing Carmen, you make it to The Bear during dinner time. Which, obviously, is the worst possible timing. You’re only praying that he’s not in the kitchen but hiding in his office, deep in paperwork.

It’s Sydney who you meet first as you sneak into the restaurant through the back door. She grabs your arm.

“Don’t go to talk to him now! He’s in a really, really bad mood. Natalie and I were trying to call you.” There’s genuine worry on Sydney’s face, her eyes big and honest.

“I don’t understand what happened,” you frown. You can feel a headache approaching from the intense day in the office. “I think he should tell me himself if there’s a problem.”

“I’ve been trying to work it out with him, to explain—”

“Explain what?” you question, more sternly than you usually are around Syd.

She falters. “It’s just this stupid thing—and we love having you—don’t let Carmy upset you,” Sydney half-explains. It doesn’t make much sense, and you shake your head, heading to the office. You’re more mad than afraid now.

You don’t wait for an invite after you knock shortly. Closing the door behind you, you find Carmen leaning against the desk, a bottle of water in his hand.

Everything inside of you drops the second he lays his eyes on you. There’s no doubt he’s angry.

“Didn’t Natalie tell you you don’t have to come here again?” Carmen asks curtly. “I’m surprised you think it’s okay to be here.”

Not expecting Carmen to be this harsh from the beginning, you swallow instead of answering.

“I hope that you’re happy now,” he says meanly, putting the bottle down on the desk.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you croak out, sincerely meaning it.

Carmen straightens up, watching you like a feline. “The recipe. It’s out. One fucking thing I asked not to get out, and now the whole of America can see and fucking even cook it at home.”

You’re frozen to the spot. From the very beginning, you knew that Carmen is not a person to mess with, hoping that you would never experience his anger directed at you. Now it’s happening.

You want to say something about no one being able to cook the way he does, but it’s pointless. Instead, you’re fighting off the flush on your face from embarrassment. You feel like a child being scolded, but you don’t want to look like one.

The muted but still loud kitchen noises bleed through the closed door. A shout, clattering. Not loud enough to stop Carmen from piercing you through and through with his ice-cold eyes.

“I promise I didn’t do anything like that,” you say, desperately wanting the chef to believe you. “I swear!”

Carmen pinches the bridge of his nose, one hand propped on his waist. You wait, breathless, for his next move, scared to death. The shirt you have on is wet with your sweat. The really badly smelling kind—the one your body produces when you’re stressed or scared. And you’ve been stressed since the very morning. You flinch when you move your arm and the odor hits your nose, hoping that Carmen can’t smell you. You would be mortified. The strap of your tote bag is digging into your shoulder painfully, but you don’t dare to move to put it down to relieve your arm.

“This all doesn’t—it doesn’t make any sense,” Carmen starts pacing, looking down at the floor and not at you anymore. You’re not sure if it’s better this way. “You come here, wanna do a fucking interview with me, or some shit, then you show up again—this time wanting to work here. For free! So, please, tell me—how does it sound, huh?”

Petrified, you realize how exactly it all sounds. When Carmen says it like this, it makes you look like a fraud. Like a terrible, terrible person. A liar. Your mind goes weeks back, back to the moment you actually thought of maybe digging some scoop in here, maybe convincing Carmen to do the interview after all. But it’s far from how he’s making the situation sound.

“Carmen,” you start without knowing what you want to say. Carmen’s stopped walking around the tiny office like a caged animal, and he’s again looking at you. There’s so much tension in his face, back hunched. “It sounds bad, but may I explain—”

“You may not,” he cuts you off briskly. His neck—normally a place you find sexy—is all red, and the thick vein there is getting more and more prominent by the second. “No one fucks with my business, you understand?” Oh—and he’s shouting now.

The natural defense, you didn’t know existed, is to make yourself smaller. Somehow, anyhow. You hang your head, avoiding looking at his face. You just can’t meet his eyes, even though Carmen’s bowing and tilting his head to force you to.

“It’s like I have to start asking the staff to sign an NDA,” he carries on.

Carmen’s getting slowly closer and closer to you, pushing you against the wall by the door. He’s not touching you but only because you’re not allowing it. You’re sick with humiliation. Lost for words, probably for the first time in your life.

“—and Nat fucking leaves me here—us, all of us—and that’s just not fair. I would expect so, so much more from my sister. Not that my brother was much better,” he chuckles humorlessly, but you see it’s more like an effort to catch his breath. “Lousy fuckers… Do you think you do your job well here, chef?”

He’s scaring you now. The hair by his temples and above his forehead is damp, and his gesticulation is wild and weird.

“Do we disgust you here, is that right, hm?” Carmen probably finally sees your frightened expression because he adds, “Why would you buy food somewhere else and then come here to eat it?!” You understand that he’s referring to the day he saw you eating the sandwich by the rear exit. Unsure whether he expects you to reply, you decide to stay quiet. Your knees are starting to shake, from exhaustion after the long day and perhaps, from Carmen’s current behavior.

“It made ME sick,” he says, his face just inches from yours when one of his hands slams into the thin wall right next to your head. The noise echoes in the room, and you’re desperately hoping it’s not loud enough for the others to hear from outside. You would die on the spot if they knew what’s going on here.

“Who do you think you are?” Carmen shouts some more, loud, by your ear. It vibrates through you and never stops. You’re shivering all over, you notice. It’s not okay, not okay!

At last, you raise your head, chin jutting out. “No one’s going to talk to me like this. No one,” you spit out in the chef’s face, taking him by surprise. “Don’t you ever shout at me again,” and you jab him right in the middle of his chest, instead of punching him there like he deserves.

When you’re leaving his office and rushing to the back exit, you hear Carmen yelling.

Everything feels tense and your hands are shaking. Your jaw is set so hard your teeth could crush from the pressure. The fresh air hits your face, and you focus on breathing deeply through your nose. The sounds remind you of a steam engine. You walk for about a minute, mind blank with the shock. Only when you turn a corner do you allow yourself to stop, which causes the first tears to fall. You’re so mad at yourself. Why the fuck are you crying?! There’s so much frustration in the crazy mixture of emotions you’re feeling. You’re completely overwhelmed with it, not knowing what to focus on at first.

Out of habit, you look for your phone in your handbag to check the screen. The fucking heavy bag that’s been killing your shoulder. Frustrated, you let it slide off your arm and down to the sidewalk. You don’t even care if it breaks, as it lands with a noisy, dull sound. It had been years since you got properly yelled at, and you’re angry that it affects you this much. You promise yourself to take a few seconds here, in the middle of an empty street, then call a cab. At home, you can cry.

PART II

#here it is! i can't quite believe that it's happening #the bear #fic #my fic #carmen berzatto x the reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fic #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you

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choikanghuening · 6 months ago

Text

Beyond the Doors (or simply “Stay”)

now playing: Stay - Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko

synopsis: Beomgyu, a charming idol, and you, a confident and independent woman with a mysterious allure, are completely different. As your paths cross, your connection clicks and deepens in unexpected ways, despite the challenges and risks that come with it. Navigating a world where appearances matter, you find yourselves questioning what you’re willing to sacrifice for something real.

pairing: idol!beomgyu x afab!reader

trope: forbidden/secret lovers to exes to lovers (what can i say...)

genre: angst, smut (mdni)

wc: 14.9k (i got carried away)

warnings: tw: major character accident, not proofread, feat. the rest of txt, the name Minji is used here, lots of drama, lots of flashbacks (alternating with present), alcohol consumption (just a glass of wine), fingering (f receiving), protected sex (yay), Imk if i forgot anything (i prob did)

elle speaks: you ask and you shall receive. this is the second part of Hidden Doors (or simply Hotel/Mil Veces).

elle speaks²: english is not my first language, so sorry for any typos and mistakes. also im too distracted, so i probably repeated lots of words. i'll correct it later. feedbacks/reblogs/likes are appreciated.

elle speaks³: it's a long one bc I tried to answer some of your questions and develop their relationship. i don't think you necessarily need to read the first part, but it would mean the world to me if you did 🥺 👉🏻👈🏻

fic below the cut

Present

The studio is buzzing with the kind of electric energy that comes with high-profile luxury brand photo sessions. Photographers are shouting commands while light meters are changed, hairstylists are adding finishing touches, and assistants are juggling clothing racks. The space is bustling with activity. You are at the center of it all, holding a clipboard and speaking steadily in the middle of the commotion.

You have established yourself as a highly sought-after fashion industry producer by organizing extensive photo shoots for some of the most well-known luxury brands. After being given the amazing chance to work with one of Korea's most prominent fashion publications, you relocated to the country in your mid-twenties, having previously lived abroad. After three years, you've made your mark in this fast-paced environment despite the flurry of adjustment and hard work.

You are well-known for your exacting diligence and your capacity to remain composed and confident in the face of the most challenging circumstances. You live by yourself in Seoul, juggling the demands of living so far away from home with the highs of your career achievements. Although it's a difficult profession, you enjoy the challenge and constantly plan ahead to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“Minji, check the accessory tray for Look Three one more time. The gold cuff and the sunglasses are non-negotiable. Lee, we're going to fall behind if the lighting shift isn't finished in two minutes,” you remark calmly and crisply into your headset.

Authority emanates from your presence. These intricate productions are orchestrated by you as a producer, much like a maestro leads an orchestra.

A junior assistant flies by with a look of panic on her face. “YN! The strap broke on the gown for the next setup!” You instantly reach out a hand.

“Give it to me.” The strap hangs uselessly as the assistant hands over the fragile fabric.

You grab a needle and thread from an emergency bag and squat at a neighboring desk. Your hands have years of practice and move with accuracy.

With anxiety, the assistant hovers. “Will it hold? The designer will—

You politely interrupted her. “It will hold. Calm down.” As you complete the repair, your attention remains fixed.

You give it back, your eyes steady. “Take it to the cosmetics department. We are now back on track.”

The assistant nods, her face displaying awe. “You're fantastic, YN.”

As the gown enters the model's body, the photographer looks over. Astounded, he asks, “You fixed that?”

“Part of the job.” You shrug.

He chuckles. “You might want to start your own crisis management company if you ever get bored here.”

Although you smirk slightly, you don't answer and go straight on to the next task. You must ensure that the shoot ends on schedule; any delays are unacceptable.

Catching your attention, your phone beeps. A notification flashes on the screen: New message from Beomgyu.

“Same time tonight?”

You smile, remembering the first time you met as if it were yesterday. You weren’t starstruck, but there was definitely something magnetic about him.

Flashback

The crew was fighting to hold things together on a chaotic set, and it had been one of those crazy productions where everything seemed to happen at once.

When Beomgyu arrived at the stage, you were fixing an unforeseen lighting issue. He moved with effortless elegance, but there was a hint of hesitancy in his manner, as if he wasn't totally at ease with all the attention he was receiving. His dark hair framed his face with ease, and his keen features might have captivated anyone, but you had been drawn to his quiet shyness.

Another delay had been brought on by a wardrobe problem in the middle of the well-organized mayhem. You immediately stepped in when the stylist lost a tie, as you always do.

“Here,” you had said in a steady but gentle voice, holding the tie out to him with a no-nonsense calm.

Beomgyu blinked, taken aback for a moment by your bluntness. As he took it, his fingers touched yours. With his voice hardly audible above a whisper, he had murmured, “Uh, thanks.”

You gave him a modest but sincere grin and said, “You're welcome,” before turning to leave.

Present

As you finish up the last elements of the day's shoot, you settle at your desk and listen to the constant hum of the office. The never-ending stream of tasks weighs heavily on your mind, but for a split second, your focus is diverted by your phone's buzzing, which briefly interrupts the continuous flow of your thoughts.

It's a photographer's text, but then you see Beomgyu's, which is now hours old. A tiny smile forms on your lips, which you promptly conceal behind a business mask. Naturally, you've already seen it, but you neglected to respond.

Beomgyu differs from the other people you work with. Most idols never stop performing and contributing to the spectacular show. However, he always has a certain silence and a certain timidity about him, regardless of how much attention he receives. You don't often see it, especially in the world you live in every day. And it's… revitalizing.

“Yes, I can’t wait.” With a swift reply and a straightforward affirmation, you put your phone back in your bag and resume the stack of work that awaits you.

Flashback

As the photo session went on, Beomgyu's eyes kept coming to you. You were aware of it, yet you continued to study your clipboard and the task at hand.

Despite the commotion of the team, he still stood there looking a little uncomfortable, as though he were waiting for something.

You were navigating the set when he came up, hesitant but resolute.

“You're really good at this,” he murmured softly, surprising you with the compliment. Your face softened as you looked up.

“I try my best,” you replied, offering him a friendly smile and a trace of experience in your voice—something that came from years of managing chaos like this. It was clear—this wasn’t your first shoot.

Just as you started walking away, he spoke again, the words almost spilling out before he could stop them. “So, where are you from?”

You paused, surprised by the question, but there was a moment of hesitation before you answered with a casual smile, “I’m from overseas. I came to Korea for an opportunity, and… long story short, here I am.”

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly; his curiosity piqued. “That’s very… bold,” he said, his voice thoughtful but gentle.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really?”

He shifted uncomfortably, as if he realized he might’ve said something too forward. “I meant it in a good way,” he added quickly.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly; the sound was light and genuine. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The conversation was short, but the air between you was thick with something unspoken. Beomgyu watched you for a moment longer, the curiosity in his eyes still lingering, as if he hadn’t quite figured you out yet.

Present

As the activities of the day wrap up hours later, you step outside, and the cool evening air greets you, brushing your skin and easing the tension of the day. The streets of Seoul hum with life, neon lights flickering in the dark as the city’s energy pulses around you. For a moment, you just stand there, inhaling deeply, feeling the heartbeat of the city sync with your own.

Your thoughts go to Beomgyu again. When you first met, he seemed so out of place, like a deer caught in headlights—unsure, polite, and navigating the chaos with a quiet grace. There had been something about him that made you linger a little longer than you should have.

And now, months into this affair, he’s a completely different person—mature, confident, and undeniably captivating. The boy who once seemed so awkward and uncertain has become a man who commands a room with just a glance. You’ve seen sides of him you hadn’t expected—sensual, caring, thoughtful. Every moment with him leaves you wanting more, even if he’s unsure all the time. Not that you cared. You just want him.

Flashback

During a break, you found yourself observing him more intently. Beomgyu’s every movement was deliberate, his demeanor polite and unassuming. Yet there was an undeniable charisma in his presence. He had a way of filling the room with an energy that didn’t demand attention but still managed to capture it.

After changing for the next round of the shooting, Beomgyu approached you, his steps measured. “Thanks for the tie earlier,” he said, his voice soft and sincere.

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. His reserved nature stood out, and there was something disarming about it. “Don’t mention it.”

He smiled in return, the warmth in his expression lighting up his eyes even in the dim afterglow of the set. “I mean it. You are helping me more than you realize.”

You tilted your head slightly, intrigued despite yourself, though you quickly masked it. “Helping you? How?”

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, a slight shift in his posture as he searched for the right words. “It’s just… with everything, you know?” He gestured vaguely to the crew packing up around them. “I don’t know how to explain; it gets overwhelming. But today, things are organized… you make it seem so easy.”

You studied him for a moment, something in his eyes catching you off guard. You quickly composed yourself, professional as ever. “I’ve been doing this for a while,” you said, your voice steady. “But trust me, it’s never easy.”

He nodded thoughtfully, with a quiet gratitude in his gaze. “Maybe that’s exactly what makes you so good at it.”

You chuckled softly; his sincerity took you by surprise, and for a moment, you wondered what it would be like to let your guard down with him. But you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the role you had to play. “Well, we all have our strengths,” you said, offering him a nod. Your eyes met his for just a fraction longer than usual before you turned back to your work.

As you continued with your tasks, your thoughts kept drifting back to him—his quiet observation, his soft words, the way he seemed to make the chaos around you feel just a little more… still.

Present

As you enter your apartment, the day's exhaustion settles heavily, but your thoughts remain fixed on Beomgyu. You don't even bother turning on the lights, letting the dimness match the hum of your restless mind. Heading straight to the bathroom, the cool air brushes against your skin, grounding you momentarily.

The sound of water fills the silence as you step into the shower, the heat easing the tension from the day. Steam rises around you, droplets tracing paths down your skin as your thoughts return to moments spent with him.

Afterward, you towel off, the chill air raising goosebumps. You pause, considering what to wear tonight. A sense of determination rises as you settle on a deep red dress—sleek and form-fitting, with a daring neckline balanced by its sophisticated cut. It exudes confidence, commanding attention without trying too hard.

At your vanity, you apply makeup with precision: a flick of eyeliner to define your eyes and a soft nude lip, keeping your look understated yet striking. A spritz of your favorite perfume leaves a warm, subtle trace in the air as you smooth your hair, ensuring it falls perfectly. The clock catches your eye—it's time. Wrapping yourself in a white overcoat, you grab your car keys and step into the night.

Your phone buzzes; a message from Beomgyu lights up the screen:

“Are you on your way?”

A small smile forms as you type a quick reply:

“Yeah. See you soon.”

Driving through the city, you feel the familiar rhythm of these evenings. For Beomgyu, they’re an escape from the pressures of fame; for you, a break from your own demands. There’s an unspoken understanding between you—no strings, just moments stolen from the chaos of your lives.

Pulling into the hotel parking lot, you step out into the crisp night air. Your heels echo against the pavement as you approach the warmly lit lobby. Everything about this is routine now: the elevator ride, the quiet hum as you ascend, the anticipation sharpening with each step toward the suite.

At the door, you pause, the weight of expectation briefly stirring something deeper, then push it aside. You unlock the door and step inside, where the rest of the world falls away. Here it’s just the two of you, free from the complications of everything left behind.

Flashback

Later, as the shoot ended, Beomgyu lingered near the exit, his gaze following you as you gathered your things. You caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, sensing his hesitation.

“Something you need?” You asked, your tone calm yet still sharp, a subtle challenge in your voice.

He hesitated, a bit unsure, before finally speaking. “I just wanted to thank you again,” he said, his voice sincere, his posture slightly awkward as he scratched the back of his neck. “You made everything seem so effortless today.”

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “You really don’t have to thank me so much. It’s my job.”

Beomgyu smiled in return, but there was something more behind it. He paused before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small paper bag.

“Here,” he said softly, his voice almost shy, as he handed it to you.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What’s this?”

“It’s just a little something,” he replied, glancing away briefly before meeting your eyes again. “A treat from a café down the street. Thought you might like it.”

You took the bag, intrigued. Inside, you found two beautifully packaged pastries, still warm. The rich aroma wafted up, tempting your senses. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as you glanced at him. “I didn’t take you for the type to bring food gifts.”

Beomgyu chuckled sheepishly. “I’m not, usually. But you looked like you might be hungry.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. There was no pretense behind his gesture—just a genuine, simple thought. It felt real. “Thanks. I truly am,” you said, your voice quieter than before, as your eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary.

Beomgyu smiled, the warmth in his eyes deepening. He stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I felt really at ease today… and that’s thanks to you,” he said, his voice almost unsteady.

You smiled back, a knowing grin tugging at your lips. “That’s what I’m here for,” you replied, your tone playful yet matter-of-fact.

Beomgyu chuckled, the last of his nervousness fading. “Seriously, though, you’re really good at this.”

You crossed your arms, a slight smirk on your face. “It’s not that I’m really good; it’s that most people aren’t,” you said, looking at him as if he should already know that by now. “You’ve done tons of shoots. You should’ve figured that out already.”

He laughed softly, his posture relaxing, feeling more at ease now that the shoot was over. “Yeah, I guess I have,” he said, with a smile that was both genuine and a little shy.

As you turned to leave, you heard him call out your name. “YN, right?”

You stopped and glanced back, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah. Why?”

He took a breath, his voice steady despite the slight smile still on his lips. “I just… I’ll remember it,” he said, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary.

Your smile deepened, though you kept your expression neutral, a playful glint in your eye. “You better,” you replied, before walking away. The sound of his soft laugh lingered in the air, a quiet moment between you as you disappeared from the set.

Present

The hotel room feels too quiet; the familiar luxury is now heavy with something else. Beomgyu stands by the window, gazing out at the city's endless glow. His breath fogs the glass as he leans against it, running a hand through his blonde hair. The soft hum of the heater in the background only amplifies the buzz of his thoughts. He checks the clock again—still early.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. His heart stutters when he sees your name.

“Just parked. Be there in two.”

Beomgyu lets out a slow exhalation, his thumb hovering over the screen. He sets the phone down without replying. The room suddenly feels smaller, as if your presence is already here, pressing in on him. Why does it feel different tonight? Anticipation? Unease? It’s not the first time you've met like this, but something about tonight feels heavier.

The soft sound of the door opening breaks through his spiral. He freezes, his pulse racing as he moves to answer it.

You enter the room, shutting the door. Your overcoat goes to the hanger, and he notices the way your red dress hugs your frame. You’re not smiling, but there’s that quiet confidence in your expression that always unsettles him.

“You’re early,” you say. Your perfume lingers in the air, intoxicating and sharp, filling the space between you both.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” he replies, his voice low and strained.

Your lips quirk into a faint smirk as you set your bag on the armchair, glancing at him over your shoulder. “You look tense.”

“I’m fine,” he says too quickly, his hands twitching at his sides.

You turn fully to face him, your eyes scanning him with that knowing look that makes his chest tighten. You step closer, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Every step you take is deliberate, sending a current of electricity through the space between you.

“Liar,” you say, your voice soft but firm.

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, glancing away, as if that will hide him from you. But you won’t let him. You never do.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, your voice taking on a teasing edge as you close the distance.

He hesitates, his mind racing for a response that won’t betray him. “It’s been a long day,” he says finally, but even he doesn’t believe it.

You laugh softly, low, and throaty. The sound wraps around him, pulling him deeper. “I’m not here to interrogate you, you know.” You reach out, your fingers grazing his arm in a fleeting touch that burns more than it soothes.

“I know,” he mutters, his eyes flicking to yours.

Your gaze lingers, sharp and probing, before you give a small shrug and turn away, heading toward the minibar. Beomgyu lets out a breath, a momentary reprieve, but it doesn’t last long.

“So,” you say casually, pouring yourself a glass of wine, as if you were old friends catching up. “What now?”

Beomgyu hesitates, the question hitting harder than it should. He doesn’t have an answer. His stomach churns as he watches you, so composed, so unaffected.

“I don’t know,” he admits finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

You glance back at him, your expression unreadable. Then, setting the glass down, you step closer again, closing the gap until you’re just inches away. Your fingers lightly brush against the fabric of his shirt, sending a jolt through him.

“Don’t think so much,” you murmur, your breath warm against his neck.

Beomgyu’s breath hitches as you lean in, your lips brushing his in a kiss that starts soft, testing. His hands hover at your waist, unsure whether to hold you or maintain the distance he’s promised himself. But the pull of you, the feeling of you, is impossible to resist. And the tone of your dress only sparks a memory he really doesn’t need to remember right now.

Flashback

The lively hum of conversation and laughter filled the magazine's gleaming lobby, the celebration in full swing. Glasses of champagne caught the light as they clinked together, a subtle symphony beneath the energetic beat of the music. The walls were lined with glossy spreads displaying the magazine’s highlights, including the striking cover featuring Beomgyu himself. It was supposed to be his night—a chance to revel in the success of the shoot and bask in the admiration of his peers. Yet his mind wandered far from the festivities.

At a sleek black table near the center of the room, Beomgyu’s friends—Soobin, Yeonjun, Huening Kai, and Taehyun—were mid-conversation, their laughter rising above the crowd.

“Man, you killed it in that shoot,” Yeonjun said, raising his glass with a smirk. “Everyone’s calling it the ‘Rebel Beomgyu Era.’ Iconic, really.”

Beomgyu’s lips tugged into a faint smile, but the usual spark wasn’t there. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for her in the sea of faces.

“Beomgyu, you good?” Soobin asked, noticing the detachment.

“Huh? Yeah,” Beomgyu said, his response automatic. He took a sip of his drink, hoping to ground himself, but his gaze betrayed him, flickering toward the far side of the room.

There you were.

You stood near a cluster of staff, chatting. Your scarlet dress seemed to draw the glow of the room toward you, like you were the center of its orbit. Beomgyu couldn’t look away. Your confidence wasn’t just visible—it was palpable. You moved with a grace that felt untouchable, your laughter cutting through the hum like a melody just for him.

As if feeling the weight of his gaze, you glanced over your shoulder. Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment. You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile, before turning back to the conversation. The gesture was simple, but it lit something inside Beomgyu—an undeniable pull that made the rest of the room blur into insignificance.

Huening Kai nudged him, snapping him back. “Earth to Beomgyu. What’s got you so distracted?”

“Nothing,” Beomgyu muttered, shifting in his seat. He tried to focus on the banter at the table, but his grip on his drink tightened, his pulse quickening with every second. He resisted the urge to act.

Moments later, you excused yourself from the group, weaving through the crowd toward the exit. Beomgyu’s chest tightened as he watched you slip through the bustling room, your red dress vanishing toward the lobby doors. You weren’t grabbing another drink or heading for the bathroom. You were leaving.

His chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Taehyun quipped, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Bathroom,” Beomgyu mumbled, the lie slipping out as he avoided his friend’s gaze.

He didn’t wait for a response; his feet were already carrying him through the crowd. Each step felt heavier, his heart pounding as he followed your retreating figure. The celebration continued around him, but it all felt distant.

Beomgyu wasn’t sure what he’d say when he caught up to you. All he knew was that he couldn’t let you leave without trying.

Present

The present surges back with intensity as Beomgyu gives in completely, his arms tightening around you as if you’re the only thing grounding him in the moment. The kiss is no longer just a meeting of lips—it’s a surrender. His fingers press into the curve of your back, desperate, unwilling to let go, as though holding you closer might silence the storm inside him.

You respond in kind, your own desires matching his. Your hands tangle in his hair, nails grazing his scalp, a deliberate pull that sends a shiver down his spine. You know the effect you have on him and lean into it, your breaths mingling in the heated space between you. For a moment, there are no questions, no doubts—just the undeniable pull of your bodies answering the unspoken call.

“Beomgyu,” you murmur against his lips, your voice low and teasing but edged with something darker, something that hints at how much you crave this too. You tilt your head slightly, deepening the kiss; your movements are deliberate, drawing him further under your spell.

He breaks the kiss briefly, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing uneven. “This is…” he begins, but the words falter as his gaze locks onto yours. His eyes are searching, conflicted, and unsure.

“This is what it always is,” you finish for him, your fingers sliding down to trace the line of his jaw. “And you always come back.” Your words are calm, almost detached, but there’s a challenge in your tone—a reminder that he’s here because he wants to be.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his grip loosening just slightly, though his body refuses to fully let you go. “I…” he trails off, his chest heaving as he tries to pull himself together. Every time he’s with you, it feels like stepping off a cliff—thrilling, terrifying, inevitable.

Your lips quirk up into a small, knowing smile, and you lean in close again, your voice soft but firm. “Don’t overthink it, Beomgyu. We both know why we’re here.”

He closes his eyes for a beat, the weight of your words settling over him. When he opens them, there’s a mix of longing and restraint in his expression. But then your hands move, invading his shirt with a slow, purposeful intention, and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Without another word, he captures your lips again, this time with even more intensity. The tension, the hesitations, the unspoken truths—all of it melts away in the heat of the moment. In his arms, the chaos of his world fades, replaced by something he can’t quite define but can’t resist either.

For now, at least, the consequences can wait.

Flashback

The hallway beyond the main party area stretched out like a quiet sanctuary, offering a reprieve from the swirling chaos of the celebration. Muted laughter and the faint thrum of music faded as Beomgyu moved through the corridor, his footsteps light against the polished floor. The air felt heavier here, the dim lighting casting soft shadows that mirrored the unrest in his chest. He hadn’t meant to follow you—it was reckless, impulsive—but something about you called him—a pull he couldn’t resist.

He turned a corner, and there you were, leaning casually against a stone pillar at the end of the hallway. The glow from the wall sconces bathed you in warm light, catching the subtle shimmer of your dress and the faint curve of your lips. You were on your phone, fingers trailing idly along the hem of your skirt, your posture relaxed, almost languid. You hadn’t expected anyone to find you here, least of all him.

The faint flicker of surprise in your eyes melted into something more amusing as you noticed him standing there, caught in your orbit. You straightened slightly, your lips quirking into a half-smile. “May I help you?” you asked, your tone light, teasing, but your gaze sharp, curious.

Beomgyu froze. Words, excuses, plans—all of it evaporated in an instant, leaving him standing there, exposed. “I…” His voice faltered, the weight of your attention making his pulse race. “I wanted… I just—”

“You just…?” you prompted, your head tilting slightly as you studied him, a playful edge to your smile.

His nerves were on fire, but there was no malice in your teasing. It felt like you were testing him, daring him to say more, to step closer. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away, to retreat before he did something foolish. But your presence, the way you seemed so completely in control while his world tilted on its axis, rooted him in place.

“I just wanted to say that you are stunning tonight, and I can’t stop thinking about you,” he blurted, his voice soft but trembling with the weight of the confession. The air between you thickened as the words hung there, raw and unpolished, leaving him exposed in a way he wasn’t sure he could recover from.

For a moment, your expression shifted, your eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Then your smile returned, slower this time, your amusement giving way to something more deliberate. “And what are you gonna do about that, Beomgyu?” you asked, your voice low and laced with challenge.

The question hit him like a jolt. His breath hitched as he searched for your gaze for an answer, but words failed him. The pounding in his chest drowned out every coherent thought, leaving only the unbearable pull toward you.

Before he could think, before he could talk himself out of it, he closed the space between you. His hands found your waist, tentative but firm, and then his lips were on yours. The kiss was far from perfect—eager and messy, driven by weeks of suppressed desire. It was a collision of pent-up tension and impulsive need, his heart hammering in his chest as the rest of the world faded away.

You stiffened at first, your body frozen in surprise, but then you softened. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer as you pulled him closer. You matched his urgency, your lips moving against his in a rhythm that felt both natural and electric. The kiss deepened, the intensity building with each passing second, until you were both breathless, clinging to each other as if the hallway itself had vanished.

When you finally broke apart, Beomgyu’s chest heaved, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His lips tingled, and he could feel the heat rising to his face. He searched for your expression, desperate for some sign of what you were thinking, but you were as unreadable as ever.

You touched your lips lightly, a soft chuckle escaping as your gaze locked onto his. “Well,” you said, your voice low and laced with amusement, “that wasn’t what I expected tonight.”

Beomgyu opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came. His mind was a whirlwind, and the only thought he could hold onto was how impossibly close you still were.

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, holding it out with a teasing smile that carried an undertone of sincerity. “Here,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Let’s exchange numbers. Maybe next time, you’ll know what you want before chasing after me.”

He hesitated, your words playful yet unsettling, like a challenge he wasn’t sure he could meet. Slowly, he took the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch that ignited a heat he couldn’t suppress. His grip felt unsteady as he tapped in his number, the weight of the moment making every action seem heavier. When he handed it back, you slipped it into your bag with effortless grace, an ease that only heightened his own awkwardness.

Without missing a beat, you plucked his phone from his hand and entered your number, the slight smirk on your lips sending his heart racing. “Don’t take too long,” you said, your voice carrying an edge of both warning and invitation. With a final wink, you turned on your heel and strode away, your steps deliberate and assured, each one pulling his attention like a magnet.

Beomgyu stood frozen, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air. His heart was still racing, his lips still tingling. He had crossed a line he hadn’t even realized he was approaching, and there was no going back now. Whatever he had started here, it was far from over—and the thought both thrilled and terrified him.

Present

The room hums with a quiet tension, every breath between you both heavy with unspoken words. Beomgyu's hands gently trail along your back, each gentle stroke sending a shiver through him as he pulls you closer. The sensation of your skin against his fingertips is intoxicating, almost like he is trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you. His lips brush against your neck, light and soft, sending waves of warmth and electricity through your body; the warmth of his touch lingers long after, and the softness of your skin beneath his mouth made his heartbeat quicken. Every part of you felt so real, so tangible at that moment, and yet the swirl of conflicting thoughts in his mind threatened to pull him away.

Was he ready for this? Could he handle it? The questions came and went like fleeting shadows. But he tried hard to keep them buried. Now wasn’t the time. Not when everything about you felt so pure, so magnetic.

You let your fingers slide through his hair, tugging him closer, the heat of his body drawing you in, the rhythm of his breath synchronizing with yours. His chest tightens, and for a second, you both just stay there, as if trying to decide what comes next. The pull between you is undeniable, the way you both seem to breathe in sync, but there's a vulnerability in his eyes, something unspoken.

His gaze never leaves yours as he carefully undresses you, each movement thoughtful, as if he's afraid of breaking something precious. The weight of the moment presses down on you, but there's no fear, only the quiet thrill of being seen like this. When your dress falls away, leaving you in nothing but a delicate lacy black underwear, Beomgyu's eyes darken, his dick pulsating inside his trousers.

He can’t stop himself from leaning in, his lips brushing across your right nipple while his fingers play with the left. You just grab his hair strongly and moan. After swapping his mouth and fingers between your hardened nipples, he pulls back. His breath is shaky, but his words come out like a whispered confession.

“You look…” His voice falters slightly, thick with sincerity. “Incredible.”

You meet his gaze, the rawness in his words settling over you. You feel yourself getting wetter and bit your lower lip, lost in desire.

“Every inch of you,” he says, his fingers gliding along your waist, then dipping lower, reaching your inner thighs, his eyes locking with yours. “It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time all over again.”

Your breath is caught in your throat when his fingers start caressing your clit. You feel like you’re on fire as he fingers you in a gentle way. The intensity of his gaze, paying attention to your every reaction, makes you want him more. His fingers move to your hole and caress you lightly there.

“So wet for me,” he says, his voice low and sensual, making you roll your eyes in pleasure. “I love your reactions.”

His heart pounds in his chest as his fingers invade your pussy, thrusting with a reverence that almost startled him. You almost scream with pleasure, moaning loudly in his ear, which makes him smile. With his free hand, he holds you by your waist, helping you to stay on your feet as you lose yourself in his deliberate touch.

As the heat of the moment burns between you both, memories of your first night together crash into him. The way he’d kissed you then, the way you’d kissed him back, the rawness of that night… It felt like a lifetime ago.

Flashback

The hallway had seemed endless as Beomgyu walked, each step heavier than the last. He had told his friends he was stepping out to visit his mom—a lie he had convinced himself was necessary, but he knew the truth. He was heading toward you, toward the one person who had been consuming his thoughts for far too long. His stomach churned with both desire and fear, the pull between wanting you and doubting everything growing stronger the closer he got to the door.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a sudden distraction from the storm brewing inside him. He pulled it out quickly, his heart skipping when he saw the simple message: “I’m waiting for you.”

Of course, you were. You were always waiting. He had reserved a room in the fanciest yet most secluded hotel in Seoul, under the name of Ben, to avoid any suspicion and meet you. Now, there was nothing left but to face you—face everything you two had built in the silence and secrecy. But the reality of it—the intimacy, the risk—felt overwhelming.

Beomgyu’s hand trembled as he gripped the door handle. There was no need to knock. He had the key, the access, but still, he hesitated. His breath was shallow, his mind filled with doubts and questions. The door creaked open, and there you were.

The room was dim, shadows stretching across the floor, the air thick with tension. You stood by the bed, your eyes locking with his, unblinking, unwavering. Beautiful. Unfazed. Waiting.

His throat went dry. He couldn’t move. The weight of it all crashed down on him, but still, you remained calm and poised. You knew what you wanted. You were steady, unlike him, who was spinning in circles in his own mind.

“Hi,” your voice was soft but confident, carrying the weight of everything unsaid between you. You weren’t questioning yourself. You weren’t hesitating.

“Hey,” Beomgyu replied, his voice rougher than he had meant it to be. His heart was pounding in his chest as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. And still, there was a distance between you, an invisible wall he wasn’t sure how to break.

You tilted your head slightly, the corner of your lips curving into that familiar smile. It was small, but it held something far deeper—something he had always seen in your eyes. You weren’t rushing, or pressing him either. You were just there, waiting for him to meet you halfway.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now, as if you could sense his hesitation.

Beomgyu swallowed hard, unable to speak for a moment. The questions choked him, tangled up in his throat. “I… I don’t know,” he finally said, his chest tightening with each word. “I’m not sure if we should be doing this, you know?”

The words felt foreign on his tongue, unsure, as if saying them might make everything real. But you neither pull away nor retreat. Instead, you moved closer, your hand brushing against his chest, sending a shock of warmth through him. The simplicity of your touch grounded him in the moment and reminded him that there was no need for words, no need for all the confusion in his mind.

“Then let’s figure it out together,” you said, your voice steady, unwavering. You weren’t concerned about the future. You were here now, with him.

Present

When he can’t take it anymore, he removes his fingers from you and throws you into bed. You just laugh, amazed by how he loses control when you are together. You couldn’t want anything better: he is stunning, charming, sexy, and knew how to use his mouth, fingers, and his long and thick dick that makes your mouth water whenever he gets naked.

His hands find the hem of your underwear, quickly freeing you from that piece of clothing. Your gaze is dark, filled with desire, which makes his dick ache inside his pants. “You don’t know how much I want to…”

“Want to what?” You tease, your voice low but dripping with challenge.

Beomgyu hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should let his thoughts slip, but then he just smiles. There is no use denying it now that you are fully naked in front of him, almost begging for some action. “Want to fuck you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and give him a daring look. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Smirking, Beomgyu gets up to remove his clothes and grabs a condom in his pocket, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling through his length. He doesn’t waste any more time and positions himself, invading you in a hurry.

The pull is undeniable, and as Beomgyu moves to kiss you again, he realizes it isn’t just the physical attraction or the heat building between you—it’s something deeper, something more. The uncertainty remains, but for now, it’s drowned out by the quiet intimacy you share at this moment, your bodies speaking their own language.

Flashback

You moved first, stepping toward him, the space between you shrinking with every breath. Your fingers brushed his arm, sending a shiver down his spine, and the air grew heavier, more charged. “You look good,” you whispered, your voice thick with something more than just a compliment. Beomgyu swallowed, his heart racing as he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, like a question without words. But when you responded, warm and eager, he knew.

Your kiss deepened slowly at first, but then it turned urgent, as if you both could no longer hold back. Your hands moved with practiced ease, sliding beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his skin, your fingertips grazing his muscles like you were memorizing every inch of him. Beomgyu’s breath hitched, his own hands trembling slightly as they moved to your waist, pulling you closer. The heat between you grew, the world outside the hotel room seeming to fade into nothingness.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your gaze intense and unwavering. “So, are you gonna fuck me or not?” you teased, your voice husky, full of challenge. Your fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, and without a second thought, he helped you pull it off, his movements desperate but eager.

The air between you crackled as your bodies collided, the intensity of your touch making everything else fade into the background. Your hands slid to the waistband of his jeans, slow but deliberate, each movement a promise. Beomgyu’s chest tightened, his heart racing, as he kissed you again, deeper, more urgently.

He murmured against your lips, “Are you sure?” But you didn’t answer with words—only with another kiss, one that swept him away, drowning out every doubt. There was no room for hesitation now, no space left for uncertainty.

As you fell into bed, naked, things felt lighter, simpler, and easier. Every touch, every kiss, every movement brought you both closer, the tension thick in the air. And as you finally gave in to the pull and to the heat between you, the world outside the room disappeared entirely.

Nothing mattered except the rhythm of your bodies, the feeling of your skin against his, and the undeniable certainty that you were both lost in this moment together.

Present

“Oh, Gyu, faster!” You moan, pulling his hair. He simply obeys, thrusting quicker, biting his lower lip to your sight, completely covered in sweat and at his mercy.

At this moment, the world outside the hotel room, the doubts, the uncertainty—everything—fades into the background. There is no fame, no fans, no company, no magazine, no tasks. It’s just the two of you, tangled in each other, your bodies moving in sync, as if you were one, your hearts racing in time with the beat of something unspoken.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, thick with emotion. “You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, his words making your chest tighten in an unexpected way. “It’s not just your smile… but the way your eyes light up when you look at me… It’s everything.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and you feel something warm unfurl inside you, something you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. You moan louder, your hands moving to the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss, slow and deep. Beomgyu follows your lead, his mind drifting to how easy it is to get lost in you and how the weight of his doubts seems to fade when he is with you.

Breaking the kiss, your breath becomes more erratic, and you plead for more, and he knows you are close. He massages your clit again, and it is too much for you. You explode, digging your nails on his back, which makes him hiss and lose control, filling the condom with his cum.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Beomgyu lets himself fall deeper into your world, where you guide him effortlessly, showing him what it means to let go. For a while, he forgets about everything else, losing himself in the way you touch him and the way your body responds to his. It’s all too easy to get lost in you. But as the hours slip away, and he finds himself tangled in the sheets beside you, something shifts.

He watches you, your breathing steady and peaceful as you sleep, your bare shoulder glowing softly under the pale light spilling through the window. He can’t help but marvel at how you seem to have everything figured out. You’re everything he’s not—fearless, confident, unapologetically yourself. The complete opposite of him.

And yet, even though everything in him wants to stay, to surrender completely to the pull between you, his mind begins to spiral again. He doesn’t belong here. He can’t stay. The reality of his life is looming just outside the warm bubble you two have created together. It’s not that he doesn’t want you—it’s the opposite, in fact. He wants you in a way he can’t explain, in a way that scares him, because he knows what it means to let himself feel this much.

But he can’t. He can’t let this go on any longer. He has to leave.

The thought cuts through him like a cold blade, and he feels a pang in his chest. It’s almost unbearable. The idea of walking away from this, from you, feels impossible. But he can’t stay. Not when he knows what the consequences would be. Not when he’s already risking too much just by being here.

Beomgyu glances at you again, your features soft in the dim light, your body so close to his. Every instinct in him is screaming to stay, to keep holding on, but his mind knows better. You deserve more than this. You deserve someone who can be with you fully, without hesitation, without the fear of what’s coming next. And he’s not that person. Not in the way you need him to be.

He sits up quietly, the movement careful, trying not to disturb you. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

A part of him wants to wake you, to tell you everything—to explain the battle raging inside him, to explain why he feels like he can’t stay. But he can’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. Not when everything is so raw, so uncertain.

Beomgyu sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes, trying to push away the guilt creeping in. He’s made up his mind. He has to leave.

But as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand, the weight of it all presses down on him. He stops for a moment, sitting in the quiet, the sound of your breathing the only thing he can focus on.

For a second, he wonders if he could just stay a little longer. If this moment could last. But no. He knows that’s not possible. Not in his world. Not in the life he’s built.

The room is still dim when you stir, soft light filtering through the curtains. The warmth of the bed beckons you back to sleep, but the space beside you is cold—empty.

You sit up slowly, brushing your hair away from your face. The rustling of fabric catches your attention, and you find him across the room, standing by the window, already dressed. His fingers fumble with the buttons of his coat, the movement deliberate but strained. His posture is rigid, like he’s bracing himself for something.

“Beomgyu,” you call softly, breaking the silence.

He pauses, still facing away from you, then slowly turns. His expression is guarded, but his eyes… His eyes betray him, full of hesitation, of something raw and vulnerable.

“I’m leaving,” he says, each word heavy, like he’s been carrying them for too long. “For good this time.”

You look at him for a long moment, but you don’t feel anger, not even sadness—just a hollow space where something used to be. Something you no longer recognize.

“I see,” you reply, your voice even, almost distant.

Beomgyu takes a step toward you but stops just short of the bed. His voice cracks as he tries to explain. “I can’t keep doing this, YN. This… whatever this is between us… it’s not sustainable. The secrecy, the lies, pretending it’s okay when it’s not—it’s eating me alive. I’m scared of what it’s doing to us, to me.”

You don’t interrupt, though his words fall heavy around you. You let them sink in, and you nod slowly, your eyes steady. “If that’s how you feel.”

His confusion deepens, a rush of desperation in his chest. “You… don’t have anything to say?”

You take a breath before replying, your gaze unwavering. “What’s the point, Beomgyu?”

The words hit him harder than anything else could. He wants you to fight, to pull him back, to make this hurt less for both of you. But there’s nothing from you—just acceptance, a quiet that makes his heart shatter.

“You’re not even going to argue?” His voice is almost pleading now. “You’ll just… let me go?”

You stand slowly, walking toward the window, leaving the space between you untouched. You’ve always fought for him, but as he stands ready to leave, you realize this was never truly yours to hold onto. Letting him go isn’t surrendering—it’s accepting the truth: he was never meant to be yours.

“You made your choice,” you say quietly, not looking back at him. “I won’t make it harder for you.”

His throat tightens. Every word you’ve said, every moment of silence between you, weighs on him. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. The words are stuck in his chest, useless now. He’s already hurt you too much to ask for anything else.

Beomgyu steps forward, but his feet feel like they’re rooted to the ground. “YN, I—”

“If you’re leaving,” you interrupt, your voice flat, “just go.”

“YN…” His voice cracks, but you don’t turn. You don’t move. You just stand there, looking out at the pale light of morning creeping through the window, letting the weight of his departure settle in.

“Goodbye, Beomgyu.” Your voice is steady, but it carries a finality that cuts through him.

He lingers a moment longer, hand on the door handle, but there’s nothing left for him to say, nothing to undo the damage. He takes one last look at you—at the calmness, the quiet resignation in your posture—and leaves.

The door clicks softly behind him, and you stand by the window, your heart pounding in the silence. You don’t cry or shout. You just stand there, letting the world move on, knowing that this chapter has ended.

After Beomgyu left, you stayed in the hotel room longer than you planned, the cold, empty bed feeling like a void you couldn’t escape. You stood under the shower for what felt like hours, letting the warm water cascade over your motionless body. Your forehead pressed against the cool tiles as you irrationally hoped the water could rinse away the heaviness inside you. But it couldn’t.

When you stepped out and caught your reflection in the fogged mirror, you barely recognized the tense, tired expression staring back at you. You wrapped a towel around yourself, your fingers trembling slightly as you picked up your phone. A reminder blinked on the screen—a client meeting in two hours. You swiped it away with a frustrated sigh. Work was the only thing you could control right now, and it was what you would focus on.

By the time you reached your office, the city had shaken off its sleep, and the bustling energy matched your hurried steps through the glass doors.

“Morning, YN,” your assistant, Minji, greeted you with a warm smile, handing over a folder. “Here’s the client proposal. Also, Mr. Park moved your meeting to 3 PM.”

“Thanks, Minji,” you replied, flipping through the pages without really seeing them.

“Rough night?” Minji asked playfully, eyeing your slightly ruffled appearance.

You forced a smile. “Something like that.”

The day passed in a haze of tasks—emails, back-to-back meetings, design reviews, and putting out fires caused by an unreliable supplier. Your colleagues moved around you with curious glances, sensing your unusual quietness but knowing better than to pry.

Even as you powered through your responsibilities, your thoughts betrayed you. Beomgyu’s face surfaced unbidden—his playful smirk, his uncertain eyes, the softness in his voice when he’d said your name for the last time. Each memory was like a small knife, sharp enough to remind you of what you’d lost, but not enough to distract you completely.

A few days later, the rehearsal studio hums with activity, but for Beomgyu, it's as if the world has slipped into a muffled roar. His body is there, but his mind is miles away, stuck at that moment—walking out the door, leaving you behind. He rubs his face, still feeling the sting of it—the hollow emptiness that settled in his chest when he walked away. Nothing is the same anymore.

“Beomgyu, focus!” The choreographer’s sharp voice slices through the fog of his thoughts, yanking him back to the present. The music stops suddenly, and Beomgyu blinks as the silence seems to swallow the room. “What’s going on with you?”

“I—sorry,” he stammers, his voice thick with exhaustion. His hands tremble slightly as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. He’s not sure if it’s from the workout or something much deeper. He runs through the steps in his head, but everything feels… wrong. Off. His body refuses to cooperate.

His bandmates exchange concerned glances. Soobin is the first to step forward, offering him a water bottle wordlessly. It’s a quiet gesture, a silent understanding between them. But Beomgyu can’t return it with his usual ease; the weight of his emotions is too heavy to mask.

“You okay?” Soobin asks, his voice low, measured, like he can feel the storm brewing just beneath Beomgyu's calm exterior.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu mutters, taking a long drink of the water, but the lie tastes bitter on his tongue. “Just tired.”

“You're more than tired,” Soobin says, his gaze sharpening. “You're uncoordinated, out of focus.”

The staff approaches, their eyes piercing, ready to demand answers. “What’s going on?”

Before Beomgyu can speak, Yeonjun steps in, sensing the tension rising. “We all had a rough night,” he says, his tone even but commanding as he glances at the staff. “Construction near the dorm kept us up. Let’s take a break and reset.”

The staff hesitates, sizing them up before reluctantly nodding. “Fine. Beomgyu, don’t let it happen again.”

Beomgyu feels their gaze linger on him as they disperse. He’s the one out of sync, the one causing the delay. The emptiness settles back into his chest as he sits on the floor. The sound of his own heartbeat echoes in his ears, drowning out the noise of the world around him. He doesn’t know how to escape from this.

In the days that followed his departure, you made a silent vow to yourself: you’ll stay late at the office every day, working until exhaustion drowns out the thoughts of him. The office becomes your refuge, a place where you can bury yourself in work, enough to keep the nagging ache in your chest at bay. The hours bleed into each other as you throw yourself into spreadsheets, meetings, and design revisions.

By the time the office empties and the city lights begin casting long shadows across the room, you’re still at your desk, your mind buzzing with tasks.

“You’re still here?” Minji’s voice breaks the silence, her concern clear in her soft tone.

You don’t look up. Your fingers continue to move over the keyboard, steady but mechanical. “Just finishing up a few things,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Minji hesitates, studying your posture. “Don’t overdo it, okay? You’ll burn out.”

You force a smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Minji. Goodnight.”

She nods and leaves, and the quiet returns, heavy with the weight of your solitude. The silence in the office presses down on you, suffocating, but you stay where you are. Leaning back in your chair, you close your eyes and exhale a long, slow breath. You don’t want to go home, so you bury yourself in work again. You don’t allow yourself to think, not for a single moment. It isn’t until your stomach growls, protesting the hours without food, that you glance at the time. 11:45 PM.

You gather your things and step into the cool night air, the chill brushing against your skin like a reminder of the world beyond your desk. The streets are eerily quiet as you slide into your car, the hum of the engine a familiar comfort. The drive home should be peaceful—empty streets and the steady rhythm of the road beneath your tires. But your mind won’t let you rest.

Why does it hurt this much?

You grip the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles turning white as memories of him flood back—his hand in yours, the fleeting vulnerability in his eyes, the regret in his voice when you parted.

Your phone buzzes on the passenger seat, dragging you from your thoughts. You glance at it, your heart skipping a beat. It’s not from him. You know it won’t be, but the automatic reflex to check, to hope, lingers. The screen lights up with a new message, but your hope fades quickly. It’s just an email—a distraction, but nothing more.

In that split second, your car hits a slick patch of road.

The tires screech, the car swerves violently, and your heart races in panic. Everything happens so fast—too fast. The world tilts sideways, your grip on the wheel futile against the forces that take control. And then, with a sickening thud, the crash comes—a violent collision of metal against metal, glass shattering around you, the deafening sound of impact filling your ears.

Then, silence.

The world stills. The weight of your emotions, the hum of your thoughts, everything you’ve been running from, fades into nothingness as darkness envelops you.

The dorm door creaks open, and the group shuffles inside, their usual laughter and banter replaced by a heavy, uneasy silence. Beomgyu’s shoulders slump as he kicks off his shoes, his bag dropping with a dull thud near the door. He barely manages a glance at the others before he collapses onto the couch, his hands covering his face. Exhaustion and frustration mix, pooling together like a storm inside him.

“Alright,” Soobin says, his voice cutting through the stillness as he shuts the door behind him. “Spill.”

Beomgyu groans, muffling the sound in his palms. “It’s nothing. Just a bad day.”

“Bullshit,” Yeonjun cuts in, his arms crossing tightly, eyes narrowed in that knowing way. “You’ve been zoning out for weeks. Since when do you miss steps?”

Kai leans forward on the edge of the coffee table, his expression serious. “Are you sick?”

The air is thick, everyone waiting for him to speak. But Beomgyu doesn’t know where to begin. The weight of their stares presses down on him. After what feels like an eternity, he exhales a shaky breath. His hands fall to his lap. His voice is quieter than usual, fragile. “No. There’s… someone,” he admits, almost inaudible.

Four pairs of eyes widen in shock, the sudden admission hanging in the room, thick as smoke.

“Someone?” Soobin repeats, disbelief lacing his tone.

Beomgyu nods, keeping his gaze down. “We’ve been seeing each other. In secret.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. “Secret, as in ‘fans-can’t-know’ secret? Or ‘scandal-level’ secret?”

“Both,” Beomgyu mutters, the weight of it all evident in his voice, a heavy burden that sinks deeper with each word.

Taehyun leans in, his voice steady, cutting through the tension. “Who is she? And why all the secrecy?”

Beomgyu hesitates, running a hand through his hair. His mind races, but his chest feels tight. Finally, he looks up, meeting their eyes, and for the first time, he lets his guard down. “She’s a producer. We met at a magazine shoot.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips. “She’s… amazing.”

The room falls silent as they process his words, the quiet intensity settling over them like a thick fog.

“Go on,” Yeonjun presses, leaning forward, his voice a mixture of curiosity and something more.

Beomgyu’s smile deepens, and for a moment, the weight on his chest lightens. He speaks more freely now, almost with reverence. “She’s a bit older than me, but she’s so beautiful. She’s confident, blunt, and incredibly smart. The first time we met, she didn’t treat me like an idol.”

Kai smirks knowingly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Let me guess—she shut you down?”

“Completely,” Beomgyu admits, a genuine chuckle escaping him. “She was so professional that I was really impressed. And she’ll always make me forget about the world.”

“I see,” Taehyun observes, his voice a mix of amusement and curiosity. “And I assume you like that?”

“I love it,” Beomgyu says, the admiration clear in his voice. “She doesn’t care about the fame or the cameras. With her, I can just… be.”

Soobin’s expression softens, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes—the quiet worry that’s been with him all night. “If she makes you this happy, why are you falling apart?”

Beomgyu’s smile fades, the weight of the truth pulling him back down. His shoulders sag, the pressure of his own vulnerability heavy in the air. “Because it’s a mess. If anyone finds out, it could ruin everything.”

Yeonjun rubs his temples, the gravity of the situation settling in. “Damn, Gyu. But if she’s worth it, isn’t it better to fight for her?”

Beomgyu’s voice cracks, his next words barely more than a whisper, the raw emotion slipping through. “I don’t know,” he admits, his heart laying bare.

Kai reaches out, his hand resting on Beomgyu’s knee, a quiet gesture of solidarity. “You’re not alone, Hyung. We’ll figure this out together.”

Taehyun nods, his voice firm but understanding, the calm anchor in the chaos. “But you need to decide what you want. If she’s this important to you, you have to find a way to make it work.”

Beomgyu glances around the room, seeing the unwavering support of his friends, and something in his chest loosens just a little. “Thanks, guys. Really.” His voice cracks at the end, and he quickly clears his throat.

Soobin offers him a soft smile, his eyes filled with understanding. “We’ve got your back, Gyu. Always.”

Just as the silence lingers, a buzz cuts through the air. Beomgyu jumps, his stomach lurching as his phone lights up with an unknown number. His heart races. He swipes to answer, a knot of unease tightening in his chest.

“Hello?” He answers, his voice strained, almost panicked.

The voice on the other end is muffled, but there’s urgency in it. “Hello, is this Mr. Ben?”

Beomgyu’s mind races, that sinking feeling in his stomach growing heavier. He knows that name. Ben is the alias he used to rent the room. Only you knew about it.

“Yeah. Who is this?”

“This is Daewon Medical Center. We’re calling about a woman who’s been admitted to our facility. She listed you as her emergency contact.” The nurse’s voice is rushed and clipped. “There’s been an incident. A car accident.”

Beomgyu freezes, his breath catching in his throat. “Is she… How is she?” The words feel foreign in his mouth, the panic rising in his chest.

“We need you to come down here and provide more details,” the nurse continues, urgency mounting in their tone. “Please, come immediately.”

Beomgyu’s mind is reeling. He feels the blood drain from his face. His voice barely escapes him, shaken and weak. “I’ll be there.” He hangs up quickly, his hand trembling as it falls to his side.

For a moment, everything stands still. His friends are silent, their eyes wide, waiting. The room feels impossibly heavy.

“What happened, man?” Taehyun asks, his voice low, the concern unmistakable.

“YN,” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, his face going pale. “She’s in the hospital. She was in a car accident.”

“Oh my God,” Kai whispers, his voice trembling. “Is she… is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu chokes out, his eyes wide with terror. “I don’t know if she’s okay. I need to go to the hospital.”

Without waiting another second, Beomgyu grabs his coat, his movements frantic, almost desperate. His heart pounds in his chest faster than he can breathe.

Soobin is the first to move, his expression soft but filled with concern. “We’re coming with you,” he says, his voice steady, a quiet strength in the face of the storm.

Yeonjun is already moving toward the door, his teasing demeanor gone, replaced by a raw sincerity. “We’ve got you, Gyu. Let’s go.”

One by one, his friends follow, their steps synchronized with Beomgyu’s anxious heart. Every step feels like it’s taking him closer to something he’s terrified to face, but he knows he can’t face it alone.

You wake up in a sterile white room, the cold, harsh light above you making everything feel even more disorienting. Your head throbs, every pulse a sharp reminder of the crash. The beeping of machines and the low murmur of voices seems distant, muffled, as if you’re underwater, disconnected from the world around you.

You try to sit up, but the sharp pain that shoots through your limbs forces you back down. The ache spreads, deep and heavy, making you feel like a broken version of yourself. Your vision blurs as you blink against the light, trying to make sense of everything.

The last thing you remember is the argument with Beomgyu—the harsh words, the cold silence, the way everything fell apart. Then, nothing. Just darkness. You close your eyes again, willing the weight of the pain, both physical and emotional, to fade, but it doesn’t. It’s as if the ache in your head grows stronger the more you think about it.

A nurse enters, her voice soft as she asks questions, but you barely hear her, your mind lost in the haunting thoughts of Beomgyu. The kiss. The way he left you hanging. Was he really gone for good? Could you ever get past this?

“Can you tell me your name?” The nurse asks again, her voice gentle but firm.

You blink, trying to focus, your thoughts still cloudy. “YN,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Good,” the nurse says, writing something down. “Do you know what happened?”

Your heart sinks as you try to piece together the fragments of memory, but it all feels too far away, like sand slipping through your fingers. “I—I was in a car accident,” you murmur, the words small and distant.

“That's right,” the nurse replies. “You were brought in after midnight. There was nothing serious, but you'll need to stay here under observation.”

You shut your eyes tightly. You’re tired, your body is aching, and you just want the pain to end. You want to leave this sterile room and be anywhere else, anywhere but here—lost in a place where everything you’ve fought for has crumbled in an instant.

As your thoughts spiral, exhaustion pulls you under. The beeping machines, the nurse’s voice, the ache in your body—all blur together into a haze. You can’t fight it anymore. Your body is too tired, too broken from the accident, and from the emotional weight you’ve been carrying. Slowly, your breathing steadies, and the tension in your muscles begins to release.

Beomgyu’s heart pounds as he walks through the sterile hallways of the hospital, the weight of dread sinking deeper with each step. His friends—Yeonjun, Taehyun, Kai, and Soobin—follow closely behind, their faces tight with concern. They’re there for him, a quiet support, but their presence does nothing to still the frantic beating in his chest. The only thing on his mind is you: your face, your voice, and the crushing fear of losing you.

When he reaches your room, his breath catches in his throat. You lie still on the bed, your small frame framed by the soft hum of machines, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor echoing in the silence. His body moves without thought, drawn to your side, but his heart is already breaking.

“Is she…?” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, turning to the nurse finishing her paperwork. She nods sympathetically, her eyes kind but professional, before stepping out, leaving him alone with you.

The room is too quiet; the only sound is the steady beep of the monitor and the soft shuffle of nurses in the hallway. Beomgyu stands there, rooted to the spot, his eyes never leaving your pale face. Each shallow breath you take seems too fragile, too tentative. It hits him then—this could be it. He could lose you. He has never felt more helpless.

Yeonjun places a hand on his shoulder, offering him a silent kind of support. “We’ll wait outside. Just… take care of her,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. One by one, they step out, leaving Beomgyu alone with you, the only person who’s ever truly seen him.

The door clicks shut behind them, and the silence becomes unbearable. His heart beats so loudly in his chest, it drowns out everything else. He can’t breathe, can’t think. His trembling hand hovers over yours, as though the simple act of holding your hand will anchor him to something real.

When he finally takes your hand, the warmth that lingers there shatters him. He had thought pushing you away was a way of protecting you, keeping you safe from the chaos of his world. But now, staring down at you, all those thoughts feel foolish. He’s terrified of losing you, and in doing so, he realizes he’s already lost you.

“YN…” His voice cracks, hoarse with emotion, each syllable slipping past the lump in his throat. He squeezes your hand tighter, desperate. “Please… please wake up.”

His chest tightens as he leans forward, resting his forehead against the edge of your bed. Tears fall freely now, his breath coming in ragged gasps as everything—the guilt, the fear, the regret—crashes down on him.

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu whispers, his voice breaking. “I never should’ve pushed you away. I thought I was protecting you. I thought… I thought I could keep you safe, but all I did was hurt you.”

His fingers tremble, his grip tightening with each word. “I thought I was protecting us. If I stayed away… if I kept you out of my mess, everything would be okay. But I was wrong, so wrong, YN. I was just scared of how much I love you. I didn’t know how to handle it. And, to be honest, I still don’t.”

The rawness of his emotions overwhelms him, his voice cracking with each confession. “But I can’t hide anymore. I can’t hide from you, from what I feel. You’re the only person who’s ever really seen me. I’ve never been this vulnerable; never let anyone in like I’ve let you. And now, I’m just… scared of losing you. More than anything in my life.”

His breath hitches, his chest tightening with the weight of his confession. “I love you, YN. I love you so much that it hurts. And I’m so sorry. For making you feel like you didn’t matter. For letting fear get in the way of what we could’ve had. I was a coward. I thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong. And now… I don’t know if it’s too late.”

Tears fall faster now, each one carrying a weight of regret and guilt. Beomgyu wipes his eyes, but the tears keep coming. “I don’t care about the consequences anymore. I don’t care about the risks. All I care about is you. Please, wake up. Let me prove to you that I can be what you need and deserve. Please don’t let this be the end.”

He presses his face to your hand, as if holding on tight enough will pull you back to him. “I don’t know if you can hear me… But I just need you to know that I love you. I always have. And I always will.”

He cries quietly, his tears falling onto your hand, his heart laid bare in the stillness of the room. There’s no guarantee that you’ll wake up, no promise that everything will be okay. But all he can do now is confess his love and hope it’s enough.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as Beomgyu sits beside you, his heart pounding with every word he’s just laid bare. His voice wavers under the weight of his confessions. He had expected nothing—no response, no sign of acknowledgment. Part of him hoped you were asleep, lost in a peaceful dream, because the thought of facing rejection after everything felt unbearable.

But you remain still, your eyes closed, you're breathing slow and even. Beomgyu’s words hang in the air like a heavy mist, each confession a tender cut, yet you say nothing. Maybe you didn’t hear him. Perhaps the words were too much. Maybe he was just too late.

A sigh escapes him as he slumps in the chair beside you, the exhaustion of the moment taking its toll. He’d spilled his heart, and now uncertainty weighs on him like a brick. Will you laugh? Push him away?

And just when he begins to lose hope, he notices it—your hand. It moves—just a twitch of your fingers, but enough to make his heart leap in his chest.

“YN?” His voice falters, uncertain.

Your eyes flutter open, barely enough to catch the moonlight casting soft shadows on your face. You blink at him for a moment, and then, impossibly, a smile pulls at the corners of your lips.

“Well, if you’re done talking…” You murmur, your voice thick with sleep but laced with something mischievous.

Beomgyu freezes. “You… you heard all that?” His voice cracks slightly, more surprised than embarrassed.

You stretch, your eyes twinkling with humor. “I didn’t sleep through your grand speech, if that’s what you’re asking. Are you always this dramatic?”

His face flushes instantly, his heart still racing from the weight of his confession, but now heat rushes to his cheeks from pure embarrassment. “I… I thought you were asleep,” he stammers, his words tangled in the confusion of relief and discomfort. “I didn’t know what else to say. I thought I’d lost you.”

You sit up, propping yourself on your elbows, your grin widening. “Well, it’s a good thing I woke up, huh? For all the emotional confessions and declarations.” You wink at him, your teasing tone lightening the air.

Beomgyu stands there, caught between relief and awkwardness, unsure how to navigate this sudden shift. His mind is still reeling from the confession, but now there’s a new energy between you—one he wasn’t expecting.

“Are you… not mad?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper, uncertainty creeping back in.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Mad? No, not really.” You pause, the playful edge in your eyes softening just a touch. “I just didn’t think you’d care this much. I didn’t think you’d be this honest.”

His heart skips a beat. “But… you’re not angry?”

“More like… frustrated,” you affirm, the weight of your words settling between you both. “When you left… I didn’t realize how much it hurt until later. I told myself I was fine, that it didn’t matter, but I was lying. I was upset. I was sad.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens, his heart sinking. “You were sad?”

“Of course.” You nod slowly, offering him a faint smile. “I pretended it didn’t matter. But it did. It really did.”

The words hang there, unspoken for so long, finally finding their way out. Beomgyu reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, the touch grounding him in the rawness of the moment.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all pressing on your chest. “Beomgyu, I never stopped caring about you.” The words feel almost too simple, yet they hold so much.

His eyes soften, the vulnerability in them making your heart ache. He doesn’t respond at first; he just watches you, as if letting your words settle into him. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice quiet but sure.

“I’ve been afraid too,” he confesses. “I didn’t know how to come back. How to tell you I never stopped thinking about you… that I never stopped loving you.”

A heavy silence follows, the unspoken truths filling the room like a melody. The distance between you two has always felt vast, but now, at this moment, it seems to shrink, drawing you closer with every beat of your heart.

“I’m sorry, YN,” Beomgyu whispers, his voice cracking with regret. “For everything.”

A small, sad smile tugs at your lips, and you reach up to gently touch his cheek, your fingers grazing the skin you’ve always known. “You don’t have to apologize. We were both just… trying to protect ourselves.”

Beomgyu leans into your touch, his eyes closing as he breathes in the softness of the moment. He takes your hand and presses it to his lips, kissing your palm with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispers. “I just didn’t know how to make everything right.”

You shake your head, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions inside. “We can find out together.”

There’s a pause—a shared breath, a moment to let the weight of the confessions settle. The silence isn’t heavy now; it feels like a delicate thread connecting you both, fragile but real.

But then, to your surprise, Beomgyu breaks the tension with a quiet laugh, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “So, why am I your emergency contact?”

You blink, caught off guard, before a grin spreads across your face. “I put you there for fun,” you tease, enjoying the sudden lightness.

Beomgyu’s confusion only deepens. “For fun?”

You shrug, nonchalant. “Well, I don’t have family here, and you’re the last person who’d panic if something happened. So… I thought you’d be fine with it.”

Beomgyu blinks a couple of times, trying to process. “But I actually panicked when I got the call from the hospital.”

You laugh softly, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “Oops. Sorry, my bad.”

“I wasn’t prepared for that kind of responsibility,” he protests, his nervous laugh bubbling up. “You should’ve warned me, you know?”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” You tease, your smile never fading.

“You really know how to keep me on my toes,” he admits, his voice soft but warm.

You smirk, a wink following. “What can I say? You make it too easy.”

The playful banter lingers between you, but as the laughter fades, the weight of the moment presses in again. Beomgyu's gaze softens, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to memorize every detail. The air feels warmer now, and the distance between you is almost nonexistent.

Without a word, he moves closer, his hand gently brushing against yours before he tentatively cups your cheek. Your breath hitches, the anticipation hanging heavy in the quiet space. His thumb strokes softly across your skin, and you close your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of his touch.

“YN…” His voice is barely a whisper, but it carries everything he's been holding back.

And before either of you can think, you both lean in, lips meeting in a tender kiss that speaks volumes. It's soft at first, almost reverent, as if the moment is fragile and new. But the deeper you sink into the kiss, the more it feels like something you've both been waiting for, something long overdue.

When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest against each other, your breath mingling, and neither of you moves to break the silence. There's no need for words anymore; everything is already said.

Time passes, each day flowing into the next, but this moment feels suspended—just the two of you, cocooned in this hotel room, far from everything that once held you apart. What started in secrecy, shrouded by uncertainty and fear, has now unfolded into something raw, something real. The past is behind you, and now there’s only the present, soft, quiet, and heavy with meaning.

You lie back against the pillows, fingers tracing the familiar lines of Beomgyu’s chest. The touch is subtle but speaks volumes—both of the comfort you’ve found in each other and of the unspoken understanding between you. But tonight, the question that has been hovering is finally voiced.

“So, what happens now?” Your voice is calm, though there's an edge of curiosity, of longing for something more. You’ve come so far, but there’s still that gap you need to cross.

Beomgyu looks at you, his gaze soft but filled with something deeper now. It wasn’t a question he expected, not after everything that’s happened, but now that you’ve both navigated the hardest parts, there’s no more avoiding it. No more pretending.

“I… I don’t want to hide anymore, YN,” he says, the words coming slowly but sure. “I don’t want to pretend this isn’t real. I’m not going to let fear stop me from being with you. Whatever happens—whatever the world says—I’ll handle it. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing us.”

The weight of his words settles in your chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a lightness fills the space between you. You’ve always known he’d reach this point. But hearing him say it, seeing his determination—it makes everything feel more real, more tangible.

“You’re sure?” you ask, your voice soft but steady. It's not doubt, not anymore, but a quiet understanding of what this means. “The world doesn’t always give us what we want. It’s not just about us. It’s everything that comes with it.”

He nods, a quiet certainty behind his eyes. “I’m sure. You’re worth it. All of it.”

Your smile grows, and the joy that fills you is quiet but deep. In the silence between you, it’s clear. You’ve built something strong, something unshakeable. And now, with this moment, with his choice, it feels like you’re stepping into something even more solid. The future is still unknown, but for the first time, you’re no longer afraid of it.

“We’ll handle it. Together. Whatever comes, we face it together.”

There’s no hesitation in your voice, just a calm, tender conviction that makes his heart swell. You believe in him, in both of you, in this—whatever comes.

Beomgyu smiles, a sense of relief washing over him, as if a weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying has been lifted. “Yeah. We will.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s full of understanding. You both took a leap of faith. There’s no going back now, and neither of you is afraid.

You lean in first, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that’s soft, slow, and lingering. It’s a promise, a quiet understanding of everything you’ve chosen, everything you will face together. When you pull away, Beomgyu’s hand cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, searching your eyes for any trace of doubt.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” His voice is quiet but sincere, filled with the kind of trust that makes your heart ache.

You smile, your eyes sparkling with affection and certainty. “We will be.”

And at that moment, you both know that the road ahead will be anything but easy. There will be obstacles and challenges. But together, you’ll face them. Because now, for the first time in so long, you’re not just surviving—you’re living together.

Beomgyu pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around you as you both settle back against the bed. The world outside might keep turning, keep shifting, but it doesn’t matter. You have each other. And that is enough.

Epilogue

The day Beomgyu decides to come clean about his relationship is chaotic, to say the least. It’s a decision he doesn’t take lightly, but one that he knows is inevitable. His team, however, is far from prepared. As soon as the news breaks, there’s a whirlwind of calls, meetings, and endless debates. His career, his image, the group’s future—they argue it all. But Beomgyu stands firm.

He’s aware of the risks. The fans, the media, the public—everything about his life will be under scrutiny. But for once, he refuses to let fear dictate his choices. This is his truth, his happiness, and he’s not going to hide it anymore.

Yeonjun, Taehyun, Soobin, and Kai support him all the same. They’ve seen the internal struggle he’s faced, and now they stand beside him, understanding that he’s choosing to be open, to face the consequences head-on. Despite the pressure, they rally around him, unwavering in their support.

After hours of difficult discussions, it becomes clear: Beomgyu’s decision stands. The agency will release an official statement.

“Hello, MOA, this is Beomgyu.

I’ve always tried to be open and real with you, and in turn, you’ve always shown me so much love and support. You’ve been with me through the highs and lows, and I can’t express enough how much that means to me.

Because you’ve always been so real with me, I want to do the same and share something important about my life. I’m in a relationship. It’s something that has brought me happiness and peace, and I want you to know that I’m truly content.

I understand this might come as a surprise to some, and there may be questions or feelings about it. But I want to assure you that I’m not sharing this to seek approval or to change anything about our connection. I’m sharing it because it feels right.

This relationship is something that makes me happy, and I believe it’s essential to be honest with you all, just as you’ve always been with me. I hope you can support me, as you always have, and understand that this is just another part of my journey.

I’m so grateful to each of you, and I’ll continue to give my all, not just to my work but to this connection I have with all of you. You’ve been my strength, and I’ll always be there for you, too.

Thank you for your understanding and love. I’m truly lucky to have you all by my side.

With all my heart,

Beomgyu.”

The aftermath isn’t easy. Rumors swirl, articles flood the media, and the scrutiny from the public is relentless. Yet through it all, Beomgyu doesn’t waver. And neither do his friends. Yeonjun, Taehyun, Soobin, and Kai all stand by him, united. They know his happiness comes first, and they’ve got his back, no matter what.

You are right there with them, offering the same unwavering support. You’re his rock in the storm, always grounding him. But you’re not just standing by him—you’re thriving in your own right. Despite the chaos surrounding your relationship, your career continues to soar. You lead new projects with the same passion and confidence that have always defined you. Whether you're presenting designs or making strategic moves, you do it all with an undeniable strength, showing the world that you’re as much of a force in your field as you are in your relationship.

Your resilience is contagious. Even in the face of media pressure, you handle it all with poise, refusing to let negativity seep into your life. You brush off the hurtful comments with the same humor and confidence you’ve always had, and your work only continues to flourish as you rise to the occasion, showing everyone that you won’t be defined by anyone else’s opinion.

At home, after long days of work, you still manage to keep things light. One evening, after yet another exhausting day, Beomgyu finds you lounging on the couch in your shared apartment. Your eyes are glued to your phone, a mischievous grin on your lips.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his tone light despite the exhaustion in his voice as he walks over to you.

You look up, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, just some hilarious tweets about me,” you say nonchalantly, your grin widening. “Mean ones, mostly.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, concerned. “Why are you even reading that stuff?”

You shrug, unfazed. “Why not? It’s entertaining. People can say whatever they want. But at the end of the day…” You pause, your eyes locking with his. “I’m the one who gets this delicious man called Choi Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

You lean into him, nudging him playfully. “Come on, you know you love it.”

Beomgyu’s laughter softens, the tension of the past few days fading with the sound of your voice. Your ability to find humor in the chaos is a reminder that you both will get through this, no matter what. You’re always there to lift him up when things feel heavy.

“I really do,” he admits, his smile genuine. “But I don’t want you to be upset with them calling you names.”

“Don’t worry, Gyu. I won’t be. I am what I am, and I don’t give a fuck.” With a mischievous grin, you meet his gaze, your confidence radiating. “After all, the mouth that’s eating me out is not complaining.”

elle speaks⁴: im not used to make second parts and this one demanded a lot from me, but i hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading ♡

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction created by me. the characters of TOMORROW X TOGETHER and the song mentioned are used for creative purposes only. this story is not affiliated with BigHit Entertainment or TXT, and all content is fictional and does not reflect reality. the song “Stay” is owned by its creators and used here without profit.

#tomorrow x together #txt #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt smut #txt angst #beomgyu smut #txt beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu angst #txt x y/n #txt x reader #txt x you #beomgyu x female reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x y/n #elle writes #beyond the doors #stay

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