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cloudtransprncy · 14 days ago

Text

Clothes Off

KOF Belle X Male Reader | 7k words

"Keep me wet, mark my checklist…" Some lyrics aren't just words on a page

The clock on your laptop read 1:17 AM. Seoul's skyline glittered beyond your floor-to-ceiling windows, a constellation of city lights against the night.

Your penthouse had morphed into a songwriter's dream den—cushions and blankets scattered across the floor, empty Sprite cans and convenience store wrappers evidence of the hours spent creating.

The oversized sectional had been pushed back, ambient lighting casting everything in that perfect 1 AM glow. The kind that makes bad ideas seem brilliant and good ideas seem inevitable.

Belle sat cross-legged on a cushion beside you, notebook balanced on one knee. Her blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders, catching the light in a way that looked accidental but probably wasn't. Nothing about Belle was ever truly accidental.

"I still think the bridge needs work," she said, tapping her pen against the page. "But we can fix it tomorrow."

Three years of writing together had created a rhythm between you—a creative shorthand that had produced hits for LESSERAFIM, Chungha, and now, hopefully, KISS OF LIFE. Though industry insiders whispered about the anonymous genius behind their favorite lyrics, you preferred staying in the shadows, letting the artists shine while you collected quiet accolades and royalty checks.

Belle was different. She'd sought you out after hearing about your work, determined to write with you. That first session had ended with her hand lingering on yours after a celebratory toast, a moment stretched thin until her manager called.

Then came the marathon session for Chungha's EP—falling asleep on the studio couch and waking up with Belle curled against you, both pretending nothing happened by morning. Her late-night voice notes from European tour stops, voice dropping to that whisper that lived rent-free in your head for weeks after.

Three years of almosts. Three years of moments dripping with possibility, interrupted or carefully sidestepped when reality intruded.

"I think we're done for tonight," you said, saving the file. "Twenty-five demos is enough, even for us."

"Twenty-six if you count that rap throwaway," Belle corrected, stretching her arms overhead. Her white tank rode up, revealing a sliver of skin that pulled your focus like a magnet. "Though we both know only three or four will make the final cut. The way these company execs gatekeep tracks is toxic, but whatever."

She reached for her water bottle, the movement practiced and graceful. The makeup she'd worn to her earlier schedule remained perfect—winged liner accentuating her dark eyes, lips tinted pink that matched the slight flush creeping up her neck.

You turned back to your laptop, ready to shut down when Belle shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against yours. The scent of her perfume—something expensive and subtle that you'd caught yourself looking for in crowds—filled your senses as she pointed to a filename.

"What's this one?" she asked, voice close to your ear. "clothes_off_030125?"

Her proximity sent that familiar jolt through you—the same electricity that had been building since that night six months ago when she'd called you after her company dinner, voice wine-soft, confessing she'd turned down a setup because "there was someone else" before hanging up abruptly.

"Oh, that's..." you hesitated, mouse hovering. "It's for Kehlani."

Belle's eyes widened. "Kehlani? As in THE Kehlani?"

You nodded, unable to hold back a smile at her reaction. "Yeah, she's doing a collab with kwn—that upcoming R&B artist from Oakland. Sent me the beat last week."

"Holy shit." Belle straightened up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Play it. Right now."

"It's not finished—"

"I don't care. Play. It."

You clicked open the file. The beat filled the room—a deep bass line that seemed to sink into your bones, followed by subtle percussion that built with deliberate patience. The kind of track that didn't just ask for attention; it demanded it.

Belle closed her eyes, body swaying slightly. You watched her reaction, the way her lips parted, how her fingers drummed against her thigh in perfect time. You'd seen this look before—when you'd played her the instrumental for MIYEON's track, the one that earned her that songwriting credit she'd been chasing.

"Fuck, that's good," she whispered, eyes still closed.

"Yeah, Kehlani wants something raw. Authentic." You ran a hand through your hair. "Lyrics that feel real."

Belle opened her eyes, meeting yours. "Well? What do you have so far?"

You pulled up the lyric document, cleared your throat. "Girl, the way you're pushin' up on my body..."

"That's it?" One perfect eyebrow arched, the judgment softened by the playful curve of her mouth.

"I told you it wasn't finished."

She moved closer, eyes scanning the screen. "It's good. But something's missing." Without asking permission, she pulled your laptop toward her and began typing.

You leaned back, watching her work. Belle wasn't just an idol; she was a genuine songwriter. One of the few who could translate feeling into syllables that stuck in your head for days.

"Don't be scared, I ain't scared, no..." she murmured as she typed, her voice dropping to a register you'd only heard once before—in that hotel room in Japan when she'd thought you were asleep and was singing quietly to herself in the shower. You'd lain awake afterward, staring at the ceiling, trying to erase the sound from your memory and failing spectacularly.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. "Can I dare to leave your bed a mess and wet?" she read, letting the words hang in the air between you.

Holy shit. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer. You swallowed hard, memories flooding back of the night you'd had too much soju after finishing the Chungha project—how Belle had leaned in, lips parted, before her phone rang with a call from her manager. The frustration in her eyes as she'd answered it, the moment slipping away.

Belle shifted her position, moving from cross-legged to kneeling beside you, the blankets bunching beneath her knees. The movement was fluid, catlike. She leaned forward to look at the screen, her body angled toward yours, the loose neckline of her tank dipping slightly.

Is she doing this on purpose? Your brain was fighting a losing battle against your body's immediate response. We've been dancing around this for too long. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the lyrics, or maybe three years of tension had finally reached its breaking point.

She looked up through her lashes, pupils dilated in the dim light. "Oh, you better take my clothes off..."

This isn't about the lyrics anymore. The realization hit you with absolute certainty. After three years of missed chances and interrupted moments, this felt deliberate—Belle was done waiting.

Her lips parted slightly, the tip of her tongue wetting her bottom lip—the same gesture you'd caught yourself staring at during late-night takeout and early morning coffee runs.

Fuck, she's unreal right now. You'd always known Belle was stunning—that was just objective reality—but in this moment, with her blonde hair falling around her face and that look in her eyes, she was devastating. And for once, there were no managers calling, no schedules to rush to, no interruptions looming.

Her fingers trailed along her collarbone as she waited for your reaction, her head tilted just enough to expose the curve where her neck met her shoulder—the same spot you'd found yourself staring at during that summer session when the air conditioning broke and she'd pinned her hair up, fanning herself with sheet music.

"Focus, oppa." Her tone was pure temptation, the honorific carrying a weight it never had before.

She's been thinking about this too. Every lingering touch, every late-night call, every inside joke that brought her just a little too close—they hadn't been coincidences.

"I am," you lied, voice rough even to your own ears.

No the fuck you are not, your brain helpfully supplied. You haven't been focused since the first day you met her.

The beat continued to loop, becoming hypnotic in its repetition—bass, snare, hi-hat, silence, repeat . Three years of professional boundaries, carefully maintained through interruptions and bad timing, were finally crumbling.

The music surrounded you, but all you could hear was the thundering of your own heart and the magnetic pull between you.

You'd set your phone on the cushion between you, voice memo recording to capture any sudden inspiration. Standard procedure for your sessions, though tonight it felt like documenting evidence of something dangerous.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Neither of you moved. The line between writing lyrics and something else had blurred beyond recognition, leaving you in this strange limbo where every word felt like both work and confession.

You broke first, clearing your throat and turning back to the laptop. Work. Focus on the work.

"Maybe something like..." Your fingers moved across the keyboard, typing before you could second-guess yourself: "Girl, the way you sex me..."

Belle's breath caught audibly. Her eyes flickered from the screen to your face, pupils dilated against dark irises. She bit her lower lip, leaving a small indentation that your eyes couldn't help but track.

"That's good," she said, voice dropping lower. She shifted, her knee now pressing against your thigh, the warmth of her skin seeping through both layers of fabric. "But it needs..."

She leaned forward, reaching across you to type, her chest brushing against your arm as she added: "I don't share, I ain't sharin'..." The scent of her perfume intensified with her movement, mixed with something more primal—the subtle heat radiating from her skin.

Her hair fell forward, a strand brushing against your cheek like a whisper. She didn't apologize, didn't pull back. Instead, she stayed there, half-draped across you, her face inches from yours as she studied the screen.

"That flows better," she murmured, turning her head slightly. Her lips were close enough that you could feel her breath ghosting across your jaw. The voice memo caught the subtle hitch in your breathing, preserving evidence of your unraveling composure.

You opened your mouth to suggest another line, but your mind had emptied of everything except awareness of her proximity. Belle had already shifted closer, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder for "balance." Her fingertips pressed lightly against the nape of your neck, nails grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that couldn't possibly be accidental.

The notebook had fallen from her lap, forgotten among the blankets. The voice memo caught the rustle of fabric, the subtle shift in breathing patterns, the almost inaudible sound of her tongue wetting her lips.

"You always say I have to feel the song to write it properly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers traced idle patterns against your skin, each touch sending electricity down your spine. She looked up through her lashes, the same expression she'd given a thousand times before on stage, in music videos, during photoshoots—but never like this, never this close, never with this tremor in her voice.

"Then make me feel it."

Your phone captured the sharp intake of breath—yours or hers, impossible to tell. The beat continued its relentless loop, providing structure to a moment rapidly spinning out of control.

She turned back to the laptop, fingers moving across the keys with purpose: "Keep me wet, mark my checklist..."

The words appeared on screen, black against white, impossible to misinterpret. Her hand moved to your thigh for balance as she leaned in again, the warmth of her palm burning through the fabric of your sweatpants. Her thumb traced a small circle, each rotation inching slightly higher.

Her free hand tucked her hair behind her ear, deliberately exposing the curve of her neck—the same spot you'd caught yourself staring at countless times. A silent invitation.

"Turn my hands into your necklace..." Her voice was deliberately seductive now, each syllable caressed rather than spoken. She emphasized the word "hands" by sliding her fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. No pretense of professionalism remained—this was Belle, the woman, not Belle the idol or Belle the songwriter. The Belle who'd been carefully kept at arm's length for three years.

Your phone recorded the trembling exhale that escaped you, the slight creak of cushions as weights shifted, the building tension made audible.

She repositioned herself, kneeling between your legs now, her hands braced on either side of your hips. The movement was fluid, purposeful, her body caging yours against the cushions. Each breath brought her chest fractionally closer to yours, the distance between you shrinking with each passing second.

Her eyes never left yours as she whispered the final line: "I'm gonna take your clothes off..."

The space between you vanished—had it ever existed at all? Three years of careful distance collapsed in an instant. Your foreheads nearly touched, sharing the same air, both waiting for the other to make that final move.

The voice memo captured everything: the subtle sounds of fabric shifting as her hand moved to your collarbone, tracing it slowly; the quickening of your breath as her fingertips grazed your pulse point; the almost inaudible whimper that escaped her when your hands finally settled on her waist.

"Belle—" Your voice came out ragged, uncertain.

"I'm tired of pretending," she cut you off, her lips nearly brushing yours as she spoke, the confession captured in perfect digital clarity by the still-recording phone. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging slightly. "Aren't you?"

The beat looped once more. Bass, snare, hi-hat, silence.

And in that silence, three years of restraint finally shattered.

You were both done pretending.

You kissed her first—a decision three years in the making that happened in less than a heartbeat. Your lips crashed against hers with the force of every suppressed want, every interrupted moment, every almost-but-not-quite from the past three years.

Belle responded with equal hunger, fingers immediately threading through your hair, gripping with bruising intensity. Her mouth opened under yours, tongue sliding against yours with none of the hesitation that had characterized your relationship until now. She tasted like soju and the spicy tteokbokki you'd shared hours ago, with lingering traces of mint gum—but beneath it all was something headier, more intoxicating: pure, unfiltered desire. Three years of restraint dissolved on your tongue, the taste of finally giving in more potent than any alcohol.

"Finally," she gasped against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "Three fucking years I've been waiting for this." She kissed you again, harder, deeper, her body pressing against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. "Just us. No interruptions, please."

Her hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, nails dragging down your back, palming your chest. You matched her desperation, hands gripping her waist before sliding up to cup her face, angling her head to deepen the kiss. The beat from your forgotten track looped in the background, the bass vibrating through the floor beneath you.

Belle pushed you back against the cushions, climbing onto your lap with practiced grace, her thighs straddling yours. She ground down against your hardening length, a keening sound escaping her throat. "I've thought about this," she admitted, voice dropping to that register that had haunted your dreams. "Every time you'd bite your lip while you were working. Every goddamn time you'd roll up your sleeves and I could see your forearms. When you'd stretch and your shirt would ride up..." Her hips rolled against yours again, more deliberate this time. "I'd go back to my hotel room and touch myself thinking about you."

The confession sent heat surging through you. Your hands slid under her tank, finding the warm skin beneath. "Show me," you growled, tugging at the fabric. "I want to see you. All of you."

Belle smirked, that same confident smile that had graced magazine covers across Asia, but with something rawer beneath it now. She crossed her arms, grabbing the hem of her tank and pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.

She sat before you in her black lace bra, blonde hair tousled from your hands, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. The sight punched the air from your lungs. You'd seen her in stage outfits more revealing than this, but this was different—this was Belle, undressing for you, eyes dark with want.

"Your turn," she demanded, tugging at your shirt. You pulled it off, flinging it somewhere behind you.

Her hands were on you immediately, tracing the contours of your chest, nails dragging lightly across your skin. "Fuck, look at you," she breathed, leaning forward to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

You couldn't wait any longer. Your hands moved to the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with surprising dexterity given how badly your fingers were trembling. The straps slid down her shoulders, and then she was bare before you, perfect breasts with dusky pink nipples already hardened into tight peaks.

"Jesus Christ," you exhaled, hands moving to cup the weight of them. "You're fucking perfect."

Belle arched into your touch, a pleased sound escaping her when your thumbs brushed across her nipples. You leaned forward, taking one nipple into your mouth, tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking hard enough to make her gasp. The flesh pebbled against your tongue, hardening further as you alternated between gentle suction and the careful scrape of teeth. Her hands tangled in your hair again, nails scraping your scalp as she held you against her chest. You moved to her other breast, leaving the first glistening and reddened from your attention, a perfect contrast against her flawless skin.

"More," she demanded, grinding down against your erection, the friction maddening even through layers of fabric. "I want to feel your mouth everywhere."

You obliged, trailing kisses across her chest, up the column of her throat, sucking at the delicate skin just below her ear. Her pulse jumped beneath your lips as you worked your way down, teeth grazing the sensitive junction where her neck met her shoulder. You sucked harder, intent on leaving a mark, but Belle's hand flew to your hair, tugging you away with a breathless "No marks where they can see."

The idol in her was still conscious of appearances, but before disappointment could register, she guided your mouth to the spot just below her collarbone, hidden by most clothing. "Here," she whispered, pressing your face against her skin. "Mark me here."

You didn't need to be told twice, sucking and biting at the designated spot until a deep purple bruise bloomed against her golden skin. The sight of it satisfied something primal in you—visible evidence that this wasn't just another almost.

Belle's eyes darkened as she watched your admiration of the mark. Without warning, she leaned forward and latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to make you hiss, her teeth adding just enough pressure to ride the edge between pleasure and pain. She pulled back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied smirk on her lips at the sight of the fresh hickey. Unlike her, you didn't have stylists to please or cameras to face—you could wear her mark proudly.

Belle's nails scraped down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Her teeth found your earlobe, biting just hard enough to make you hiss, then soothing the sting with her tongue. Every touch was hungry, desperate, as if she was trying to make up for three years of restraint in a single night.

You stood suddenly, lifting her with you, her legs wrapping around your waist automatically. Her back hit the wall, a small "oof" escaping her lips before you captured them again in a bruising kiss. Your hands fumbled with the button of her jeans, desperation making you clumsy.

"Just rip them off," she panted against your mouth, the words nearly making you come on the spot.

You set her down, yanking at her jeans with little finesse, dragging them down those impossible legs along with her underwear. And then Belle was naked before you, all golden skin and subtle curves, blonde hair falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the dim studio light.

She was a vision, standing there with none of the shyness you might have expected. This was Belle in her element—confident, aware of her effect on you, reveling in the power of your desire. Her blonde hair framed her face like a halo, the contrast almost laughable given the sinful curve of her smirk.

You took a moment to just look at her—the subtle definition of her abs from countless hours of dance practice, the curve of her hips, the small constellation of beauty marks along her right side that you'd never known existed until now. Her body was a contradiction of soft curves and toned muscle, the body of someone who worked as hard as she played.

Belle didn't give you long to admire her. She stepped forward, hands moving to your sweatpants, shoving them down your legs along with your boxers. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, hard and aching for her. Her hand wrapped around your length, stroking once, twice, pulling a groan from deep in your chest.

"Fuck," she whispered, thumb circling the tip, spreading the wetness she found there. "I knew you'd be perfect."

You couldn't take it anymore. You pushed her back onto the cushions, covering her body with yours, the first press of skin against skin making both of you moan. Your mouth found her breast again, sucking harder this time, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. Your hand slid down her stomach, fingers dipping between her legs.

She was soaked, slick and hot against your fingers. "Holy shit, Belle," you groaned against her skin, fingers circling her clit. "You're literally soaked."

"For you," she gasped, hips canting up into your touch. "I've been wet af thinking about this for three years, don't act surprised."

You slid down her body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, her stomach, the jut of her hip bone. When you settled between her thighs, you took a moment to just look at her—glistening pink folds, the skin above shaved and bare, everything about her so perfect it made your chest ache.

"Please," she whimpered, a crack in her confident facade. Her hand reached down to tangle in your hair, guiding you to where she needed you most.

The first taste of her pulled groans from both of you. She was sweet and musky and perfect, her essence coating your tongue as you licked a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit. Her arousal was abundant, slick and hot against your mouth, the taste intoxicating—like nothing you'd ever experienced before. Your chin quickly became coated in her wetness as you devoured her, each pass of your tongue drawing more of her essence.

Two fingers slid inside her easily, her body practically pulling them in, so ready for you that the sound was audible—a wet, sucking noise that made your cock throb painfully against the cushions. She was tight around your fingers, her inner walls gripping them like a vise despite how wet she was, the contrasting sensations making your head spin. You curled your fingers forward, searching for that spot that would make her see stars, feeling the subtle difference in texture when you found it.

Belle's reaction was immediate—a sharp cry, her back arching off the cushions. You added a third finger, stretching her further, watching in fascination as her body accepted the intrusion eagerly. Your fingers glistened with her arousal when you pulled them out slightly, before pushing back in with more purpose. The sight of her taking your fingers, her pink folds stretched around your knuckles, was almost enough to make you come untouched.

Your tongue circled her clit, alternating between broad strokes and pointed precision, learning what made her gasp, what made her thighs shake. Her hands were in your hair, on her own breasts, gripping the cushions—restless with pleasure.

"Oh god, right there," she panted, her body arching when you found that perfect spot inside her. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You had no intention of stopping, not when she was making those sounds, not when she was looking at you like that—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed with pleasure. You sucked her clit between your lips, fingers pumping faster, and felt her begin to tighten around you.

"I need you inside me," she gasped suddenly, tugging at your hair. "Like, right now. Please, I'm literally dying to feel you."

You looked up at her from between her thighs, mouth and chin wet with her arousal. "Beg me," you said, voice rough with desire.

A flash of defiance crossed her face, that same look she got when company executives tried to tell her what to do. She tugged your hair sharply, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

"Fuck me," she commanded, all idol authority despite her position. "I swear to god, if you don't put your dick in me right now..."

The power struggle between you was intoxicating. You surged up her body, positioning yourself between her thighs, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance. "Is this what you want?" you asked, circling her clit with the tip, coating yourself in her wetness.

"Yes," she hissed, trying to shift her hips to take you in. "Stop teasing."

You pushed inside her in one smooth thrust, both of you freezing at the sensation. She was tight and hot around you, her nails digging into your shoulders, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper.

"Fucking finally," she breathed, eyes locked with yours, the connection between you transcending the physical. Three years of tension, of almosts and maybes, culminating in this perfect joining.

You began to move, hands gripping her thighs, pushing them wider, pinning her to the cushions. Each thrust drew breathless sounds from her lips, her blonde hair splayed across the dark fabric beneath her like spilled sunshine.

"You feel so good," you groaned, the tight heat of her making coherent thought impossible. "So fucking perfect."

Belle matched your rhythm, hips rising to meet each thrust, hands gripping your forearms, your shoulders, your back—anywhere she could reach. Her lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and shared breath.

The beat of the forgotten track continued its loop—bass, snare, hi-hat, silence—providing a rhythm that your bodies naturally found. Belle's moans became the melody, the wet sounds of your bodies joining the percussion, creating the most authentic thing you'd ever produced.

Just as you felt the familiar tightening at the base of your spine, Belle shoved at your chest. "Wait," she gasped. "I need your dick in my mouth. Right now."

You withdrew reluctantly, the sight of your cock sliding out of her, glistening with her arousal, nearly making you lose control. Belle pushed you onto your back, positioning herself between your legs. Her blonde hair fell forward as she leaned down, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your length.

"Fuck," you hissed, hands instinctively moving to her hair, gathering it back from her face so you could watch her.

Belle looked up at you through her lashes, lips wrapping around the head of your cock, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Her mouth was hot and wet, the perfect counterpoint to the cool air of the studio. The sight was obscene and perfect—Belle, the idol whose face was plastered across billboards in Seoul, taking you into her mouth with evident pleasure, her lipstick smudged, her eyes watering slightly as she focused on her task.

You traced her cheekbone with your thumb, feeling the subtle hollow as she sucked harder, watching in fascination as her jaw worked to accommodate your girth. Her lips stretched wide around you, glistening with saliva and traces of her own arousal that still coated your length. The contrast of her pale pink lips against your skin was mesmerizing, like something from the most forbidden fantasy.

She took you deeper, humming around your length, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. The wet heat of her mouth surrounded you, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock with perfect pressure. Her hand worked what couldn't fit, twisting on the upstroke in a way that made your toes curl, her grip firm but not painful.

Spit dripped down your shaft, pooling at the base and trailing down your balls, her movements becoming wetter, sloppier, more desperate with each passing second. The sounds she made were pornographic—wet suction, breathless moans, occasional gags when she took you too deep. Saliva gathered at the corners of her mouth, threatening to spill down her chin.

You pulled out briefly, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to the head of your cock, breaking only when she licked them hungrily. You traced her bottom lip with the tip, smearing it with the mixture of her saliva and your pre-cum. On impulse, you pressed two fingers against her lips. Belle opened immediately, sucking them into her mouth alongside your cock, her eyes never leaving yours as she worked both with equal enthusiasm. The feeling of her tongue sliding between your fingers while simultaneously laving the underside of your cock was mind-bending.

When she took you to the back of her throat, gagging slightly before adjusting, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, you nearly lost your mind. Your hands tightened in her hair, guiding her movements, careful not to be too rough.

"Belle, fuck, I'm going to—" You tried to pull her away, not wanting to finish like this, not yet.

She released you with an obscene pop, lips swollen and wet, a string of saliva connecting them to your cock. "Not yet," she agreed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I still want you inside me."

Belle turned, getting on her knees on the couch, facing away from you, ass presented in a way that made your mouth go dry. She looked over her shoulder, hair falling down her back in golden waves. "Like this," she said, reaching back to spread herself for you. "Please."

You moved behind her, transfixed by the sight of her on display—ass raised, back arched, hair cascading down her spine like liquid gold. Her arousal glistened on her inner thighs, evidence of how turned on she was. Unable to resist, you leaned down to taste her again from this new angle. Your tongue circled her entrance, gathering the abundant wetness there, before sliding up to her clit. The taste of her was even more intense now, her arousal having built to a fever pitch.

Belle gasped at the contact, pushing back against your face shamelessly, grinding herself against your tongue. You gripped her ass with both hands, spreading her wider, diving deeper, feeling her thighs tremble against your cheeks. You slipped two fingers inside her while your tongue worked her clit, curling them to hit that spot that had made her cry out before. Her inner walls clenched around you, pulling your fingers deeper, her body telegraph its need.

"Inside me," she demanded, voice breaking with need. "Now."

You straightened, taking your cock in hand, sliding the tip through her folds, gathering her abundant wetness. The head of your cock glistened with her arousal as you dragged it from her clit to her entrance and back again. Each pass collected more of her essence, until your cock was coated and dripping. You pushed just the tip inside, feeling her body try to pull you deeper, before withdrawing completely.

Belle whimpered, trying to push back, to take you in, but you held her hips steady with firm hands. You slapped your cock against her swollen pussy, the wet sound echoing in the studio.

Once, twice, three times—each contact sending visible ripples through the flesh of her ass and drawing desperate sounds from her throat. Your length rested against her for a moment, hot and heavy, before you did it again, harder this time, watching as her wetness created strings that connected your cock to her folds when you pulled away.

"Tell me what you want," you demanded, continuing to slap your cock against her, sometimes catching her clit, sometimes sliding between her lips without entering. Her arousal had become so abundant that it dripped down onto the couch below, creating a small dark spot on the fabric.

"You," she gasped. "Inside me. Filling me up. Please."

You pushed in slowly this time, savoring every sensation—the initial resistance as the head of your cock breached her entrance, then the way her body yielded, pulling you in deeper with each inch. She stretched around you, accommodating your girth, her inner walls gripping you like a vise despite how wet she was. The sight of your cock disappearing into her was mesmerizing, her pink folds hugging your length as you sank deeper.

Belle's back arched beautifully, her spine a perfect curve, her hands white-knuckled as they gripped the back of the couch for support. A long, low moan escaped her as you bottomed out, the sound so raw and unfiltered that you knew you'd never hear anything like it in any of her recordings. Her walls pulsed around you, adjusting to the intrusion, seemingly trying to pull you even deeper.

Once fully seated, you paused, overwhelmed by the sensation. The wet heat of her surrounded you completely, squeezing with subtle pulses that threatened your control. Your hands dug into her hips, fingertips leaving temporary indentations in her skin. You ground against her, circling your hips to feel every part of her, to let her feel every part of you.

Your hands slid up her back, gathering her blonde hair in one fist, pulling just enough to arch her back further. The silky strands wrapped around your fingers as you guided her movements. Your other hand traced the curve of her spine, feeling each vertebra beneath your fingertips, then followed the dip of her waist to the flare of her hip. She was a work of art beneath you, all golden skin and perfect curves, the subtle dimples at the base of her spine catching the studio's amber light.

You began to move, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in, watching in fascination as your cock appeared and disappeared, glistening with her arousal. Each thrust was accompanied by an obscene wet sound, evidence of how ready she was for you. You set a punishing pace that had the couch creaking beneath you, the sound mixing with the slap of skin against skin and Belle's breathless moans.

Belle met each thrust with equal force, pushing back against you, the impact sending ripples across the flesh of her ass. The sight of her taking you so eagerly, so completely, was almost too much to bear. Your cock seemed to disappear into her endlessly, only to reappear coated in her essence, wetter with each withdrawal.

Your free hand slid around to find her clit, circling the swollen bud in time with your thrusts. It was stiff under your fingers, slick with her arousal, the hood pulled back to expose the most sensitive part. You alternated between gentle circles and more direct pressure, learning from her reactions what pleased her most. The position allowed you to feel yourself moving inside her, your cock creating a subtle bulge against your palm with each deep thrust.

"Yes," she cried, head falling forward despite your grip on her hair. "Right there, don't stop."

You leaned forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the knobs of her spine. Your teeth grazed her skin, marking her, claiming her after three years of waiting. The scent of her perfume mixed with sweat and sex, creating a heady combination that made your head spin.

Belle reached back, hand finding your thigh, nails digging into your skin as if trying to pull you closer, deeper. The gesture was unexpectedly intimate, a silent plea for more connection even in this raw, primal position.

"I'm close," she gasped, inner walls beginning to flutter around you. "So close."

You redoubled your efforts, hips snapping against hers, fingers working her clit with more purpose. When she came, it was with a cry of your name that echoed through the studio, her body seizing around you in rhythmic pulses. Her inner walls clamped down with stunning force, rippling along your length with contractions so strong you could track their progression. Her back arched impossibly further, her hands clawing at the couch cushions, her thighs trembling violently against yours. Wetness gushed around your cock, soaking both of you further, dripping onto the couch beneath in a primal marking.

The visual, auditory, and physical sensations combined to trigger your own release. You buried yourself to the hilt, grinding deep inside her, feeling her body milk every drop from you. Your vision blurred at the edges, pleasure crashing through you in waves so intense they bordered on pain. You groaned against her shoulder, teeth grazing the delicate skin there as you pulsed inside her, filling her with your release.

The sensation of her body still contracting around you as you came extended your orgasm, drawing it out until you were both shaking with oversensitivity. For a moment, neither of you moved, joined together in the aftermath, your chest pressed against her back, both of you coated in a fine sheen of sweat. Your breath came in harsh pants, mingling with the sounds of the beat still looping endlessly in the background.

You could feel your combined arousal beginning to seep out around your still-hard cock, creating a mess between you that neither of you cared about. Your hands, which had been gripping her hips with bruising force, now gentled, stroking her sides with trembling fingers. Belle's body occasionally shuddered with aftershocks, each one squeezing your sensitive length and drawing small sounds from both of you.

You collapsed onto the couch, Belle's body following yours, limbs tangled together in a sweaty heap. Her head rested on your chest, blonde hair sticking to your damp skin, her breathing gradually slowing to match yours. The studio was thick with the scent of sex, the air conditioning struggling to clear the heat you'd generated between you.

"That was..." She trailed off, apparently unable to find adequate words.

"Yeah," you agreed, equally eloquent, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. "Definitely worth the wait."

She hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to your chest. "Better than I even imagined. And trust me, I imagined it a lot."

The beat still looped in the background, a reminder of the work that had started this—work that should probably be saved before your laptop went to sleep. You reluctantly shifted, easing Belle off you with a kiss to her forehead.

"Let me save this session real quick."

You sat up, reaching for your laptop, fingers moving automatically to save the project. Your gaze drifted to your phone on the floor where it had fallen during your activities, screen still lit up. You froze.

The voice memo app was still running, the timer showing 46:27 and counting.

"...Fuck."

Belle, who had been stretching languidly on the couch, followed your gaze. "What?"

You picked up the phone, showing her the screen. "It's been recording. The whole time."

Belle sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears, not bothering to cover herself as she leaned over to look at your phone. Her eyes widened momentarily before her lips curved into that signature smirk—the same one that had launched a thousand fan edits online.

"...Keep it," she said, her voice casual in a way that made your heart race again. Her fingertip tapped the screen. "Tuck it in the back of the song."

You stared at her, certain you'd misheard. "You're serious?"

Belle shrugged, one perfect shoulder rising and falling. The motion made her breasts shift in a way that threatened to derail your thoughts completely. "You said Kehlani likes 'real' in her music, right?"

You nodded, still processing her suggestion.

Belle took the phone from your hand, tapping the playback button. The sound of your mingled breathing filled the room, followed by a breathless "Oh God, right there..." in Belle's voice, higher and more urgent than her normal speaking tone. The recording continued: "Don't stop, please don't stop," punctuated by the unmistakable sounds of skin against skin.

She stopped the playback, raising an eyebrow at you. "Tell me that doesn't sound fucking fire."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, equal parts shocked and impressed by her audacity. "Kehlani's gonna hear us fuck."

Belle's grin widened, something mischievous and proud in her expression. "She's gonna love it." She leaned over to your laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard with surprising energy given your recent activities. "Listen," she said, adding a line to the lyrics document: "'Til the neighbors knock this door down..."

She turned to you, expectant, clearly waiting for your reaction. The track continued to loop, but now you could hear it differently—could imagine those captured sounds layered beneath the beat, the breathless quality of Belle's voice adding an authenticity no studio session could fake.

"It's perfect," you admitted, shaking your head in disbelief.

Belle's smile was triumphant. "I know." She saved the document with a flourish, then stretched, a movement that seemed deliberately designed to showcase her naked body. "Now, about that bedroom you mentioned..."

You laughed again, marveling at her endless energy. "Give me five minutes to export this."

"You've got three," she countered, already gathering her clothes from around the studio. "And then I'm testing how soundproof those bedroom walls are." She paused, another smirk playing at her lips. "For research purposes, of course. The song might need a part two."

You watched her move around your studio, completely at ease in her nakedness, all the boundaries between you permanently shattered. The voice memo continued to record, capturing this moment too—the aftermath, the planning, the promise of more.

With a decisive tap, you stopped the recording and saved it. Whatever happened next didn't need documentation.

Some things could just be for the two of you.

AN: Clothes off by Kehlani

#cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #kpop smut #kiss of life #belle kof #belle x reader #kiss of life belle x reader #Belle kiss of life #Spotify

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applepixls · 8 months ago

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season 10 really is the social season.

tango in a stream from a week-ish ago joked that this is the season of non-redstoners learning redstone but i think it goes deeper than that

first of all, everyones putting in effort to interact with others and not burn out and balance their episodes with building and work and just having fun with friends

then, theres all the skill sharing.

tango asked bdubs to critique his starter house build, pearl's doing the hermit tours and asking for critiques and things they'd add, bdubs and impulse are working on the cyberpunk city together, stress and iskall are building murder mystery lane together. a lot of redstoners are developing their building skills and styles

then there's armour stands, of course cleos messing with them as always but now joel is as well and she's not holding back with praise for his work and he isn't holding back any admiration for hers either. impulse did the little king kong because the scaling update to the armour stand mod has everyone inspired to play and learn and mumbos asked cleo to teach him about it as well (sidebar: cleo does really well teaching? like i know they used to be a teacher but the clips from mumbos video just convince me they were a good teacher. they give him tips and tricks and suggestions and hints without telling him what to do or how to do it. shes also just like... teaching creativity? almost? along with the skill of giving the armour stands life, shes giving tips on how to imagine and realize a scene etc.)

and ofc, last but certainly not least, more people are building games and using redstone in general!! pearl built a game and showed it off to everyone, cleos doing the same with guess the hermit and xisumas more than happy to help trouble shoot and problem solve to make everything work. and its not just games! grians actually building farms (even if from tutorials, in the past he mostly just goes to the shopping district) and pearl and skizz are both learning and doing the research and designing their own farms?!

im sure i've missed a bunch but i'm just so impressed with the hermits and im happy everyone's having fun with friends this season

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sushibuild · 29 days ago

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THE HAZELRIDGE

A modern farmhouse that beautifully blends sleek, contemporary design with subtle rustic touches, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. Nestled in the heart of the city, this home offers the perfect balance of modern comfort and cozy, countryside charm—an ideal retreat for family living.✨

Home Tour HERE

More info and Download link HERE

40 x 30 Lot in Brindleton Bay

Fully Furnished

4 Bedrooms (The master bedroom - master bathroom - Walk in Closet) Kids room , Guestroom & 4.5 Bathrooms

Property Features : 2 Living Room , Formal Dining Room, Breakfast nook , Home office , Home Gym ,Laundry room , Outdoor Pool , Outdoor Bar & Cooking, Outdoor Living spaces , 2 Car Garage and Butler’s room

✅Play tested with game update 3/13/2025✅

Explore my collection to see all the builds I've released HERE

♡A huge thanks to the talented creators whose amazing CC transformed this house into a stunning space!♡

*Do not re-upload my builds and claim them as your own. Do not use my builds as a base to create another and upload them*

Socials : Patreon | Tiktok | Instagram

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Tim Drake, Danny’s human identity in this universe, is a boy trapped in an empty manor with absentee parents a low socialization.

Danny Phantom, on the other hand, is Gotham City himself. He could fly, he could interact, he could be the heart of his city like he needs to be. From the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs, Danny loved the people that were his. Well, most of them. Child molesters often found themselves crossing paths with a vengeful, mostly recovered Robin.

He is the city, he is Gotham. And with his status came more changes, ones he welcomes more readily that the changes that came with his title of Ghost King.

Being a city couldn’t change him as much as it would have, had he gained the title before becoming King. But now, his shadows are dark, curling around his shoulders and curling away what little light he allowed into his city. His skin, having once glittered green with stars and galaxies and black holes, clouds over just a bit. It gives him a misty quality. His hands become sharper, stronger. Gargoyle-like. He wonders what he looked like to Batman, holding his broken son cradled safely to himself. He’s crueler, now, but that’s easily balanced by his years of being a vigilante himself.

He loves these changes. They are loved in a way changing into Dead Danny Phantom and Ghost King Danny Phantom will never be loved. And even though his human features are different in a way he never had to deal with as Danny Fenton, because it was his body that he died in, Danny finds himself enjoying the distinction. And he enjoys when they combine, because in the end, they’re just facets of who he is, now.

Gotham flies through his city, and enjoys it as a whole. A bigger picture.

Tim Drake walks through his city, and enjoys it as an individual. The smaller picture.

Being Gotham reminds him of what he had to protect as a whole. A duty he gladly bears.

Being Tim reminds him of the people he’s meant to help, the stories he doesn’t get as Danny. A connection he gladly encouraged.

Gotham is power. He is duty, he is fierce love. But for the good of the whole.

Tim is kindness. He is choice, he is gentle devotion. But for the good of the individual.

He’s both.

Danny. Danny Phantom.

Phantom glides through the smog.

The ebb and flow of people is his life blood, the thrumming of life and death and fear and hate and love and everything the city is sung through him and Danny sung back with everything he had. Danny is the gargoyles perched high, watching everything. He’s the stone curves of the sewers, sheltering his rats and mutant murderous crocodile man. The is no love comparable to a city’s mutant rats and their sewers. Ancients, he loves his city.

It would be nice, Danny thinks wryly, if they’d love me enough to stop blowing up buildings.

The sting of destruction to his city would hurt much more, had he not also been King. Regardless, every time there’s an explosion or general large scale property damage, he feels a stab of mild pain. Catching sight of his Bats, Danny stays invisible while following them. He wills the shadows to cradle them, to hide them further. He softens the stone, the mortar, the steel, just a hint. Their footsteps, silent and aided by the city himself. The wind steal away the noise of the grappling guns, so when Danny’s favorite vigilante duo (a fascination he shared with original text!Tim) broke into the building, not a single soul aside them are aware of the intrusion.

Batman skulks across the support beams, Robin following with an anticipatory grin. Danny floats, invisible, undetectable, besides them.

“C’mon!” A goon grunts beneath them. Danny tilts his head. A… Dresden Aberthy. Wow. That’s one hell of a name.

“Hurry it up! Boss said Batman’s going to get here soon!” Another goon- Robbert- said, waving around a gun like a moron at the terrified hostages. Danny could tell half of them were part of a tour bus, mostly because the other half were his Gothamites, bored and unfairly used to this kind of thing. The tourists… He’s fond of them, having kept track of their progress through his city. He doesn’t care for intruders on his haunt, but tourists like to appreciate his city and its doubtlessly Sam-approved architecture. Most of them. Rude tourists get pigeon shit on their heads and food stolen by his lovely rats.

He’ll have to make sure none of the bullets hit the tourists. He likes this group, even if he has enough awareness to question their sanity in choosing his city to sightsee. He knows it’s a mess. It’s Danny’s mess though, so whatever.

——

All said and done, Batman whoops ass and Robin rescues the hostages just fine. Danny grins proudly as Robin knees a guy in the crotch and punches a lady’s throat in order to incapacitate them.

After they tied the goons up, and interrogated them for Two Face’s plans- explode a quarter of Gotham to distract the Bats from his diabolical plan to murder half of Gotham’s judges and lawyers that have been going after him and his people- the duo retreats to the rooftop.

“Didja think Gotham saw that?”

Batman goes to reply, but Danny beats him to it, coming back to visibility with a wind touched laugh.

“I did, little Robin.” Danny smiles, fangs and shadows on display as his vigilantes startles and whips around to face him. “You did well.”

Robin- Jason!- gapes at him.

“I see you’ve recovered, little bird.”

“Gotham! Oh. Wow. People always said Gotham was a lady, but you’re a guy!”

“It was a Lady,” Danny confirmed. “It’s complicated, little bird.”

“So, you’re really… you’re really Gotham? The city?”

Danny looks at Robin with the weight of the city behind his gaze.

“I think you know the answer to that. But yes, I am your city.”

“Constantine,” Batman starts. “He said that city spirits only appear in times of grave danger.”

There is deference in his words. Batman is Batman for Gotham, after all. Danny just wishes he could… well, be friendlier with his knights. May this is a good place to start.

Are you in danger? What threats do we need to handle? How can I help? How can I protect? Please, let me help.

His Knight always felt more than he ever says. Danny smiles.

“Was Robin’s wellbeing not in grave danger?” Danny floats closer. “I am your city. You protect me, it is only right that I protect you, no?”

“Thank you for saving me, Gotham!” Robin’s grin is a touch more sincere than usual.

“Of course, Robin. You are loved.”

“Is there… a reason you’ve shown yourself today? Gotham.”

Danny chuckles, understanding the awkwardness that was Batman addressing someone with deference.

“I wanted to tell you that you did well tonight. Those tourists weren’t harmed in the slightest. Well done.” Danny gave Robin a playful but sincere thumbs up.

“They weren’t a match for us!”

“No, they weren’t.” Danny ruffles Robin’s hair, noticing how still he grew at it. “Robin was too fast for them. That maneuver at the end was masterfully executed.”

Batman clears his throat and Danny resists the urge to laugh at him. It would be mean.

“Thank you, for the… praise.”

Fuck it. He’s played well behaved for too long.

“Yes. I read in child rearing books that positive reinforcement is necessary for healthy development. You did well, Batman.”

Despite trolling Batman- and somehow holding a straight (and hopefully wise face)- he meant every word.

Allowing a small smile to slip at Robin’s chortles and Batman’s quiet sputtering, Danny moves on.

“Where is Nightwing, Batman?”

“He’s still on a mission...”

“If it is awkward to refer to me as Gotham, Phantom will do.”

Batman dips his head once. “In space, with the Teen Titans.”

“I see. Please tell him I request his presence,” Danny barely waits for Batman’s oddly acquiescing agreement before summoning a pigeon.

“Follow her,” Danny instructs the duo. “She’ll lead you to the places with explosives. I will guide you through her, to Harvey Dent.”

Danny winces as another explosion rings out.

“Your face is cracking!” Robin exclaimed, worried. He surged forward to stare at the hairline cracks appearing on Danny’s jaw.

“That would be the explosives. Any damage to the city will be shown on me.”

“Well take care of it.” Batman growled, shoulders straightening once more into an imposing symbol.

“Yeah!”

“I know you will. Stay safe.” Danny disappears, spreading his awareness and directing his Birds to the explosives that will go off the fastest.

Batman and Robin share a glance and leaps off the roof, ready to save their city once more.

——

Tim Drake wanders around Crime Alley, and meets a blonde nine year old trying to throw hands at her absentee Riddler knockoff of a dad. He dodges the brick en route to his face and kicks the guy’s knees out.

“You okay?”

The girl blinks. She stares at her dad, groaning on the dirty street of crime alley, and flicks her gaze back up to Tim, who waits casually.

“Yep. I’m Stephanie. We’re gonna be friends now!”

She grins at him, a baby tooth missing, and Danny melts.

“Heck yeah. Tim!” He introduces himself for the first time in a long time.

Maybe with Stephanie around, he’ll finally use the name Tim? Maybe he’ll get used to it, finally!

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sideysvault · 8 months ago

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ೀ｡˚ Patching Deadpool up years after he left you ೀ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Wade Wilson x fem!reader

Part two here

Wordcount: 2,9k

Tags: Canon typical violence, angst with a happy ending.

────────

The rusty silver plate read in an almost playful manner “The sisters Margaret home for wayward children”. It was a colorful name, and it belonged to a not so colorful bar. That was the place where the two of you had met.

Back then, you were nothing more than a student. Constantly struggling to manage the very limited funding given to you. All you wanted was to finish your thesis, get your master’s degree, and make it to the end of the month. Your paychecks had cornered you into the only half decent apartment you could rent: The one built in the shittiest neighborhood in town, in a building held up solely by divine grace and poor construction.

That particular night was the end of an extremely rough week. Work piled up, homesickness struck you every time you had a chance to relax and think, and you were the living proof that nobody could make any meaningful connections if you only strictly went to work and home with no rest in between.

And for Christ’s sake, you hated to admit it, but you really missed home and the crippling suspicion that you were close to breaking down was settling in.

The only logical next step you could take popped into your head just as you were walking into your neighborhood. You needed to blow off some steam. Have a drink. Or two. Or three. So, your steps seemingly redirected themselves towards that ugly bar that was close to your uglier apartment. Sure, it seemed super sketchy. But right this second, all you needed was to get a drink.

Wade was in that bar too. As he usually was. He immediately took notice of the woman who seemed clearly out of place. You looked like some kind of stuck up librarian. And it was obvious that your mood was extraordinarily dispirited. Sitting there staring at the wall with a piercing stare. Paying no mind to the environment you were in. Furrowed eyebrows adorned your face seemed concerned. Before Wade even realized what he was doing, he found himself striking a conversation with you.

He tried to reason with himself. There were no ulterior motives, no meaning behind his accretion. Wade has always had a soft spot for damsels in distress. And you were hot as fuck. Nothing else.

“What's a nice place like you doing in a girl like this?”

Strangely, that's all it took to make you laugh. The absurdity of the corny comment immediately got to you and a loud burst of laughter came out of your mouth. Wade's face softened with a certain sense of pride when he saw he could make you laugh.

The stuck up girl with a stick up on her ass had just let out not a forced and polite giggle, but an all teeth and gums type of laugh.

The poorly dim light in the bar did not stop him from trying to take all your features in. And a sense of warmth began to surface under his skin. He was the one who made your night better.

Ever since the event, you would visit that horrid place regularly. Only to see the charming guy who would make you laugh. Your little hangouts quickly evolved into something more. A friendship of sorts. He would walk you home when you stayed late working. “To protect you from all the homicidal freaks”. Wade would take you on private tours around the city, so its streets wouldn't feel so foreign to you. He could notice that you genuinely had a great time whenever he was around. And that was all he needed to keep showing up.

One late night, laughter turned into teasing, which transformed to kissing, which later turned into a hookup that evolved into having sex on a regular basis and going out routinely. Wade and you couldn't be more different, it was true. But it seemed to be the key to your relationship. You guys clicked together, balancing each other out.

The insidious realization came to you on a random afternoon. You were in love with Wade Wilson. And he probably felt the same for you.

As cruel as life is, something terrible happened. Just as things were getting serious between the two of you, on one cursed night, he just decided to pick up all of his things from your apartment and leave. All Wade left behind was a tiny note stating that he had terminal cancer and that he loved you. With a little doodle of a heart with crossed out eyes and a tongue sticking out of its mouth.

You were out doing research the first time he fainted. A full-time professor had the kindness to name you as a co-author in an important research paper that was being published in some big shot magazine. Wade felt extremely proud of you. On some late nights he couldn't believe that a woman like you could be head over heels a low stakes hit-man.

The decision felt simple at the time. He ran straight to the clinic and never told you about the incident. Wondering why he would bother you with something that was probably nothing. On that day, in a confined room with sterile air, with its gray walls and the constant sound of the old air conditioner, that’s where the doctor hit him with the whole terminal cancer ordeal. Wade knew you would automatically make a billion plans and extensive research. He knew you'd stay with him all the way through the end. Even if it affected your career, even if it would wreck you emotionally, even if your routine together was reduced to a mere nurse-client relationship, you would stay with him all the way. That was the reason he had fallen in love with you after all.

So, he made a choice. Albeit, one that was a little less simple. He was leaving before tarnishing your life, your memory of him and your time together with his sickness. He couldn't do that to you. The woman who actually had goals. And a shot for a promising future. If he told you about the situation, Wade was certain that he wouldn't have the heart to say no to you. He would stay. And you'd forever remember him as a lost puppy who you loved but had to put down mercifully.

The other option was to be the asshole who left. But he could live on your memory forever. As the person he once was. So that was that.

━━━━━━━━━

You decided to take a shortcut to your newly renovated home. You were wearing your favorite heels today. And they really weren't walking shoes. Brand new, stiff, and ridiculously blue. The scrappy and dark alleyway was well illuminated, and it would take you directly into the street your building was in. After weighing the options, you decided it was safe enough to make a run for it.

The loud noises that you increasingly heard coming from the dumpster worried you. The dumpster was located just before being able to get out of that creepy lane, and you tried to stop the flux of thoughts about homicidal maniacs that suddenly plagued your mind. But, the thought of injured animals that people abandoned on the street came to you as well. Getting closer, hearing the early sound of the echoed of your shoes against the cement, you tried to swallow your fear. Something in there could really need a vet.

But there was a mutilated man wearing a red suit. You instinctively froze and began to step back, the scene was so gruesome that you were sure you would puke on the body and ruin the DNA evidence. Just as you were typing the emergency number on your phone you heard that voice.

“Bad Deadpool” it mumbled. You heard some nonsensical phrases before you could make out a “Fuck. That was, like, my favorite arm”

Your heart began to pound so strongly you could practically feel it on your ears.

He hadn't noticed you yet, continuing to lose a shit ton of blood and trying to balance himself upward without the missing limbs and several shot wounds.

Not without a second thought, you ran to help him stand up. As soon as he felt your firm touch, he turned around violently, holding a defensive position. But the man in the red suit stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you were the one holding him.

This was not the neighborhood you used to live in.

You sighed at the sight and quickly took him back to your apartment. You knew it was him. Not only that, but you were sure of it. The lame jokes had given it away. And that voice had haunted you for a long time. You'd recognize him anywhere. His remaining arm felt the same, the inflections of his tired voice sounded the same, and the shock he’d felt at seeing you was indisputable belonging to him. You had heard rumors about the red suit. But never wondered who could be behind the mask. Wade was supposed to be dead by now, anyway.

Wade, on the other hand, was focusing on not making a sound. He really hoped breaking your heart had left you clinically insane. Insane enough to rescue random mutilated men off the street.

As soon as you entered the apartment it became tainted with carnage. A trail of crimson red adorned your freshly painted white snow walls. Little chunks of skin would occasionally fall. Accompanying the already gruesome blood. Your heels had been lost somewhere along the way and with great effort you had managed to throw him into a bed that he wasn't yet familiar with.

Fuck it. As if losing an arm and a leg wasn't enough. This was breathtakingly fucked.

The shock left your body as soon as you saw your not-dead ex-boyfriend mutilated on your bed. And shock was the only thing keeping you together.

By that moment he was certain you knew it was him. Your eyes began to tear up at the sight of his wounded body, your cheeks were trembling with fear, or disgust, or a combination of both. Before he could try to get up, a pool of blood came shooting out of his mouth without warning. Some of it must have filtered through the mask because you somehow looked more terrified than before. He felt dizzy. And before Wade could do anything about it, you took out his mask on a whim to try to avoid him choking on his own blood. And that was it. All that pain, all the abandonment, the secrecy. It all meant nothing now. You had seen his face.

You were definitely taken aback. And he felt his heart break a little when you instinctively removed her hand from his face. You swallowed with difficulty, shook your head and got up. There were more pressing matters at hand. You had heard things about the vigilante regenerating. But you weren't taking any chances. Not with Wade. Never again.

It didn't matter how fucked up he looked now. He took the opportunity of you leaving the room to put his mask back on as quickly as he could. As he was trying to process everything that had just happened, through the door he could see your crying face moving up and down around the apartment. And there you were. Carrying it all into the bedroom.

It was a massive, fancy emergency kit that you had saved up for back in the day. When he was still beating bad guys for money and living with you. You had kept it all this time. And it was still perfectly stocked.

Wade couldn't lift his gaze to meet yours. But he noticed that you seemed relatively unfazed by his new face now. Or by the fact that you had seen him lacking two limbs and with some extra holes. The tears had stopped, but the mortifying look on your face never left. You always knew what he did for a living, you weren’t stupid. But he had always managed to keep it out of home. Or at least he tried to. Never to this extent. You weren't really used to it.

After all he had faced, he thought he did not need any care anymore. Just his healing, getting high and his unicorn. After all, his body would mend all the damage he had done to it and grow itself back together. But it still hurts. And you still tried to make it better. You begin to patch him up as best as you can, taking your time disinfecting, sewing, and fixing him. He knew you well enough to be absolutely certain that you were trying not to gag at the sight of the wounds. And he appreciated your efforts.

When you finished, you softly traced your fingernails on his bandages. He was too tired to talk. And you were still too shocked. How the fuck is he still alive after those injuries? What had happened to him after all these years?

Without saying a word you got up and went straight to the kitchen. You returned after some time, with his favorite tea, soup, and all the analgesics you could find. Your kindness gave him courage to stop being such a weak pussy and actually try to talk to you. You had seen him. Even if you wouldn't want anything to do anymore, the worst had passed.

“So… Sorry about your walls. Didn't know you had a fancy place now. I would've totally died in another alleyway, I promise. And, sorry, for-uhm, you know. The character shattering abandonment”

He coughed some blood. You just furrowed your eyebrows and as slowly as you could, so he could actually stop you this time if that was what he wanted, you removed his mask again. Your eyes pierced him with earnest intensity.

“You are a fucking asshole. And I fucking hate you. And I'm so glad you are alive”

"I know, I know, baby. And thank you for going all Mother Teresa on me. Well, wrong comparison. But, yeah. I'll be okay in no time. It's hard to explain right now. But, I will do right by you and paint your walls bright white when my leg and everything grows back! Pinky promise. I'll also buy you new shoes. It's kinda gross that you are footless. Or, well, it could be h-”

“Oh my lord, Wade. Just shut up and get some rest. Eat when you feel better. And scream if you need something”

And just when you were about to leave the room he softly said “Hey. I'm sorry. I-, I didn't want to bring you onto the whole cancer show. I was going to fix myself and come back. And then everything got fucked. I couldn't let you see me like this. Understand that. I'm a monster now. Inside out. I would have never left if there had been a way of staying without ruining your life”

You just looked at him for a long moment. Tears began to appear in your eyes, threatening to come out again. As soon as he saw your face, he immediately tried to lighten up the mood. “Hey, how long have you been obsessed with me?

Still keeping that old thing?” He said as he gestured at the now empty emergency kit.

He didn't have the heart to explain to you that it was a waste in him.

Saying nothing in response to Wade's dumb joke, you just rolled your eyes. Hearing him talk that way about himself hurt your soul. You couldn't help yourself anymore, so you walked towards the injured man with tears running down your face. You sat down on a chair beside the bed and rested your head on his lap.

He called your name softly “there's no need to cry. I know I belong to a fucking circus, but this is getting a little offensive" Wade finally got a chuckle out of you. You smile at him and wipe out your tears. Wade winces slightly when you tenderly leave a kiss on his forehead. He feels ashamed of the tact his ruined skin probably had left on your soft lips. It has truly been so long. You notice how he reacts. So you put your hands around his face and gently kiss each of his cheeks, and then the bridge of his nose. As softly as you can.

"I'll go now before you make some lame Greek kiss joke. Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning. I know you are sorry.” With a more serious voice, you added.

“Just no more running away in the middle of the night. Okay?”

Wade softens. He really missed you. As much as he liked Al's old ass, his true home was with you. Even after all these years. Even after what he did to you. Even with how he looked. Wade was certain he would be able to sleep soundly for the first time in years. He was safe now.

“Never again. I promise. I'll do right by you. Okay? We'll be friends with a ton of disgusting unexplored sexual tension in no time and who knows where that could lead to”

You laughed again. And there it was. His favorite sound in the world. It sounded just like the first time he heard it all those years ago.

"By the way, you do owe me those heels. And white walls. You pinky promised it. Oh, and you also owe me the biggest fucking explanation of the century.”

“Sounds like a start to me”

────────

Notes: OMG my first big one! I’m excited to post this. I hope it makes sense, if it doesn’t, feedback is always welcomed! -Sidey xxo

[Edited on October 2024! This was poorly written and I was fully proud of it 😭 shoutout to @nikkiwho, who I fixed this fit for] btw, I’m working on your request for part two even if it’s been a while! Hope you like it.

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joysisland · 2 months ago

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König mountain guide after retirement. that's it

ok but König would so be a mountain guide. Like I can physically hear him yap about why x route is better than the normal one, gaslighting you to take the steepest, most difficult route for no reason just because your tour group can "handle it". But damn, this guide in your group has the most balanced dad bod that screams "I was jacked 5 years ago and it's the first thing I tell everyone when I meet them" and it's the sexiest thing you've seen in a while, so you're not really complaining.

Plus stopping for photos and the breaks during the hike have an approximate time of 3 seconds before he's marching off again fresh as ever - just how much stamina does this guy have?

For lunch you stop in a cabin that offers local food (this man inhales it -) but then you actually find yourself bonding with the group, the conversation is going smoothly, and for the first time today you actually relax and have real fun with people you vibe with... But you started feeling his trained gaze over you, a strange tension forming every time you looked in his eyes when he talked, like you had to physically try not to look at him like he just hung the moon - and he seemed to give you a certain look too, but you tried to ignore it surely it was just your delusion.

So when you and your group finally get back to town you build up the courage to ask him out but as soon as you start talking to him he beats you to it— he said something in a thick accent that sounded like "ach so, of course for dinner we could go to this place with nice beer " and then proceeded to mansplain local dishes and how beer just tasted better.

#your honor i love him #i'm just a girl #cod x reader #konig x you #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig x reader

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juniperdugong · 9 months ago

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Relationship Quirks 96s ver.

Aka habits I can see the boys doing in a relationship || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line ||

Junhui

Avoids foods you don't like or are allergic to

You thought it was weird when after you had mentioned that you were allergic or didn't like a certain food that you would never encounter it when you were with Jun. Of course, you would always avoid it but you knew Jun to not be that picky, in fact, he's quite an adventurous eater. So it just struck you as odd.

That is until you overhear him on the phone with the restaurant you guys were having a date at later tonight asking about the ingredients used in certain dishes and if {insert food here} was used. When you talk to him about this he casually says that he just wants to make sure that you eat well and like what you eat. (THE SWEETEST BOY IN THE WORLD)

Little do you know that he's started to exclude those foods from his diet as well, especially if it's an allergy you have. If it's a food you don't like then he doesn't want you to avoid kissing him if he's eaten it. BUT IF IT'S AN ALLERGY, red alert red alert, he thinks you'll go into anaphylactic shock if he eats something you're allergic to and then he touches/kisses you.

If you're not by his side when he's making decisions then it feels like the balance of the universe is off. Could be halfway across the world from each other and dude is calling you at 3am to ask which magnet he should bring home as a souvenir.

Hoshi

Needs your input on almost every decision he makes

Ooh it's bad, like looking at your parents when the doctor asks what your age is type of bad. He will know exactly what he wants at a restaurant but as soon as the waiter comes he's looking at you like a sheep and you have to mouth what he said he wanted seconds ago as he repeats you blindly. Almost all his decisions must have you're input or else he doesn't know what to do. This might be annoying to some but he values what you have to say so much. And honestly, if you disagree with something he takes it into genuine consideration and thinks about it a lot before making the final call.

His mindset can be summed up like this, "If y/n doesn't think I'll like that pasta then I probably won't like it, they know me very well."

Dude is clingy but not in a physical way... just in the way that he follows you around like a cat that wants your attention but can't say it. He does it unconsciously and to be honest it takes a mutual friend or one of the boys to point it out for either of y'all to notice. Truly it feels like he has to stay within a 30ft. radius of you sometimes.

Wonwoo

Follows you everywhere

The reason this behavior even started was because he missed you so much after tours and arduous schedules that he just HAD to be near you but he never wanted to initiate physical contact. (Being near you is enough for him) It's gotten to the point though that he ASSUMES you're taking him everywhere with you. You're upset and need "space"? Good luck! You'll be in another room for max 5mins before he's in there sitting the farthest possible distance he can while keeping you in sight.

"I can't do this right now, Wonwoo." "Fine then." "I'm going to my mom's place for a while." *Magically has both your suitcases and bags packed* "When are we leaving?"

I know I know... it's unexpected but true! The thing that I don't think a ton of carats realize is that this man does not fear affection AT ALL. He just doesn't like it in public displays. So in the privacy of his studio or at either of your homes, he is clingy, 100%.

Woozi

Needs to feel your touch

Has a computer chair that is specifically for you to be next to him while he's in the studio. If you're in the same room as him or HELL even the same building and there are no cameras or minimal people and you're not next to him then what even is the point? Might as well tell him you hate him or something, at least that's how he treats it.

The crazy part is that he doesn't even ask you for affection! He'll just say things out loud and expect you to get the message or he'll say things directly towards you but won't look in your direction. His number one phrase is, "I miss you..." all while you're feet away from him on the couch in the studio. You can be sitting in your designated chair BUT YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR LEGS DRAPED OVER HIS???? Suddenly, you hear a constant loop of "Damn, I miss my partner sooooo much, right now.", like sir? They're right there?

A/N: I am clinically insane over the 96 line. ALSO EVERYONE SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO WONWOO!!!! (Even though it's literally 10pm and his day is nearly over) I'll try to have the next 2 parts out sometime tmrw. Stay sweet lovelies!! Reblogs and comments are like power surges for my writing so they are much appreciated!

TAGLIST (open): @bemybabiibish

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pearlprincess02 · 4 months ago

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dating and dates (gemini version)

gemini: (gemini venus/mars/5th house/7th house)

dating someone with gemini venus, gemini mars, gemini in the 5th house, and gemini in the 7th house can be an exciting whirlwind of communication, curiosity, and mental stimulation. these placements thrive on intellectual connection and variety in relationships. they need a partner who can keep up with their quick wit and adaptable nature. for gemini venus, love blooms through conversation and shared ideas, so a partner who can engage them intellectually is essential. gemini mars brings an energetic and playful dynamic to relationships, making them passionate about exploring new experiences. with gemini in the 5th house, dating feels like a creative adventure—they’re drawn to fun, spontaneous interactions that spark their imagination. gemini in the 7th house values partnership that feels mentally stimulating and balanced, often seeking someone who challenges them to grow while maintaining a lighthearted dynamic. together, these placements suggest someone who is curious, social, and values relationships that are mentally engaging and ever-evolving.

date night ideas

visit a local bookstore with a cozy café to discuss favorite books, take a class together (e.g., pottery, cooking, or creative writing), attend a poetry slam or open mic night for unique creative vibes, spend an afternoon at an art exhibit with plenty of conversation (gemini venus), try a food truck tour or a street market for variety (gemini venus, gemini mars, gemini 5th house), go to a comedy show for laughs & a lighthearted vibe, attend a trivia or board game night for some friendly competition (gemini venus, gemini 5th house, gemini 7th house), have a picnic in a scenic area with plenty of chatting & exploring (gemini venus, gemini 7th house), go on a hiking trail that ends with a stunning view for a thrilling yet calming activity, try an escape room for a fast-paced, collaborative challenge, attend a dance class to channel their energetic & flirty side, go indoor rock climbing for a physical yet stimulating activity (gemini mars), spend the day at an amusement park for fun & laughter, have a diy craft night where creativity takes center stage, play trivia at a local pub to mix intellect & fun, organize a mini karaoke session at home or at a bar (gemini 5th house), attend a debate or panel discussion on a topic of interest, go people-watching at a park or café while chatting about life, spend an evening stargazing with a telescope & snacks, take a road trip to a nearby town for new scenery & conversations (gemini 7th house)

over 18+ spicy bonus 🔞

gemini: (gemini mars/cupido/eros/lust/amor)

those with gemini mars, gemini cupido, gemini eros, gemini lust, and gemini amor in their chart bring an energetic, curious, and playful approach to intimacy. their preferences often revolve around mental stimulation, communication, and variety. gemini mars is adventurous and thrives on novelty, often turning curiosity into an exciting dynamic in the bedroom. gemini cupido enhances the flirtatious, teasing energy, loving to build anticipation through witty exchanges or playful banter. gemini eros brings a deep craving for connection through engaging and mentally stimulating experiences, where the mind is as involved as the body. with gemini lust, there’s an insatiable appetite for exploration and trying new things, always seeking something to keep things fresh and exciting. finally, gemini amor adds a touch of tenderness and emotional connection to their passionate side, making them versatile lovers who can balance fun, experimentation, and intimacy. together, these placements create someone who is adventurous, adaptable, and eager to explore both physical and intellectual chemistry with their partner.

kinks you might have

role-play scenarios that allow for creativity & excitement, a focus on trying new settings or unconventional approaches to intimacy, exploring kinks that incorporate elements of competition or playfulness (gemini mars), incorporating movement & physical activity into intimacy (e.g., positions that require balance or energy) (gemini mars, gemini lust), exploring shared fantasies with trust & excitement (gemini mars, gemini amor), flirty teasing that involves playful restraint or anticipation, scenarios that revolve around verbal seduction & suggestive dialogue, light games or challenges that build up tension & excitement (gemini cupido), combining mental games with physical engagement (e.g., puzzles with rewards) (gemini cupido, gemini eros), playful or flirtatious scenarios with surprise twists (gemini cupido, gemini lust), sensual acts that involve combining physical & intellectual stimulation, exploring slow/detailed scenarios that focus on the journey, not the destination, reading or storytelling as part of intimate play to engage the imagination (gemini eros), gentle/emotionally charged experiences with a focus on connection (gemini eros, gemini amor), trying new toys or tools to add variety & excitement, exploring dynamic/spontaneous or adrenaline-boosting experiences, scenarios that involve surprise elements or spontaneity (gemini lust), romantic yet playful encounters that combine tenderness & fun, light/affectionate touch combined with verbal affirmations of love, sharing fantasies in a comfortable & safe setting (gemini amor),

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

main masterlist

#gemini venus #gemini mars #gemini 5th house #gemini 7th house #gemini cupido #gemini eros #gemini lust #gemini amor #astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astro tumblr #astrology notes #astroblr #astrology aesthetic #astrology compatibility #astro placements

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littlelamy · 6 months ago

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hi!! love ur work!!

dk if ur accepting requests rn, but was wondering if you could write smth about pop star!reader & drew (or just overall singer!reader). i saw someone talking about it and i cant get it off of my mind

a/n: thank you so much for sending a request!💗

it was another sold-out show. another city. another wave of excitement from thousands of fans packed into a venue, shouting your name and hanging onto every note that poured out of you. the adrenaline rush of performing live was unmatched, the kind of high that no drug could ever replicate. but after a month of touring nonstop, even the thrill of being on stage started to wear thin.

it wasn’t that you didn’t love it. you did—every bit of it. from the screaming fans to the electric energy in the air, it was everything you’d dreamed of when you first started in the music industry. but there was a part of you that felt off-balance, like you were running on empty. touring was exhausting, the never-ending cycle of cities, rehearsals, and interviews blurring together into one chaotic whirlwind.

and then there was him.

drew.

it had been a month since you’d last seen him in person. one long, torturous month of late-night facetime calls, texts that never seemed to come at the right time because of your conflicting schedules, and longing that seemed to grow worse with every passing day. while you were hopping from city to city, drew had been just as busy with his projects—filming, press events, photoshoots. you understood. you were both caught up in your careers, chasing dreams that had taken years of hard work to build. but understanding didn’t make it easier. you missed him. every part of him.

the smell of his cologne, the way his voice sounded when he whispered in your ear late at night, the feeling of his arms around you when the world felt too big. it was starting to wear you down, the ache of wanting him by your side and knowing that, for now, it wasn’t possible. every facetime call ended with a hollow sort of emptiness, as if the screen between you was a barrier you couldn't break through no matter how much you wanted to.

the show tonight had gone off without a hitch, but you couldn’t shake the weird feeling lingering at the back of your mind, like something was missing. the lights dimmed as the crowd roared, the final note hanging in the air. you threw your arms up, shouting your thanks into the microphone before jogging off stage, your heart still racing from the energy of the crowd. the crew backstage clapped and congratulated you, but your mind was elsewhere.

“great show tonight,” your tour manager said as you handed off your mic and took a long sip of water, your body still buzzing from the performance.

“thanks,” you replied absentmindedly, brushing a hand through your sweaty hair. all you could think about was your hotel room. a long, hot shower. maybe a glass of wine. and then another lonely night where you’d scroll through the hundreds of pictures of drew on your phone, wishing he was there.

you were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice him at first.

as you turned the corner into the quieter part of the backstage area, something caught your eye. a figure leaning casually against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, a soft smile playing on his lips. your heart nearly stopped.

it was him.

drew.

you blinked, unsure if you were hallucinating from exhaustion, or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. but no, there he was, standing there in a black hoodie and jeans, looking like he had just stepped out of one of your dreams.

“surprise,” he said with a smirk, his voice calm, but his eyes sparkling with mischief.

your body moved before your brain could catch up, your feet propelling you toward him at full speed. you practically launched yourself into his arms, your face burying in his chest as you held onto him tightly. “oh my god,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his hoodie. “what are you doing here?”

his arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, just the way you remembered. “i missed you,” he said simply, his lips brushing against your hair as he spoke. “i couldn’t stay away any longer.”

you pulled back, just enough to look up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief. “you didn’t even tell me you were coming,” you whispered, your heart hammering in your chest.

he grinned, that playful smile that always made your stomach flip. “that’s kinda the point of a surprise, babe.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you, where all the stress and loneliness of the last month had been building. seeing him now, standing right in front of you, made everything else fade away. the exhaustion, the homesickness, the long nights spent staring at your phone—it all disappeared.

“i can’t believe you’re really here,” you said softly, your hands coming up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the familiar lines of his jaw, his cheekbones. you wanted to memorize every inch of him, just in case this was another one of those fleeting moments that would be over too soon.

“i wasn’t gonna miss the chance to see you perform,” he said, his voice low and full of affection. “you’re amazing out there.”

you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words. even after all this time, he still had that effect on you. “i’m better when you’re here,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “it’s not the same without you.”

drew’s eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender way that made your heart swell. the kiss was slow at first, gentle and unhurried, like he was savoring every second of it. you melted into him, your hands slipping up into his hair as you kissed him back, all the longing and frustration of the past month pouring into that one moment.

when you finally pulled back, breathless and a little dizzy, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your lower back. “i’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “i’m here. for as long as you need me.”

you closed your eyes, letting his words sink in. the relief washed over you like a wave, the tension in your shoulders finally easing as you let yourself relax in his arms. “i need you,” you admitted softly. “i always need you.”

drew’s arms tightened around you, and he kissed you again, this time with more urgency, more need. the world around you seemed to blur as the kiss deepened, your bodies pressing closer together as if you couldn’t get enough of each other. his hands roamed over your back, slipping under the hem of your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“God, i’ve missed this,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. “missed you.”

your fingers tangled in his hair as you kissed him harder, the sound of your breathing filling the empty hallway. you backed up against the wall without even realizing it, your back pressing against the cool surface as drew’s body pressed against yours. the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, the need to be close to him, to feel him, taking over every rational thought in your mind.

he kissed his way down your jaw, his lips trailing over your neck as your head fell back against the wall, a soft moan escaping your lips. “drew,” you whispered, your voice shaky with need.

“i know,” he murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed his body against yours, his lips working their way back up to yours. “i know.”

the kiss turned desperate, almost frantic, like you were trying to make up for all the lost time in one single moment. his hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you looked up at him, your lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. “i don’t know if i’m ever gonna let you leave again,” you admitted breathlessly, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

drew chuckled, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his own breath. “i wouldn’t mind that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “i’d stay right here with you forever if i could.”

you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love and relief. “good,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him again, this time slower, softer, like you had all the time in the world.

the kiss was sweet, full of promise and love, and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

as the noise from the crew and backstage workers started to filter back into your awareness, you reluctantly pulled away, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “we should probably—”

drew grinned, his eyes sparkling as he cut you off with another quick kiss. “we’ve got time,” he murmured against your lips. “let’s not rush.”

you smiled, your heart swelling with happiness as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. for now, it didn’t matter that the tour was still going, that you had more cities to visit, more shows to perform. all that mattered was that he was here, with you.

and you weren’t letting him go anytime soon.

the next couple of hours passed in a blur. after the initial surprise wore off, you and drew managed to steal away into one of the more private areas backstage, where you could just be together without any interruptions. sitting side by your side on a worn-out couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you finally felt a calm wash over you that you hadn’t felt in weeks. it was like everything settled back into place just by having him near you.

“so,” drew said after a while, his fingers absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair, “how many more shows do you have left?”

“three,” you replied, tilting your head to look up at him. “just three more, and then i’m back home.”

“home, huh?” he teased, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “you mean where i’ll be waiting for you with takeout and a bottle of wine?”

you laughed softly, nodding. “exactly that. except maybe i’ll be the one bringing the wine.”

he chuckled, his thumb gently tracing circles on your shoulder. “deal. can’t wait. but for now, i’m all yours for the rest of tonight.”

you leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “i still can’t believe you’re here,” you murmured, your voice soft with contentment. “you really surprised me.”

“i wanted to,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “i knew how hard this month’s been for both of us. couldn’t stand being away from you any longer.”

your heart swelled at his words. there was something so comforting about having him close again, the kind of comfort that only came with someone who knew you inside and out. even with busy lives, drew always made sure you felt like the most important thing in his world.

“i love you,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you even realized it. it wasn’t the first time you’d said it, but every time felt just as meaningful, just as true.

drew’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your forehead. “i love you too,” he whispered back, his voice full of emotion. “always.”

for a while, the two of you just sat there in peaceful silence, holding onto each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist. it was a rare, precious moment where time seemed to slow down, and you could just be. no pressures, no responsibilities—just you and drew, wrapped up in each other.

eventually, though, reality crept back in.

“you’ve got an early call tomorrow,” you reminded him reluctantly, your voice tinged with disappointment. “and i have to be at soundcheck.”

“i know,” he sighed, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “but i’ll be here, alright? for the rest of the tour.”

you blinked in surprise. “wait, you’re staying?”

“yeah,” drew said, his smile widening as he nodded. “i cleared my schedule. i’m not letting you finish this tour alone.”

a wave of relief and happiness washed over you, and you couldn’t help the huge smile spreading across your face. “drew, are you serious?”

“dead serious.” he grinned, leaning in to kiss you again, his lips soft and warm against yours. “we’re doing this together.”

tears of happiness welled up in your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away, overwhelmed by how much love you felt for him in that moment. “i can’t believe you’d do that for me.”

“i’d do anything for you,” he said softly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “you know that.”

you kissed him again, slow and sweet, savoring the feel of his lips against yours. the exhaustion from the tour, the long nights apart, the stress—it all melted away, leaving only the warmth of his presence, the comfort of knowing you weren’t alone anymore.

as you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you breathed him in. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you.”

drew chuckled, his fingers gently tracing your jawline. “i’m the lucky one,” he murmured. “believe me.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

#drew #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #drew st #drew starkey #drew starkey x you #obx #obx drew #obx fanfiction #obx fic #outer banks

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stormyfog · 3 months ago

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silent serenade 🎤

yandere idol jungwon x fem!reader

content: yandere behavior, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, manipulation, smut later on

chapter 1

you’ve been a dedicated fan of enhypen ever since their debut in 2020, collecting every album, attending concerts, and supporting them through every milestone. your bias, jungwon, always had a special place in your heart, and you couldn’t help but focus your camera on him during every performance. unbeknownst to you, jungwon noticed your unwavering attention, his gaze occasionally finding yours in the crowd. over time, he found himself growing curious about the fan who always seemed to have eyes only for him. now, in 2024, you receive an email from belift lab, announcing that you’ve won a one-on-one fan interaction with enhypen. you’re overjoyed, thinking your luck has finally turned, but what you don’t know is that it wasn’t luck at all—jungwon personally ensured your name was added to the list, a quiet choice hidden among those who won by purchasing stacks of albums.

excitement coursed through you as you packed your bags, carefully choosing outfits that struck the perfect balance between stylish and casual. this wasn’t just any trip—it was the opportunity of a lifetime. with your plane ticket to south korea booked, you made sure to reserve a hotel near one of the belift lab buildings, where the highly anticipated fan interaction event was set to take place. as you folded your favorite enhypen hoodie into your suitcase, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of meeting jungwon and the rest of the group in person. it felt like a dream finally coming true, and you were determined to make the most of every moment.

the moment you arrived in south korea, a wave of exhilaration washed over you. you settled into your cozy hotel room, the fan event just two days away. to pass the time, you logged into instagram account, ‘kittiewonnie,’ a playful nod to jungwon’s cat-like personality. feeling the excitement bubbling within you, you snapped a quick selfie in your casual outfit and posted it with the caption, “can’t wait to meet enhypen soon!” almost instantly, your fellow engenes filled the comments with kind words and excitement. among the replies, one stood out: “you look so pretty,” from an account named ‘jungwon_irl.’ the account had been your very first follower when you made your fan page in 2023. they never posted anything and only followed other fan accounts, but they never failed to like and comment on every single one of your posts. you’d always assumed it was just another dedicated fan sharing the same joy, but little did you know, it was jungwon himself, quietly keeping tabs on you in secret.

the day had finally arrived. you slipped into your enhypen hoodie—the one from their ‘walk the line’ tour—and made your way to the belift building, your heart pounding with anticipation. as you approached the venue, you could hear the distant hum of excitement from fellow fans, and security guards were busy guiding everyone to their designated spots inside the building. once inside, the energy in the air was electrifying. fans chattered excitedly, their faces lit up with joy as they eagerly awaited their chance to meet the group. you couldn’t help but feel a surge of exhilaration when you finally caught sight of them—enhypen. the moment felt surreal, as though you were dreaming. jungwon stood there, his presence commanding yet warm, and you could feel your pulse quicken. this was really happening.

you quickly remembered the instructions belift had sent you when you first received the email. you had to wait your turn in line, and no one was allowed to go overboard with their interactions. it was all set up neatly—enhypen members were sitting in chairs with a table in front of them, while there were chairs set up across for the fans. the excitement in the room was palpable, and you could barely contain your nervous energy. each fan had five minutes to interact with their chosen member, take selfies, and even give gifts. you had spent hours making personalized keychains for each member, each one representing their animal spirit. it was something you were really proud of, and you couldn’t wait to give them to the boys. as you looked around, you noticed how carefully organized everything was, and your heart began to race. it was your turn soon, and jungwon would be the first one you’d meet.

chapter 2

jungwon couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you, his gaze lingering as he noticed how shy you were to meet him. he chuckled softly, amused by your nervousness, before your turn finally came. as you shyly greeted him, you handed him the cat keychain you made, and his face immediately lit up in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “this is so thoughtful,” he said, his smile genuine. “i love cats! thank you so much, it’s perfect.” you could feel the warmth of his appreciation, making you glad he liked it. "i'm so happy you like it!" you said softly, feeling a little more at ease as he smiled at you.

you nervously asked, "um, do you mind if we take a selfie?" and to your surprise, jungwon eagerly agreed, his eyes lighting up. “of course! let’s make it cute,” he said, grinning. he raised his hand to make a heart next to your face, his fingertips brushing against your skin as he leaned in, the soft touch making your pulse race. “aww!” you heard a few fans exclaim behind you. you smiled shyly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, and jungwon held your hand for a moment, his gaze lingering on you with a warmth that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. "you’re so cute when you’re shy," he commented with a gentle laugh. “it makes me want to protect you even more.”

as you pulled out your album and photo card for him to sign, jungwon continued to shower you with compliments. “your style is amazing,” he said, glancing at your outfit with admiration. “you look so pretty.” his words made your heart flutter as you placed your items in front of him. “thank you… you’re so sweet,” you stammered, trying not to get lost in the moment. he smiled as he signed the page, taking his time and making sure his handwriting was perfect. “i think you're more than just pretty, though. you have this, like, unique vibe that makes you stand out.” his voice was soft but sincere, and you felt like time had slowed as he focused on you. as he slipped a small piece of paper inside the album, he whispered, “it’s a surprise for later. i hope you’ll like it.” his attention felt entirely focused on you, making your heart race in ways you couldn’t control. everything about this interaction was perfect, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel there was something deeper in his eyes—something more intense—that made you wonder if his feelings went beyond just kindness.

as you continued greeting the other members, you gave them the keychains you’d made, each one representing their animal. they all seemed genuinely happy with the gift, each of them thanking you with a bright smile that made your heart flutter. you felt a sense of pride, glad that they appreciated the little gesture. but as you moved through the line, something caught your attention. jungwon hadn't held any of the other fans' hands, nor had he taken selfies with them. you thought it was strange, but maybe you were just overthinking it. after all, he was probably tired after the long day of meeting fans. you quickly brushed it off, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. maybe he was just focused on you for that moment, nothing more. but deep down, a small, nagging feeling lingered. something about it didn’t sit right, but you chose to ignore it, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

the event finally came to a close, and you couldn’t contain your happiness. you picked up a few pieces of merch from the small booth they had set up, your arms full of souvenirs that would forever remind you of the day. afterward, you chatted with other engenes, bonding over how incredible the experience was. you even ended up befriending three fans: yunjin, sakura, and kazuha. you all exchanged instagram handles, excited to stay in touch and share your love for enhypen. laughing and chatting together, everything felt perfect. what you didn’t know, though, was that jungwon was standing by the building window, watching the whole interaction unfold. he stood there silently, his eyes narrowed in a mix of jealousy and possessiveness, as he watched you laugh and make new friends. but to you, the world seemed bright and carefree, unaware of the storm brewing behind the scenes.

as you made your way back to your hotel room, a wave of excitement and exhaustion hit you all at once. you couldn't stop smiling, replaying each moment in your head, and felt grateful for everything. as you sat on the edge of your bed, your phone buzzed with notifications from your new friends—yunjin, sakura, and kazuha—each of them sending you messages filled with excitement. you replied, still buzzing with happiness, but something about your phone’s battery dying felt like a sign you needed to rest. jungwon, meanwhile, returned to his dorm and immediately checked your instagram. he liked and commented on your post from earlier, filled with pictures from the event, and saved every single photo to his camera roll, savoring each moment you shared with him.

as jungwon scrolled through the pictures on his camera roll, a sense of longing washed over him. he couldn't help but always feel drawn to y/n’s bright smile, her eyes sparkling with joy in every frame. the memories from the event came flooding back, and he felt his heart ache with a deep yearning to be closer to her. without thinking twice, jungwon's hand reached for his cock, already hardening as he jerked off to the photos of y/n that he'd saved. these fleeting moments captured in time were enough to drive him wild with desire.

chapter 3

the next morning, as sunlight filtered through your hotel window, you remembered the note jungwon had slipped into your album. curious, you quickly grabbed the album from your bag and unfolded the small piece of paper. written neatly in his handwriting was a phone number, accompanied by a tiny heart drawn next to it. your thoughts raced—how could an idol give away their phone number so easily? it felt surreal, and you questioned if it was even real. still, curiosity got the best of you, and you typed out a message: "hi, this is jungwon, right? you gave me a piece of paper with this number on it." moments later, your phone buzzed with a reply: "hi, y/n! yes, this is jungwon, hru?" your heart skipped a beat as you stared at the screen, hardly believing what was happening.

how did jungwon know your name? you never told him during the event yesterday, but the thought was quickly overshadowed by the fact that he was texting you. you replied, "i'm good, hbu?" and his response came almost instantly: "i'm doing good as well." doubts lingered in your mind—what if this was a prank? testing your theory, you asked him to send a selfie to prove it was really him. within moments, a photo of jungwon appeared on your screen, smiling softly with a peace sign. your heart raced as you stared at the picture, and then another message followed: "why don’t you send me a selfie too, cutie?" the pet name made your cheeks burn, but you quickly pulled yourself together and sent a photo of yourself, your fingers trembling as you hit send.

jungwon replied, "you look pretty, as always." the simple compliment sent your heart soaring, filling you with a mix of disbelief and happiness. the two of you texted for a while, casually chatting about your day and other small things. at one point, you mentioned how sad you were about having to leave tomorrow, explaining that you’d already booked your flight back home. his response was odd: "maybe you might stay longer, who knows?" it left you a little confused, but you brushed it off, chalking it up to him just being playful. the next morning, as you were packing your things, you received an unexpected text from the airline saying your flight had been canceled. confused, you checked the news, but there were no reports of bad weather or issues at the airport. jungwon, on the other hand, had been the one to cancel your flight. using hacking tutorials he’d found online, he had exploited the public wi-fi you connected to during the event and accessed your phone, making sure you wouldn’t leave him so soon.

thinking it was likely an internal issue with the airline, you shrugged it off and decided to spend some time on instagram. you opened the group chat you had created with yunjin, sakura, and kazuha, aptly named ‘engenes4ever,’ and sent a quick message: "looks like my flight got canceled :( guess i'm stuck here for a bit longer!" the others were quick to respond, flooding the chat with messages like, "omg, lucky!" and "more time in korea means more memories!" their excitement cheered you up a bit, and you figured you’d try rebooking the flight later. little did you know, your unexpected delay was all part of someone else's plan.

wanting to make the most of your extended stay, you decided to step outside and take some pictures to capture the memories. as the hours passed, your stomach started to growl, so you stopped by a nearby 7/11 to grab some snacks. you wandered through the aisles, scanning the shelves for anything that looked appetizing. just as you reached for a pack of chips, you accidentally bumped into someone, sending your snacks tumbling to the ground. "oh my gosh, i’m so sorry! are you okay?" you exclaimed, crouching down to pick them up. when you looked up, your heart skipped a beat—it was jungwon. “we meet again, cutie!” he said with a warm smile, effortlessly kneeling to help gather your snacks.

jungwon handed me my snacks with a bright smile, saying, “i was just here to grab some food too.” he casually explained that the building where the fan event was held also had their dorms on the top floor, so this 7/11 was their go-to convenience store. then, as if it was nothing, he added, “oh, isn’t your hotel the one just down the street from here? it’s super close.” i froze for a moment, my mind racing. how did he know which hotel i was staying at? i hadn’t mentioned it to anyone—not even on social media. a strange sense of unease settled over me, but i forced a smile and nodded.

jungwon smiled warmly and said, “you know, i actually remember seeing you at our concerts. you were always in the crowd recording me, weren’t you?” my eyes widened in surprise. out of all the fans, how did he remember me? i was just one face in a sea of people. “wow, i didn’t think you’d notice,” i replied shyly. before i could say anything else, i glanced at the time and realized how late it was. “i should probably head back,” i said quickly. without missing a beat, jungwon offered, “let me walk you back to your hotel. it’s not safe to walk alone at night.” my mind raced, unsure of what to say, and in a flustered rush, i agreed, thinking it would be fine.

as we walked side by side, a nervous thought crossed my mind—what if someone saw us together? what if a fan recognized him and took a picture, spreading rumors about us ‘dating’? the idea made my heart race, but before i could voice my concerns, jungwon casually spoke up. “don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone calm, almost too calm. “i wouldn’t mind if people saw us together.” he smiled to himself, almost knowingly. i blinked in confusion, but before i could process what he meant, he added, “maybe it’ll even make them jealous.” a shiver ran down my spine as the thought lingered in my head. jungwon wanted to show the world how close we were, but little did i know, by ‘close,’ he meant something much darker—like obsessively stalking my instagram and saving every post, every picture of me for his own private collection.

chapter 4

the next morning, i was jolted awake by the constant pinging of my phone. blinking groggily, i reached for it, only to see numerous notifications flooding my screen. my heart dropped when i saw pictures of me and jungwon walking together yesterday, caught by a fan with a perfect shot. “oh no… is this really happening?” i whispered to myself, panic creeping in. i quickly opened the 99+ messages in my friends’ group chat, only to see their shock and excitement. they were all blown away by the pictures, sending me congratulatory messages and questions about what had happened. but then, i saw it—kazuha’s messages. her words were laced with a hint of jealousy, each message growing more unsettling as she asked if jungwon was ‘really into me.’ i could almost feel the tension building with every text, her possessive tone hard to ignore. was she really that jealous?

just as i was scrolling through the messages, my phone buzzed again. it was jungwon. his text read: “did you see the pictures of us? so cute, right?” i felt a knot forming in my stomach. i hesitated for a moment before replying, “aren’t you worried about this? about how people might react?” the reply came quickly, and his words only made my unease grow. “no, not worried at all. honestly, i’m just so happy. i’ve been wanting this for so long.” i stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys. what did he mean by that? why did he seem so pleased when i felt like everything was starting to spiral out of control?

i sat on the bed, staring at my phone screen in disbelief. what does jungwon mean by ‘waiting for this for so long’? the thought lingered in my mind, making my stomach churn. i tried to shake it off, deciding to get ready and book my flight home. but as i opened every airline website i could think of, a message popped up each time, claiming there were ‘technical difficulties’ and that i wouldn’t be able to book a flight until next week. confused and frustrated, i looked at my phone again, only to see a flood of dms from kazuha on instagram. my heart sank as i opened them, my hands trembling. her words weren’t friendly anymore. they were full of anger and hate, even death threats, calling me all sorts of awful things. what happened to her? i couldn’t believe the person who was so kind to me during the event was now sending me these hateful messages. i felt a weight settle in my chest. this wasn’t the kazuha i had befriended. something had shifted, and i didn’t know if i could handle what was coming next.

as i sat there processing kazuha’s hateful messages, my phone buzzed again. it was jungwon. “is kazuha bothering you?” he texted. my heart skipped a beat. how did he know about her messages? i hadn’t told anyone. “how do you know?” i replied hesitantly, my fingers trembling over the screen. his response came almost immediately. “i just don’t like it when someone is being mean to you. you don’t deserve that.” his words seemed protective, but there was an unsettling undertone to them. he was acting like he knew me personally, like we’d been close for years, and yet we’d only truly met at the event.

i didn’t know how to respond to jungwon’s text. on one hand, his concern felt sweet and caring, but on the other, it was starting to feel overwhelming. how did he know about kazuha’s messages? why did he act like we were so close when we barely knew each other? i told myself i was probably overthinking it—he was just being nice, right? but the feeling of unease lingered, making me question everything about this strange turn of events.

a couple of days had passed, and kazuha had stopped messaging me. i felt relieved but anxious at the same time, as if the quiet was too unnatural. sakura and yunjin had been checking in with me, clearly worried. then, out of nowhere, yunjin texted the group chat, “omg, guys! turn on your tv right now!” i scrambled for the remote, turning it on to see breaking news about someone who had taken their own life. my heart sank as the anchor revealed the identity of the person—it was kazuha. my body froze in shock, unable to process it. what could have led her to do this? meanwhile, jungwon, who knew about kazuha's behavior, had been using an undercover account to manipulate her, twisting her thoughts and emotions until she reached the point of no return.

as i sat there in shock, my phone buzzed with another text from jungwon. “are you watching the news right now?” he asked. my hands trembled as i typed back, “yes… how did you know?” his reply came almost instantly, “she deserved it.” my stomach churned at his words. confused and increasingly worried, i hesitated before asking, “jungwon… did you have something to do with this?” there was a brief pause before he responded, “there's no need to worry now, cutie. everything’s taken care of.” my blood ran cold as i stared at his message, trying to understand what was really going on.

chapter 5

unable to handle the paranoia any longer, i called jungwon, my hands shaking as i held the phone to my ear. the moment he answered, i blurted out, “what is going on, jungwon? why are you acting so weird towards me?” there was a moment of silence before he chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “i was waiting for the right moment to confess my feelings to you,” he said, his tone calm but unnervingly possessive. “but i guess you’ve forced my hand.” my heart raced as he continued, “yes, that instagram account was mine. and yes, i’ve been following you whenever you leave your hotel. i just wanted to protect you... to be close to you.” his words felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, and i could barely breathe as the reality of his obsession began to sink in.

before i could process his confession, i heard muffled cries in the background. my stomach dropped as i asked, “what’s that sound, jungwon?” he responded nonchalantly, “oh, that’s sakura. she’s here with me, tied up in a chair.” my blood ran cold. “what? jungwon, what are you doing?! why is she there?” he let out a low chuckle, the sound sending chills through me. “your friends, sakura and yunjin, aren’t as kind as you think they are,” he said, his voice calm but laced with malice. “they’re jealous of you too. when that picture of us walking together went online, they couldn’t hide their envy.” he brought the phone closer to sakura, and i could hear her muffled cries and struggling.

my voice trembled as i begged, “please, jungwon, don't hurt her. just let her go.” but there was no mercy in his eyes. without a word, he facetimed me, and the moment his face appeared on the screen, my breath caught in my throat. behind him, i saw sakura’s lifeless body, her eyes wide open, a deep cut across her throat, blood staining the floor beneath her. the dim, cold atmosphere around him made it clear—he was in some abandoned warehouse, the eerie silence adding to the horror of the moment. tears welled in my eyes as i stared, horrified, at the sight. jungwon’s smile was twisted, the blood on his face a chilling reminder of what he had done. “it’s too late,” he said coldly, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “she couldn’t save herself, and neither can you.”

jungwon’s words echoed in my mind like a haunting whisper, “if you tell anyone or try to go to the police... you'll be next.” the gravity of his threat sunk in as the screen went black after he hung up. i sat there, trembling, my mind racing with panic and fear. the thought of losing everything—the safety i had, the peace i once had—was terrifying. what could i do? if i stayed silent, i’d be trapped in this nightmare, but if i tried to speak out, jungwon would make sure there were no survivors. the weight of his warning crushed me, leaving me to contemplate my next move, unsure of who i could trust or where i could turn.

i quickly texted yunjin, asking if she was okay. to my relief, she replied that she was fine—looks like jungwon hadn't gotten to her, at least not yet. she then asked if i was okay, and i replied, “yeah,” trying my hardest to sound normal, not wanting to raise any suspicion. just as i sent my message, a notification popped up on my phone—it was from jungwon: “you better not tell her anything.” my heart skipped a beat. i quickly typed back to yunjin, suggesting we meet up at a café, and to my surprise, she agreed without hesitation. i tried to convince myself that everything would be fine, but deep down, i knew things were far from okay.

i met up with yunjin at the caf��, but she immediately noticed the unease on my face. “is everything okay?” she asked, her voice filled with concern. i forced a smile and nodded. “yeah, i'm fine.” as we sat down at a table, i couldn't help but glance around, scanning the area for any sign of jungwon. my heart raced with each person who walked by, but there was no sign of him. little did i know, he was sitting just a few tables away, his face partially hidden by a cap and mask, watching me intently. i quickly shot yunjin a hand sign, signaling for help. without hesitation, she caught on, her eyes widening in realization. she subtly nodded, ready to act.

i leaned in closer to yunjin, lowering my voice as i whispered, “yunjin, something’s going on. jungwon... he's been following me. i think he might be watching us right now.” at first, she looked at me skeptically, clearly thinking i was overreacting. but when i pulled up my texts with jungwon, her face instantly shifted from doubt to disbelief. she read through the messages, her eyes widening as she processed the situation. “oh my god, y/n... this is... this is serious,” she muttered. without hesitation, she grabbed my hand. “come with me. you can stay at my place tonight, okay? it’s not safe for you alone right now.” i nodded, relieved to have her support. as we quietly exited the café, i couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching us. what i didn’t know was that jungwon was still there, silently listening, his eyes never leaving us as we left.

chapter 6

as yunjin and i made our way to her home, i couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being followed. i kept glancing over my shoulder, but i never saw anyone suspicious. we entered the house, and yunjin reassured me, “you can rest in my room upstairs while i make some food.” grateful, i made my way upstairs and lay down on her bed, exhausted. the comfort of the space allowed me to finally relax, and before i knew it, i had drifted off to sleep. but my rest was short-lived. i was jolted awake by the sound of something shattering downstairs—then a blood-curdling scream that sent a chill down my spine. my heart raced as panic set in. what was that? and who was screaming?

i rushed downstairs, panic flooding my veins. my heart stopped when i saw yunjin’s body on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her lifeless form. i dropped to my knees beside her, desperately shaking her, pleading for her to wake up, but it was no use. she was gone. the sound of footsteps behind me made my blood run cold. a voice i knew all too well, cold and sinister, whispered, “there you are.” i turned to see jungwon standing there, his face expressionless. tears streamed down my face as i choked out, “how... how did you get inside?” he shrugged nonchalantly. “the backdoor was unlocked,” he said, as if it were nothing. fear surged through me, and without thinking, i bolted for the stairs, my only goal to get away. i slammed yunjin’s bedroom door behind me, locking it before scrambling into the closet. my hands trembled as i reached for my phone in my pocket, but it wasn’t there. i had left it downstairs, and now i was completely trapped.

jungwon's voice echoed through the room as he called for me, his tone cold and demanding. “i know you're there, y/n, open up!” his words were followed by the sound of the door splintering as he broke it open with ease. i quickly pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. my heart was pounding in my chest as i heard his footsteps getting closer. “y/n, come out right now so that i don't have to make things harder for you than it already is,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. the implication was clear: i had broken the one rule he had given me—don’t tell anyone. and now, it seemed like there would be consequences for my disobedience.

i thought i had a chance to escape when i heard the sound of jungwon's footsteps fading away, and for a moment, i dared to believe he was gone. quietly, i stepped out of the closet, my heart still racing, but as soon as i turned around, i felt a sharp force slam into me from behind. i gasped as jungwon tackled me to the ground, his weight pressing me into the floor. “found you, cutie!” he said, his voice laced with a twisted satisfaction as he pinned my arms above my head. tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision as i struggled beneath him, not knowing what to say or how to stop him. he noticed my tears and smirked, his grip tightening. “why are you crying, cutie? i thought you liked me? no, loved me? i love seeing your instagram account and all the posts you make of me!” his words sent a chill down my spine, and i felt trapped, unable to escape his suffocating grasp.

i could barely catch my breath, my chest tight with fear and confusion as i looked up at him. “why... why are you doing this?” i asked, my voice shaking. his gaze softened for a split second before his lips curled into a grin. “do you not remember what i told you before?” he replied, his tone almost patronizing, as if i were missing the simplest truth. “i'm doing this because i love you. you've been a fan of me ever since i debuted, but now... let me be a fan of yours.” his words hung in the air, heavy with madness. he truly believed this was love.

i could barely form the words as the dread slowly crept into my mind. “but how will you hide all of this?” i asked, my voice barely above a whisper. jungwon’s smile didn't falter as he leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. “don’t worry about that, cutie,” he said, his tone dark and reassuring at the same time. “i’ve always been good at keeping secrets. and no one will ever know about us.” his hand brushed against my cheek, sending a chill down my spine. “you’re mine now, and that’s all that matters.”

i asked jungwon what he was going to do with me. i then felt a shiver run down my spine as jungwon spoke, his tone dripping with menace. “well, we can do this the easy way,” he said, his voice low and husky. “i can take a shower to get all this blood off me, and change. maybe we can shower together... and we can walk together to my dorm! or… we can do this the hard way…” he paused for dramatic effect before pulling out a syringe from his pocket. the needle glinted in the dim light of the room, its presence seeming to draw all attention away from anything else. i could feel my heart racing faster now, pounding in my chest like a drumbeat warning me of impending doom. jungwon's eyes seemed to gleam with excitement as he held up the syringe, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

chapter 7

as i agreed to jungwon's proposal, a little sense of relief washed over me. maybe this was the best way to get out of this situation without things escalating further. he disappeared downstairs for a few minutes, returning with a duffle bag filled with fresh clothes—including my own, which he must have taken from my hotel room earlier. we undressed in silence, avoiding his gaze. the air was thick with tension as i hesitated for a moment before moving towards the shower together. under the warm water, we stood side by side, our bodies inches apart but not touching as we rinsed off the sweat and grime of our ordeal. after jungwon and i showered together, we changed into the fresh clothes he had gotten for us.

me and jungwon then headed toward his dorm near my hotel, his hand gripping mine tightly the entire walk. i couldn't believe the whirlwind of emotions running through me—fear, confusion, and… love? a small part of me unwilling to admit that the boy i once admired had turned into this obsessive version of himself. jungwon, however, seemed completely at ease, smiling as if everything was normal. when we reached the building, he led me inside and took me to the top floor where his dorm was, his excitement almost childlike as he unlocked the door.

jungwon led me into his dorm, and the first thing i noticed was how clean and organized it was—almost too perfect, like he had been preparing for this moment. but then my eyes landed on it. right in front of his desk was a collage of pictures of me, carefully arranged, some with hearts drawn over them in red marker. my stomach twisted as i tried to process what i was seeing. “do you like it?” jungwon asked, his voice filled with anticipation. i couldn’t bring myself to respond, frozen in shock. sensing my hesitation, he added with a soft smile, “don’t worry, you’ll learn to love me soon.”

it had been a week since jungwon had held me captive in his dorm. every day felt like a surreal blur—he would feed me, shower with me, kiss me, as if we were a normal couple. but it wasn’t normal. none of this was. one afternoon, jungwon casually brought up how another picture of us had gone viral. “it’s the one from when i was bringing you here,” he said with a proud smile. i froze. i had no idea about it—my phone had been left behind at yunjin’s house… or so i thought. but then i realized. jungwon must’ve taken it from me, keeping it hidden this entire time.

i quietly nodded to him, not daring to say anything as he pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me on the couch. his touch was gentle, but it only made my skin crawl. jungwon grabbed the remote and turned on the tv, scrolling through until he found a cheesy romantic movie. “this one’s perfect for us,” he said softly, pressing play. i sat there, trapped in his embrace, forcing myself to stay calm while the cheerful music and over-the-top love scenes played on the screen.

jungwon’s eyes kept drifting to me every few minutes, and i tried my best to focus on the movie, pretending i didn’t notice. but when i finally caught him staring, he smirked. “you know,” he said, his tone playful yet unsettling, “we should recreate some of these scenes.” his eyes flicked to the screen just as a kiss scene transitioned into something steamier, his words making my heart race for all the wrong reasons. i looked away quickly, feeling my face heat up, unsure of what to say or do.

i felt my face heat up, flustered by his words. i mean, yeah, we’ve showered together and done things i never thought i’d do with someone, but this love—if i could even call it that—was so clearly forced. literally. yet, deep down, a part of me liked it. i’d always longed for a love like this... kind of. someone so devoted to me, even if it came with strings tied too tight. but at the same time, i knew i had to comply—i didn’t want to risk getting on jungwon’s bad side.

chapter 8 (smut)

jungwon noticed my flustered state, his eyes glinting with amusement. “you're so cute when you're like that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. before i could respond, he gently turned my head, his hand resting on my cheek. his lips brushed against mine, soft at first, but then more insistent as he kissed me deeper. i widened my eyes in shock, my heart racing, but as the kiss continued, i couldn't help but slowly melt into it. a mix of confusion and desire swirled inside me—this love felt forced, yet there was a part of me that craved it, even if i wasn’t sure why.

the kiss deepened, becoming more intimate, just like the scene from the movie we were watching. jungwon’s hands were firm as they guided me, and before i could fully process it, he pushed me down onto the couch, his lips never leaving mine. my heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and something else i couldn’t quite name. it felt like the world around us had disappeared, leaving only the weight of his presence and the intensity of his kiss. i didn’t know how to respond, but i couldn’t pull away either.

jungwon's strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me effortlessly off the couch. he carried me across the room, his grip tight and secure on my body. with a soft thud, he dropped me onto his bed—the mattress dipping under my weight. before i could even catch my breath, jungwon was on top of me again, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss that left me dizzy with desire. his mouth moved down to claim other territories too—tracing the curve of my neck with gentle kisses that sent shivers down my spine.

jungwon's lips trailed down my neck, feeling his teeth grazing lightly over my pulse point. my skin tingled wherever he touched, and i found myself arching into him instinctively. his hands roamed freely over my body, exploring every curve and dip, sending sparks of pleasure through me. i could feel his hardness pressing against me, and i knew he was ready to take things further. jungwon's mouth moved back up to mine, claiming it with a possessive kiss that left me breathless.

with a swift motion, jungwon undressed us both, revealing our bodies to each other in the dimly lit room. i felt a flutter in my chest as i caught a glimpse of his erect member before quickly looking away, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. but jungwon's eyes were already on me, drinking in the sight of my wetness. he let out a low chuckle, his voice husky with desire as he whispered “aww, my cutie is so wet for me already.”

jungwon's fingers spread my legs apart, and i felt his hardness pressing against me. he aligned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine with a gentle intensity. slowly, he began to enter me, the sensation of him pushing inside causing a sharp jolt of pain. but jungwon's grip on my hips was firm, holding me in place as he whispered reassurances in my ear—“don't worry, it'll be okay”—his words muffled by the soft kisses he planted on my skin. as he finally slipped inside me fully, i felt a sense of relief wash over me along with a thrill of excitement.

jungwon's slow, gentle movements at first had me whimpering softly into his ear, the sensation of him filling and emptying me sending shivers down my spine. but as he picked up pace, his strokes becoming more urgent and demanding, i found myself moaning louder with each passing moment. the sound of my own voice was a distant echo in my mind as jungwon's body moved against mine in a primal rhythm. my hips began to move instinctively in time with his, our bodies moving together like two pieces of a puzzle that were meant to fit perfectly.

jungwon's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more forceful and insistent. i felt myself building towards a climax, my body tense with anticipation. “i'm close,” i whispered urgently into jungwon's ear, but he just smiled mischievously and told me to wait. “tell me who you belong to first, then you can come,” he said, his voice low and commanding. i hesitated for a moment before chanting his name like a mantra—“jungwon- ah! jungwon!”—the words echoing through my mind as i surrendered to the pleasure.

as i continued to chant jungwon's name, he finally relented, allowing me to release the pent-up tension and come undone. my body convulsed around him as i screamed out his name, my orgasm washing over me like a wave. jungwon's eyes locked onto mine, his face twisted in pleasure as he told me he was close too. and then, with one final thrust, he came inside of me, his seed filling me up and spilling out onto the sheets.

after his release, jungwon carefully got up and began to clean me up, his gentle touch a soothing balm to my still-sensitive skin. he wiped away the evidence of our passion, taking care of every inch of me with a tenderness that left me feeling cherished. once i was clean and comfortable, he slipped on his boxers and put on his shirt, but instead of putting it back on himself, he put it on me—the oversized shirt making me feel comfortable. we cuddled together under the covers, our bodies still entwined from our lovemaking. as we drifted off to sleep, i felt safe and content in jungwon's arms.

#enhypen #fanfiction #jungwon #yandere jungwon #enhypen fanfiction #jungwon fanfiction #enhypen smut #jungwon smut #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader

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collegetennisoriginstory · 4 months ago

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Idk if this has been asked before but is CT:OS a standalone game or will there be sequels?

Haha. It absolutely depends on whether I can continue writing interactive fiction for the next 2 years, 4 years, or way more. Finances and whether I end up writing full-time somehow are a big factor, as is interest/burn out :)

If I've only got another 2 years in me, likely CT:OS is a stand-alone game.

If I've got 4 years, probably substantial DLC content using some of the ideas in PT:OS (below) but I've got so many other games/plots I want to try my hand at.

If I've got way more years in me... definitely a CT:OS sequel (or two, to be exact). TLDR above the cut, long ramble below the cut.

Pro Tennis: Origin Story

Where MC is 4 or so years out of college, has turned pro, and has risen slowly, painstakingly through the challenger tour ranks, and is now trying to break into the Top 50. At their age, it's probably a make-it or break-it period, as if they don't succeed then, they'll probably never succeed.

While CT:OS is about found family and coming of age and pursuing one's dreams, which I love, I'd want PT:OS to be about losing faith in one's dreams or one's talent, wondering if their sacrifices are worth it, wondering if one's actually good enough (or crazy enough), building a family of people who are firmly in your player's box (who has faith in you even when you don't have faith in yourself.)

More about PT:OS

Choose what happened to their relationships after college and after the first couple of years on tour (I love writing exes: e.g. broke up in college or breaking up fresh out of college cause the tennis road-life/ambition etc. killed the relationship)

Additional stats to balance like money/sponsorships/media presence/fame, and just... normal adult struggles like cooking for yourself, doing your own laundry, booking your hotel rooms, making ends meet (see elaboration below)

I want to write a story about being in a long dark tunnel, wondering if one should keep pushing, keep grinding, keep sacrificing their life and youth and sanity and relationships for this insane dream of being a tennis player

I'd probably keep the original cast of ROs, but introduce maybe 2 more? Perhaps a celebrity e.g. actor/musician (we all know how those love to flock around tennis players, but only famous ones), and maybe one's coach for spiciness?

As someone whose favourite part of Challengers was not, in fact, Zendaya's hotness (gasp, blasphemy) and instead, the scene where Patrick Zweig's character is struggling to find a hotel room for the night & starving & desperate for calories, I really want to make a game where the player not only has to deal with playing tennis, but also all the other practical life bits that need to align in order for a Top 200 or Top 100 player to become a Top 50 player.

Like yes, there's the Nadals and the Williams sisters and even the Nishikoris (who never quite lived up to their potential) but what of the players whose names you've never even heard of?

I'm interested in class (how only rich people get to tough it out / stick it out for years without significant sponsorships) and also race/gender/sexuality and how that coalesces with finances and media presence etc.. and also how mediocre players scrounge together a team to support them, plus of course the emotional toll of always being on the road (and always being exhausted) without ever seeing much of a pay-off until they crack some invisible threshold of 'greatness'.

Finally, the trilogy would probably be rounded out with a final game.

Third game (no idea what the name would be)

MC is older, maybe 30? And has suffered some career-ending event (injury, horrific tailspin drop-off) after winning a grand slam, perhaps seeking one final shot at proving to the world that they do have what it takes to be a champion, a legend to be remembered as someone who isn't just a one-slam pony.

Themes explored would be:

Age (when is it too late to hang up one's boots?) and still feeling like you've got what it takes even though the world's telling you you're past your prime, the limits of physicality

Trying to rebuild something that has been broken, when everyone's telling you that it'll never be fixed

Leaving a legacy, fame, self-worth (figuring out what to do when one is stripped of something that has been a guiding star)

Maybe even addiction?

If you read all of that, wow, I'm impressed, and yep, that's what I'd foresee for CT:OS. A trilogy, if I've got it in me.

RO speculations:

Tobin could even become one's physical trainer or nutritionist/physiotherapist, though maybe that's a bit of a stretch.

Sam could become world's most biased sports podcaster/journalist

Rayyan continues as MC's rival/(possible lover)

G is ... still adamantly Not Part of the Tennis World even though they attend every game?

What do you guys think?

#ct:os #college tennis: origin story #if #interactive fiction #asks #sequel #CT:OS sequel

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writingforstraykids · 1 year ago

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Okiee,

Hear me out. Need more dad skz series. I loved the Felix one so much 🤗🤗 Maybe Hyun or Minho as single dad series 🥹

🧚‍♀️ Anon

I don't know why but Minho with a toddler sent our thoughts spiraling and @galaxycatdrawz and I came up with enough for a proper series. I hope you enjoy it dear🤭🖤

Always back to you

Pairing: Minho x m!Reader (mention of OT8)

Word Count: 7716

Summary: Balancing his career and personal life as a single dad of a toddler isn't exactly always easy for Min. Luckily he has you, his assistant and the only person his son lets close enough. Minho couldn't be more grateful for your presence in their life.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, single dad!min, angst

PART TWO

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The summer air is heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine as Minho walks hand in hand with his son Minjun through the bustling streets of their quiet neighborhood. The day is fading into a warm, golden evening, casting long shadows on the sidewalk as they make their way to the local park.

Minho, usually surrounded by stage lights and the constant hum of a lively crowd, cherished these moments of normalcy. His career often pulled him into whirlwinds of tours and interviews, making these quiet, uninterrupted days with Minjun so much more important and special.

As they approach the park, Minjun’s grip tightens with excitement, his little legs speeding towards the familiar rusty swings and the slightly chipped slide he claims as his castle. Minho watches, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as Minjun throws himself into the simple joy of play. His son's laughter rings clear, blending seamlessly with the distant sounds of other children.

“Daddy, come!” Minjun calls out, tugging at Minho’s jeans, pulling him towards the sandbox.

Minho sits down beside Minjun, rolling up his sleeves and helping him dig and mold the damp sand. They work together, Minho guiding Minjun’s small hands to shape the walls and towers. He listens intently as Minjun explains the details of each tower and the imagined dragons that would guard them.

“Daddy, dragons need names!” Minjun declares, his brow furrowed in the serious concentration of a three-year-old.

“How about Flame and Spark?” Minho suggests, watching as Minjun’s face lights up with approval.

“Yes!” Minjun beams, his hands moving with purpose as he places tiny sticks to represent the fearsome dragons.

As they played, Minho felt the weight of his other world—the stage, the lights, the music—melt away. Here, in the sandbox, none of that existed. There were no cameras, no managers, no fans. Just him and Minjun, building a sand fortress strong enough to withstand any siege, imaginary or otherwise.

After their castle was deemed sufficiently dragon-guarded, Minjun tugs at Minho’s hand, leading him to the ice cream stand nestled at the corner of the park. The line is short, and soon Minjun is proudly holding a cone much too big for him, dripping chocolate down his arm.

“Look, Daddy! It’s melting!” Minjun giggles, licking his arm in an attempt to catch the runaway ice cream.

Minho pulls out some napkins, cleaning up the sticky mess with a practiced hand. He watches Minjun attack the cone with a grin, chocolate smearing over his cheeks and nose.

“Is it good?” Minho asks, giggling, his heart swelling at the sight of such simple happiness.

“So good!” Minjun announces, offering Minho a taste. The ice cream is sweet, and the rich chocolate flavor is a perfect end to their day out.

They find a bench nearby. Minho listens as Minjun rambles on about the adventures of Flame and Spark, his imagination running wild. The park begins to empty as families head home for dinner, the sky painted in strokes of orange and pink. “Dumpling?” Minho asks softly, and his son looks up at him with big, brown eyes. “Daddy needs to work tomorrow again.”

“Daddy, why?” Minjun’s question comes softly, almost lost in the breeze.

Minho’s heart clenches. It is a question he dreads, knowing his answers might never fully satisfy the curiosity of a three-year-old. He pulls Minjun closer, holding him in a gentle embrace. “You know how Daddy dances and sings for many people?” Minho starts, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. Minjun nods, his eyes wide. “Well, sometimes Daddy has to go places so all those people can see him perform. But I always come back. Do you know why?” Minjun shakes his head, his eyes searching Minho’s. “Because you are my most important audience. And I promise, no matter where I go, I will always come back to you,” Minho says, his words heavy with the truth of his emotions.

Minjun seems to try and comprehend this for a moment, then smiles, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Promise?” he holds up his pinky.

“Promise,” Minho links his pinky with Minjun’s, sealing the vow. “Let's go home?”

“Home,” he nods satisfied.

Minho would've never had a child this young in this industry if he would've known what would happen. He and his wife got married rather young as well, soon deciding they'd like to have a kid. Mainly because she didn't want to be alone so much with him gone for work often. Everything seemed fine until it turned out they'd be having a boy and not a girl. His wife had wished for a girl dearly and seemed disappointed. Maybe he ignored how much because once their little wonder was there, his wife soon distanced herself from both of them. They were already in the process of getting a divorce when Minho had accidentally listened in to a phone call from her saying she'd probably give up their son for adoption.

Minho knew he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't risk his sweet baby ending up in a family that maybe wouldn't treat him well, so he had long talks with his friends, who promised to support him. Chan made sure to back him when they talked to their boss, making sure that Minjun could stay at the company or on tour. They all knew Minho would be able to focus on his work more, knowing he was within reach when his little boy needed him. The only issue at hand was how much Minjun dreaded being separated from Minho, barely trusting his friends to take care of him for a while.

That was until you came along. Somehow, you found a way to the little boy's heart that made him trust you. You were the only one besides Minho who could calm him down and keep him occupied. Initially, you've simply been Minho's assistant, helping him keep track of his schedule and everything. But being with Minho meant being with Minjun.

Through this, you grew rather close with all of them, becoming a vital part of their group. Minho was thankful to have you around, and you two worked well together. You love taking care of the little one and you would've never expected to get so close to them, especially Minho, seeing him during his rawest moments.

Minho is up early, as usual, feeling the quiet anticipation that always comes with a new day. Today, he'd take Minjun with him to dance practice.

The morning was a rush of activity. Minho prepared a quick breakfast, all the while keeping one eye on Minjun, who seemed happy about accompanying him to work.

"Are you ready, baby?" Minho asked, slipping on Minjun's small backpack filled with snacks, a change of clothes, and, of course, his favorite bunny plushie. Jisung had bought it for Minjun's second birthday and he hasn't left the house without it ever since.

"Yes, Daddy!" Minjun chirps, practically bouncing on his toes. His enthusiasm is infectious, and Minho can't help but laugh as he scoops up his son and heads out the door.

The drive to the studio is filled with Minjun's questions about everything he saw. Each question is punctuated with wide-eyed wonder, making Minho smile. He explains as much as he can, from the tallest buildings brushing the sky to the bustling morning crowds. Upon arriving at the studio, Minho sets Minjun down, taking his hand as they walk inside. The building was already buzzing with activity, music faintly echoing from the practice rooms.

"Guys, look who I brought!" Minho announces as they enter the main dance studio. The music stops abruptly, and the boys turn around, their faces lighting up at the sight of Minjun.

"Minjunnie!" Chan exclaims, his voice full of warmth. He crouches down to Minjun's level, greeting him with a gentle high-five. "Look how much you've grown already again!"

The other members crowd around, each taking turns to say hello. Felix shows Minjun a quick magic trick, pulling a coin from behind his ear, which delighted Minjun to no end. Hyunjin hands him a small package of his favorite gummy bears, and Innie helps open it.

“Y/nnie should be here soon,” Jisung tells them, glancing up from his phone.

Minjun peeks up at the sound of your name, bouncing excitedly. “Y/nnie?” he asks with wide eyes, turning to Minho.

“Yeah, Y/nnie will play with you,” he laughs at his son’s excitement.

“Gosh, he really loves him,” Seungmin laughs.

“As he should, Y/n is taking such good care of him,” Changbin chuckles, and Minho hums agreeingly.

Minho sets up a small, cozy corner for Minjun with some toys and a soft blanket. "You can play here while Daddy practices, okay? I'll check on you all the time."

Minjun nods, already distracted by the toys, but his eyes keep straying to the center of the room where the dance practice will take place.

You join them soon after, greeting them all with a wave. “Hi, buddy,” you greet Minjun cheerfully and sit down on his blanket next to him.

“Hi,” he smiles at you happily, handing you his fire truck. “Play?”

As the practice kicks off, Minho joins the rest of the group in the center. The music pounds through the speakers, a rhythmic base that fills the room with vibrant energy. Minho was in his element, his body moving with precision and grace, a testimony to years of practice and passion.

Minjun watches, wide-eyed, from his corner. The sight of his dad and the others dancing seemed to fascinate him. His little feet tap along to the beat, and it isn't long before he stands up, mimicking the moves in his own adorable way. He stumbles and lands on his butt, giggling at himself as you help him back up again.

“You're okay, dear?” you chuckle, and he nods.

Seeing this from the corner of his eye, Minho felt a surge of pride. During a brief water break, he walks over to you. "Do you want to try dancing with us for a bit?" he asks.

Minjun's enthusiastic "Yes!" was all the answer Minho needed. He leads Minjun to the center of the room, the members clearing some space for them. Minho shows him a simple move, a gentle sway combined with a clap. Minjun follows eagerly, his small body moving in sync with Minho's.

The room is soon filled with cheers and claps from the other members and you, encouraging Minjun, who beams under the attention. Chan turns down the music and suggests, "Let's do a little dance circle. Minjun can start!"

What followed was Minjun at the center, trying his best to keep up, his movements more enthusiastic than rhythmic. Each member joined in, adding their own moves, making it a fun, chaotic dance party that had Minjun laughing uncontrollably. You laugh watching them, seeing how much fun they have with the little boy.

After the dance circle wound down, Minho takes Minjun back to his corner, both panting slightly from the exertion. "You're amazing," Minho praises him softly.

“Takes after his Daddy as it seems,” you chuckle, and Minho smirks.

“My little dancer,” he smiles fondly, poking his son's cheek. Minjun's proud little smile is worth more than any applause Minho had ever received on stage.

You hand him the juice box Minho packed for him and help him with the straw. “Drink something,” you tell him gently, and Minjun does eagerly. You bite back a laugh at him, kicking his feet happily.

As the practice resumes, Minjun's energy eventually fades. He plays with you quietly with his toys, occasionally glancing up to watch his dad. The day passes in a blur of music, laughter, and dance. By the time practice wrapped up, Minjun was dozing off in his little corner, exhausted by the day's adventures. His head resting on your leg, breathing peacefully amidst the chaos. Minho carefully picks him up, his heart full as he feels Minjun's steady breath against his neck. “Thank you,” he smiles at you as you pack up everything for him and hand him the backpack.

“Of course,” you mirror his smile. “Tomorrow, we'll meet at the studio.”

“Yeah,” Minho nods. “When was it again?”

“At ten,” you tell him. “Do you need me to keep an eye on Minjun?”

“That would be great,” he nods gently.

“Okay, I'll be there,” you assure him, grabbing your jacket.

“Thank you,” he nods quickly.

“Mr. Lee - Minho,” you quickly correct yourself, sometimes still falling back into old habits. “You don't have to thank me all the time. It's fine.”

“Still,” Minho shakes his head. “It's a lot easier thanks to you…Do you need a ride home?”

“I'll be fine, thank you,” you assure him kindly. “You should get the little superstar to bed,” you say fondly, making Minho chuckle. You exchange your goodbyes before you both leave.

"Did you have fun today?" Minho whispers as he carries Minjun to the car.

"Mhm... best day," Minjun mumbles sleepily, his words slurring together.

Minho smiles, his eyes soft as he settles Minjun into the car seat. "Me too, buddy. Me too."

Minho's day starts early again, but this time there's a tangible buzz of excitement that courses through him. Today isn't just about dance practice; he's scheduled to record a new track with Chan, and he's bringing Minjun along to the studio once more. As they prepare to leave, Minho checks that he has everything Minjun might need—snacks, toys, and a little book of stories, just in case the session stretches longer than expected.

Minjun, now familiar with their routine, waddles around excitedly, chattering about seeing “uncle Channie” and the "music room."

The drive to the studio is filled with Minjun's usual observations, his voice a constant, cheerful hum in the background. Minho answers each question with patience, his mind simultaneously running through the lyrics and melodies he'll soon be recording.

Upon arrival, the studio feels like a second home. The familiar faces of the staff greet them warmly, and the scent of coffee mingles with the underlying electrical buzz of equipment. Chan is already there, headphones on, nodding along to some beat only he can hear. He lifts his head as Minho and Minjun enter, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Look who's here! Hey, Minjun, high five!" Chan calls out, and Minjun rushes over, slapping his palm against Chan's outstretched hand. “How's my little Jiho?” he asks fondly and Minho smiles at the nickname Hyunjin had come up with, which stuck.

“Good,” the little boy nods happily.

Minho sets up Minjun's little corner, not far from the recording booth, where you're already waiting, having arrived a few minutes earlier. You have brought a new set of coloring pencils for Minjun, and he dives right into them with delight.

"Ready for a big day, Minjun?" you ask, helping him spread out his coloring sheets.

"Yes! Daddy sings, I draw!" Minjun declares, his focus intense as he selects a green pencil and starts scribbling. You chuckle softly, busying yourself as well by planning Minho's upcoming week.

Minho and Chan discuss the session with the producer, going over the song's structure and the tone they aim to capture.

As they start recording, Minho slips into the booth, the microphone in front of him a familiar friend. Outside the booth, you keep Minjun engaged, but his eyes often drift to his father, watching through the glass as Minho sings.

During playback, Minho steps out to listen, standing beside you and Minjun. He watches for Minjun's reaction, hoping to see a sign of approval. Minjun looks up, his eyes wide, and claps his small hands together.

"Daddy's song!" he exclaims, and Minho laughs, bending down to ruffle his hair.

"That's right, dumpling. Did you like it?" Minho asks.

"Love it, Daddy! You and uncle Channie sing nice!" Minjun responds, and Chan, overhearing, chuckles, giving Minho a pat on the back.

"It's a hit then, we have our toughest critic's approval," Chan jokes, making you all giggle.

The session continues, with Minho going back into the booth several times to refine his parts. Between takes, he checks on Minjun, always making sure he's happy and occupied. You seamlessly take care of Minjun, ensuring he's entertained but also quiet whenever the recording light is on.

As the afternoon goes on, the final parts of the track are recorded. With the professional part of his day winding down, Minho's attention fully returns to Minjun, who by now has created an impressive array of colorful drawings. "What do you say we show these to uncle Channie, huh?" Minho suggests, and Minjun nods enthusiastically, gathering his artwork.

Chan admires each drawing, making a big deal out of Minjun's artistic skills, which makes Minjun beam with pride. "We've got a future artist on our hands, Minho," Chan says, ruffling Minjun's hair.

"Maybe, but no matter what, I just want him to be happy," Minho replies, his voice soft, filled with love.

As the day comes to an end, you help pack up Minjun's things while Minho prepares to leave. He thanks you again, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Really, Y/n, I don't know what I'd do without your help," he admits.

"It's always a pleasure, Minho. Plus, I get to spend the day with this little guy," you say, tickling Minjun gently, pulling a giggle from him.

"Did you have fun today, Minjun?" he asks his son fondly.

"Yes, Daddy! Sing with uncle Channie again?" Minjun asks, his voice sleepy but happy.

"Absolutely, buddy. We'll come back soon," Minho promises, a smile crossing his face as he focuses back on the road.

One month later

Minho sits on the edge of the sofa, his tour outfit half-on, the rest laid out meticulously across the sofa. Minjun, sitting cross-legged with his blanket clutched tightly to his chest, watches his father with large, worried eyes. The tension between wanting to be there for his fans and needing to comfort his son gnaws at Minho, creating a knot of anxiety that settles heavily in his stomach.

“Buddy, you know Daddy has to go sing for all the people who came to see us tonight, right?” Minho’s voice is soft but carries an underlying note of apology. The stage was calling him, but his heart was anchored right there.

Minjun’s lips quiver as he shakes his head vehemently. “No, Daddy! Stay, please. Don’t go!” His voice breaks as he begins to sob, tears streaming down his cheeks. The sight tears through Minho’s heart like a dagger.

Kneeling in front of his son, Minho wipes away the tears with a gentle thumb, his own eyes misting over. “Oh, my little boy, I wish I could stay... But remember how we talked about Daddy’s job? How there are so many people waiting to hear our songs?” He tries to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice, hoping to sway his son’s mood.

But Minjun was unyielding. His small body trembles with sobs, each cry slicing through Minho’s resolve. “I want Daddy... no songs... stay... please…” His words are punctuated by hiccupping sobs, each plea making Minho’s heart sink more firmly to the ground.

“Minjun, I need you to be strong for Daddy now, yeah?” he asks, but his son shakes his head with a weak sound. Minho quickly finishes dressing, he could hear the distant echo of the others warming up. The show was imminent, his cue to leave fast approaching. He merely has an hour left.

“You'll join us for a last talk?” Jeongin asks, and Minho nods, scooping Minjun up and following him outside.

Chan talks them through the process once more, glancing at Minho, who's rocking his crying son in his arms. He can tell Minho is starting to get worried and stressed out by his son's discomfort. Which is bad because they need him tonight. It's the final concert of their tour, and this is important.

Minjun wails pathetically in his arms, and Minho closes his eyes in defeat for a moment, shaking his head. “Sorry, you guys keep talking,” he says, quickly leaving the room, not wanting to disturb them any longer.

Jisung watches them worriedly and glances at Chan. “You think Jiho will be okay before we start?” he asks.

“I doubt it. Min said he's having a rough day,” he shakes his head.

“Shit,” Seungmin breathes out. “We need him tonight, Channie hyung.”

“I know,” Chan nods. “We can't help much, we know how needy his baby boy gets sometimes. We can only make sure we're all ready.”

Minho paces through the room, gently rocking his little boy in his arms as he talks soothingly to him. His son seemed to have realized he wouldn't see him for the next two hours, which must've caused the sudden mood swings. Minho is starting to feel stressed, glancing at the clock up at the wall and realizing he'd have to be on stage in ten minutes. He should be preparing himself mentally right now, getting a moment of peace before their intense evening. But he isn't relaxed or calm at all. The sound of his son wailing in his arms is cutting through him like knives, knowing he'd have to leave him here in a bit. He knows his friends loved their little boy, but not when he was fussing around before a show, which is why he left their room a while ago. “Shh, dumpling, please,” he tries, soothingly rubbing his back. “It's okay, yeah?”

Minjun responds with another sob, his little hand clinging to his shirt. Minho's sure his stage outfit will be stained with drool and tears later, and he feels his throat tighten as his exhaustion and frustration take over for a moment. His body will be exhausted before performing after pacing for almost an hour, carrying his son, who's only growing heavier. “Please,” he whines, knowing his own distress isn't exactly calming his baby boy.

The door opens, and Changbin shoots him an apologizing look. “Min, we should leave.”

“I know, I'll be right there,” he tells him, flashing him a stressed, weak smile.

“Two minutes,” he reminds him and leaves again.

“Please stop crying, Minjun, please,” he begs, feeling tears burn in his eyes.

The two minutes are over way too soon, and Chan opens the door this time. “Min, I'm sorry. We should go,” he tells him.

“I know, okay?!” he snaps at him, his emotions getting the better of him. “I didn't choose this, Chan, but I can't just leave him here either! I can't leave him at the hotel for that long, he's too young!”

Chan lifts his hands in an attempt to show him he's not here to pick a fight. “Min, I know, I know it's shit,” he tells him soothingly. “We can start five minutes later, but you need to get ready,” he says gently, stepping closer. “Let me take him for a moment, yeah? You should change your shirt and let someone fix your hair real quick. Come here, Jiho, hm?” Minho reluctantly lets go of him and flinches heavily as the cries of his son grow louder. He looks at Chan with tears in his eyes, who gently rocks the little one in his arms. “It's okay, Minnie, go on,” he tells him kindly. “He'll be okay.”

Minho fights with himself for a moment before leaving the room. His friends look at him compassionately as he passes them, and Felix follows him into their dressing room. He takes over for their stylist, helping Minho change his shirt and gently smoothing out his hair. “Take a deep breath, yeah?” he says gently, and Minho nods, doing as he's told. “Y/n will be here in a few minutes.”

Minho frowns at him. “No, Yongbokie, it's his day off,” he shakes his head.

“He's the only one your son accepts besides you. Chan called him a bit ago,” Felix tells him and soothingly rubs his shoulders.

Chan joins them with an apologizing look and a screaming Minjun. “He started kicking,” he tells him, and Minho closes his eyes in defeat, taking him again.

“I'm sorry,” Minho says, voice quivering as it all gets a little too much to handle. “I'm so sorry. I didn't want this, not like that.”

“We know,” Chan assures him kindly. “But we also know why you decided to pull through with this.”

Minho fights back tears, shakily rubbing his temple with one hand. He's starting to get a headache, and honestly, he just wants to go back home. “But-I know it's all getting too much,” he says shakily. “He's so clingy I can't go anywhere, and he's crying as soon as I'm gone. I know how annoying it is for you all, even if you try to hide it,” he says.

“That's your own worries speaking, hyung,” Felix assures him. “We love him, and yes, days like today are rough, but we know why you do it, and we promised to support you with it.”

“It's okay, I promise,” Chan adds gently.

You rip the door open, a little out of breath from rushing up the stairs. “I'm here, sorry, there was so much traffic!” you apologize and quickly make your way over. “You guys should go,” you urge them and gently ease Minjun out of Minho's arms. “Hiii, baby,” you say softly, smiling as the little one tiredly buries his face in your neck, hiccuping your name between broken little cries. You soothingly sway from side to side, rubbing his back and talking to him calmly. Your own calm demeanor does wonders for the little boy who grows still in your arms, little hand gripping your sweater as his body's shaking. You look up and notice Chan and Felix have left, but Minho's still here, staring at the two of you in wonder. You can spot the tears in his eyes and flash him an encouraging smile. “Go on, I got him.”

“Are you sure?” he asks nervously. “I know it's your day off.”

“I like taking care of him, it doesn't feel like work,” you assure him before glancing down at the sniffling boy in your arms. “We'll have so much fun, yeah? Your daddy has to work now, but I'm here,” you tell him and gently pat his back. “You want your plushie?” you ask and earn a weak little nod. “Go,” you whisper toward Minho, who gives himself a push. “Oh, look, here it is,” you say, handing Minjun his favorite plushie.

The boy pulls the fluffy bunny to his chest and cuddles into you. As the stage door clicks shut behind Minho, leaving the bustling sounds of the backstage crew prepping for the night's performance, the room he exits from fades to a quieter atmosphere.

The walk to the stage is the longest walk of his life. Each step echoes with Minjun’s sobs, and each beat of his heart synchronizes with the distant thumps of the bass drum from the stage. Behind the curtains, the crowd's roar is deafening, a stark contrast to the quiet, tearful goodbye he had just endured. Minho takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to gather his thoughts. Jisung gently takes his hand, Chan squeezes his shoulder, and Felix straightens his jacket. Minho's eyes flutter back open as the music starts, and he tries to push everything else away. He needs to focus.

You hold Minjun closer, feeling his little heart beating against your own. His sobs begin to subside, his breath evening out as he clutches his bunny tightly. The stuffed toy seems to offer him the comfort he seeks, his tiny fingers threading through its soft fur.

You rock gently, humming a tune that you've noticed often calms him down. The melody is simple yet soothing, and as you continue, Minjun's grip relaxes. His eyes, puffy and red from crying, start to close. It’s moments like these, where the world slows down, that remind you why you cherish your role so much—not just as a caregiver but as a steady presence in this little one's life. You would've never thought you'd enjoy looking after a kid this much.

Around you, the room is scattered with signs of Minho and his friends' hurried exit. Costumes hang on racks, makeup kits are left open, and a few sheets of music flutter slightly from a nearby air vent. It's a world of glamour and chaos mixed with those quiet moments you share with Minjun.

Minho’s life, a blend of public performances and private moments like these, paints a vivid picture of the sacrifices and joys of his career. As you adjust Minjun in your arms, preparing to sit down with him until he falls asleep, you think about the pressure Minho faces. It's not just about being a performer but also being a father and a friend—balancing each role under the watchful eyes of the public and his friends.

Outside, you hear the faint sound of the crowd, a rumbling wave of excitement for the show about to start. It's a sound you've grown accustomed to, down to the lights, music, and energy that Minho will soon be enveloped in. Yet here, in the quiet room with Minjun finally drifting to sleep, the noise seems worlds away.

Your thoughts drift to Minho and the stress practically dripping off his body. You understand his dilemma. Being a parent is challenging enough without the added pressures of a demanding career. Minho's struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy for Minjun while meeting the expectations of his career is a tightrope walk that few can comprehend fully.

As Minjun's breaths deepen, indicating he's fallen asleep, you carefully adjust him on your chest. You ensure his favorite bunny is tucked beside him and gently pull a small blanket over his little body to keep him warm.

This tranquility is what you hope to provide for Minho as well—a sense of peace amidst the storm of his responsibilities. As the caregiver, your role extends beyond just watching over Minjun. It's about offering both father and son the assurance that they are not alone in this journey, and you can tell Minho needs it more with every passing day.

With Minjun settled, you step out of the room to catch a glimpse of the show on a monitor in the hallway. Minho is on stage now, his presence magnetic, pulling the audience into his performance. The contrast between the father you saw earlier and the performer now captivating the crowd is stark. Yet, it's this duality that defines him.

As you watch, you feel a sense of pride in Minho’s resilience and determination. It reinforces your commitment to support him in any way you can. When the show ends, you know he'll return, exhausted but fulfilled, eager to hear that Minjun was fine, that in his absence, everything was okay.

This is your world as much as it is theirs—a world of late nights and lullabies, of cheers and tears. It's a delicate balance. As the crowd’s applause echoes down the hallway, blending with the soft sounds of Minjun's peaceful sleep, you smile to yourself, ready for when Minho returns, ready to reassure him that everything is indeed fine.

Minho is the first one to return, a relieved smile covering his lips as he sees his son peacefully asleep on your chest. “You're an angel,” he breathes out, collapsing on the sofa next to you and gently fondling his son’s hair. “He didn't stop crying for an hour, I was about not to perform tonight.”

“All he needed was some peace and his favorite plushie,” you chuckle softly. “Also, he was very tired from all the crying, so that probably did the trick.”

Minho laughs weakly and shakes his head. “You handle him so much better than I do.”

“It's basically my job now,” you tell him. “Also, you were stressed and freaking out. He can sense that and it probably didn't help him calm down,” you say softly. “Not that it's your fault, everyone would have been.”

Minho hums gently and studies your face for a moment. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to express how much it means to him to be able to trust someone with his little boy. “You know what he calls his favorite plushie?”

“He didn't tell me yet,” you shake your head, frowning at him curiously.

“He calls him Y/nnie,” he says with a tired smile, watching your expression change to one of surprise and joy. “You mean a lot to him, so I'm glad you don't mind taking care of him.”

“Oh,” you nod in surprise. “That's sweet.”

“I thought you'd like to know that,” Minho hums before pushing himself up. “I should go and take a shower. I'll come get him after.”

“No rush,” you assure him kindly.

The others are quiet whenever they have to get something in the room and leave quickly. Chan quietly thanks you for getting here on such short notice and saving the day, which you wave off with a gentle smile.

Minho shuffles back inside a little later, wearing a comfy sweater and matching sweatpants. His fluffy hair falls freely around his face. He grabs his bag from a chair and fumbles for his phone to call one of their drivers.

“I can take you back, I'm driving there anyway,” you tell him, and he drops his phone back into the bag with a thankful smile. “You got everything?” you ask, and Minho nods, grabbing his glasses from the table. He puts them on, running his hand through his hair tiredly, and makes his way back over to you.

Minho reaches for Minjun, craving to hold his little boy again, and gently lifts him up. Minjun stirs in his sleep, and Minho quickly nestles him against his chest, soothingly fondling his hair.

“Daddy,” he mumbles drowsily, little hand curling up against his neck.

“I'm here, baby,” he says softly and kisses his head. “Go back to sleep.”

The sight of Minho like this, looking so soft and vulnerable with his sweet boy resting against his chest stirs something in you you can't really explain. A sudden urge to take care of both of them overwhelms you, and your eyes trace Minho's features. You know he's pretty, he's a visual for a reason and still, you're stunned by how beautiful he gets in moments like these.

The door opens, and Minho turns a little, meeting Chan's caring expression with a tired smile. “Everything alright?” he checks in, making sure Minho is okay after this rough night.

“Yeah,” Minho assures him gently. “We're okay.”

“You did well today, Min,” Chan tells him warmly and gently squeezes his shoulder.

“Thanks, hyung,” he says genuinely.

“Thank you again, Y/n, I wouldn't have called if there had been another way,” Chan apologizes again.

“I know,” you assure him. “I didn't mind, if you need me, I'm here,” you tell them and get up.

“You should get some rest. Do you need a driver?” Chan asks, and Minho gently shakes his head.

“Y/nnie said he'd take us,” he tells him, and Chan hums agreeingly.

“Alright then,” Chan nods before grabbing his own things and waving goodbye.

Minho exhales softly and shifts on his feet, feeling the intensity of the concert creeping up on him. His legs hurt, and his arms are tired, but he doesn't want to let go of him yet. If someone asked him to go to sleep right here he could without a second thought. He carefully tilts his head and his neck cracks at the movement. For a second, pain tints his features, and you frown at him.

“You're okay?” you ask gently, already grabbing your stuff and his bag.

“Mhm,” he hums, gently swaying from side to side to keep Minjun asleep. “Just exhausted…and everything hurts.”

“You definitely need some rest,” you respond gently, adjusting his bag on your shoulder. “Let’s get you both home.”

Minho nods gratefully, his gaze lingering on Minjun’s peaceful face as they follow you out of the room. The walk to the car is quiet, with only the occasional whisper of wind and the distant sound of the city at night. Once Minho settles Minjun into the car seat, he collapses into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief.

The drive is smooth and uneventful. You keep the radio off, allowing the silence to settle comfortably around you, broken only by Minjun's gentle breathing in the backseat. Minho’s head leans against the window, eyes closed, but you can tell he isn’t really asleep; he is just resting, processing the day.

“Y/nnie,” Minho finally speaks, his voice quiet in the dark car. “I really can’t thank you enough. Not just for tonight, but for everything. You’ve become… a lot more than just an assistant to us.”

Your heart warms at his words, and you glance at him briefly before focusing back on the road. “I’m glad to be here, Minho. You and Minjun mean a lot to me, too.”

A small smile tugs at Minho’s lips. “I'm lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fatigue. You can't help the warmth spreading through you at his words. If there's one thing you've learned in the years of working for him, then it's that he’s completely honest when he's tired.

As you reach the hotel, you help him gather everything and support him as he carefully lifts Minjun, who mumbles sleepily but doesn’t wake. Minho leans against the wall of the elevator, eyes closed as he fights falling asleep on the spot. He readjusts his grip around Minjun, burying his nose in his hair, and breathes calmly.

You search for Minho's keycard for the room and gently guide him down the hallway, opening the door for him. You stop there, and Minho turns around inside, flashing you a tired smile. “Come in for a moment?” he asks gently.

“It's fine, really,” you assure him.

“Let me at least make you some tea, please?” he asks, and you can tell he's trying to give you something back for today. You can't deny him that.

“Okay,” you nod and step inside, pulling the door closed. You follow Minho inside, and he tells you to drop his bag somewhere next to the bed.

Minho carefully puts Minjun down, tucking him in. He smooths his hair back and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” he whispers.

Minho quickly makes you both some tea and hands you a cup. “You should get some sleep too,” you suggest as you walk towards the small living room area, where Minho has slumped onto the couch.

“Just a few minutes,” Minho says, his eyes already closing. “I’m too tired to move.”

You sit down next to him and gently ease the cup from his hands, not wanting him to burn himself by accident. “Min,” you say gently as he tilts to the side, body growing heavy against you. “You should really get some sleep.”

“Thanks for tonight, Y/nnie,” Minho whispers as you give up the fight and let him rest his head on your shoulder.

“It’s no problem, really,” you reassure him. You pause, considering your next words. “Minho, you’re doing an amazing job with him. I hope you know that.”

Minho smiles weakly. “I’m trying. It’s hard to know if I’m doing enough, you know?”

“You are. More than enough,” you tell him kindly.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation... or maybe it’s more of an apology for tonight,” Minho mumbles sleepily.

“There's no need, I promise,” you tell him, but Minho shakes his head.

“I hate that my work pulls me away from Minjun,” he starts, his voice tinged with frustration. “And nights like tonight make it all feel ten times heavier. I worry about the effect it’s having on him.”

“You’re doing the best you can,” you reassure him. “And it’s clear to everyone, especially Minjun, how much you love him. He knows, Minho, how much you care.”

Minho nods, taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Y/nnie. I... sometimes I just need to hear that. It gets a bit overwhelming trying to balance everything. And tonight, seeing him so upset, I felt like I was failing him.”

“You’re not failing him,” you say firmly. “Every single time he looks at you, he does so with so much love. That’s not failure.”

Minho pulls back his head and looks at you drowsily, a sincere smile breaking through his exhaustion. “I’m really glad you’re here. Not just for Minjun, but for me too.”

“I told you the first day we met I'm here to make your life easier,” you tell him gently. “It doesn't matter if that's by planning your week or taking care of the little one.”

“He really loves you, I hope you know that,” he tells you and swallows at the joy in your eyes. “I… never mind,” he shakes his head and rubs his face tiredly, taking off his glasses. “I should get some sleep before I keep on rambling and keep you up.”

“You should,” you giggle. “I'll let myself out.”

“Goodnight, Y/nnie,” he says softly.

“Goodnight, Minho,” you say and decide it's your time to leave.

Minho drags himself to bed, crawling under the covers and joining his baby. He smiles as Minjun wakes up and crawls on his chest, getting comfortable there.

“Missed you, daddy,” he says softly.

“Missed you too, dumpling,” he says fondly and kisses his head. “Let's sleep now, yeah?” he asks, already drifting off to sleep.

“Y/nnie?” he asks.

“Y/nnie's in his room,” Minho answers and squints at him as his son shuffles off him and searches the bed. “Minjunnie,” he groans softly and turns onto his side.

His son makes a succeeding noise and shoves his little bunny into Minho's face. “Y/nnie!”

“Oh, I should've known that,” he laughs at himself before pulling him into a hug. “Come here now, yeah? Daddy's tired, baby.”

“Story?” he asks and Minho closes his eyes in defeat at the soft, tiny voice of his son.

“There once was a little boy. He was really tired, and his daddy was also very tired. They went to bed. The little boy fell asleep. The end,” he says and Minjun makes a protesting little noise.

“Stupid, daddy,” he laughs.

“Yeah, stupid,” he giggles and plants a few kisses all over his son's adorable little face.

“Story, please?” he giggles, scrunching his little nose at his father's sudden love attack.

Minho smiles, his exhaustion seeping away slightly in the joy of the moment. "Alright, my love, one story, but then it's really time to sleep," he says, adjusting himself so Minjun is comfortably nestled against his side, their heads sharing a pillow.

"Okay, daddy," Minjun agrees eagerly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of a bedtime story.

"Once upon a time," Minho begins, his voice soft and melodious, perfect for a bedtime tale, "in a faraway land, there was a brave little knight named Minjun."

"Like me!" Minjun interrupts with a giggle, his small fingers playing with Minho's hand.

"Yes, just like you," Minho confirms with a grin. "Minjun was the bravest knight in all the lands, and he had a magical friend, a dragon named Sparky."

"Dragon!" Minjun exclaims, delighted. "Does he breathe fire?"

"He does," Minho nods, "but Sparky only breathes fire when he needs to protect the kingdom. Most of the time, he's very gentle and loves to play."

Minjun listens intently, his imagination painting the scenes as his father describes them. "One day," Minho continues, "the kingdom faced great danger. A mysterious fog covered the land, making everyone feel very sleepy and lazy."

“What's fog, daddy?” he asks, his voice sounding a little sleepy by now.

“You know when it's cold, or it rains, and the air is all gray and heavy?” he asks, and Minjun nods.

“Fog is stupid,” he declares, making Minho bite back a laugh.

"So no one wanted to play or work," Minho adds, noticing Minjun's concerned frown. "Minjun and Sparky had to find the cause of the fog and save the kingdom."

"How did they do it?" Minjun asks, his voice filled with worry for the characters.

"Well," Minho says, drawing out the suspense, "they went on a grand adventure. They traveled through the Enchanted Forest, across the Silver Mountains, and finally to Crystal Lake, where the fog was thickest. They found out that the fog came from a sleeping spell by a lonely wizard who just wanted some friends," Minho explains. "Minjun offered to be the wizard's friend if he would lift the spell."

"Did he do it?" Minjun's eyes are hopeful, his small body tense with excitement.

"Yes, he did," Minho smiles. "The wizard was so happy to have a friend that he not only lifted the spell but also promised to use his magic for good. Together, they returned to the kingdom, heroes who had saved the day."

Minjun yawns, snuggling closer to his father, his eyelids heavy. "I like Minjun. He's nice," he mumbles sleepily.

"He is," Minho agrees, his voice a whisper now. "Just like you, my brave little boy."

As Minjun's breaths even out into the steady rhythm of sleep, Minho continues to hold him close. The story's end morphs into a quiet night. He lies there in the darkness, feeling the weight of his son's trust and love, anchoring him more firmly than anything else could.

In the silence of the room, with Minjun's soft snores as the only sound, Minho reflects on the day. The responsibilities of his career, the bright lights of the stage, and the cheers of the crowd—all of it fades into the background when contrasted with the peaceful, sleeping form of his son. Here, in the dim glow of the nightlight, Minho finds his truest joy.

He whispers a promise into the darkness, a vow to always return to this, to Minjun, no matter where his life takes him. "Always back to you," he murmurs, gently kissing Minjun's forehead. With that promise cradling his heart, Minho allows himself to drift off to sleep.

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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thevoidstaredback · 11 months ago

Text

Adventures In Gotham

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant Side Story

The first time Danny had ever been to Gotham, he swore it would be his last. He was twenty-two at the time.

In an effort to relax after finals had ended, he, Tucker, Sam, Val, Wes, and Dani had been playing a round of Truth or Dare after finishing a few movies. Sam had dared Danny to wander around Gotham without attracting attention to himself. The catch was that he wasn't allowed to use his powers except to fly there and back. His time limit was Sunday night.

They'd all been planning to stay the night at Sam's anyway, so no one would even notice he was gone. Though, the dare had seemed easy at the time, Danny should've realized his luck was not that good.

Regardless, he flew to the outskirts of Gotham City, dropped his transformation, and entered.

The first thing he noticed was that there was some kind of bubble around Gotham preventing the Shades and overall feel of death from leaving. It was overwhelming at first, but he got used to it pretty quickly. The next thing he noticed was that he had walked into somebody's haunt.

Shit.

He made himself presentable and spoke to the night, "I apologise for trespassing," His voice echoed through the open area as though he was shouting in an empty room. Ghost Speak tended to do that. "I mean no hostile intentions. I simply wish to play a game with your protectors." With any luck, whoever this was would be playful or friendly, at the very least. He didn't hold his breath, though.

A lie. He was holding his breath, but that's only because he was nervous!

The night air stilled as though considering his words. Then, a breeze from behind pushed him further into the city. Flapping wings of bats and owls seemed to hide the whispers of "You may come in." and "Be careful." and "You will lose." and "Good luck.".

A vote of confidence from the City Spirit. "Thank you." He was going to be as quick as he could, but he couldn't draw attention to himself. Easier said than done. Batman seemed to know whenever anyone ever stepped foot into his city, especially if they've never been there before. So, he had to play hide and seek with Batman and Robin.

Again, easier said than done.

Danny knows very little about about Gotham and her heroes and villains. What he does know is that Robin is fairly knew to the scene, but also very serious in what he does. He's still a child, though, and he likes to play around a bit. Batman, on the other hand, has already become something of a cryptid, despite only showing himself a year or so ago. Either way, the two balance each other nicely and work well as a team.

Batman and Robin obviously know the entire city inside out, so Danny has to somehow keep an eye on where they are at all times while not drawing attention to himself. Which would be easy, except for the fact that Danny can only sense where non-living beings are. Batman and Robin are very much alive. He's pretty sure. Unless either of them have a shit ton of Shades attached to them, which is unlikely but not impossible, then he'll have to rely on finding them first and keeping them within his sight as he tours around their city.

Why the hell did he agree to this? He so deserves a reward if he succeeds.

'When', not 'if'. 'If' is pessimistic and implies that Batman might just drop him off a building and watch him fall. 'When' at least lets him continue with the illusion that he may get out of this no deader than when he arrived in Gotham.

All he had to do was basically tour the city, then he'll be done. It went well for the first hour, but then he spotted the shadows moving around him. It wouldn't normally be a problem, but one of those shadows was made out of bright colours. Seeing as his Ghost Sense didn't go off, Danny figured the he'd just run straight into Batman and Robin.

Shit. Fuck. Okay, play it cool, Danny.

He ran. He ran as fast as he could without using his powers. When he was sure he'd lost the two vigilanties, he allowed himself to stop in an alley somewhere in the Narrows. (The map he looked at was coming in very handy all of a sudden)

"Could be worse," he said to himself, backing into a corner.

The sound of shattering glass and the scurrying of mice and rats gave the impression of laughter and taunting. Which, rude, but fair.

"Your Knights, my lady," he spoke into the darkness, "are terrifying."

"Who you talking to?"

Danny did not jump. He didn't! Liar.

The kid, about twelve years old, was in bright green, red, and yellow. His hair windswept and he didn't seem even the slightest bit out of breath, let alone tired. Shouldn't he be in bed? Did he have a bedtime? He should have a bedtime, in Danny's expert opinion.

"Did you know that humans are endurance hunters?" Robin had been smiling since he dropped down in front of Danny. And if that wasn't a scary ass line to hear from a twelve year old up way past his bedtime-

No, he's not intimidated. "It's, um, a good thing I'm not completely human then, huh?" Stupid, stupid, stupid! Shut up, Danny! Stop talking! Right now!

This made Robin frown and the shadows started to move again, Batman taking his place just behind the boy. "What do you mean?"

Damn, he's scary! Danny's a sucker for a deep voice with a growl, damn.

"I, um," Intelligent response, Danny. King of the Realm Between Realms of Infinity. Keeper of Balance, Timeless Protector of the Dead and Living, and he can't even form a proper sentence.

Batman and Robin's stares were uncomfortably similar, even as Robin tilted his head ever so slightly to the right.

For all his wisdom, Danny couldn't see how he could manage to get out of this without using his powers. So, "Gottagobye!" he let intangibility and invisibility wash over him and he slipped through the wall behind him. From there, he let the rings of light cover him and he flew away.

He'll take the L. That was scary as hell!

The night wind brushed against him, the sound of breaking bones and cackling telling him to come by to play again some time. Had Gotham's City Spirit lead her Knight and his child to Danny? Probably. She seemed like the type. At least she seems to like him? Silver linings.

"I'm never going there again," he muttered halfway to Illinois.

Storyboard

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p0orbaby · 5 months ago

Text

Why Do I Give You the Worst of Me (1)

summary: love and bad decisions collide as you struggle to balance a tour and a relationship that’s spiraling out of control

warnings: 18+ adult themes throughout

a/n: another series i’m hoping i don’t regret committing myself to… not sure how many parts it’ll be, i don’t plan anything

word count: 3.1k

You wake up face-first on a sofa that smells like cigarettes, spilled beer, and faintly, vomit. Not yours, you think. The synthetic fabric is scratchy against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, it takes a moment to realise it’s morning—sunlight cutting through the cracked blinds, striping the floor with dusty light. The sofa is mustard yellow, ugly in a deliberate, trying-too-hard-to-be-retro way. It doesn’t belong to you. Nothing in this flat belongs to you.

There’s a girl in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she pours cereal into a bowl. You don’t know her name, but you know she wears Chanel No. 5 because it’s all you could smell last night when she leaned too close, whispering something you didn’t quite catch. Her hair’s a mess now—like spun gold caught in a tangle of barbed wire—but her makeup is still pristine. She’s the kind who sets her eyeliner with setting spray before going out, even if it’s just to the pub. You admire the commitment, if not the execution.

Your head throbs—a deep, insistent ache behind your eyes that reminds you of last night in bits and pieces: the gig (decent, though the sound guy fucked up your monitor levels), the afterparty (loud, sweaty, a haze of bodies and smoke), the lines of coke on a chipped coffee table, the bartender who kept giving you free shots because he recognised you from that NME interview last month. At some point, someone tried to fight you, though you’re not sure why. You vaguely remember smashing a bottle of tequila against a wall and laughing as glass shards rained down like confetti.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, which is peeling in a way that suggests years of neglect, a building held together more by stubbornness than actual structural integrity. There’s a stain in the corner that looks suspiciously like mould, but you don’t care enough to investigate. The flat isn’t yours, after all. You were invited here by someone whose name escapes you now—a bassist from another band, or maybe it was their girlfriend? They’re gone this morning, anyway, leaving behind only the detritus of a night well-lived: empty bottles, crushed cigarette packets, a single black stiletto abandoned near the door like a fairy-tale gone wrong.

You light a cigarette, despite the pounding in your head and the fact that you’re pretty sure it’s technically illegal to smoke indoors here. The girl in the kitchen glances at you but doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure if she’s annoyed or indifferent; you don’t care. The smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the quiet. Mornings like this are rare—where everything is still and soft, where the chaos of your life is temporarily held at bay by the thin walls of someone else’s flat.

Your bass is propped up against the armchair, scratched and battered in a way that tells a story if you care to look closely enough. It’s a Fender Precision, black with a white pickguard, the same model Sid Vicious used to play—not that you’d ever admit that’s why you bought it. The neck has a gouge near the third fret from when you threw it at a sound tech who deserved it (and missed). The strap is leather, worn smooth where it rests on your shoulder, and the bridge still has flecks of blood from the time you played so hard your fingers split open mid-song. You keep meaning to clean it, but you never do.

You check your phone, which is cracked and sticky with something you don’t want to identify. No new messages, except for a text from your drummer that reads: “u alive?” You don’t bother replying.

You’ve been in the band for five years now, though it feels longer. It started as a joke—a group of friends fucking around in someone’s garage, trying to see who could play the loudest, the fastest, the most obnoxious. Somewhere along the way, it became serious. There was a DIY EP, recorded in one manic weekend on borrowed gear, and a string of gigs in dingy pubs where the audiences were more interested in drinking than listening. Then came the break—a slot supporting a bigger band, one of those industry darlings who’d already started to hate themselves for selling out. The kind of band that wears matching outfits ironically, even though everyone knows it’s not ironic at all.

Now, you play sold-out shows to crowds who scream your lyrics back at you, though most of them probably couldn’t name your second album. Your face has been on the cover of Kerrang! twice, though you didn’t bother reading the articles. You hate interviews, but you do them anyway because your manager insists. You’re better at the photoshoots—smirking at the camera in a way that suggests you don’t care (you do).

The band is your life, though you wouldn’t call it that. Calling it your life makes it sound like you have some sort of plan, and you don’t. You’re just here, playing gigs and writing songs and doing whatever it takes to keep the wheels from falling off.

Your bandmates are a mixed bag of personalities, each one a walking caricature in their own way. There’s Matt, the drummer, who swears he’s been abducted by aliens and won’t shut up about it. Alex, the lead guitarist, is constantly high and insists on bringing his cat on tour, which you find deeply annoying. And then there’s Holly, the singer, who somehow manages to be both the most chaotic and the most responsible member of the group. She’s the one who organises rehearsals, books the studio time, and keeps you all from self-destructing entirely. You love her for it, even if you’d never say it out loud.

The girl in the kitchen finishes her cereal, rinses the bowl, and leaves without saying goodbye. You watch her go, not because you care but because there’s nothing else to do. When the door slams shut, the flat feels even smaller, like the walls are pressing in on you. You stub out your cigarette, grab your bass, and leave too.

Outside, London is already alive, though you wouldn’t call it awake. The streets are sticky from last night—spilled pints and kebab wrappers crushed into the pavement, cigarette butts floating in puddles of something that smells suspiciously like piss. The air has that distinct urban flavour: exhaust fumes mingling with fryer grease and the faint tang of wet concrete. You pull your leather jacket tighter around you, not because it’s cold (it is), but because it completes the look.

The jacket is vintage—or at least you tell people it is. In reality, you bought it at a high-street shop three years ago, and it’s held up surprisingly well, considering the abuse it’s endured. The lining is torn, the cuffs are frayed, and there’s a mysterious stain on the back you can’t quite place. But it’s yours, and it feels like armour. The boots, on the other hand, are real vintage: a pair of Dr Martens from the ‘90s you found in a thrift shop in Brighton. They’re scuffed to hell, and the left one squeaks when you walk, but you refuse to replace them because they’re authentic.

You head toward the Tube station, your bass slung over one shoulder like a soldier carrying a rifle. People stare, but only briefly. In London, no one has the energy to care for long. The morning commuters are a mix of suits and students, their faces blank, their eyes glazed over as they clutch takeaway coffees in one hand and their phones in the other. You feel out of place but also weirdly superior, like you’ve cracked some code they haven’t even realised exists yet.

You hop on the Northern line, ignoring the signs that politely request passengers to “refrain from eating or drinking.” You’re not eating or drinking, but you do pull out a cigarette, which is arguably worse. It’s a roll-up, so you convince yourself it doesn’t count. An old woman glares at you, clutching her handbag like she thinks you’re about to mug her. You offer her a crooked smile, which she does not return, and you put the cigarette back in your pocket because she reminds you of your nan.

The train screeches into motion, and you pull out your phone. The lock screen is a photo of your bass, which says a lot about you. There are a few notifications—mostly spam emails and an unread message from Holly: Rehearsal at 2. Don’t be late, dickhead.

You glance at the time. 11:47 a.m. Plenty of time.

The rehearsal space is in Camden, a dingy basement that smells of mildew and unwashed socks. The walls are lined with egg cartons painted black in a half-hearted attempt at soundproofing, and the floor is sticky for reasons you’d rather not think about. The room has seen better days—probably in the ‘80s, when it was still a nightclub and not a haven for struggling musicians. There’s a single fluorescent bulb overhead that flickers ominously, and a space heater in the corner that’s never worked.

Holly is already there when you arrive, tuning her guitar with the precision of someone who takes this far more seriously than you do. She’s wearing a denim jacket covered in patches for bands you’ve never heard of, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She looks up as you walk in, her expression equal parts exasperation and relief.

“Christ, you smell like an ashtray,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s called branding,” you reply, dropping your bass onto the floor with a thud.

Matt and Alex show up ten minutes later, looking even worse than you do. Matt has the kind of face that always looks slightly hungover, even when he’s not, and Alex is wearing the same shirt he wore yesterday, now with an impressive new stain across the front.

The rehearsal starts late, as it always does, and quickly descends into chaos. Matt insists on playing a drum solo during every song, despite the fact that no one asked for it. Alex keeps stopping mid-riff to check his phone, claiming he’s “waiting for an important call,” though everyone knows it’s just his dealer. Holly shouts at both of them until her voice cracks, then turns her frustration on you for being “completely fucking useless.” You take it in stride, plucking random notes on your bass and pretending to care.

At some point, Holly storms out, leaving the three of you to your own devices. Matt immediately pulls out a joint, which Alex lights with a lighter shaped like a naked woman. You lean back against the wall, your bass resting against your thigh, and watch as they argue over which fast-food place to hit up after rehearsal.

“McDonald’s is closer,” Alex says, taking a drag.

“But KFC’s got the gravy,” Matt counters, waving his arms for emphasis.

“It’s not even real gravy,” Alex snaps.

“None of it’s real,” you interject, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re all just cogs in the capitalist machine.”

They stare at you for a moment, then go back to arguing.

By the time rehearsal ends, it’s dark outside. You pack up your gear, ignoring Holly’s death glare as she reminds you for the millionth time that you need to take this more seriously. You nod, mumble something about “artistic integrity,” and leave before she can yell at you again.

Back on the street, the air is crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your skin and makes you wish you’d brought a scarf. You light another cigarette, even though you’ve already smoked half a pack today, and head toward the pub.

The pub is your sanctuary, a place where time slows down and the only thing that matters is the next round. It’s a dive, the kind of place where the carpet sticks to your shoes and the jukebox is permanently stuck on a rotation of The Clash and The Smiths. You know the bartender by name, though you’re not sure if he knows yours.

You order a pint and settle into a corner booth, your bass case propped up beside you. The first sip is like a warm hug, washing away the stress of the day. You’re halfway through your second pint when you see her.

You don’t notice her at first. Not properly. She’s part of the blur—the dim bar lights catching on glasses, the low hum of half-drunken conversation, the vague sense that you’ve been here before even if you haven’t. She’s leaning against the counter, waiting for her drink, and it’s not until the bartender—a man whose name might be Pete but who you’re pretty sure is just “Oi, mate” to everyone who comes in—hands her a gin and tonic that you actually see her.

And it’s a gin and tonic. Not a lager, not a rum and coke, not something ironic like a snakebite or one of those craft beers with names like Hops and Robbers. It’s a G&T, clean and crisp, with a slice of lime balanced on the rim like it’s posing for a stock photo. The glass is crystal clear, and so are her nails—short, practical, painted the sort of soft pink that suggests she doesn’t chew them during stressful moments (unlike you). She takes the drink with both hands, like she’s steadying herself, and there’s something about that—the deliberateness of it—that hooks you.

You tell yourself you’re just looking because she’s there. Because it’s either her or the guy at the next table who’s been droning on about Bitcoin for twenty minutes straight. But it’s more than that. There’s a stillness to her, an odd kind of clarity that doesn’t fit in a place like this, like she’s wandered in from a parallel universe.

She turns slightly, and you catch her profile: sharp nose, strong jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass but probably wouldn’t because she seems far too polite. Her hair is blonde—not platinum, not peroxide, but the kind of natural gold that makes you think of expensive shampoo and childhood summers. It’s tied back loosely, wisps framing her face in a way that seems accidental but probably isn’t.

She’s not wearing makeup. Or maybe she is, but it’s the invisible kind—the kind that takes forty-five minutes to apply but looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed looking flawless. Her jumper is navy, oversized enough to suggest she might have nicked it from someone else’s wardrobe, paired with jeans that sit perfectly at her hips without being skinny. On her feet are white trainers—clean, like freshly ironed bedsheets—Adidas, the classic three stripes in black, laces tied neatly, no fraying ends.

You’re staring. You know you are. But she hasn’t noticed, so it doesn’t count.

The bartender mutters something to her, and she laughs. Not the loud, performative laugh you hear from most people in bars, but something softer, like it’s meant for her and her alone. The sound is so out of place in this dingy pub that it feels almost sacrilegious, like someone’s brought a cathedral choir to sing in a nightclub.

You tell yourself to look away. You don’t.

Instead, you light a cigarette, even though the pub is strictly non-smoking. You do it for the aesthetic, the same way you do most things. There’s a half-empty pint in front of you—lager, flat and warm, probably with someone else’s fingerprints on the glass—but you take a sip anyway, because what else are you going to do?

She turns then, her gaze sweeping the room, and you’re caught like a deer in headlights. For a second, you think she’s looking at you, but she’s not. She’s looking past you, at the dartboard on the wall behind your head. Her expression is curious, like she’s trying to figure out why anyone would bother playing darts in a place like this.

Then her eyes meet yours, and the world tilts.

It’s not love at first sight, not really. Love at first sight is for Disney films and Hallmark cards and people who shop at Waitrose without looking at the prices. This is something else. Recognition, maybe. Like you’ve seen her before in a dream or a half-remembered story someone told you once. Like you’ve spent your whole life waiting for this moment without knowing it.

She holds your gaze for a second longer than is polite. Then she looks away, back at her gin and tonic, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath.

You don’t approach her right away. That would be too obvious, too predictable. Instead, you wait, watching her out of the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll through your phone. It’s a shitty phone, cracked and outdated, but you’ve never bothered upgrading because you secretly enjoy the low expectations it sets. No one looks at you and expects success when your phone screen is held together with Sellotape.

She moves to a table in the corner, near the radiator, and sits down alone. No book, no laptop, no visible excuse to be here other than the gin and tonic in her hand. She sips it slowly, methodically, like she’s savouring it. Like she’s savouring this.

You wonder what her story is.

Is she waiting for someone? A friend, a boyfriend, a clandestine meeting with a lover? Or is she just one of those people who can sit alone in public without feeling like a target? You’ve never understood that kind of confidence—the kind that lets you exist without an audience, without a role to play.

You take another sip of your pint, then decide, fuck it.

You stand, grab your bass (because leaving it behind would feel like abandoning a child), and make your way across the room. Your boots squeak against the sticky floor, and you curse them under your breath. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the empty chair across from her.

She hesitates, just for a moment, then nods.

“Sure.”

Her voice is soft, but not shy. Measured. Like she’s weighing every word before she says it.

You sit, placing your bass case carefully against the table leg. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re not sure what to say, and she seems content to let the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s not easy, either.

Finally, she breaks it.

“You’re in a band,” she says, nodding toward the bass. It’s not a question.

You smile. “Yeah. What gave it away?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you realise it’s a stupid question.

“What’s the band called?”

You tell her, and she nods, like she’s vaguely heard of it but couldn’t name a single song.

“I’m Alessia,” she says, holding out her hand. Her grip is firm, her skin warm.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, and for the first time in a long time, you actually mean it.

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