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nadvs · 19 hours ago

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escapism .* part two

pairing rafe cameron x socialite! female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.

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“This won't work,” Rafe says as he shuts his father’s office door. He’d already told Ward that while you won’t make this easy, he’s determined to get through with it.

But now, after he mulled it over the entire drive from your home to Cameron Development’s headquarters following that tense meeting, he’s stewing in how angry you make him, how effortlessly you push him into his old ways.

This won’t be the easy win he hoped for. He’d thought he’d do anything to prove his loyalty. Turns out that marrying you is the exception.

“What?” Ward says.

“She won’t cooperate,” Rafe continues, sinking in the seat across the desk. “Shouldn’t we think about how bad it’ll make us look when this doesn't work out?”

Ward leans in.

“I know this is a big request,” he tells him, “but a lot is hinging on this.”

“How can we be sure having her associated with our family won’t bite us in the ass?” Rafe carries on.

“Listen…” Ward squints, takes a beat. “I didn’t want to pull you into it. I asked Kal to keep it from you, too. But there’s more to this than you think.”

Rafe straightens in his seat.

“Kal didn’t get where he is without making some deals. A few years back, I… needed help with an audit. He scrubbed stuff for us. Off the books. Then, last week, he came to me and asked about you. He said he scratched our back and it’s about time we scratch his.”

Rafe stills. He’s not taken aback by his father’s scant ethics; he’d already taught him that the most successful men don’t follow the rules. He’s in shock because his own dad kept this from him.

It stings like betrayal.

“That asshole threatened us?” Rafe says, his voice going up a few decibels.

“Indirectly,” he sighs. “See this through, and our hands will be clean. And it will make us look good. He’s a powerful man to be friends with. This will open doors for us. I believe in you, son. You want the best for the company, don’t you?”

It hurts that he even needs to ask.

His eyes find the back of one of the frames sitting on Ward’s desk. He knows which photo it holds, a snapshot of his little sisters hugging, a reminder of how emotionally sidelined he’s always been. Of how easily his dad overlooked him. Of how affection always orbited elsewhere.

“Yeah. Of course,” Rafe finally answers. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

He looks up to find disappointed eyes.

“Because of how you just reacted,” his dad says.

Shame digs its claws into Rafe’s chest. The man he looks up to didn’t believe he was capable of hearing the truth. He thought his own son wasn’t safe to confide in.

He nods once, short and sharp. He’s not backing out. He’s been telling his dad for years that he can be taken seriously, that he can be trusted, that he can reign in his temper. Now’s the time to prove it.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Minutes later, Rafe calls Kal. He keeps his word, telling him all about how the meeting with you and the publicist went, that he saw you take a call from a family lawyer, that you asked him to reconsider.

Before they end the call, Rafe asks if he can come by to speak to you later today.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

You’re alone in every sense. Fragile, unguarded, and entirely vulnerable.

You can’t even call someone without your father finding out. This morning, you’d asked the lawyer on the phone not to mention your conversation to anyone, but your dad just reamed you out over it.

The amount of power Kal has over people is terrifying. Nothing is kept from him.

There’s a knock at your door.

“Not now,” you shout across your bedroom.

“You have a visitor,” the voice says.

You don’t have it in you to get up. On your worst days, your illness drains you of your energy, and getting screamed at by your dad on top of it just adds to the weight in your bones.

It must be Celeste coming to bother you.

You’re in bed, your duvet up to your chin, your voice carrying as you defeatedly say, “Fine.”

The butler opens the door and scurries back down the hallway.

Rafe meant to be firm but civil, to handle this level-headedly, but when he steps inside to see that you’re lying in bed as early as four in the afternoon, as if you work hard like he does, as if you have ever worked at all, stirs something vicious beneath the surface.

You symbolize everything he can’t afford to be: lethargic and ambitionless, with no desire to impress anyone. And Kal wouldn’t have cornered him and his dad into this stupid agreement if you weren’t such a loose cannon.

“Shit, must be tiring doing nothing all day,” he says.

Your muscles are heavy as you push your duvet off, sitting up. It’s infuriating how this man knows absolutely nothing about you and assumes the worst.

“Why are you here?” you ask. You don’t give into the urge to snap at him in case he came to tell you that he changed his mind. But you have very little hope in people, especially those who work with your dad.

“I’m getting my stuff moved into the condo,” he confirms. “You should do the same.”

Anger rushes through you, pushing you to stand. You close the distance, refusing to let him intimidate you.

Rafe meets the fire in your eyes. Considering how you threatened Kal that you’d expose your own family to the press, and what he’d just learned from his dad, he realizes a penchant for blackmail must run in your blood.

“I asked you nicely not to do this,” you say through clenched teeth.

“That was you being nice?” he replies with a pompous smirk, towering over you.

You snarl. It’s ridiculous to expect people to believe that this is the man who changed everything for you, who fixed you and made you want to fall in line all of a sudden.

“You’ll regret this,” you tell him.

Rafe’s impulses are louder than the voice of reason telling him that being calm will get you on his side. How can he be calm when you bring out the worst in him?

“Don’t screw with me,” he mutters. “You think your dad won’t write you out the second I tell him you’re not cooperating?”

You stifle the frown that’s tugging at your lips.

You’re well aware that your own father wouldn’t hesitate to take a man like Rafe’s side over yours. You accepted it long ago, mentally checked out and numb to his cruelty.

But hearing him say it out loud, after two days of such vicious, unexpected turmoil, cuts deep.

You shouldn’t have expected any humanity in Rafe. You’ve been surrounded by ruthlessness all your life, and your father only associates with people who are the same way.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” you say sternly.

“It’s not your room anymore,” he says with a smirk, on his way out, done here anyway.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

The penthouse floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the sea. You gaze at the view, the orange sun sinking into the embrace of glittering water.

It’s being wasted on you. You can’t find any beauty in it. You had your things moved into the condo, every room on your side of the unit furnished and filled with your possessions.

It was set up early this morning, without you here. Celeste won’t take the risk of anyone recognizing you, making sure even the movers had no chance to see whose things they’re setting up.

She let you know when everything was done, and you just crossed into the empty penthouse minutes ago, taking in the massive space, decorated nicely but heartlessly, a staged house instead of a real home.

You sit on the edge of your new bed in your new room. You gaze at the gulls floating over the sky, envious of how they can do as they please.

The front door unlatches with a loud click. Surely your new roommate. Moments later, you hear a knock at your door, followed by his deep, muffled voice.

“We need to talk.”

Rafe just finished up at the gym, taking his anger out through a hard workout in an effort to find some balance.

He knows he’s been handling this wrong. He can’t try to intimidate you, although ordering you to go along with this is the only thing he wants to do.

He needs to have you on his side if he’s meant to be giving your father updates on you. If he’s meant to make his own father proud.

“Leave me alone,” you reply.

He sighs to himself, staring down at his hands, thumbs rubbing over his calluses.

It’s moments like these that thoughts of his mom slip in without warning, memories surfacing of how composed she always was, even as her sickness slowly pulled her away, and how none of that quiet strength passed on to him.

“This doesn’t have to be hard,” he says, his words measured, tension brimming beneath each one. “We just… we got off on the wrong foot, alright?”

When you stride across your room and jerk open the door, you almost falter from how he looks with his guard down, rugged but soft, like he’s some sort of challenge in self-restraint. But even the lustful warmth simmering in you can’t distract you from how angry you are.

As handsome as he is, he’s just as cruel.

“Leave me alone,” you repeat, then slam the door.

Rafe’s temper flares in him like fire doused with fuel. He angrily storms back to his side of the condo. Too much is on the line here. And he has no choice but to withstand the pressure.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

You’ve managed to avoid running into Rafe the entirety of the next day.

That night, after begrudgingly doing your makeup and slipping on the designer dress Celeste had sent for you, you make your way to the investor gala.

The cameras’ shutters are sharp in your ears as you exit the backseat, engulfed by bright flashes that blind you on your way to the banquet hall’s entrance.

It’s one reason out of a thousand why you hate these events; they put you right in the line of fire. You can only imagine how many photos of you are owned by strangers, images immortalizing your pain.

Stepping into the enormous, loud, twinkling hall is even more jarring. You immediately feel eyes boring into you, hushed whispers circling. You can’t remember the last time you crossed a room towards your family, instead of away from them.

You find the table near the stage, most of the seats already filled with your family members and their business associates. Your hands clasp around your purse as your eyes travel over the place cards.

Rafe is the first to notice you, the darkness of his suit made even blacker contrasted by his icy eyes. His gaze hardens and trails down your body, taking in how the dress’s expensive material gently accentuates your curves.

He looks away. But you already caught him. And it’s promising to know you have an effect on him. You can use this to your advantage. For the first time since this began, you feel like you may get the upper hand on Rafe, which offers you a quiet sense of confidence.

“None for her,” Kal says to a server holding a tray of filled champagne glasses towards you.

You glare at your father before defiantly taking a glass and sitting next to Rafe.

He always needs to prove to whoever’s nearby that he doesn’t endorse his shameful daughter’s mistakes. His harshness is both overt and surgical. It’s why you gave up on any sort of relationship with him long ago.

“Nice to see you, too,” you retort, then take a sip of the champagne.

Rafe already loathes your father for threatening his family. He hates him even more now for putting you in a worse mood. It’ll only make his job harder.

“I thought Dad was joking about you coming,” your oldest brother, Sam, says with a snide smirk. “Why are you here? Finally got banned from every bar in the city?”

His wife gently smacks his chest, but the grin on her face tells you she’s only pretending to scold him while actually amused. It’s so typical of him, trying to make you feel like you don’t belong, as if you don’t already know you have no place in your family.

“I just wanted a change of pace,” you say. “It can be refreshing to spend an evening with a bunch of assholes.”

Your mother glares at you. Your father sharply mutters your name. It’s infuriating. Sam’s allowed to chide you, but defending yourself is where a line is drawn.

You down the champagne and put the glass on the table with a thud. You’re not sure you can do this. Not without imploding.

Rafe brings his focus back to his goal. He needs to stay on course. He knows he can charm a girl when he wants to. He just has to act like he wants to do it to you.

“Let’s go to the bar,” he murmurs, only loud enough for you to hear.

You meet Rafe’s eyes again and despite how much he pesters you, it’s the best offer you can get right now. You’re desperate for something stronger, and you are meant to pretend you’re hitting it off with him tonight.

You nod silently, standing up, not waiting for him to follow.

Rafe pushes his hands into his pockets as he navigates through the crowds. He strides faster so he can walk next to you, licking his lips before he speaks.

“Do they always spew bullshit like that?” he says.

You know Rafe’s only pretending to be friendly to keep up appearances. This is all this side of your life is; either pointed aggression or manipulative politeness.

You’ve learned long ago that you can’t believe what anyone says to you, especially if they work with Kal.

“Don’t be fake with me,” you say. “It’s annoying.”

Rafe exhales sharply. He’s not even being fake. He’s genuinely annoyed by your father’s antagonism.

You reach the bar, leaning forward, your forearms pressing against the cool countertop.

Rafe’s eyes hungrily drift down your back. It’s a hard pill to swallow; there’s no chance he’d get to do anything about the carnal pull he feels towards you. Not when you’re at each other’s throats.

“I’m just saying your dad can be a dick,” he mumbles, stepping closer, gazing down at your profile.

“Well, you can stop saying anything.”

His jaw firms. It’s taking everything not to tell you off right now.

You order a strong drink. It makes him regret pulling you away here. He should’ve asked you to talk outside.

“Rafe,” you hear. “Hey, how are you?”

A man claps a hand on his shoulder. You glance up at Rafe, watching him turn it on, his charming smile, his steely confidence.

“Your dad around?” he asks.

Rafe resents how people act like he’s his father’s assistant, like he can’t offer anything of significance in a conversation.

“Not tonight,” Rafe says. You notice the tick in his jaw. “I know he’s been meaning to meet with you.”

“He’s a busy man,” he replies. “I’ll give him a call tomorrow. Don’t let me bother you. Have a good night.”

The man doesn’t even glance at you, but you’re used to that. At events like these, men either pretend like you aren’t here, or check you out and try to hide it just like Rafe did.

“Who’s his dad?” you ask the stranger.

You catch a flash of something imperceptible on Rafe’s face, maybe anger, maybe sadness. It’s gone before you can ascertain it.

“Ward Cameron. The CEO of Cameron Development,” the man tells you, as if it’s common knowledge.

It hits you. Your father said this marriage would be a joining of families. He was being literal. You stare up at Rafe, tilting your head, discovering the surname he must carry, as the man steps away.

“That's why you agreed to this,” you say with a patronizing laugh. “You’re a grown man following your dad’s orders. How old are you?”

Rafe stares down at you, contempt in every crease of his face. The audacity you have to look down on him when you haven’t lifted a finger in your life makes him anger rip through him.

“I’m doing this because it’s good for business,” he half-lies. “You don’t know shit about having responsibilities, do you?”

You hate how effortlessly he rips open your wounds. Your brothers have always been expected to take on the family business, but you were never even a consideration.

You’re not next in line. You never will be. You’re the afterthought, the accident, the mistake they wish they could take back. And nobody sees past your indiscretions and scandals. Nobody sees you.

“I’m busting my ass earning an MBA,” you say to prove him wrong, “but sure, assume whatever you want. I can’t expect better from someone whose only qualification is being his boss’s son.”

Rafe leans even closer to you, his nostrils flaring. He despises the implication that he didn’t earn his spot. It’s been gruelling trying to prove himself.

And the impulsive words sitting on his tongue are too strong to swallow.

“You’re nothing but a spoiled brat,” he mutters.

You let out a dangerously angry chuckle, your fingers gripping the glass the bartender just handed you.

“You have no idea how close I am to throwing this drink in your face,” you reply.

His gaze darts away, tense in case your conversation is falling on other ears. You’re meant to look like you like each other, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do when you have a natural talent for pushing every single one of his buttons.

You smirk, proud to see him uneasy for once. You cling onto the sliver of power you have, desperate to call the shots however you can.

“I’m going to go back to my seat,” you say. “I’ll sit through my mom’s announcement and stay until my family leaves. But if you say anything to me, I’m gone. We already met like we were supposed to. There’s no reason for you to talk to me anymore.”

You walk back to your seat. Rafe follows.

Minutes after your mother’s announcement that she’s running for office, he makes a passing comment to you, and you stand up and collect your purse.

You’re staying true to your word.

“Where do you think you’re going?” your father asks.

“Blame him,” you reply, pointing to Rafe.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

You ignore the gossip columns on social media, but now that your future hinges on how convincing you’re being, you scroll over the posts on your phone as you brush your teeth.

The posts about your unexpected appearance at the gala aren’t complimentary. The people in the comments aren’t any better.

Someone said under a photo of you arriving at the event that you have resting bitch face. Another person replied that it’s because you’re a bitch.

You’re fine with the label. You’d rather people see you as crass and disrespectful, instead of the shattered woman you really are. And you’re barely holding yourself together long enough to make your exit.

You just have to pull an insane stunt off to get there.

The front door clicks open, followed by footsteps barrelling down the hallway. You spit out your toothpaste into the sink, rolling your eyes in anticipation for Rafe’s inevitable tantrum. You have to admit that the anger on his face when you left the gala an hour ago was worth it, though.

You open your ensuite bathroom door to face him, still a little dizzy from all you’d drank tonight, watching him angrily tug his tie off as he crosses into your bedroom.

“You can’t just come in here,” you mutter.

“What the fuck was that?” he says, trying to ignore the fact that you’re in shorts now, that he can see so much of your legs in his peripheral. “Are you forgetting what’s on the line?”

“You mean like your daddy’s approval?” you taunt.

“You have way more at risk than I do,” he fibs. The truth is, he needs you, and he’s still trying to figure out how to balance gaining your trust and holding his ground.

“I did as I was told tonight,” you say with a shrug.

“You said you were going to look like you wanted to be at these things,” he reminds you, realizing he’s actually never seen anything but frustration on your face, never seen a sincere smile.

“I warned you that I’d leave if you tried talking to me,” you counter.

Rafe rubs his forehead, sighing in exasperation.

“What do you need?” he mutters.

“What?” you ask.

“What do you need for all this to be… easier?”

You’re not sure of the last time anyone asked you what you need.

You stare up at him, his loosened tie and undone top buttons taunting you. You will yourself not to gaze at his exposed skin, to not give into the ache pooling in your core, to not accept that he makes you hot all over, not with just anger, but with desire, too.

He gets to you, and you can tell by the way he looked at you tonight that you get to him, and it baffles you, this ability to loathe someone and want them in the same breath, this craving for someone you can’t stand.

You have a feeling the tension between you is only going to thicken. Relieving it would feel nice, but torturing him would feel even better.

“When I say to leave me alone, you do it,” you finally answer.

“Fine,” Rafe concedes.

“And don’t bullshit me,” you say. “I know you were just trying to get on my good side when you said that crap about my dad.”

“Nah, I meant that,” he replies, jaw tensing. “Trust me.”

You could never trust him, someone so soulless, so fixed on personal gain. Still, there’s no retort waiting on your lips for once. Within seconds, he’s thrown you off by asking about your needs, by seeing the negativity in your father that everyone else is willfully blind to.

You start to shut your bathroom door to end the conversation, but his words slow you down.

“Don’t leave like that when we’re supposed to be together, got it?” he says while staring at the floor, yearning to at least appear to have some control here.

You scoff. The familiar stab of resentment you feel whenever someone tries to assume control over you cuts into you.

“I never asked what you need,” you say, shutting the door.

Rafe groans, and the second he’s in his bedroom, he sweeps everything off his dresser in one violent motion, his anger demanding a way out. Items crash to the floor, chaos at his feet, no different than the storm that’s raging inside of him.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen, purposely not having changed out of your revealing pajamas. You heard Rafe shuffling around here minutes ago, prompting you to walk in just to taunt him.

That hungry look he gave you last night has been lodged in your thoughts since the moment he gave it. You get under his skin. And when you have that kind of power, you’re using it. You’re going to dangle what he can’t have right in front of him. Let him squirm. He deserves it.

You ignore him as he sits in the dining room and you open the fridge, bending over, hips perched in the air.

Rafe stares, your position in those tiny shorts sending a hot tightening between his thighs. His hands itch to grip you, to unravel the knot you’re tying deep inside him.

You glance over your shoulder. As expected, he’s staring at your ass. He looks back down at his coffee.

“Did Celeste tell you when we can expect more groceries?” you ask amusedly, self-assured.

“I know as much as you do,” he murmurs, his eyes low.

“Great,” you breathe, shutting the fridge. “I’ll grab something on my way.”

“You got class?” he asks. He’s still thrown by the fact that you’re a postgrad, that the tabloids he read didn’t say anything about you being in college, and just as annoyed that you’re so private about everything.

“Nosy,” you reply, proving his point as you pace out of the kitchen.

Rafe exhales sharply. It’s fully setting in now how difficult keeping tabs on you is going to be.

He’s trapped, living with a woman who pisses him off more than anyone he’s ever met, who’s so tantalizing that it makes every part of him ache.

He thought he could handle you. He was dead wrong.

(to be continued)

new parts of this series drop at 9 pm eastern on thursdays. my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

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iyoonjh · 1 month ago

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Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 17: Take me home, country roads (but please don't tell me it's West Virginia)

wc: 8688 words // warning: making out, veryyyy suggestive

The sun was barely up, and Soobin already felt like he was in a coming-of-age film.

Not the part where someone dramatically runs through the airport, or gets kissed in the rain. No. He was squarely in the “sits awkwardly in the backseat of a cramped car, holding his emotional support water bottle, trying not to be perceived” montage.

They were on the road. Finally.

Jungwon was driving like he was auditioning for Fast & Furious: Gen Z Drift, one hand on the wheel, sunglasses pushed halfway up his nose, nodding to the bassline of whatever aggressively curated playlist was currently rattling the speakers, it made him look like he was born to drive a getaway car.

Next to him, Giselle sat like a woman on a mission. Her shoes were off, one leg tucked under her as she manned the aux cord with all the intensity of a battlefield strategist. The center console was buried under a chaotic pile of snacks, lip balm, a suspicious amount of gum, and a folded checklist titled Operation: Beach Arc. Her phone screen lit up with the next song—something high-tempo and summery—and she cranked the volume, bobbing her head in approval.

“You guys better hydrate,” she said, not looking up. “If anyone gets dehydrated and starts hallucinating, I’m legally required to film it.”

“Put on something calm,” Jungwon said.

“No.”

“Something soft.”

“No.”

“Giselle—”

“If morale drops below a seven,” she warned, holding up her finger like a commander issuing orders, “I will play Pitbull. I am not afraid.”

The bass kicked in—some upbeat synth-pop track that made the windows vibrate. Wind rushed in from the cracked sunroof. The seats were warm from the sun. The air smelled like a mix of strawberry lotion, half-eaten chips, and that slightly plasticky scent of car interiors on long road trips.

And in the back?

Soobin was on the left, pressed against the door like a polite hostage. Y/N was on the right, her shoulder grazing the window, sunlight catching in her hair in a way that felt like someone had custom-lit this entire vehicle just to emotionally destroy him.

And between them?

Heeseung.

Heeseung, who could only be described as the human manifestation of a Magic: The Gathering deck—specifically one that had been left in a backpack for three years, dropped in a puddle of Monster Energy, and then blessed by a chaotic god of fandom.

He was currently wearing his “casual road trip fit”: a faded Pokémon sweatshirt (Snorlax, mid-nap), an inside-out denim bucket hat, and socks with tiny 8-bit dragons that blinked when he moved. He was also double-strapped with a messenger bag and a backpack, even though they were just going for a weekend. There were five D20s in his pocket and he had already spilled one in the parking lot.

Soobin had known him for years.

Heeseung was, technically, one of his best friends.

Heeseung was also ruining his entire life.

Because Heeseung, for the record, was trying to act cool.

Not like actually cool. But, like, his version of cool. Which meant he was slouched in the middle seat like a sentient throw pillow, arms folded like a sage warrior, and very clearly trying not to spontaneously start narrating their drive like it was a “critical plot point in the third act of a fanfic.”

Soobin could practically hear his inner monologue:“Heeseung Lee. Chaotic neutral. Level 4 bard. Currently third-wheeling two idiots with unresolved romantic tension. HP: emotionally fragile.”

Which meant he was currently saying things like:

“So technically, if a mermaid and a centaur fell in love, it wouldn’t work biomechanically—unless the centaur had water magic. But then we’re getting into hybrid reproduction lore and—”

“Heeseung,” Soobin said, staring directly at the window like he might phase through it if he concentrated hard enough, “I swear on all that is holy, if you finish that sentence, I’m leaving this car mid-highway.”

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered from the front seat. “Is this what I signed up for?”

“Biomechanical lore,” Jungwon repeated blankly, like the words had personally offended him.

Y/N, to Soobin’s horror, was covering her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh. She wasn’t even pretending to be above it. In fact, she leaned her head back, shook with silent laughter, then looked out the window with the smug satisfaction of someone watching a rom-com from a comfortable distance. She hadn’t said a single nerdy thing out loud, and somehow Soobin knew she was enjoying this more than anyone.

Heeseung, unaware that he was the human embodiment of a third-wheel side quest, adjusted his bucket hat with all the wisdom of a man who believed he was being helpful.

“It’s a valid theoretical scenario,” he said, munching on a pretzel stick. “Hybrid offspring are always complicated. You have to consider lineage, environment, whether the mermaid lays eggs or—”

“I WILL EXIT THIS VEHICLE,” Soobin snapped, “AND LET THE HIGHWAY DECIDE MY FATE.”

“Hey, hey,” Giselle interrupted, spinning around in her seat with all the energy of a courtroom attorney. “Let’s pivot. I want to know more about you, Soobin.”

Soobin blinked. “What?”

“You’re too quiet. That makes you suspicious,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Are you mysterious on purpose? Or just emotionally repressed?”

“Oh, he is just emotionally repressed,” Heeseung offered cheerfully.

Soobin sighed, forehead pressed to the cool window like he might absorb some chill through osmosis. “Why do you talk like this?”

“Because I’m right,” Heeseung said.

“Okay, back to me,” Giselle said, dramatically flipping an imaginary notepad. “Soobin. Zodiac sign. Go.”

Soobin paused, vaguely aware that this was a trap.

“…Sagittarius?”

“Oh my god,” Giselle gasped. “You’re a Sagittarius? That explains everything.”

“What does that even mean?” Soobin asked, deeply alarmed.

“It means you probably ran away from a confession once and then spent three years thinking about it in the shower,” she said.

Soobin opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it.

Y/N’s face turned toward the window. He could still see her smile in the reflection.

“Okay next one,” Giselle said, finger pointed. “Hogwarts house.”

“Why are we doing this,” Soobin mumbled.

“Because I’m building your dating profile,” she replied. “Now answer. House?”

“…Ravenclaw.”

“Duh. Called that in my soul. Quiet on the outside, brain doing 90 tabs of overthinking. Sexy.”

“Please stop saying sexy in a moving vehicle,” Jungwon muttered from the front, grinning. “But to be fair, Soobin kinda gives Huffle-Puff”.

“Alright, most important question,” Giselle said, all false innocence. “How many girlfriends have you had?”

Soobin, to his credit, didn’t immediately choke.

But something in his brain definitely short-circuited. Like a little man in a control room frantically pressing buttons while all the alarms went off at once.

Girlfriends.

Girlfriends?

Him?

Why would she ask that? Why would anyone ask that? Why did he suddenly forget how to breathe? He blinked, staring straight ahead like the headrest in front of him might open a portal to another universe. One where Heeseung had lost his voice and Soobin wasn’t being emotionally disrobed in a moving vehicle.

He considered lying. Just a little. Something vague and impressive. Maybe say he’d had a long-distance relationship in high school. France, perhaps. Or a girl he met at a debate tournament who fell in love with his passion for obscure historical conflicts.

But no. He couldn’t do it. Not when Heeseung was sitting two feet away with a memory like an elephant and the moral integrity of a Twitter thread.

He sighed.

“…None,” he admitted, voice tight like it was being squeezed through a straw.

And that’s when Heeseung exploded.

He burst into violent, uncontrollable laughter.

Like, doubled over. Full-volume. Possibly wheezing.

“Oh my GOD,” he gasped, slapping his knee. “I’m sorry, I just—Soobin with a girlfriend? That’s like watching a cat try to drive a forklift.”

“I hate you,” Soobin said, tone flat, ears bright red.

“He once practiced holding hands with a Luffy plushie,” Heeseung continued.

“I WAS YOUNG!”

Heeseung wiped a tear from his eye. “It wasn't that long ago bro. And recently you've been calling a name–”

“SHUT UP,” Soobin urged, and then—because he had to retaliate—turned to Giselle and added, “Heeseung writes fanfiction.”

The car exploded in sound.

“I KNEW IT!” Giselle shrieked.

“BRO,” Jungwon yelled. “What fandom?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Heeseung said coolly, pulling his hood over his face.

“Oh, I know what he’s talking about,” Soobin said, vengeful and smug. “Your AO3 handle is RogueSniper94, don’t act brand new.”

“EXCUSE ME—”

“You wrote 23k words of slow burn enemies-to-lovers about two wizards named Kyo and Ashur who couldn’t touch because of a magical curse—”

“THAT WAS A WORK OF ART,” Heeseung yelled, voice cracking.

Eventually, the laughter settled.

The car had gone quiet in that rare and beautiful way where no one felt the need to talk.

The kind of silence that hummed beneath your skin. Filled with sunlight and the low thrum of the tires and the faintest scent of sea salt starting to creep in through the open windows. Giselle scrolled through songs with lazy fingers. Jungwon had one arm hanging out the driver’s side, humming under his breath, content.

Soobin had almost relaxed. Almost.

Heeseung, having been suspiciously quiet for a suspiciously long amount of time, sat up suddenly like a robot coming back online and declared, loudly:

“I had a girlfriend once.”

The car jumped.

Giselle turned slowly in her seat. “What.”

Jungwon let out a choked laugh. “Sorry—what?”

Soobin stared at him. “No you didn’t.”

“I did!” Heeseung insisted, now fully alert and far too confident for a man wearing socks with tiny pixelated dragons. “Her name was… Maybelline.”

“Like the makeup?” Y/N asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

“She was French,” Heeseung said, crossing his arms. “We met in a League of Legends lobby.”

Soobin pressed a hand over his face. “You absolute liar.”

“She lived in Marseille,” Heeseung continued, unbothered. “She mained Lux. We were star-crossed. It was beautiful.”

Giselle snorted. “Did you two ever meet in person?”

Heeseung hesitated. “...She didn’t believe in cameras.”

“Oh my God,” Jungwon wheezed.

“Okay, so just to recap,” Soobin said, voice muffled behind his palm. “Your imaginary French LoL girlfriend, Maybelline—named after a mascara brand—ghosted you through a voice chat?”

“She didn’t ghost me,” Heeseung muttered. “She just stopped logging in. Maybe she was kidnapped by enemy agents. We had enemies.”

“You were level 12 and playing ARAM,” Soobin said. “Your only enemy was rage-quitting.”

“I’m telling you,” Heeseung said, eyes distant now, gazing out the window like a man remembering a war only he had fought. “She had this laugh. Like... the echo of a potion exploding in a fantasy tavern.”

Silence.

Y/N leaned forward, choking on a laugh. “Okay, you have to write poetry.”

“I do!” Heeseung replied, triumphant. “In my Druid’s backstory notes. One was a haiku about a cursed harp. It made Beomgyu cry.”

“I can’t breathe,” Giselle said, laughing so hard her head hit the headrest. “You guys are actually insane.”

Heeseung just leaned back, smug. “I bring mystery. Romance. Lore.”

“You bring trauma,” Soobin said.

Jungwon, who hadn’t stopped laughing, reached to turn the volume up and said, “This trip is already perfect.”

And in that moment, with the wind in their hair and the playlist shifting into something bright and fast, with Giselle laughing, Y/N hiding her face behind her hand, Heeseung looking far too proud of himself, and Jungwon driving like they were chasing a dream—Soobin felt it too.

This was it.

This was the memory.

Already golden, even as it was happening.

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The gravel crunched under the tires as Jungwon pulled into the long driveway, music still thumping faintly from the speakers. The beach house loomed ahead like a summer dream—whitewashed walls, a big wraparound porch, and windows so wide open they looked like the house itself was exhaling.

Soobin sat stiffly in the back seat, gripping his water bottle like it might keep him from passing out. He was already overheated—mentally, emotionally, spiritually. His leg was doing that nervous bounce thing, even though they’d been on the road for hours. Y/N sat beside Heeseung, sunglasses sliding slightly down her nose, smiling lazily like this was just another day. Like they weren’t pulling up to the most intimidating social experiment of his life.

Still in the car, the first one he saw was Jay in his usual half-unbuttoned shirt and sunglasses he definitely didn’t need, strumming air guitar dramatically like his entrance required a backing track. Karina followed in a matching linen co-ord set, dewy and radiant, with enough sunscreen on to reflect satellites, already directing traffic like someone’s glamorous aunt who refused to be sunburned or emotionally inconvenienced. Sunoo skipped out after her, arms wide like a cartoon welcome committee, already mid-monologue about how his swimsuit had been personally blessed by Beyoncé.

From the porch, Beomgyu was hanging upside down from the railing like a raccoon who’d discovered Red Bull. “WHO DARES DISTURB MY KINGDOM,” he shouted, cackling.

Sunghoon, for his part, was hiding in a corner of the house where, according to his very scientific calculations, the sunlight couldn’t possibly reach him. The curtains were drawn, the shadows were deep, and he was positioned so precisely behind a potted plant that it looked like he was part of the decor.

Leehan had tried to reassure him earlier. “You can go in the sun, you know. Your skin won’t melt. You won’t develop a rare light-triggered illness. I ran the numbers.”

And while Sunghoon understood that, rationally, he was not a vampire… the level of his paleness was still concerning to everyone involved. Including the wildlife.

Hueningkai, however, was not convinced. Wearing his Ben 10 board shorts like a badge of honor and sipping juice from a reusable straw shaped like a lightsaber, he peeked around the corner, whispering, “He’s lurking. That’s vampire behavior.”

“You’ve seen him in sunlight like four times,” Taehyun said without looking up.

“Four times too few,” Hueningkai muttered, sounding like he was about to scribble something in a small notebook titled The Truth About Sunghoon.

Meanwhile, Taehyun was sitting at the dining table, lazily spinning a bottle of sunscreen between his fingers as he watched the scene across the room unfold like a particularly awkward teen drama.

Yeonjun, still in denial about the existence of Jay, was trying to impress Yunjin. Badly. He was leaning against the kitchen counter like a man who thought eyeliner gave him emotional depth, waxing poetic about the lore of My Chemical Romance. All this while very much showing how inexperienced he was with girls.

“I mean, you think The Black Parade is about death,” he said, gesturing with his iced coffee like it was a wand. “But really, it’s about transformation. It’s theatrical nihilism wrapped in post-traumatic catharsis.”

Taehyun blinked. “Did you just say ‘post-traumatic catharsis’ out loud?”

Yeonjun ignored him.

Yunjin sipped her drink with one eyebrow raised. “Interesting. Do you also analyze Fall Out Boy lyrics in your free time?”

Yeonjun straightened his already aggressively unbuttoned shirt. “Only when I’m feeling vulnerable.”

Outside, the sun blazed golden and bright, the air thick with salt and sunscreen. Waves crashed in the distance. Laughter echoed from the porch. Inside the beach house, it smelled faintly of coconut shampoo, watermelon popsicles, and summertime. That strange little pocket of time—full of Ben 10 shorts, shadow-dwelling maybe-vampires, and musical lore debates—summer was alive and thriving.

The front door burst open before the car had even stopped.

"THEY'RE HERE!" Jake’s voice rang out like a battle horn.

The porch erupted.

“Finally!” Jake called, bursting through the front door like someone had just announced free concert tickets. “We were starting to think Jungwon panicked halfway here and abandoned the car on the side of the road.”

He swung the screen door open dramatically as Y/N stepped up onto the porch, grinning.

“Nah,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses. “He just did that thing he always does when he’s nervous driving.”

“Let me guess,” Jake replied. “He ran a red light and whispered ‘we ride at dawn’ under his breath?”

“Worse,” Giselle added, climbing the porch steps behind her and immediately accepting a margarita from Karina, who looked like a beach goddess casually moonlighting as a bartender. “He sped ten miles over the limit and prayed to the spirit of cruise control.”

“He also yelled ‘vibe shift!’ during a left turn,” Y/N said.

From inside the house came a muffled voice: “IT WAS A U-TURN AND I WAS BEING ASSERTIVE.”

“We’re alive,” Giselle offered cheerfully. “Barely.”

And then, as if summoned by the summer gods themselves, a figure emerged from the far side of the yard—barefoot, shirtless, and covered in sand and wisdom.

Niki.

His hair was windswept. A leaf was stuck to his collarbone. He carried a bundle of driftwood in one hand and a mango in the other, as if they were equally important tools in his communion with the elements.

“I have returned,” he said solemnly. “I searched the dunes. The crabs spoke to me. They said, ‘The druid has arrived.’”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

From the open, Heeseung, already inside, stuck his head out. “That’s me.”

“Oh no” Soobin whispered.

Everyone turned.

Heeseung shrugged like it was obvious. “I’m the druid.”

Niki gasped, eyes shining. “I knew it.”

“I mean, I’m not physically trained,” Heeseung added. “But I dabble.”

Niki cried, dropping to one knee. “He sees the ley lines.”

“I actually do,” Heeseung said. “They run under the living room. That’s why the Wi-Fi sucks there.”

Sunoo groaned. “You’ve known him for five seconds, and you’ve already enabled him.”

Beomgyu grinned. “And it’s beautiful.”

“Can someone please stop this?” Taehyun asked, already regretting everything.

“No,” Karina replied, sipping from her cup. “This is gold.”

Jake clapped his hands like a kindergarten teacher trying to wrangle chaos. “Okay, now that the forest druid has been identified and all parties are here, let’s talk room assignments!”

Soobin froze.

The group shuffled toward the living room like a pack of over-caffeinated toddlers. Chips crunched underfoot. Hueningkai was still dragging a cardboard box labeled “Essential Items” (which everyone knew was full of dice and plushies). The windows were cracked open and the scent of sunscreen, ocean air, and seven different types of snacks swirled together into something uniquely beach house-y.

“Alright,” Jake said, hopping up onto the coffee table with the natural confidence of a man who had absolutely orchestrated something. “Since some of us,” he gave a dramatic look at Soobin’s group, “decided to arrive fashionably late, we took the liberty of figuring out rooms for you guys.”

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

Soobin stood behind her, arms stiff at his sides, trying not to look like he was on the verge of passing out.

“You’re gonna love it,” Beomgyu added, already cracking up.

“He is gonna love it so bad it hurts” Sunoo offered with a wink.

Karina raised her hand like she was testifying. “And it encourages emotional growth and narrative development.”

Soobin’s stomach flipped.

No. No, no, no. He knew that tone. That was the same tone Heeseung used when introducing a D&D quest that started with “you enter the cave” and ended with everyone on fire.

Yunjin looked directly at Soobin. “You trust us, right?”

He blinked. “I—uh—what?”

Jake held up his phone like he was reading a sacred text.“Room One: Me and Sunoo. Room Two: Jay and Jungwon. Room Three: Karina, Yunjin, Niki and Giselle. Room Four: Yeonjun, Taehyun, Sunghoon. Room Five: Heeseung, Hueningkai, Leehan and Beomgyu. And...”

He paused.

Soobin’s heartbeat spiked.

“Room Six…” Jake grinned, “...Y/N and Soobin.”

Soobin forgot how to breathe.

The world tilted slightly. Oh, so this is how I die.

“I’m sorry—what,” he said, voice cracking like he was being hit with puberty all over again.

“Oh my god,” Beomgyu cackled. “He’s actually going to short-circuit.”

“I knew he’d react like this,” Sunghoon whispered from the shadows.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is it a problem?”

“No! I mean—yes. I mean—” Soobin looked around wildly. “Did you guys roll dice for this? Flip a coin? Use a cursed artifact?”

“We voted,” Jake said proudly. “Democracy is alive and well.”

Y/N smirked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Well, I’m chill with it.”

That did not help.

Soobin was currently going through all five stages of grief in the span of thirty seconds.

He had never shared a room with a girl before. Not in real life. Not in fanfiction. Not in his most terrifying dreams. And now it was Y/N. Y/N. The human embodiment of everything lovely and terrifying. The girl who made him forget his name on a daily basis and smell citrus shampoo every time she passed by. The girl who had smiled at him once and singlehandedly rebooted his will to live.

And now he was supposed to... sleep in the same room as her?

He was going to die.

Heeseung clapped him on the back. “Just remember to breathe through your nose.”

“Okay, okay,” Jake waved them toward the stairs. “Off you go. The room has an ocean view, good Wi-Fi, and a decent lock in case Niki tries to commune with the sea spirit again.”

Niki, from the corner: “Gerald Two is sacred. Respect his journey.”

Beomgyu smiled at him, nodding to Leehan. “You two are gonna have a blast together.”

The group had mostly dispersed by now—Sunoo and Giselle were already raiding the snack cabinet, Jay and Jungwon were arguing over who got the top bunk, and Karina was doing a room inspection like she was reviewing a five-star hotel. The chaos shifted to background noise, like the house itself had swallowed everyone into their respective corners.

Soobin stood frozen on the stairs.

Still reeling.

Still sweating.

Still very much processing the fact that he was about to share a room—with a single bed—with Y/N.

Y/N, who was currently chatting with Yunjin near the hallway, totally unfazed. Casual. Effortlessly cool, like this was nothing to her. Like this wasn’t a monumental, earth-shattering shift in the gravitational pull of Soobin’s entire life.

He leaned toward Heeseung, lowering his voice to a whisper so no one else would hear.

“What if I snore?” he hissed. “What if I kick in my sleep? What if I say something weird like—like ‘critical hit’ or something?!”

Heeseung, who was already peeling open Jay's protein bar –which, to be fair, he thought it was a chocolate bar– with the calm of someone watching a nervous breakdown in 4K, blinked once. “You definitely will.” He then choked on the said protein bar, cause of course he never tried something so healthy.

Soobin groaned.

Because yes—he had talked in his sleep before. Once during a D&D weekend, he’d mumbled a full recap of the campaign arc in his dreams. They’d never let him live it down. What if it happened now? What if he rolled over at 3 a.m. and whispered “perception check” into her ear?

What if he drooled?

What if she had, like, pajamas that made her look cute and cozy and unreasonably perfect and he forgot how to sleep entirely?

Heeseung leaned against the railing, grinning. “Soobin. You’re spiraling.”

“No,” Soobin whispered, eyes wide. “I’m just—falling off a cliff internally.”

“Same thing.”

Soobin looked over at Y/N again. She’d already picked up her bag, smiling at something Sunghoon said. Her laugh was easy and bright, like she was already at home here.

She wasn’t nervous.

He was the only one nervous.

He was the only one having a full psychological collapse about shared bed proximity and the way her shampoo smelled like citrus and sunshine and emotional risk.

Heeseung clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Just don’t moan her name while you sleep.”

“Please don’t make this weird,” Soobin begged.

“It’s already weird,” Heeseung said. “Lean into it.”

Soobin dragged his suitcase up the last few stairs like it weighed a thousand pounds, heart pounding like it was trying to punch through his ribcage.

There was still time to fake a leg injury.

Or a spontaneous vow of celibate solitude that required him to sleep outdoors for spiritual reasons.

But then Y/N turned around and met his eyes—just for a second—and smiled. Not a smug smile. Just... soft. Like she already knew he was having an internal meltdown and had chosen not to call him out on it.

And somehow, that made it worse.

He was, very possibly, going to say ‘dexterity saving throw’ in his sleep while absolutely falling in love with her all over again.

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Room Six was down the hall, last door on the left. It had a little seashell hanging from the handle and a hand-written sign Beomgyu had taped to it that said “DO NOT HAUNT. IN USE.”

Soobin internally groaned.

Y/N opened the door first, humming. “Wow. It’s actually cute.”

Soobin hovered behind her, carrying his duffel bag like a man delivering a bomb. The room was cute. Wooden floors. A window cracked open to let in the ocean breeze. String lights hung loosely across the ceiling like a constellation map, probably Sunoo’s doing. The bed—a single queen-sized fortress of imminent doom—sat neatly against the far wall, draped in soft white sheets and a stupidly cozy-looking blanket.

One bed.

Confirmed.

No escape.

Y/N dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, then flopped down face-first with a sigh. “This house smells like sunscreen and Malibu Liquor. I love it.”

Soobin stood in the doorway, frozen. “Y-you’re okay with the bed?”

She rolled over to look at him. “I mean, unless you snore like a tractor or plan on doing medieval wizard chants in your sleep, I think we’ll survive.”

He blinked. “Define medieval wizard chants.”

Y/N grinned. “You’ve said ‘Avengers Assemble’ in your sleep before. Don’t deny it.”

“I HAVE NOT.”

“You have vibes, Soobin.”

Soobin closed the door behind him, cautiously, like the act itself sealed some sort of romantic pact. He dropped his bag beside hers and hovered awkwardly, eyes flicking to the bed, then away, then back again like it might attack him.

“Do you want the left side?” he asked. “Or the right? Or... the floor? I can sleep on the floor. It’s not weird. People do it in, like, movies. For honor.”

She tilted her head, amused. “You think sleeping on hardwood floors is honorable?”

“Maybe?”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Soobin.”

Soobin blushed. “I just… didn’t want to assume.”

She patted the mattress beside her. “We’re adults. And besides, it’s big enough. Look—we could lie down right now and probably not even touch.”

He absolutely could not lie down right now. And if he could, he was even more certain he couldn't help but touch her.

Instead, he busied himself unpacking like his life depended on sock organization. Why the hell would he bring so many socks to the beach? “Okay, uh… I brought snacks. And chargers. And toothpaste. Two. In case one of them… explodes.”

She sat up, cross-legged. “That’s very responsible of you.”

“I was a Boy Scout,” he mumbled, still digging through his duffel. “Until they kicked me out for accidentally lighting a marshmallow on fire inside a tent.”

Y/N laughed. “That actually explains a lot.”

She stood, stretching like a cat in the sunlight, arms raised above her head, hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Her hair fell lazily over one shoulder, catching the afternoon glow that poured in through the window, and when she smiled—soft and effortless—it hit Soobin like a slow-moving train.

It was a mistake to look up. A crucial, life-altering, heart-rate-spiking mistake.

Because she was beautiful.

Not the kind of beautiful you see in movies—though, to be fair, she could have been cast as the love interest in every film he’d ever secretly cried to, Star Wars included. No, it was worse than that. She was the kind of beautiful that made time hiccup. The kind that made your breath catch even when you already knew how pretty she was. Somehow, she just kept doing it, reminding him every second of how beautiful she was. Reminding him of the things she does–being real, being close, being so her—and it wrecked him all over again.

And that smile. That soft, summer-laced curve of her lips like she had no idea what she was doing to him—or maybe she did.

Soobin’s heart launched into his throat, bouncing around like it wanted out. His brain short-circuited. His soul ascended briefly to heaven.

Because she wasn’t just pretty.

She was the girl he’d kissed on a porch under a summer sky and in his bed after noticing the way he organized his shelves.

And he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Not for one second.

The way she’d leaned in with that quiet certainty. The way her hand had cupped his cheek like she meant it. He’d replayed it every night like it was his favorite scene in a movie he wasn’t supposed to watch more than once. He’d kissed a pillow in embarrassment later. He’d questioned reality. He’d almost texted Yeonjun about it at 3 a.m. before remembering he already panicked to him before

Soobin memorized every part of her he could touch, while in his bed, alone, couldn't stop wondering about the ones he hadn't touched yet.

And now she was here. In the same room. The same bed.

Soobin could feel himself spiraling.

Would she want to kiss him again?

Did she even remember it the same way?

Would something happen tonight? Would they... would she—

She caught him staring.

Her brows lifted, head tilting with a mix of curiosity and something almost teasing. “What?”

His throat dried instantly.

His first instinct was to panic. His second was to dive under the bed. But somewhere, buried under five layers of anxiety and social ineptitude, a flash of boldness sparked through.

And before he could stop himself—before his brain could scream ABORT, ABORT,—

Soobin said it.

“You look so, so, so pretty.”

It came out soft. Honest. A little breathless.

She blinked.

He blinked back.

His stomach dropped. Oh god.

But then—slowly—she smiled.

Not just smiled. Smiled in that way. The kind that curled at the edges. The kind that made her eyes crinkle just a little. The kind that made Soobin’s blood pressure skyrocket.

“Yeah?” she said, voice low, just slightly amused.

Soobin could only nod, his mouth suddenly too dry to function. “Yeah. I mean—you always do. It’s just... you. Right now. With the sun. And... you.”

Dear diary, today I died.

Just as Y/N was about to say something else, Jay’s voice thundered from downstairs,

"Drop whatever you're doing! I don't care what it is—sun’s out, we got drinks and it's beach time! You can continue your little romance later!"

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The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time they all made it to the beach — the kind of late afternoon light that made everything look cinematic, like the world itself was glowing from the inside out. That golden hour glow stretched across the shore like a soft filter, painting their skin in honeyed tones and turning every movement into something worth remembering.

The sand was still warm beneath their feet, heat clinging to it from the day, soft and fine like powdered sugar. It squished between their toes, clung to the hems of shorts, and crept into every flip-flop with committed mischief. The ocean glittered just ahead, stretching out into an endless watercolor of deep blue and copper, waves curling gently toward the shore like the sea was sighing in contentment.

Seagulls cried overhead, not obnoxiously, but like a distant part of the soundtrack — and somewhere down the beach, a radio played a muffled Pitbull track from someone else’s beach towel kingdom.

The air smelled like summer itself: sea salt and coconut sunscreen, watermelon seltzers cracked open with fizzing enthusiasm, and the faintest trace of charcoal from grills scattered further down the coast. The breeze carried it all, lifting loose strands of hair, making T-shirts flutter, and rustling the beach umbrellas like oversized flowers shaking in the wind.

It was chaotic. Loud. Alive.

Towels were flung in random formations, coolers popped open with the hiss of carbonation and shouts of "WHO PACKED THE VODKA GUMMY BEARS," and bags were dumped in the sand with reckless glee. Someone had already lost a flip-flop. Someone else had claimed a seagull made eye contact with them—it was Hueningkai.

And into that golden, buzzing, too-perfect-to-be-real moment came this group — all of them, dragging laughter and drama and sunscreen-sticky hands, the kind of group that left footprints in the sand and changed the temperature of the space they occupied. It felt like a movie. A summer episode. Something you’d remember long after the tan lines faded.

Sunghoon stood under a giant umbrella he had speared dramatically into the sand, wrapped in a towel like a vampire in exile.

“I’m burning,” he said.

“You’re fine,” said Yeonjun, who was already shirtless and halfway buried in the sand by Taehyun, who claimed it was "for thermal regulation."

“My skin is hissing, listen you can actually hear it,” Sunghoon continued, eyes narrowed at the horizon. “This is how it starts. A freckle. Then spontaneous combustion.”

“Okay Edward Cullen,” Yunjin muttered. “You’re wearing like SPF 180.”

“I don’t trust it.”

Meanwhile, Hueningkai proudly marched across the sand like a tiny, hyper-focused general, wearing his Ben 10 swim trunks like ceremonial armor and holding a massive Pokémon beach towel above his head like a battle flag.

“Ben Tennyson is canonically the most powerful character in fiction,” he declared, loudly and to no one in particular.

From a few feet away, Heeseung, who was currently crouched behind a poorly constructed sand barricade, stuck his head out like a soldier in a foxhole. “We’ve been over this,” he said. “Twice. In two group chats. And during your birthday party.”

“AND YOU’VE YET TO REFUTE ME WITH FACTS,” Hueningkai yelled, planting his towel into the sand like he was claiming territory.

Beomgyu, who was lying flat on his stomach beside a growing sand mound, like a soldier on a barricade, turned his head. “Did you seriously bring that towel just for this moment?”

“I bring it everywhere,” Hueningkai replied, dead serious. “For moments just like this.”

“Ben 10 is literally just a dude with a watch,” Jay said, walking past them and adjusting his sunglasses. “He’s a guy with Google Maps for aliens.”

Hueningkai gasped. “Slander. You speak lies Mr. Jawline.”

“I’m just saying, Goku would fold him like laundry.”

Hueningkai seemed to consider this for a second, perhaps rich boy with a Rolex in the sand had just made a valid point.

“Goku is kinda unbeatable,” Y/N offered, flopping onto a towel nearby and sipping from a juice pouch like this was cable TV. “But Ben’s transformation montage? Top tier.”

“I respect the alien drip,” Soobin said thoughtfully.

“You know what? Thank you,” Hueningkai pointed dramatically at him. “Real recognize real.”

Soobin gave a half-wave, unsure what he had just agreed to.

That's when the real battle exploded next to them.

“YOU STOLE MY SHOVEL,” Beomgyu bellowed, leaping to his feet with sand clinging to his elbows like war paint.

“It’s a communal shovel you asshole,” Heeseung yelled back, wielding said shovel like a sword. “You left it unattended. Possession is nine-tenths of the sand law!”

“COMMUNAL THIS—!” Beomgyu shouted, launching a sandball directly at Heeseung’s chest. It disintegrated mid-air like a soggy comet.

“YOU THROW LIKE A LEVEL ONE ELF,” Heeseung cackled, dodging behind a beach umbrella.

From across the dunes, Jake came sprinting in like a referee who had lost control of the match 40 minutes ago. His T-shirt was tied around his head like a pirate bandana, and he held a mostly empty cooler in one hand. “STOP! YOU’RE GETTING SAND IN THE DRINKS!”

“I SWEAR BY THE MOON,” Heeseung screamed, holding the shovel aloft, “I WILL BURY HIM.”

“YOU CAN��T BURY ME IF I BECOME THE SEA,” Beomgyu shouted, sprinting toward the ocean like a man possessed.

“Oh my god,” Y/N whispered, laughing so hard she was wheezing. “I feel like I’m watching the live-action reboot of Finding Nemo, but every character is The Joker”

“I think they’re just reenacting their battle fantasies,” Soobin muttered, brushing sand off his knee. “Through interpretive beach violence.”

“Are we helping?” Jay asked. “I'm new at nerd territory”

“Not even a little,” Soobin replied.

“Perfect.”

Meanwhile, Karina and Giselle sat cross-legged on their towels with the air of queens observing a carnival, sipping canned margaritas while Leehan crouched in front of them with a horseshoe crab in his hand like it was a sacred artifact.

“So this one’s technically not a crab,” he said, adjusting his bucket hat with academic precision. “It’s more closely related to spiders. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Is it venomous?” Giselle asked, eyeing it like it might explode.

“No.”

“Then it’s adorable,” Karina said. “He’s shaped like a friend.”

“It’s a she,” Leehan corrected. “Her tail is thinner. Also, she probably predates the dinosaurs.”

“Kind of iconic,” Giselle said. “A woman with prehistoric energy? Love that.”

“I wish I was her,” Karina added. “I, too, want to vibe in the ocean for 400 million years.”

Niki crouched beside them, wide-eyed. “Does it have healing properties?”

“Biologically? No,” Leehan said. “But spiritually? Possibly.”

“So we can’t train it,” Niki said, disappointed. “Unless…?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Y/N said as Niki ran off yelling something about building a sea wizard army.

Off to the side of the chaos, where the sand was cooler and the wind rustled the beach grass just enough to make it dramatic, Taehyun had now established what could only be described as a pop-up magic lounge.

There was no sign.

No announcement.

Just Taehyun, cross-legged on a beach towel, slowly shuffling a deck of cards with the deadly precision of someone who’d spent way too many Friday nights alone in front of YouTube tutorials.

In front of him sat Sunoo, Jungwon, and Yunjin, his victims, all with various degrees of skepticism and mild curiosity. Sunoo had a margarita in hand. Jungwon was already squinting like he was being scammed. Yunjin had pulled her sunglasses down her nose and was watching like it was the pre-show to a roast.

“Pick a card,” Taehyun said calmly, fanning the deck out like a professional.

Sunoo leaned in dramatically, plucking one with flourish. “It’s gonna be the best card.”

“Don’t let me see it.”

“Duh.”

Taehyun closed the fan, tapped the deck twice on the towel like it was sacred. “Now... place it back.”

Sunoo slipped the card into the deck with exaggerated suspicion. “If you pull this off, I’ll buy you a churro.”

“I don’t want a churro,” Taehyun said. “I want respect.”

Yunjin snorted.

Taehyun began shuffling.

Not normal shuffling.

No, this was elaborate, showy, magician shuffling — bridge shuffles, one-handed cuts, the kind of stuff that looked unnecessary but somehow deeply impressive.

“You practiced that in a mirror,” Jungwon said.

“For weeks,” Taehyun replied solemnly. “I have a performance alter ego.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“His name is Thaedini the Subtle.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Yunjin started choking on her drink. “Thaedini.”

“Don’t disrespect the art,” Taehyun said seriously, dealing out cards in a perfectly straight line like a wizard accountant.

“Are you gonna pull a dove out of your pocket next?” Jungwon asked.

“Can’t. It’s illegal without a permit,” Taehyun said, deadly serious. “Also I’m allergic.”

“Okay, wait,” Sunoo said, pointing. “You’re telling me there’s a government form for bird magic?”

Taehyun raised one eyebrow. “Do your research.”

He picked up the deck again. One more shuffle. Then he paused. Looked Sunoo dead in the eyes.

“Your card,” he said, “was the Queen of Hearts.”

Sunoo’s jaw dropped. “NO.”

Taehyun flipped it around slowly—like it had emerged from another dimension—and held it up.

It was, in fact, the Queen of Hearts.

Sunoo screamed.

Jungwon dropped his drink.

Yunjin actually stood and backed away like she’d witnessed dark sorcery.

Taehyun just nodded once. “Thaedini never misses.”

“DO IT AGAIN,” Sunoo shrieked. “I TRUST NOTHING.”

“You said you didn’t want a churro,” Jungwon said, shaking his head.

“I lied,” Taehyun said. “I want power.”

“Okay, but how did you do it,” Yunjin demanded.

“I’ll never tell.”

Sunoo flopped backwards in the sand, hands over his face. “He’s going to haunt me. I know he is.”

Taehyun carefully slid the deck back into its satin pouch like it was a cursed object, then calmly reached for a juice box. “Next show’s at sunset.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

The beach house was quiet now — or as quiet as it could get with fifteen people slowly melting into beds, couches, and spare corners like sun-drenched puddles of exhaustion. The floor creaked under flip-flopless feet. Towels were draped over chairs, swimsuits hung on doorknobs, and sand had somehow made its way into every room like a clingy friend no one had invited but everyone tolerated.

The air smelled like salt and sunscreen and faint hints of charcoal from the abandoned grill. Someone’s speaker still played a lo-fi beat from the porch, looping softly under the hush of ocean waves just beyond the windows. The kind of hush that made your limbs heavy. That golden, giddy energy from earlier had simmered down into something quieter. Drowsier. People were laughing in half-sentences, brushing their teeth slowly, slipping into pajamas and collapsing wherever gravity was strongest.

Soobin stood frozen in the doorway of Room Six, blinking at the glow of string lights and the bed that was somehow smaller than it had looked that morning. Everything about the room felt warmer. Closer. Like it had absorbed the sun, the salt, and the knowledge that he was about to sleep beside Y/N — the girl he was hopelessly in love with. How the hell did he get here?

She was already inside. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked under her, hoodie swapped for a tank top, hair up in that casual way that sent actual neurons in Soobin’s brain into chaos. She looked tired in the best way — soft and sun-kissed, skin still glowing faintly from the afternoon light. Her voice was quiet when she looked up and said, “You survived the first day in the wild.”

Soobin nodded, heart thudding. “Barely.”

“Wanna sit?” she asked, patting the bed beside her.

He did. He sat.

Technically.

He perched, really — stiff-backed, knees together, looking like one of those inflatables on the side of the road that you just know shouldn't exist.

Y/N laughed under her breath and turned to face him. “You look like you’re about to recite the Pythagorean theorem. You're overthinking.”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a very... cozy bed.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just don’t want to, like, make you uncomfy. Or take too much space. Or breathe weird.”

“You can breathe, Soobin.”

He blinked. “Are you sure?”

She leaned a little closer. “I’ve seen you asleep on the manga shop beanbags. You snore when you're comfortable.”

His soul briefly left his body. “Oh my god.”

“But,” she said, smile turning slightly wicked, “it’s kind of cute.”

Soobin’s brain short-circuited. His heart was trying to burst through his chest with a small mallet. His knee twitched nervously.

She looked at him then — really looked — and something shifted in the air.

The kind of shift that came with shadows and lowered voices, with soft lighting and bare shoulders, with a bed too small for distance and too big for denial.

Y/N reached out, brushing a piece of hair from his face — slow, casual, lethal.

Soobin inhaled like someone had punched the wind into him.

“You’re nervous,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Extremely.”

“Want me to back off?”

He swallowed. “No.”

She smiled.

And for a moment, they just looked at each other — no rush, no noise, just the hum of string lights, the distant sea, and the kind of awareness that vibrated like tension in a taut wire.

Y/N shifted closer, until her knee touched his.

Until her hand rested on his thigh — light, easy, but full of potential.

Soobin’s hands stayed in his lap, fingers twitching. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered.

He finally turned toward her — fully, finally — and something about the way she was watching him, all softness and spark, gave him a flicker of courage. He reached up, brushing her cheekbone lightly with his knuckles, and her eyes fluttered half-closed at the touch. Like she felt it too.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said, voice low.

“What thing?” he asked, already dizzy.

“The way you look at me. Like I’m going to vanish.”

He blinked. “Well. You do look kind of unreal right now.”

She let out a quiet laugh, flopping back on the bed, one hand folded under her cheek as she looked up at him. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious,” he whispered, lying down to face her, their noses barely a breath apart. “This feels like a fever dream. Just like the one I had every night since we kissed on that porch.”

She grinned. “Do you have dreams about me Soobin?”

“Every damn day I dream of you.”

He hesitated for half a second before gently threading his fingers through hers.

The room shifted again— just a little. The air. The light. His heart rate. His heart rate was skyrocketing.

“You’re very warm,” he said.

“That’s the sunburn.”

“No,” he said, looking at her mouth. “I think it's just you.”

A beat of silence. Her smile turned teasing.

“Are you flirting with me, Choi Soobin?”

“I’m trying,” he whispered.

“You’re doing great,” she said, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “Ten out of ten. Very romantic. Would kiss.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Soobin’s heart tripped over itself, slammed into his ribs, and exploded into oblivion.

He swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes darting to his lips, her voice barely a whisper now. “You gonna?”

And that was all he needed.

Nerves and all, he leaned in — slowly, reverently — like he was afraid the moment would slip away if he moved too fast. His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing just below her ear, and when their lips finally touched—

He stopped thinking entirely and it felt like he could breathe again.

She was soft. And warm. And tasted faintly like watermelon and salt and something sweet he couldn’t name but already wanted again.

Soobin kissed her like a secret.

Like he didn’t know what he was doing, but he did know he didn’t want to stop.

One of his hands slid down, resting cautiously on her waist, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of her tank top. He felt her smile against his lips — playful and steady — and her fingers tugged lightly at the hem of his T-shirt like a dare.

She kissed him back with slow confidence, like she had all the time in the world to unravel him.

And she was.

His mind was swimming — too much, too good, too close — and still, his hand moved on instinct, brushing her side, dragging fingertips up the curve of her back, slipping beneath the edge of her shirt just enough to feel her skin.

She was fire.

And he was very much not surviving this.

He was throbbing in pain as he could feel all the blood in his body go to his pants. And he was sure she felt it too.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes searching hers, voice so quiet it was almost a prayer. “This okay?”

Y/N smiled — the kind of smile that would ruin other smiles for him forever.

“More than okay.”

So he kissed her again.

This time, deeper. Slower. His body trembling with restraint he wasn’t sure he could maintain for too long, every brush of skin sending sparks down his spine. Her hand slid to his jaw, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth like she was learning him by touch.

Soobin wasn’t sure when he stopped breathing and started floating.

It could’ve been the moment her fingers found the hem of his shirt again, tugging just enough to make him dizzy. Or maybe it was when her mouth opened under his, soft and welcoming, tasting like heat and summer and something sweeter than anything he’d ever been allowed to want.

His hand found her hip — then her waist — then crept slowly, cautiously up her back. Each inch of skin he touched felt like forbidden territory. He’d only imagined this kind of closeness in half-formed dreams, ones he woke from too quickly, heart pounding, face flushed, mouth dry.

But now she was here.

Real.

Moving with him like they’d done this a hundred times before — like this wasn’t new, or terrifying, or something that would live in the soft-focus corner of his memory forever.

She shifted in his lap, straddling him with ease, and his hands immediately flew to her hips to steady her. Not because she was unbalanced — no, she was impossibly sure of herself — but because he needed grounding.

“Still good?” she whispered between kisses, her breath skating across his jaw.

Soobin nodded, speechless. His hands squeezed her hips once in response, and she giggled — not mockingly, but like she was genuinely delighted by the fact that he was so thoroughly wrecked.

And he was.

Wrecked, that is.

He kissed down her jaw, tentative but hungry, one hand slipping beneath her shirt again — this time bolder, trailing up the smooth warmth of her back, brushing the curve of her spine and then her upper side. Her skin was soft under his fingers, impossibly soft, and he swore his soul tried to exit his body when she shivered at his touch.

She tugged his shirt up — slowly, teasingly — and he let her pull it over his head, suddenly hyperaware of his own skin, his chest, the way her eyes flickered over him with a quiet kind of reverence that made his ears burn.

Then Y/N slowly took her own shirt off.

Soobin just stared, heavily breathing.

The string lights cast a soft glow around her. Her hair was slightly mussed, lips kiss-bitten, cheeks flushed from the heat of them. She looked at him like she’d never wanted anything more in her life — and like she already had it.

Soobin's hands rested on her thighs now, fingers splayed, and he realized with a rush of nervous wonder that she was letting him touch her like this. That she wanted him like this.

“Soobin” she murmured seemed lost in him.

He made a strangled noise, reaching for her. “You’re driving me crazy”

She smiled, pressing her lips to his collarbone. “Please, touch me.”

And he did. He touched her like he had been dreaming for days, his hands cupping her like he couldn't believe his life, couldn't believe she was real. Because how could she be?

When he thought he was finally able to calm his heartbeat, she let out the softest whimper, just as he reached a sensitive area of her chest. He moaned to the sound of her, already certain he would replay it for a lifetime in his head.

Y/N shifted.

Her kisses traveled lower — down his throat, across his shoulder, lingering just long enough to make him lose all rational thought. His fingers were on her waist, gripping tighter now, like he was scared she’d float away.

Then she leaned back — just enough — and pulled away from him.

Soobin blinked, breath ragged, already missing her warmth.

But then she shifted again — onto her knees — kneeling in front of him on the bed.

prev | masterlist | next

profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: hey yoooooo! happy late night posting from where i'm from hehe first chapter of the beach arc is here!! i think the car ride to the beach house might be the funniest thing i've ever written idk!! BUT ANYWAYSSS what do you guys think about his chapter?? hehehehe i'm giggling kicking my feet omg that was unexpected right? I couldn't resist including the one bed situation! please let me know in the comments <3 also reblogs are appreciated! thank you so much as alwaysss

taglist: @heejamas @mingyustar @wintereals @mimimiloomeelomi @wonderstrucktae @delirioastral @gomdoleemyson @i03jae @irishspringing @bunniwords @kirbrary @sirenla @saladgirl @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @uvyuri @imlonelydontsendhelp @haechology @sanriwoozzz @stormy1408 @soobinieswife @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobskz @jkeydiary @imnotsureokay @nyanzzn @lostgirlysstuff @lilbrorufr @beomgyusluver@lveegsoi@pagesoobinie @catpjimin @t-102 @sh0dor1 @i-am-not-dal @bbeomgyucafe @damn-u-min-yoongi @https-yeonjun @booksxandxlace @kookssecret @jellyyjn @soobinz-wife @dazeymazey11

#txt au #txt #txt fluff #txt x reader #soobin #choi soobin #txt x female reader #txt smau #soobin smau #soobin x reader #soobin x you #txt fake texts #txt imagines #soobin imagines

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midnightfict · 5 months ago

Text

A Star in the Making.

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Co-stars were caught in a whirlwind of off-screen chemistry.

A/N — this is a request that i rewrote the draft multiple times. the story request itself is sooo good but i feel this didn't live up to my expectations. hopefully, it's an enjoyable read though.

anon's request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

Lee Byung-hun sat at the long, polished table across from Kim Tae-ri and the production team, a script resting unopened in front of him. The meeting room buzzed with quiet anticipation as the director leaned forward, clearing his throat.

“So,” the director began, looking between Byung-hun and Tae-ri, “we’re finalizing casting for Our Fading Days. Ji-ho and Min-ji are set, but we’re still struggling with Ha-yoon.”

Kim Tae-ri, who got cast as Min-ji tilted her head. “Isn’t the screen test next week? I thought you had a shortlist already.”

The director sighed. “We do, but none of them quite fit. Ha-yoon is vital to the story. We need someone who embodies her hopeful, cheerful energy, but also has depth. Someone who can hold her own against Ji-ho’s quieter nature and make the audience feel that emotional connection.”

Byung-hun listened quietly, his fingers lightly drumming the table. “What’s the issue with the shortlist?” he asked.

“Either they have great chemistry with you but lack the character,” the director explained, “or have the character but can’t create the platonic bond Ji-ho and Ha-yoon need. We’re considering holding another round of auditions, but…”

The producer chimed in. “We’re running out of time. If either of you has recommendations, please send them our way.”

Kim Tae-ri raised a brow at Byung-hun. “Any ideas?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

That evening, Byung-hun walked home under the dim city lights. The meeting lingered in his mind. Casting Ha-yoon was proving difficult, and he wasn’t sure they’d find someone who could balance the character’s charm and vulnerability.

As he passed a local theater, he noticed the soft glow of lights through the windows. Something pulled at him—curiosity, maybe. Without thinking, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The auditorium was nearly empty, save for a handful of people rehearsing on stage. Byung-hun’s gaze locked on a young woman, her. She stood at the center, pouring raw emotion into a heartfelt scene. Her voice carried across the room, weaving between desperation and hope. The intensity in her eyes made the dialogue feel alive like she wasn’t just acting but being.

He didn’t know the play or her name, but he felt a pang of admiration. The way she transitioned from lighthearted to deeply emotional reminded him of Ha-yoon’s complexity.

When the scene ended, her laughter rang out as she joked with the cast. The shift was so effortless that it startled him. This wasn’t just an actress—this was Ha-yoon.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a stage crew member approached him. “Sorry, sir, rehearsals aren’t open to the public.”

Byung-hun nodded apologetically. “My mistake.”

As he walked out, he pulled out his phone and called the director. “I think I found the perfect Ha-yoon. Contact the Arko Arts Theater. You’ll know her when you see her.”

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Months passed, and filming for Our Fading Days was in full swing. You, cast as Ha-yoon, had been a bundle of nerves during your first few days on set. Transitioning from theater to television was daunting, but Byung-hun made it easier.

From the start, he was supportive, sharing tips, running lines, and reassuring you when you doubted yourself. “You’re doing great,” he said one evening after a long day of filming. “Better than great. Ha-yoon feels real because of you.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, still unsure. “It just feels… unnatural sometimes. Like I’m out of place.”

He smiled softly. “If that’s unnatural, I can’t imagine what you’re like when you’re in your element.”

The two of you quickly became inseparable. Lunch breaks were spent sharing snacks, late-night text exchanges were filled with inside jokes, and off-set outings turned into a regular thing. Kim Tae-ri often teased the both of you, trying to nudge the relationship further, but you and Byung-hun were oblivious to her hints.

As filming wrapped up, you found yourself bittersweet about the end. “I’m going to miss all of this,” you admitted one day.

He glanced at you. “You mean the show or…”

“Everything,” you replied vaguely.

The promotional interviews were in full swing, and the three of you, Lee Byung-hun, Kim Tae-ri, and you, sat on a couch, microphones in hand, under the bright studio lights.

The interviewer smiled as they turned to the group. “The story of Our Fading Days is so compelling—a childhood friendship between Ji-ho and Ha-yoon drifting apart as Ji-ho falls in love with Min-ji. It’s relatable and bittersweet. But,” they continued, their tone shifting to something more playful, “fans have picked up on something surprising. Despite Ji-ho and Ha-yoon not being a romantic pair, viewers are shipping you two. What do you think about that?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment, and then laughed lightly. “Oh, well, I guess it’s pretty common to root for the childhood best friend to end up with the main guy, even though Ji-ho and Ha-yoon see each other as strictly platonic. But yeah, I understand them, Ha-yoon's reaction towards their deteriorating friendship might seem more than platonic to the viewers.”

Before you could say more, Kim Tae-ri let out an amused laugh, shaking her head. “I think you misunderstood. The question wasn’t about Ji-ho and Ha-yoon. They’re asking about you and Byung-hun.”

Your eyes widened as the realization hit, and heat crept up your neck. “Oh.” You let out a nervous laugh, glancing at Byung-hun for support.

Byung-hun grinned, clearly amused by your reaction. “Really?” he said, leaning into the playful tone, “Shipping us? Wow, that’s a first—I didn’t think I had the qualifications to keep up with her. She’s the real star here!”

You laughed along with him, brushing it off. “He's too nice but yeah, Let's keep the shipping between our fictional lives.”

Kim Tae-ri smiled knowingly, her tone light but deliberate. “I don't know, you guys...” She paused, then added slyly, “Min-ji might just be the third wheel around here.”

The interviewer raised their eyebrows, the audience chuckled, and you felt your face grow warmer as you exchanged a quick, sheepish glance with Byung-hun. He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head in mock defeat, and the moment moved on—though the subtle tension lingered in the air.

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Even after promotions ended, Byung-hun remained a constant in your life. He came to your theater performances, always waiting backstage with flowers in hand.

“You’re spoiling me,” you joked one night after a show, hugging him tightly.

“You deserve it,” he replied.

That evening, as you both strolled under the city lights, he suddenly stopped.

“You know,” he said, his tone a little nervous.

“Hmm?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I was thinking...” He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Ji-ho and Ha-yoon might make a great couple. Their relationship is certainly more than some friendship, don't you think? ”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, you were speechless. Then you laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

“Is Ji-ho trying to confess, here?” you teased.

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well… Ha-yoon definitely can sense the adoration Ji-ho has for her. I can say that she feels the same way.”

He chuckled, his hand brushing yours. “I'm glad she feels the same. She's a star in the making and he will continue walking her way.”

As the two of you walked on, hand in hand, the city seemed brighter than ever.

#lee byung hun #front man #squid game #hwang in ho #fluff #x reader #reqs open #in ho #in ho x reader #young il

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theskywithin · 1 month ago

Text

💭 Delulu in the Streets, Settling in the Sheets: A Zodiac Love Roast 💔✨

Let’s be honest: we all say we want healthy love, deep connection, and someone who understands us… But what we actually go for? A walking red flag with good lighting and a birth chart that might be compatible if you squint. This is not astrology, this is emotional chaos dressed up in zodiac drag. Twelve signs. Twelve delusions. Zero survivors. Let’s begin.

ps: my book is on sale (only 4.99) until June 15! link at the bottom of the page! :)

have a great Sunday everyone!!!!!

♈️ Aries

You say you want emotional maturity, deep intimacy, and someone who texts back. Cute. Meanwhile, you’re ignoring three perfectly decent people in your DMs because their grammar was “too correct,” and instead hyper-fixating on someone who has a criminal record, a trauma bond, and zero interest in ever replying before 3am. You call it “chemistry,” but it's just your nervous system reliving every unresolved childhood wound like it’s a Netflix special. You are "ready for healthy love" but if they like you too much, it’s “giving clingy.” If they take you out on a real date, you mysteriously lose interest. You’re not looking for love, you’re looking for someone who can survive your audition process that involves 3 fights, a silent treatment, and one emotionally charged parking lot confession at 2:34am. Admit it. At this point, you're just casting for your next emotionally unavailable co-star. And when they don’t give you main character energy back, you break up with them via Instagram story.

♉️ Taurus

You say you’re holding out for someone stable, emotionally intelligent, and ready to commit. Adorable. Meanwhile, your actual type is anyone who gives you one (1) forehead kiss, disappears for two weeks, and then comes back like nothing happened and you accept them back like they’re a seasonal menu item. You call it loyalty, but let’s be real: it’s romantic Stockholm Syndrome. You’re not looking for a partner, you’re looking for a scented candle with attachment issues. Someone you can “fix” with your love language, home-cooked meals, and passive-aggressive silence. You talk about high standards but get emotionally entangled with people who think a relationship milestone is “sharing a playlist.” Your idea of foreplay is building a five-year future with someone who hasn’t even asked what your favorite color is. And when it all crumbles? You sit there in your emotional recliner like, “Wow. Can’t believe they did this to me,” while ignoring every single warning sign the Universe personally mailed to your doorstep in calligraphy.

♊️ Gemini

You say you want deep conversations, mental stimulation, someone who really gets you. But let’s not lie, your actual vetting process is:

1- Are they hot? 2- Are they chaotic? 3- Do they talk in cryptic emojis? Perfect. You’re “done with inconsistent people,” you say, as you triple-text your ex while canceling plans with the one emotionally stable person who was actually nice to you. You’ll ghost someone for using the wrong “your,” then catch feelings for a walking Tumblr quote who smells like impulse decisions and sounds like a conspiracy podcast. You say you want real connection, but if they don’t send a voice memo with emotionally questionable subtext at 2am, you feel nothing. You’re not in love, you’re conducting a social experiment you forgot to log out of. You’ll complain that people don’t take you seriously while actively falling in love with someone who thinks astrology is a cult and “communication” is a meme account. But it’s fine. You’ll just overthink it for six hours, talk to three other people, and end up dating someone new before you finish reading this paragraph.

♋️ Cancer

You say you want a soft place to land. A partner who feels like home. Someone who texts good morning and goodnight, listens to your dreams, and brings you soup when you're sad. Beautiful. Stunning. Pure. But baby… you don’t want love. You want emotional custody. You want to be the CEO of someone else’s healing. The moment they trauma-dump in your lap, you’re like, “Finally! A project.” You’ll call it a soul bond, but really, it’s a codependent internship with no pay and unlimited crying. You want home, but you keep dating human escape rooms. You say you’re done with emotionally unavailable people, and yet, the second someone love-bombs you with 3 days of attention and a sad backstory, you're already mentally naming your future children. You say you're not looking for drama, but if there’s not at least one mildly concerning power dynamic and a playlist involved, you simply can’t get attached. You’re not settling, you’re building imaginary lives with people who haven’t even followed you back yet. And when it ends? You’re “healing” by baking cinnamon rolls and casually checking their birth chart every three days just to “see if they’re okay.”

♌️ Leo

You say you want someone real. Someone grounded. Someone who sees the true you, beyond the glam, and loves you for your soul. But let’s be honest, you also want them to fall in love within 3 business days, write poetry about your aura, and clap every time you walk into a room. You say you’re not high-maintenance, but if they don’t hype you like a Grammy-winning pop star during your mental breakdowns, it’s giving betrayal. You don’t want a partner, you want a full-time emotional hype team with a minor in devotion and a PhD in flattery. If someone doesn't make you feel like the sun itself blessed them with your existence, you simply cannot thrive. Your standards are: “loyal, obsessed, poetic, and just a little damaged for edge.” You’re casting lovers like background actors in your biopic. And if they forget their lines? You block them and dramatically post a selfie captioned “some people just can’t handle the light.” Don't worry, you'll fall in love again right after someone worthy learns how to spell “center of the universe” without autocorrect.

♍️ Virgo

Everything’s fine. Really. It’s fine. You only spent three hours analyzing their text for tone, two hours deep-diving their Instagram for inconsistencies, and fifteen minutes rewriting your reply so it sounds effortless but also like you’re emotionally stable and slightly superior. No big deal. You asked for clear communication, mutual effort, and emotional maturity and then caught feelings for someone who responds once every lunar eclipse and calls emotional intimacy “weird vibes.” But that’s okay. You can fix them. Or organize them. Or at least ghost them politely with perfect grammar and no typos. It’s not that your standards are too high, it’s that no one understands how to be exactly the person you imagined after one flirty conversation and a glance at their bookshelf. And that’s not your fault. It’s theirs. For not being psychic. For not using punctuation correctly. For not responding with the enthusiasm your emoji deserved. Don’t stress, once your nervous system finishes reorganizing the emotional data, they’ll be downgraded to a learning experience.

♎️ Libra

You say you want something real. Deep. Reciprocal. A love that feels like poetry and emotional intelligence had a baby. And yet somehow, you keep falling for people who give you one compliment, share a vague opinion about art, and suddenly you’re like, “wow… we just get each other.” You say you’re looking for alignment, but let’s be honest, if they make decent eye contact and vaguely resemble a character from your favorite indie film, you're already spiraling into soft-launch territory. You don’t want love, you want someone to validate your feelings, pick the restaurant, and disappear before it gets complicated. You’d rather stay in a 3-year talking stage than risk disrupting the potential of the relationship with actual needs. You’re not settling, you’re just accidentally dating people you forgot to say no to. You confuse attraction with destiny, silence with mystery, and bare minimum attention with a “deep soul connection.” And when it inevitably implodes? You’re heartbroken, confused, and somehow still replying with “haha no worries!” while dissociating.

♏️ Scorpio

You say you want honesty. Depth. Someone who’s emotionally available, spiritually attuned, and ready to dive into the abyss with you. Okay, sure. Meanwhile you fall for people who respond in lowercase and haven’t processed a single emotion since 2014. You swear you're done with liars, but if someone’s mysterious, avoids eye contact, and smells like a walking trust issue, you’re like: finally, my soulmate. You don’t want a relationship, you want a slow-burn psychological thriller with kissing. You say you're looking for emotional safety, but also you’ll block someone for replying “lol.” You think giving someone your trust is “too soon” if it happens before they’ve bled, cried, and proven they’d die for you in a metaphorical fire. You want vulnerability, but only after they pass twelve invisible tests, three ego deaths, and a psychic reading. You're not dating, you're single-handedly funding the red flag industry because therapy is boring and revenge is character development. And when it ends? You don’t cry. You just disappear, emotionally regenerate in the shadows, and re-emerge hotter and slightly more suspicious than before.

♐️ Sagittarius

You say you want honesty, freedom, intellectual connection, and a love that feels expansive. Beautiful. But in reality you want someone who makes you feel something intense and then immediately leaves you alone so you can overthink it in peace while booking flights. You say you want a deep, meaningful relationship but you’re currently in love with someone you met once on a group trip to Lisbon who had good cheekbones and vague political opinions. You don’t want a relationship, you want a cross-cultural fever dream with inconsistent Wi-Fi and zero emotional accountability. You say you’re afraid of being trapped, but somehow you’ve been stuck in the same toxic situationship for three solar returns because “the timing just isn’t right.” You want truth, but only if it’s wrapped in banter, existential dread, and a meme about healing. You’re not settling, you’re just emotionally unavailable with excellent taste in snacks and spontaneous road trip playlists. And when it ends? You don’t grieve. You write a reflective Instagram caption about growth and immediately fall in love with someone from a different country, timezone, and belief system.

♑️ Capricorn

You don’t fall in love. You accidentally develop a six-month emotional obsession with someone you “weren’t even that into” while pretending to be chill and unaffected the entire time. You say you want loyalty, maturity, and a partner who knows what they want but the second someone actually does, you panic and go into witness protection. You're not afraid of love, you're afraid of anyone seeing you emotionally flinch. Which is awkward, because your type is “hot disaster with no boundaries and a mildly concerning past.” You'll ignore red flags like it's an Olympic sport, call their avoidant behavior "mysterious," and then act personally victimized when it turns out they suck. You don’t date, you slowly spiral into a fake situationship out of politeness, overthink your exit strategy for three weeks, and finally leave when Mercury retrograde gives you permission. And when it ends? You don’t cry. You journal vaguely, stare into the void, and re-download the dating app just to feel in control again.

♒️ Aquarius

Dating you should come with a warning label: May experience sudden emotional outages. You say you want deep, meaningful connection but if someone actually likes you, you immediately assume it’s a social experiment and detach for observational purposes. You want love, but it has to sneak up on you while you're discussing the fall of capitalism or making a playlist with songs that don't exist yet. You’re not avoiding relationships, you’re just extremely busy dating someone in your head while being completely unreadable in person. You flirt by oversharing random facts, referencing an obscure theory about soulmates, and then casually disappearing for 72 hours “to reset.” If they don’t intellectually stimulate you within five minutes, you mentally ghost them before the check even arrives. You're not settling, you're just emotionally orbiting situationships where no one defines anything, there’s zero accountability, and somehow it's still “really special.” And when it ends? You claim you're fine, then post a meme so specific it might legally count as a restraining order.

♓️ Pisces

You don’t date, you emotionally attach to whoever makes prolonged eye contact and has a tragic backstory. You say you want honesty and spiritual alignment, but your dating history looks like a casting call for emotionally unstable poets with commitment issues and nice hands. You’ll meet someone once, feel a “soul connection,” and suddenly you’re picking out baby names based on your synastry chart and a dream you had where they were a medieval knight. Boundaries? You’ve heard of them. Not interested. You prefer to merge instantly, share childhood trauma over coffee, and then get personally offended when they don’t intuitively know how to love you forever. You think heartbreak is a personality trait. You think vague compliments are marriage proposals. You think texting someone “I miss your energy” after two dates is completely reasonable. You’re not settling, you’re romanticizing a deeply confusing situationship that technically never started, but ruined your life anyway. And when it ends? You do the healthy thing: write three poems, cry in the bath, consult your birth chart, and say you’re healed. Then spiral again when they post a blurry photo with someone vaguely hand-adjacent in the background.

#astrology #love astrology #astrology signs #zodiac side of tumblr #zodiac signs #astrology tumblr #astrology notes #astro observations #astro community #astrology blog #astro notes

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demie90s · 21 days ago

Text

Like We Just Met

MASTERLIST | MORE | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

summary: It’s just another night on stream with T and Court—until reader decides to act like she’s never seen her girlfriend before.

genre: Romantic comedy, stream-of-consciousness chaos, soft stud x slick menace, WLW fluff, girlfriend antics, fake-flirting turned real turned “why you blushing like that?”

warnings: Heavy flirting, girlfriend thirst, playful roleplay, soft domination, suggestive jokes, Court losing her mind in the background

word count: ~ 0.8k

Camera already live. T sitting posted, hoodie loose, blue eyes glowing in the soft LED light, sipping casually from a cup she definitely stole from me again. Courtney mid-rant about astrology signs and how everybody wanna be a Leo but ain’t got the main character energy to back it up.

I’m in the kitchen. Plotting. ‘Cause see… we been dating. But tonight? I’m coming back like I never met her before. Just to see what she do. Just to see how long she lasts.

I swing the door open slow as hell—slide in like a hood villain. Shoulders relaxed, hoodie halfway unzipped, gold chain out. Birdman hands in full effect. I ain’t even blinkin regular, I’m blinkin like I’m ‘bout to shoot a cologne commercial.

Courtney glances up. “Oh nah. Oh nah. What you got goin on?”

I ignore her. My eyes on T. She look up, confused. Laughs already.

“What you doin, bro?” she asks.

I step forward like I’m tryna sell her a dream and a house she can’t afford. “Wassup girl,” I say real low. “You… you single?”

She throws her head back, laughing. “I’m not doin this with you.”

I step even closer, licking my lips like I’m tryin to get signed by L.L. Cool J’s record label. “I mean… what’s up with you though? You live around here?”

“I live here, bro.”

“Swear? You got roommates or somethin?”

“You.”

Chat:

“NO CAUSE THIS IS SO SEXY & STUPID.”

“I’m rewatching this later. With snacks.”

“IS THIS A ROLEPLAY”

“SHE CAME IN LIKE A DADDY VILLAIN 😭”

“NOT THE ‘YOU SINGLE’ LINE???”

“COURT MOVE WE IN LOVE”

I circle slow behind the desk, hand in my pocket, lean against the wall behind them like I ain’t got no plans but makin somebody fall in love. T tryna keep reading the chat but she keep lookin at me, biting her lip like I ain’t hers already.

Court is squinting, side-eyeing the camera. “You actin like T not gon get up and remind you who you tryna flirt with.”

I rub my hands together again. “Man, I just said she look good. Blue eyes? Pink fade? Who do you know walkin around lookin like cotton candy”

T tryin to hide her smile. Sippin from her drink like it’s gonna cool her down. “You done?”

“Nah,” I say, dropping my voice. “You ever had a girl slide on you like this before? Look at me. I’m the stud now.”

Courtney SCREAMS. “I’m turning this stream OFF.”

T finally turns in her seat, watching me real slow. I walk up like I ain’t got sense, like I’m auditioning for a role I already been cast in. We the same height so when she stands—I straighten. No fold. No flinch. Just tension.

She raises an eyebrow. “You real bold tonight, huh.”

I stare at her mouth. “You look good enough to risk a restraining order.”

She blinks. “See now you playin—”

“I’m deadass,” I say, stepping closer, licking my lips again. “Girl like you? Look like you know how to love somebody right. Lay hands. Fix plates. Break backs.”

T chokes on her drink. Literally coughs. Grabs the chair to balance herself. “Nah you wildin. You wildin now.”

Court can’t breathe. “This lesbian energy is too advanced. Somebody call the police or the NAACP. Something.”

T sits back down, fanning herself. “Chat said you bein disrespectful.”

I lean on the back of her chair, whisper in her ear, “Tell chat I’d never disrespect a woman like you. I got manners and home training.”

T biting her bottom lip again. Face red. Neck red. Ears red. Court tries to speak but I’m not done. I back up slow and start grinding to the beat of some random lo-fi music in the background—just posted on the wall like a problem.

“Somebody out there need a step parent,” I mutter. “I’m takin applications. I got juice boxes in the car.”

“NAH THE GRIND HAD ME IN TEARS”

“Court the referee in a domestic love war”

“She said ‘God gave you all that’ and meant it”

“T BEING A STUD BUT SHE THE ONE APPLYING PRESSURE IM CRYING”

T finally stands again. “Come here.”

I freeze. “Hm?”

“Come. Here.”

I straighten up. Try to stay in character. “What if I say no?”

She steps to me slow. Leans in so close I forget where the camera even is. She smirks and—boom—hand over my mouth again like earlier. Just holding me there.

“Now you quiet?”

I nod. She leans in more. “You done bein stupid?”

I pause. Lick her palm.

“EW,” she yells, backing up. “You NASTY.”

Court’s on the floor. I break. I’m crying from laughing. T got her hoodie over her head like she tryna disappear.

“Man get this horny criminal off my Twitch,” Court yells. I’m bent over wheezing. T can’t even look at me without blushing. Chat is useless.

And even though the stream still rolling, I just lean against the doorframe again, panting from laughter, and say—

“Y’all see how she act when she mine though?”

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

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desi2go · 9 months ago

Text

One photoshoot away from love

pairing: Minho x idol! reader

warnings: fluff

request: So reader is also a kpop idol but she's like only in the industry for 2-2.5 years. She's in a girl group and recently announced as global embassador of a luxury brand. This one time she would feature on magazine cover with one of stray kids' members and that member his her bias. The magazine cover is a success and their fan loving it and they get shipped together. And because she said he's her bias, that stray kids member said he gonna write her a song and he did and the internet kinda blow up.

Music. Music was alsways home. Something you could turn to when there was no way out. When everything terrified you or it seemed impossible to reach your dreams.

Music was your safe haven from a really young age. Just as a five year old toddler, you sang to all the songs in the radio even if you didn't even understood all the lyrics. You even bothered your parents to let you take lessons with a vocal coach for weeks until they finally agreed. Eventually, they seemed glad that you loved singing so much and happily supported you. You improved really fast and your angelic voice seemed to enchant everyone at every single performance at school.

Whenever someone asked you what you wanted to be when you grow up, the answer was clear. "I want to be a singer!" They all laughed at you, smiling and patting your head like they didn't even think that you could actually become one. For them it was just a dream, soon to be forgotten once you hit puberty and the reality, but you weren't joking. And you trained every day for it.

Around the age of ten, you started hearing some music from kpop groups and it was the first time you actually considered to audition at a company when you were old enough. They would give you training and support you when you were good enough. So, you convinced your parents to let you take some dance lessons too so that your chances for an acception would be higher.

Dancing was something you really enjoyed even though it wouldn't replace singing but it brought you even closer to the melody and the rhythm. You felt even more connected with the lyrics and the music all in all.

At the age of sixteen, you decided to give it a try. Several companies had announced auditions and you figured it would be the best time to try it. What could go wrong? You had trained for this moment your whole life and you couldn't be better prepared.

The auditions went really well and soon your held your acceptance in your hand to be a trainee at SM entertainment. Your parents were so proud of you and you loved the time as a trainee even though it was so difficult to balance school and training but you enjoyed the time. You learned so much in that tie and your singing as well as your dancing improved.

During your monthly presentations, your trainers noted your effort and improvement and after three years, you finally debuted in a girl group with four more girl you had met as a trainee. You were placed as one of the vocalists and visuals.

After debut, your group seemed to gain more and more attention from the fans and you must admit that you enjoyed to perform, the energy flowed through you carrying you like a wave.

Nearly three years after debut, it wasn't uncommon for you to have photoshootings for model magazines or other brands. But as soon as the message came that you would be the global ambassador of one of the most well-known luxury brand, you were shocked. This wasn't something that happenend all the time. And the brand was Gucci and they actually planned you to be on the magazine cover.

Just one week before the shooting, you received the message that you would model with Lee Know from Stray Kids. Since you loved Kpop since being a child, you knew pretty well who Lee Know was. I mean, how could you not? His group was really famous for their vibing songs and their chaotic behaviour.

And you were thrilled to meet him face to face. He was like a role model to you. When the other members of your group received the message, they were happy for you and urged to know who your bias in Stray Kids was, knowing damn well that you enjoyed listening to Kpop.

"Come on! You can't just keep it a secret! We won't tell anyone!" One member shouted, clapping excited with her hands.

"No. That's my secret" you claimed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"I bet it's Lee Know" another stated and you tried to keep your face from burning up. How right she was...

The maknae noticed your shy behaviour. "HA! It is!" she laughed as you blushed and hid your face in your hands. Sometimes you hated them.

"That's so cool! You must tell us every little detail as soon as you're back" another demanded and you quickly escaped their hold to get to the location for the photoshoot.

During the whole drive, you were nervous and you bit your lip to get you to concentrate. You were an idol for god's sake, so act like one! But your hands got clammy when you stepped out of the car, following your manager inside the location.

You were already used to the turmoil with the manager and assitants running around. An assistant from Gucci greeted you with a bow and lead you to the dressing room. Precisely, she helped you change into a beautiful black dress that ended just above your knees, showing your long soft legs. It was made for you.

The soft faric hugged your body like a second skin, bringing your waist out and your chest. You felt like a queen. It exposed your shoulders and closed lowly around your neck, leaving space for a beautiful necklace.

The shoes were a dream in black, making you even taller and graceful. In Addition, your hair was styled in soft defined waves, falling over your shoulders. The makeup stylist worked on your face in the meantime. She applied foundation and a glowy highlighter as well as a brown eyeshadow that complimented your eyes and made them sparkle even more. The red lipstick brought the attention to your rounded lips, the only thing that had a colour so that it would glow in the photos.

After an hour, they had finished their work satisfied and the assistant lead you to the actual photo location. You felt the nervousness pumping through your veins as you greeted the photographer and the rest of the staff. Just moments later, Lee Know walked through the same door with a charming smile and a low bow to greet everyone.

He looked stunning in the black suit with the white chemise that exposed a bit of skin, leaving everything to your imagination. His hair was styled classy and showed off his beautiful eyes.

"Nice to meet you Y/n" he greeted you with a smile, taking your hand to shake it while he bowed deep. You replied in the same gesture. "Nice to meet you too. I'm honoured to work with you"

He smiled and patted your hand without anyone noticing. "I look forward to work with you"

Internally, you were freaking out like a teenager crushing over meeting her role model. You felt the blush on your cheeks and tried everything to keep it low.

The photographer explained to you both how you should express yourself on the photos even stating what poses he wanted to see.

You swallowed and moved yourself in front of the white background with Minho following. You started with simple things, leaning your back against each other while staring at the camera with a dashing smile. His back was warm and you felt the muscles under his clothes, soft but at the same time strong.

The other pose showed strength and intimacy. Minho was sitting tall behind you, leaning slightly forward to show more of his skin that was exposed by the open bottoms of his chemise. His right arm rested on his knee, giving him a composed and thoughtful look. His facial expression is confident with his gaze directed to the photographer.

You were seated in front of him, leaning forward as well with your body slightly angled towards the camera. Your elbow was resting on your knee, emphazising your long legs and your hand supported lazily your head.

The photographer liked those photos and during the shooting, both you and Minho laughed a lot, connecting really fast when you told him that you had a cat too.

You two shared some funny cat stories and grew more comfortable around the other.

The photographer suggested more intimacy in the photos. In this image, you two posed intimately close. He stood behind you, your faces close together as he rested his head over your shoulder. You chose a soft and serene gaze to pierce through the camera. you felt one of Minho's hand sneaking around your waist, pulling you even closer. Your physical proximity showed a subtle mixure of tenderness and resilience.

The photographer was pleased with the outcome and thanked you for working so well. Even after finishing the shooting, you couldn't stop speaking with him. He was so kind-hearted and funny, inspiring you. And soon, you were back your dorms, sad that the experience was over.

Some weeks later, the magazine was published with you and Minho on the cover. It was an understatement to say that the fans went wild. Social media was full of images of the photoshooting and nearly everyone shipped you both, making you blush.

When you went live one evening to speak to your fans, you read often the question if you and Minho were a pair. You declined and even more messages followed, asking you different things about Minho. Sadly, you couldn't give many answers and when they questioned who your bias was, you admitted shy that he was it.

The fans went wild again and you were now completely sure that Minho knew about your secret crush on him.

Chan from Stray Kids announced in one of his livestreams that Minho had been working on an own song since his photoshoot for Gucci and fans spaculated that it had something to do with you.

Weeks when the hype went down a bit, Minho released a single. At first, due to training you couldn't listen to it but when fans went wild again, claiming that he definitely wrote it for you, you needed to hear it.

It was a love ballad and you loved the melody and rhythm at the first notes. His soft voice told a story about a girl he met. In the song, he described her as beautiful, the deep red lips that attracted him like it was essential for surviving.

I saw you there, in that moment of light A vision in black, like the stars in the night Your deep red lips whispered things you didn’t say And I stood frozen, as the world slipped away

You didn’t know it, but you captured my soul Every glance you gave me made me lose control The camera was flashing, but all I could see Was the way you moved, like a shadow's melody

You're the midnight that I can't forget Wrapped in a mystery I haven't solved yet The way you move, like whispers in the air A perfect storm that I can’t help but stare In the silence, your elegance stays Draped in the night, in a world of shades

Your smile was soft, like a hidden sunrise But there was fire burning deep in your eyes You moved like a dream, as the lights hit your face And I knew I was lost, caught up in your grace

I kept my distance, but inside I screamed You walked through my life like a midnight dream I wanted to tell you, but how could I dare To let you know that I was falling right there

Maybe one day, you'll hear this song In the quiet of night, when the world feels wrong And maybe you’ll wonder who it was for But I’ll just stay silent, forever wanting more

In the shadows, I’ll keep you near A secret flame, forever clear You’ll always be a part of me This hidden love, my melody...

You coudln't stop the smile forming on your lips. "Vision in black" was definitely a metaphor for a black dress and the red lipstick hinted that this song was adressed to you. Tears formed in your eyes at the intimacy of the song.

Just seconds later, a message plopped up on your phone. A message on instagram from Minho.

<<Hoped you liked my song>> he had texted with a cat emoji and a smile formed on your lips as you answered quick.

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snowwybear · 9 months ago

Text

𝗣𝗢𝗩: 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿

warnings: slight angst, fluff

It's hard, between his work and your work it was hard to keep the relationship alive. Always filming, sometimes even in another part of the world, then there was press tours and red-carpet premiers. Even when you were home it was checking emails, recording audition tapes or rehearsing lines. Then there was Vinnie, either off doing modelling shoots, away for whatever fashion week was currently on and of course Twitch streams. It was hard, exhausting work both of you had to do - but you loved it, there was nothing you'd rather be doing.

"When are you back home?" Vinnie asked over the phone.

"Soon" You yawn as a response. "We have a few more weeks of press then I'm back. When do you leave for London?"

"2 weeks, so we might miss each other again".

The silence on the other end of the phone stretched for a few beats too long, the weight of it settling heavily between you both. This was how it always went—quick check-ins, same questions, same answers, the same longing neither of you could properly voice.

"Maybe we’ll figure something out," you said, trying to inject some hope into your voice, but even you could hear how tired you sounded.

Vinnie let out a soft sigh, and you could picture him running a hand through his hair, that familiar crease forming between his brows. "Yeah, maybe."

You pulled the covers tighter around yourself, staring blankly at the hotel room ceiling. You loved your job—loved the chaos, the constant whirlwind of activity—but right now, it felt suffocating. You were on the verge of something great in your career, and so was Vinnie, but at what cost?

"Do you ever feel like…" you hesitated, unsure if you wanted to say it. Vinnie’s always been the optimist between the two of you, the one who kept things light, who filled the gaps with his infectious energy and easy laughter. But even he sounded tired lately, worn down by the distance.

"Like what?" he asked softly.

"Like we’re slipping away from each other."

Another pause, this one heavier, more loaded. You held your breath, waiting for his answer, a part of you scared of what he might say.

"I don’t want that," Vinnie finally responded, his voice firm. "I don’t want to lose you, us. But I don't know how to fix it either."

The admission hit you harder than you expected. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been holding in until that moment, how much you’d been pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

"Me neither," you whispered. "But I don’t want to lose us either."

There was a rustling sound on the other end, and then Vinnie’s voice, softer now, but determined. "Okay, then we won’t."

You smiled faintly despite yourself. "That easy, huh?"

Vinnie chuckled, a low, comforting sound that made your heart ache with how much you missed him. "Maybe not easy, but we’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Look, let’s make a deal."

"A deal?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding a little more like himself now. "I don’t care where you are or where I am. Next time we both have a free day, no matter what, we’re seeing each other. I’ll fly to wherever you are, or you can come to me. Doesn’t matter. We’ll make it happen."

You thought about it for a second, picturing the ridiculousness of Vinnie showing up at some far-flung location, just for a day or two. But then again, wasn't that what made you fall for him in the first place? His spontaneity, the way he never let things feel impossible, no matter how busy or chaotic life got.

"Deal," you agreed, feeling a flicker of hope stir inside you. "Next free day, no matter where we are."

"Good," he said, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice. "And maybe next time we’ll actually plan a proper vacation or something. Somewhere with no Wi-Fi, no work, just you, me, and whatever beach we end up on."

You laughed softly at the thought. "That sounds perfect."

For the first time in weeks, the exhaustion weighing on you felt a little lighter. Maybe the timing was never right, and maybe things were messy and unpredictable, but you’d figure it out. After all, if there was one thing you and Vinnie were good at, it was finding your way back to each other—no matter how far apart you were.

#vinnie hacker #snowwybear #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker x you #vinnie imagines #vinnie x reader #vinnie x y/n #requests are open #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker fanfic #requested by anon

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lovecla · 9 months ago

Text

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter four:

➴ chapter warnings: drinking and kinda suggestive? sex is mentioned!

➴ word count: 3k

💌 from me to you: i think one of you cast a spell on me because i cannot wait until friday to publish this. also, i listened to self righteous by bryson tiller while i wrote this. just saying!

౨ৎ

2024, APRIL.

liked by nickharris_img, imgmodels, lhughes_06 and 390,813 others

madisoncarter mood because bella and i are the newest vancouver girlies

View all 1,283 comments

vic_alonso 🤩🤩🤩

ellecanada Welcome, love 💛

madisoncarter_updates Omggg we’re so excited for you babe!!!!!!!

user1 she’s never beating the “idk who the hughes brothers are” allegations

nickharris_img I miss you already Mads 💔

lavieenrose Welcome home, Flower! 🌷🌼🌹

user2 bella looks so cute

౨ৎ

“WHAT DO you think, baby?”

Bella stared at you before she started running around the place, sniffing every corner.

It was officially your first day living in Vancouver. You had been coming and going to Vancouver ever since you’d signed your contract with La Vie en Rose, arranging things and getting your shit together.

Nicholas was right, their team took care of everything, and they got you a nice place too. You still had to pay rent but at least you didn’t have to go apartment hunting, which was something you hated.

You and Bella landed in Vancouver last night, and you didn’t have the energy to do anything but lay on your bed with her and sleep the entire Saturday. It was Sunday now, and you were trying to get Bella used to the rooms before you had to leave for your first shooting on Monday.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” You asked her, putting your hands on your waist. “I think it’s nice.”

Your phone rang and you picked it up, reading Quinn’s text with a smile on your face.

You’ve been texting everyday since that day at his house, and you felt like the world was finally spinning right again. Having Quinn back in your life— and consequently Ellen, Jim, Luke and Jack as well— made you so happy it was almost unbelievable.

He texted at weird hours, sometimes at three a.m. and sometimes at six p.m., but he always asked about you and how you were doing. Have you eaten? How’s the moving going? Do you need any help?

You’d stare at those texts and ask yourself the same thing you’ve been asking since you were eleven: why he was so kind to you? Not that you were complaining. It just felt weird to have someone who cared as much as he did again.

You told him you were now permanently living in Vancouver and he told you he’d come see you whenever he got back from Seattle. You felt your heart beating faster just with the thought of him at your place, both of you alone for the first time after that awkward moment at his house, with you hangover as fuck.

Now you would be sober and in your space, not his.

You sighed, watching Bella preparing herself for a nap in her massive bed by the balcony and you decided that napping was the right solution for you too.

౨ৎ

YOUR FIRST day at La Vie en Rose had been a success, not that you expected anything else.

Turns out your editor-in-chief, Victoria, was one of the nicest people you had ever met; she talked you through the process of working for La Vie en Rose and answered all of your questions with patience and kindness.

“You were our target for a long time before we managed to snatch you,” she joked when you mentioned that working with them was a dream come true. “So we’re the ones who should be thankful.”

She took you to her favorite restaurant and bought your lunch while she talked your ears off, in the best way possible. You never had a girl friend before. Between casting and auditions, you never got to make many friends. And in the world of modeling, there weren’t friends— you had to see the other girls as your opponents, people you had to defeat. Your body had to be better, your hair had to be shinier, your catwalk had to be smoother.

So when Victoria treated you as a friend, even if you’d met each other a few hours ago, it was like the universe was being kind to you again.

You were on your way home, enjoying the view as you walked down the streets, grateful that you still didn’t have a car because the city was really beautiful, even with the cold weather.

You arrived at your apartment, going all the way up to the ninth floor. When you opened your door, Bella almost knocked you down, jumping on you and licking your face.

“You’re going to hurt mommy, baby,” You laughed, caressing her fur. “I missed you too.”

She barked and you got up, finally closing the door and removing your heels. You left your bag on the couch and ran to your bathroom, desperate for a hot shower and pajamas. The best part of your house was the central heater system, and the fact that you got to wear your tiny pajama sets even when it was snowing outside.

You did your nightly skincare and spread the vanilla scented lotion on your entire body, before applying your favorite perfume— no need to specify the scent. You were a vanilla girl through and through and you would never leave the house unless you smelled like a bakery.

It was only eight p.m. but you were so tired that all you wanted to do was crash in your bed and sleep, but you still had to give Bella her dinner. So you walked to your laundry room, where you kept all of her things— you were that king of dog mom who buys your dog three hundred winter clothes and five hundred chewing toys— and grabbed her food pot, shaking it lightly to grab her attention.

Which worked momentarily because next thing you knew the doorbell was ringing and Bella was running to the door, barking loudly.

“Bella!” You reprimanded her, putting your index finger in front of your mouth and shushing her. “Quiet, please.”

You opened the door even without knowing who was on the other side, which was probably a bad and dangerous thing to do, but it was just Quinn, wearing a suit and holding a suitcase.

“Quinn?” You watched as Bella jumped on him, excited to see someone else. “Bella, down, please. Leave him alone.”

“Oh, hello there,” he bent over and patted Bella’s head, caressing her fur while she licked his hands. “Who are you, hm?”

“That’s Bella,” you said, opening the door so he could get inside. You watched as he got up and stared down at you, eyeing you up and down. You followed his gaze and realized that you were still only wearing your pink, almost see through pajama set and with the cold breeze that hit you when you opened the door, your nipples decided that now was a good time to mark through your shirt. “Um.”

Something flashed through Quinn’s eyes, but you didn’t know what. He coughed, closing the door for you. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“O-oh, right. Bella,” you looked at her, watching as she sniffed Quinn’s things. “I adopted her when I moved to LA. We were both alone and she was living at a shelter.” You smiled, remembering the day you took her home. “She was so small and so scared. She was sitting alone at a corner and I just… I couldn’t leave her there.”

Quinn chuckled, nodding. “You’re still the sweetest person I have ever met.”

“Oh, stop it,” you croaked, smiling.

“Just saying,” he shrugged, putting his hands on his pocket and resting his body against the door. “I just came to check on you. Nice place you got here.”

You looked around, agreeing with him.

“It is, I was just telling Bella this,” you started. “It’s not big but it’s perfect for us. I like it a lot. Especially the heater.”

“That’s nice too,” he agrees. “What are you having for dinner?”

You stared at him, confused. Only that you couldn’t tell him that dinner wasn’t something that happened everyday in your world.

“Hum,” you stutter. “Nothing? I was just ready to go to bed, actually.”

“That’s too bad,” he removed his shoes and started walking around your place like he’d been there a million times before. “I’m starving. We just got here from Seattle. What do you want me to cook?”

“You don’t need to cook anything,” he cocks his head at you, eyes staring deep into your soul. “I’m not hungry. But I can cook something for you if you want to.”

“I don’t like eating alone. And you can’t just go to bed without eating anything.”

“Quinn…” you sigh, placing your hands on your hips. “Don’t do this. Please?”

“I’m not doing anything, I’m just saying. So,” he claps his hands. “What are we having?”

“Jesus, I forgot how annoying you are,” you roll your eyes, holding back a smile. “We can maybe have a salad.”

“If you want to kill me, there are faster ways to do it,” he whines and you laugh. “Can I take care of dinner and you take care of Bella while I cook?”

“I wanna help.” You pout and he smiles.

“You can help by sitting there,” he points at your dinner table. “And looking pretty. You’re good at that anyway.”

You laughed out loud, wrapping your arms around your chest. “You’re old and annoying, Quinn Hughes.”

He opened your cabinets, searching for something with his eyes.

“What do you think about rice and salmon?” He asks, picking up the rice package.

“Maybe potatoes instead of rice?” You suggest, pointing at the potato sack sitting in your kitchen trolley.

“Alright,” he pulls up the sleeves of his suit, and goes to the sink to wash his hands. “Let’s get to work.”

To your surprise, Quinn moved around your kitchen with ease, even when he had never visited you before. He finely chopped the potatoes, putting them in the oven to let them roast before he moved to the salmon, seasoning it with the spices you had in your cabinet.

He listened to you the entire time, with you yapping about your day and how nice Victoria had treated you and how Nicholas had called you mid-shooting to ask how you were doing.

“What exactly do you do?” He asked, while you grabbed a wine bottle from your fridge.

“Well, it depends,” you replied, grabbing wine glasses from your cabinet and opening the bottle. “Sometimes I just take pictures all day, in different locations and outfits. Sometimes I have to go to runways. Sometimes both. Not to mention the social media work, the TikToks and all of that.”

“I don’t even wanna hear about TikToks,” he rolls his eyes, making you laugh. “The Canucks media team are always asking us to do stupid trends and answer weird questions. What does ‘very demure’ even mean anyway?”

“You’re too old for that, Quinny,” you joke, filling your glasses up. “Do you know what I think?”

“Hm?”

“I think you should come see me at a runway show,” you suggest, knowing damn well Quinn would never sit on a chair for an hour and a half just to watch women wear weird, provocative clothes and catwalk on a platform. “It’d be interesting.”

“Only if I get to bring my team with me so it’ll be less boring.” He fires back, checking on the salmon in the pan.

“I’m sure they won’t mind watching women in underwear or something similar.” You smile, watching as he nods with his head and sips on his wine too.

“I’m sure of that too.”

He resumes cooking while you finish your first glass of wine, already in for your second. You set the table, turning the TV on for Bella— she likes watching TV sometimes, and that’s fine!— before sitting down to eat Quinn’s tasty-looking meal. After you got your first bite of the salmon, you couldn’t help but moan.

“I didn’t know you knew how to actually cook, Quinn Hughes,” you say, chewing on the fish. “When did you even learn that?”

“I’m a grown man now, Maddie,” he laughed and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Like that means anything. I know Ellen would cook for you everyday if you asked her to.”

“Yeah, but I’m not around her so much anymore, so I just figured out it’d be good for me to know how to take care of myself. And turns out I really like cooking.”

“This is heavenly, thank you so much,” you sip on your wine as the same time he sips on his, smiling because you liked his company a lot.

౨ৎ

“AND THEN, Jack asked them to flash him and the worst part is that someone caught that on camera.”

You laughed, letting your body fall forward, feeling lighter than ever. You and Quinn were sitting on your couch, already in your second bottle of wine. Bella was chewing on one of her toys and it was already ten thirty.

Quinn was now wearing just his white, dress shirt with the first two buttons open, his jacket lost somewhere alongside his tie. You couldn’t help but notice how the fabric of the shirt held his muscles in all the right places, getting tighter every time he flexed his muscles.

Quinn was hot, and he had always been in your eyes. He was only twenty-four, almost twenty-five, but he looked older, mature. Something about him being a hockey player, the captain, made you feel confused and hot at the same time.

“Jack girlies must have gone crazy with that video,” you add after you stop laughing, watching as Quinn nods.

“Tell me about it,” he runs his fingers through his silky, somehow hydrated hair, and you find yourself wondering how it’d feel for you to do the same. “It was crazy. But I don’t really get the appeal.”

You scoffed. “You don’t get the appeal? Have you seen you or your brothers?”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “So what? We’re alright, I guess,”

“You’re crazy,” you roll your eyes at him, incredulous. “I spent my teenage years ignoring guys because you ruined all of them for me and you’re saying you’re just alright?”

He chuckles, turning his head around and staring at you, blue eyes darkening.

“What do you mean by that, Madison?”

Maybe it was the fact that it was already late at night and you were tired, or maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the fact that the last time you had had sex with someone had been more than six months ago, but something about the way Quinn asked you that question, calling you by your name out of all things, made you wonder.

You were both grown up now. You weren’t fifteen anymore, innocent and afraid of voicing your needs. And Quinn looks like he knows how to make a woman see stars…

Besides what they say about big noses, you caught yourself thinking, before you could even stop yourself.

Crossing your legs and unconsciously squeezing your thighs together, you answered, softly:

“It’s silly,” you bit your lip, unsure of what you would even say. This is definitely the wine’s fault. “I had a crush on you growing up.”

You expected him to laugh and play it off, like he used to do whenever Jack or Luke mentioned that one of their girl friends had a crush on their older brother, Quinn. You expected him to give you that brotherly look he used to give you when you were younger and asked him questions about his life and family.

But the look he gave you had something different, something rawer. Something that made your skin crawl in the best way possible, that lightened something inside you.

“Did you now?”

“Mhm,” you nod with your head. “That’s why I’ve never had any boyfriends or hook-ups, even after you left. You ruined them all for me.” You wanted it to sound like a joke, but it hadn’t. How could it, when you were telling the truth.

“Should I apologize, Maddie?” He manspreads on your couch, and you let your gaze fall on his thighs for a brief second— just not brief enough for him not to notice.

“No, it’s— it’s fine. I’m not fifteen anymore.”

“I can see that,” he whispers, and you can feel yourself slipping into his little trap, slowly.

You were so fucked. Ultimately, stupidly fucked, and not even in the way you wanted to. After all these years of swearing to yourself that Quinn wasn’t meant for you, and that you wouldn’t see him again with lovey eyes anymore, you couldn’t believe the reactions your body was having to just his words and stares. This isn’t normal.

You needed to do something because— you will not fuck this up again. Quinn’s friendship’s too precious for you to ruin it with horny thoughts.

So what if Quinn looked like he could fuck you six ways to Sunday? He was your friend. It hadn’t even been a month since he got back in your life.

“Yeah, but I’m over it now,” you brushed it off, making a pft sound with your mouth. “Grew up and all of that.”

He takes a while to answer, but when he does, you can feel he wants to say something else.

“Got it.”

After that, the tension between the two of you is almost ten times bigger, and you have to stop your brain from blaming yourself. Whatever happened between you and Quinn seconds ago could never happen again. He was your friend.

“Think I’m gonna go now,” he says, getting up. Bella runs to his body, licking his hands and asking for pets. “Hey, baby girl. I’m going home now.”

“You don’t have to,” you suggest, the thought of him leaving because of you making you sick to your stomach. “I have a spare bedroom. You drank, it’s not safe.”

“You’re right, but I’m not drunk and I’ll drive slowly, I promise,” he smiles, leaning down to give you a peck on your forehead. “Great to see you.”

“Drive safe, please,” You watched him leave with Bella by your side, heart squeezed tightly inside your chest. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do it.” He answers, before putting on his jacket again, grabbing his suitcase and closing the door of your apartment.

And just like that, you had to spend the night trying to convince yourself that you did the right thing by pushing whatever that was away.

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