#if that is a plot line. (and i do think it is I think that mystery black armor guy is tech revived from death I think that's what's going o

[bucketbueckers]

TIMELESS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: slight language, fluff w maybe a little angst (im beginning to realize the "angst" is probably just plot) but it's literally not that deep at all (this is a bucketbueckers fanfiction we all know there's a happy ending), AU, soulmates, author won't pretend to understand history, potential misuse of period-typical slang, historical inaccuracies (ask me if i care [spoiler: i dont!]), abuse of punctuation, light violence, poorly proofread

wc: 15.5k

synopsis: Even in a different life, you still would have been hers. OR – two (of the many) lives you've lived with Paige Bueckers, and the one you're living with her now.

notes: im not rly much of an au author but i figured i needed a lil bit of something different after FOTS beat my ass. i've been toying w this idea for a while now 😋 this fic is probably better in theory but i had sm fun writing it (and thinking about pilot!paige and knight!paige kinda drives me crazy) idk not too much yapping from me today but as always i hope y'all enjoy &&& happy munch madness, lets have some good vibes going into game day tmr 🫶

2025

It’s a warm, breezy Tuesday in Connecticut, one of your rare off days, and this is quite possibly the last place you’d expect yourself to be.

Standing before you is an old antique shop. It’s a block away from the apartment you share with your girlfriend, Paige Bueckers, and you pass it every day on your morning jog. It’s rustic, worn at the edges, but there’s something softer about its unassuming visage today. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re out a little later than usual – Paige had an afternoon practice compared to her typical morning ones, so the two of you had lounged in bed for a little longer, soaking in the time together.

Whatever the reason, there was something in the air that compelled you to stop by. So you do.

The sign that hangs over the door is rusted, hanging loosely from one tarnished chain, its words unrecognizable from how time has eroded it. A bell chimes happily as you push the door open. Immediately, you’re hit with the scent of aged paper, ink, and something else that is distinctly vintage. The walls are lined with various art pieces, antique furniture tucked neatly into the crevices of the shop with tan price tags attached. You’re wrought with a familiar sense of nostalgia; there’s something so incredibly touching about the fact that everything in this store had belonged to somebody once, had been something of value, something to take care of. Everything is still in perfect condition. It’s beautiful to know that after someone is long gone, there is still someone out there who will cherish their belongings and take care of them the same way they had.

You gaze around the shop, taking everything in, your steps slow and methodical. You were never a patient shopper, always seeking to get in and get out, but it feels as though the shop is trying to tell you something – trying to show you something. You wander, studying the art, the intricate carvings on aged furniture, until you make your way to the check-out counter. The clerk is absent, although there’s a cardboard box full of old pictures – a black and white photo of a bride, toddlers playing soccer, an elderly couple on a porch swing.

There’s something achingly familiar about them. It makes your heart swell, makes you wrack your brain to discern where you’ve seen these photos before. You sift through the rest, lingering on a few; there’s one of a couple laughing on the porch of what you assume to be their first house, a photo of two people embracing – one is wearing an aged military uniform, which makes your face soften, and the third is two teenagers holding hands, dressed fashionably. That one makes you smile as you take in the lovestruck expression on their faces.

Still, there’s something about the photos that give you pause. You pull out your phone, navigating to FaceTime, and you call the one number you know will pick up no matter what.

The line clicks through and Paige’s face fills your screen. She’s slightly out of breath, her face flushed from the exertion of practice, hair messy and sweat beading at her temples. Despite that, she grins, a sort of smile that’s reserved only for you. “Hey, baby,” she greets, her voice soft, which brings a smile to your face as well. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you say back. “Sorry, I know you’re at practice–”

“We finished early, but I always got time for you,” she promises. “You know that.”

Your smile widens. “Well, I was on my jog, but you know that antique shop in town?” Paige hums in affirmation. “Something told me to go in, so I did. Look at some of these photos I found.” You flip the FaceTime camera, positioning your phone over your collection of photos. Paige leans in a little closer to see, her brows drawing together in concentration.

“They feel…really familiar,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “Like I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim. “It’s so weird. It’s like I know these people.”

“Wait, go back to that one,” Paige requests. “The black and white one, military uniform.” Doing as instructed, you pull that one to the forefront of the stack, gazing at them expectantly. That’s when you truly take a closer look, recognizing the expressions on the couple’s faces, their facial features. Your breath hitches just as Paige says, “Why do they kinda look like–”

“Us,” you finish.

“Yeah,” Paige murmurs, a little awestruck. “I can’t explain it but like – I can feel it.”

You flip the photo around, your eyes catching on the date on the back, and the subsequent memory hits you like a truck.

1944

It’s a sweltering afternoon in May when your life changes.

Well, changes for the second time since 1941.

Three years ago, the United States declared war on Germany and the adjoining Axis powers following the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was a dramatic shift for the entire country, one that displaced just about every facet of life. Men were drafted, heading overseas to fight, leaving holes in the workforce. Although the reality was bleak and dire, you saw this as an opportunity – for independence, for some shred of equality, for freedom. With plenty of job openings as workers were joining the war effort, you landed a job at a shipyard along the coast.

It wasn’t easy. Far from it, actually. You worked long, uncomfortable hours, hardly fitting in time for a break. You, along with several other women, worked on building, repairing, and maintaining the ships that would be used to transport supplies or men overseas. For you, it was enough – the daily routine, the knowledge that you were contributing to something greater than yourself, that your efforts were making a difference. It was worth it.

You get off your shift sometime in the afternoon. You’ve been up since the early hours of the morning; now, you’re half-asleep, only going through the motions and letting pure muscle memory guide you down the busy streets. Something big is happening soon – you can feel it. You’ve noticed drastically more uniformed men on the streets, whispers of another draft; at this point, your suspicion is a matter of when and not if.

Barely aware of what’s in front of you, you turn the corner, colliding roughly with the person in front of you. They hardly move although you bounce backwards, knocked off balance by both your exhaustion and the fact that you’re so much smaller than the other person. You’re already bracing yourself to eat concrete, eyes shut tightly, when you realize you’re not toppling over; instead, there’s a pair of firm hands holding you by the arms, keeping you upright.

“You alright?”

Her voice is concerned, if a little gravelly, rough around the edges in a way that captures your attention immediately. You open your eyes, your breath hitching, because you’re sure this is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. The street is busy — everyone lost in their own little worlds moves right by you, but at this moment? It feels like time stops, like nothing exists except for you and the blonde woman before you. 

Her hair is pulled up in a tight, slick-back bun, the edges pressed and the golden waves reflecting in the early May sun. Her eyes are a deep blue, almost startling so, but there’s an evident kindness that softens the intensity. Her jaw is sharp, angular, her nose sloping elegantly despite the chisel, but what truly captures your attention is her stature — she’s the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, no less than six foot, and her broad shoulders fill out her khaki uniform service shirt. There’s an emblem pinned over her left breast, wing shaped in the aviator insignia. You’ve been staring for far too long already and the pilot is smiling like she’s caught you. Despite yourself, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, your voice even, which makes the expression on her face soften. 

“The flyboys would never let me live it down if I ran you over,” she says coyly, her hands lingering just a second longer on your arms before she finally steadies you. Her touch makes you flustered. “Hurtin’ a girl like you is cause for a national emergency.”

You laugh, a tinkling, carefree sound that betrays the way your heart pounds — in a good way. “You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

With gentle hands, she pulls you under the awning of the storefront you’re standing next to — an antiquities shop, according to the sign, keeping you out of the way of the bustling crowd as she murmurs, “I call it like I see it.”

With a teasing smile, you glance up at her, enjoying the way she looms over you far too much. It’s not intimidating, her stature, but it does make you feel warm all over. She’s long, toned, and you can see the muscle hidden behind her uniform. Her khaki button up is tucked neatly into the waistband of her sage green trousers, the top missing a few clasped buttons to reveal the dog tags hanging from her neck. She looks so put together, handsome and beautiful all in one, and maybe it’s the solemnity of the world around you, but this moment in time feels so peaceful, so right. “Do you, now?” you ask. “And what exactly are you seeing, flygirl?”

The nickname makes her preen, flashing her teeth in a smile that could surely ruin you. “Well,” she begins, her eyes scanning your figure in a way that looks as though she’s in a gallery staring at art, and not actually standing in the middle of a crowded street and staring at a woman who has just gotten off a twelve hour shift, covered in motor oil. Her gaze doesn’t make you feel objectified – far from it, but you’re beginning to think that you enjoy her attention. “I see this pretty girl – gorgeous is more like it, but I ain’t never been good with words. Just actions.” Her lips quirk slightly, reaching out with her thumb to wipe away a smudge of grease off of your cheekbone. Your face flushes, which only makes her features brighten like the clouds parting for the sun. “I see honesty. Ambition.”

“You can tell that much about me just from one look?” you say, a little amused.

“I’d tell you a hell of a lot more if it meant seein’ you again,” she confesses.

You scan her features, not quite sure what you’re searching for – deception, maybe, but you don’t see it. All you see is genuinity, a certain brand of hope that you haven’t seen in anyone’s expression in the last few years. You don’t know anything about her other than the fact that she’s a pilot, an aviator, but a slow smile spreads across your face the more you consider her request.

In times like these, you need all the joy you can get, no matter how short it is. So you teasingly lean in, relishing in the way her body eclipses yours as she melts into you, but you stop her with a hand to the chest. You know she could easily push past it, but you appreciate the way her body goes rigid, like she’s letting you make the call. Her brow raises – a challenge, maybe? – but despite herself, her smile grows, too.

“I’m not that easy,” you whisper to her, satisfied when her breath hitches. You press against her gently and she leans back, acquiescing. “You’re gonna have to work for it if you wanna see me so bad.”

“I can do that,” she promises, nodding emphatically, which makes you laugh quietly – she’d seemed so confident, so composed; now, she just seems eager to impress, to listen to every word you say.

Content, you take a step back, flashing one last smile. “See you soon, flygirl,” you say, enjoying the smitten look on her face, until –

“I never got your name, yardbird!” Her voice carries over the thrum of the crowd.

When you pause, glancing back at her, she seems amused, if not a little hopeful to hear you answer. But again – you’re not that easy. “Find me again and I’ll tell you,” you call back, your promise reaching her ears. You watch as her smile grows; even from afar, you can make out the determination in her eyes, the clear message of challenge accepted.

You’re not surprised to see her again.

If anything, you were almost expecting it. Her eyes had held a promise, the vow that she’d rise to the challenge. She didn’t become a pilot by being unambitious – you were sure that it was the complete opposite of that, having to work twice as hard as her flyboy companions. Any surprise you hold is because of how soon you see her.

It’s the next day and you’re walking home from the shipyard again, taking that same path you’ve taken hundreds of times across the years. You’re guided by muscle memory, weaving around the slow walkers and finding natural gaps in the crowd. When you turn the corner, the pilot is standing under the awning of the antiquities shop again, her hair pinned up in the same, sleek bun, her uniform crisp and pressed. She’s glancing at her wristwatch and as soon as you round the corner, stepping onto the street, she looks up and meets your eyes immediately. A smug smile graces her features.

“Found you,” she calls out, pushing herself off of the wall with a boot to the brick. You roll your eyes, amused, and you meet her in the middle by the doorway.

“You memorizing my schedule?” you ask her.

She shrugs a coy shoulder. “I’m committed,” she declares. “Said you weren’t gonna make it easy for me, right?”

“So she does listen,” you muse.

“Every word.” You smile at her, and it’s then that you realize she’s hiding her hands behind her back. Recognizing your curiosity, she reveals her hands, her smile softening – she’s holding a singular red rose, a rich, dark red in color, and you shouldn’t be surprised, but you are. “Think this is enough to finally earn your name, yardbird?”

You hum, tapping your chin dramatically, which draws a laugh from the aviator. Conceding, you take the rose from outstretched hands, much to her relief. You introduce yourself, listening as she tests the pronunciation on her tongue, smiling at how nice it sounds rolling off her tongue. Then, she sticks out her hand for you to shake as she states, “Paige Bueckers, airforce service pilot.”

She walks you home after that, her hand gentle yet protective over the small of your back. Your conversation is full of laughter, teasing, and Paige flirting with you unashamedly; you like it more than you would ever admit to her, although you’re certain she knows. Despite the fact that this is only your second conversation, there’s something about Paige that gives her the uncanny ability to understand you – it’s like a connection that goes deeper than your accidental run in from yesterday, like she was born to know you and you were born to know her. It’s like you’ve known Paige Bueckers your entire life. It’s a new feeling, but certainly not an unwelcome one.

This quickly becomes your routine. You wake up early, spend your morning and the better part of the afternoon at the shipyard, then Paige walks you home. Getting to know her comes as easy as breathing and being with her is almost enough to make you forget about the chaos in the world. It’s like Paige is your perfect complement. She came into your life in the most unexpected way possible, but the more time you spend with her, the more nights you invite her over for dinner, the more you realize that you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some nights she stays over. Paige blends so seamlessly into your routine that you wonder how you were ever complete without her at your side constantly. In the mornings, she’ll brew your coffee – how she figured out exactly how you took it, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t complaining, make your breakfast, massage your hands (because they were always sore and calloused from working on the ships all day), and walk you to the shipyard every day. At some point in time, she graduated from having a hand on your back to tangling your fingers together, which is something you truly relished in.

Over the month, the two of you get closer. Sometimes you stay at her house, waking up early enough to iron her uniform just to make her day a little easier. Paige tells you that you don’t have to go out of your way to do that for her, but secretly, you like it when she’s still in the grips of sleep and she gets out of bed to wrap her arms around you, resting her chin on your shoulder and watching you smooth out every wrinkle from her shirt. She’s warm, and soft, and dare you say it, she’s yours, even though neither of you have truly discussed it yet. It’s not traditional – in fact, nothing about the two of you is traditional; until recently, it wasn’t normal for women to work, let alone fly airplanes, let alone be in relationships together, but it works because it’s you and Paige. It works because although you’ll never have the vocabulary to describe it, you know this isn’t the first time you’ve met Paige. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared sleepy mornings together. It’s not even the first time you’ve loved her. Whether you truly realized it or not, you and Paige were a story centuries in the making, spanning across several years, decades, lifetimes.

But in a world like this, not everything can be perfect. Your suspicions were right from the very beginning.

“I have to leave,” Paige whispers to you on one quiet, sunny afternoon. It’s June 1st, barely fourteen hours into the day when Paige breaks the news. You’d been working since dawn. When Paige picked you up from the shipyard, she’d been noticeably dim, not nearly as lively on the walk back. You pressed, but she was silent, so you’d hoped that she was just tired from training; then, she’d suggested the two of you go to her backyard to lay in the sun. You curled up next to her, your chin on her chest, smiling as she pointed out the different shapes in the clouds (“That one’s definitely a boat,” you’d said, finger directed at a blob in the sky, to which Paige had responded with, “Y’think so, yardbird?”)

You knew Paige was an aviator. An aircraft service pilot, to be exact. You knew that eventually, she would be called in to fulfill a duty. You just never thought it would come so soon.

“When?” you murmur, willing your voice not to crack. Your hand was resting over her stomach – you can feel how her breathing comes to her quicker, hear the way her heart pounds in her chest. She wants to leave just as much as you want her to, but she knows she’s bound by obligation.

“Tomorrow morning,” she responds. Your heart aches and she can only tighten her arm around your shoulders, her chin pressing into your temple. “I’m flyin’ out to England – all of the Allies will be there. We’ll get debriefed, then… I’m flying twenty men into Normandy to invade Europe. After that, I’ll be transporting supplies and cargo between our bases and the frontlines.”

“Paige,” you try, but the lump in your throat cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says, trying for a lighthearted tone, but you can hear that it’s weighing on her just as much as it’s weighing on you. “I’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t make me a promise you can’t keep,” you beg, which makes Paige deflate, unable to continue being strong. “There’s no guarantees–”

“I know–”

“And don’t be reckless, you hear–”

“Yardbird,” Paige stresses, her voice cracking on the syllables of her nickname for you; despite the anguish on her face, there’s a calm acceptance, a sort of determination that looks like a promise to return. She squeezes your shoulder, directing your attention to her face. Tears are pooling on her waterline and if there’s one thing that’s always true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that irritating, unmistakable confidence of hers; you can see it reflected in her eyes. She believes that she’s coming home after this mission. You know better than to get your hopes up. “I promise you–”

“Don’t–”

She interrupts you with a stern look, desperation clouding her features now. She needs you to hear this. “I promise I’ll come home to you,” she vows. Paige’s voice softens to a whisper, her eyes searching yours to make sure you’re listening. “I don’t care what it takes. As soon as my mission is complete, I’ll be flying the first plane out of Europe. You and me?” Paige trails off, squeezing your hand like it’s a lifeline. “We aren’t done here. I still have to make you mine.” You murmur her name, but she shakes her head, needing to finish her thought. “I still have to introduce you to my family – to Drew. There’s so much more we have to do together – that we are going to do together. Okay?”

You gaze at her for a few achingly long moments, trying to memorize the blue of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the way her hair is disheveled because she’s usually so put together and that thought alone makes fresh tears spring to your eyes. Before they can fall, she leans up, pressing her thumbs to your cheeks and her forehead to yours. “I’ll write you letters,” she promises. “Everyday.”

You breathe in deep, trying to remember her scent. You know that you still have the rest of the day with Paige, but it feels like she’s already overseas. Gathering yourself, you nod against her, trying to commit the way her skin feels on yours to memory. “Okay,” you repeat, giving in. Her fingers brush across your skin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. She’s scanning your features for any hint of a falsehood, but the only thing she sees is a quiet acceptance, the kind that comes when you know you can’t argue anymore or stop something from happening.

She offers you a gentle, wobbly smile, and it does lift your spirits some. If Paige can believe so ardently in something, then so can you. “I’ll be okay,” she says again.

“I know,” you confess, because deep down, you really do think she’ll come back to you. From the very first moment you crossed paths, you learned that Paige was not one to back down. Now, when her choices are coming home to you or not coming home at all, her decision is simple.

Nothing changes when she leaves. You work your shifts, mind obviously elsewhere, but with what you know about her deployment, you know that you can’t dwell on it too much. You have a heftier workload now, maintaining and fixing the ships, so you get lost in the routine.

The bright spot of your week is the first letter comes a few days after she leaves. Somehow, the worn paper smells like her, and you smile at the sign of her looping scrawl, the borderline chicken scratch handwriting. It makes you think of all of the times she’d leave you notes across your house, reminding you that you’re beautiful and that she’s thinking of you. The memory makes your chest ache, so you push it to the back of your mind.

June 3, 1944

To my yardbird,

I just landed in England. It’s very busy here. It’s beautiful, too, and I think you’d like it. I can see us walking down the cobblestone streets together, maybe sometime in the future when the vendors and stalls are in business again. I would probably say something annoying and you’d shake your head, amused and trying to hide your smile, but I would know.

How are you doing? How is the shipyard? The hibiscuses we planted in May? I want to hear everything.

When I sat down to write this, I thought the words would come easy to me. I spent my entire flight thinking of what I would say to you, what I would ask. I thought it would be easy to tell you how desperately I want you and how I count down the hours until I get to see you again. Maybe God’s honest truth is that these aren’t understandings that can be summarized in one single letter – or truths that can’t be summarized at all.

Do you ever think about how you can look up and see the same sky as me, the same stars? I’ve spent a lot of time in the air. I know the clouds like the back of my hand, the way they move, the way the wind currents will guide me home. I know more about the sky than I know of the earth. In my profession, it’s hard to stay grounded – literally and figuratively, but my time with you has reminded me that there is an importance in returning to the soil, spreading my roots, seeking out a future I previously thought I couldn’t afford. You’ve given me hope, a dream, a love.

On my flight to England, I looked to the west and I saw a star. It shone brighter than the rest, glimmering and sparkling despite the fading night. As I’m writing this, I’m staring at the very same star. It makes me feel as though we aren’t so far apart right now, that you could look up and see what I’m seeing. You and I, we’re still connected, two ends of a red string coated in something cosmic and everlasting. When I look to the sky, it’s like I’m looking at you.

I will be home soon. That is my one promise to you. Until then, I hope you’ll look to the sky and look for me, too.

Yours,

–P

You draft your response immediately and send it off with the mail carrier before evening. You don’t know when it will get to her or if she’ll have much time to write back, but before you go to bed that night, you step outside and direct your attention to the western sky. You spot the star she was referring to almost immediately, the way it twinkles against a dark canvas; despite the ache in your heart, looking at it makes you feel a little less alone.

June 7, 1944

To my flygirl,

You make England sound so peaceful. I’m sure it is made all the more beautiful a country by you being in it. I would love to visit with you, when the world is all right and it’s a warm, summer day. Even if we just explore the cities, you have a way of making each moment feel more significant. You turn the mundane into a memory. Wherever you go, you leave a trail of magic behind you, and I am endlessly blessed that God has put me on this earth with you if only so I could follow it.

I’m holding up. The days are long and the nights are short and I miss you more and more each day you’re gone. According to the radios, you flew into Normandy yesterday and the invasion began. I hope you stay safe. The shipyard is busy – we are sending out more and more ships everyday for cargo and for men. Even more come back for repairs. I rarely get a break as of late, although I know my job is an important one. The hibiscuses are healthy, but they bloomed a little brighter when you were here to care for them. I don’t know how you do it. It is as though these things know you – they know you’re gentle, and kind, and that you have this nourishing, uplifting factor about you. They know of your love as well as I do, of what it is like to be without it.

I find myself writing and then pausing. I have so many things I would like to say to you but this paper can only hold so many of my thoughts. I agree that one letter is not enough to express myself fully. However, I know not to worry. You are thoughtful in ways most people never think to be and you have always been talented in understanding me before I’ve been able to understand myself. There are many things you know but I do like saying them. I miss you – isn’t it funny how we always come back to this? I miss you in a way that makes my chest ache. I miss having you in bed next to me and I miss the way you sing in the mornings. I miss you because you are everything I didn’t know I needed and more than I ever thought I deserved.

Remembering that you are under the same sky as me makes me feel a little less alone. Remembering that you see the same stars, the same moon, the same sun reassures me you aren’t so far away. Remembering that you feel the same love reminds me that you’ll be home soon.

With love,

Your yardbird

Over the course of the next several weeks, you continue to work. You continue to gaze at the sky before bed, imagining Paige doing the same before she goes to sleep. You write to her and you read the letters she sends you. They always start the same – an affectionate “To my yardbird” that never fails to bring a smile to your face. She tells you about her days, never once mentioning the toils of the war, only the beauty of the nature around her in spite of the damages around it. She tells you about the other women airforce service pilots – the WASPs – in her platoon and their ineffable courage. Paige tells you about the ones vying to return home to their families, too, and their unshakable determination to make it home.

You reread all of her letters when the sun goes down. Each and every one of them, starting with the one dated from June 3 to her most recent one. At this point, you have all of her letters memorized from the penmanship to the content. You spend hours with your hands clasped as you utter your hopes, prayers, a constant wish for her to be safe.

The weeks tick by. There’s nothing of note on the radio. You get lost in the rhythm of working, of thinking about Paige, of writing letters to her and handing them off to the mail carrier with the same unwavering expression of hope. You remind yourself that you and Paige aren’t done here, and that she’ll be back soon.

Then, her letters slow down ever so slightly. The Allies are pushing for one more coordinated attack, she’d written to you. I’ll be in the air frequently.

All you could do was wait. And hope. And work.

So, you do.

Four more weeks pass by. In that time span, you only get one letter from Paige in the second week, then she’s silent for the next two.

You try to not let the worry ruin your life.

On August 25, the radio at the shipyard crackles to life, announcing, “The Allied advance has liberated France. The Germans are in full retreat.”

You felt as though you could breathe a little easier, but you were still sick without the knowledge of whether or not Paige was okay. You don’t hear anything for two days.

On August 27, you’re leaving work early, a rare happenstance. Given the relative silence of the last few days of the invasion, you and the other women were able to finish repairs fully on the current batch of ships you were working on and you were waiting to get the damaged ones back from overseas. With nothing else to do, you walk your worn path back home, letting pure exhaustion and muscle memory guide you home. You’re too tired to even think, but you do glance up at the antiquities shop as you pass by. It had become a habit over the last twelve weeks, bringing a smile to your face as you remember the day you and Paige had met.

But you stop in your tracks, letting the bustle of the crowd pass you by as you gawk. Part of you can’t believe it, half-tempted to rub your eyes, convinced you’re in the middle of a dream or that the sheer exhaustion of the past three months has finally caught up with you. All you can do is stare, until–

Paige Bueckers cocks one of her signature, amused smiles, her eyes relieved and fatigued all at the same time. Her hair lacks its usual gel, the edges unruly. Her uniform top is buttoned one lower than usual, exposing the undershirt she’s wearing, and the hem is barely tucked into the waistband of her trousers. She doesn’t look injured, just like she could use a really long nap, but the sight of her makes your heart leap out of your chest.

“You’re early today, yardbird,” she comments wryly, glancing down at her wristwatch. “You got a hot date?”

You drop your bag at your feet, coming into her personal space with three quick strides. Judging by her expression, it’s clear she wasn’t expecting this reaction from you, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you cup her cheeks, standing on the tips of your toes to kiss her. Paige melts into you completely, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against her with an overwhelming amount of relief. She sighs against you, tilting her head to kiss you deeper, but your hands tremble on her face as you taste the salt on her lips. You can’t believe that she’s here right now. After twelve weeks of aching, of hoping, of believing, she’s here. 

You break away from her when your lungs burn, needing to breathe. Despite the tears, she’s still smiling when she presses her forehead to yours, her eyelids slipping shut like she just needs to absorb the moment and breathe you in. You do the same, your hands sliding down to tangle in the fabric of her shirt. She’s firm, she’s warm, she’s alive and she’s in front of you and you have possibly everything you’ve ever wanted right here in front of you. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper into her chest, your voice a little muffled, but Paige’s shoulders shake with laughter, dissolving all of the tension left in your body.

“I told you,” she murmurs, her chin pressing into your temple as she holds you close, “I’d come home to you.”

And if there’s one thing that’s true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that she doesn’t break a promise. Not this one, and certainly not the one she makes to you almost a year and a half later in her backyard when the two of you exchange private vows during a quiet, peaceful, summer afternoon, promising to love each other for the rest of your lives.

2025

As quickly as the memory comes to you, it disappears just as fast, leaving you in a daze. You blink once, twice, wondering if you’d just imagined it all or if that was real. Glancing back down at the photo in front of you, the two women embracing in the middle of a crowded street – one a flygirl, one a yardbird, their features so similar and their expressions so loving, you think that it had felt too real to be fake.

“Hey, you alright?” Paige’s voice echoes from your call, concern laced in her tone, and despite yourself, you can’t help but crack a smile because those were the very first words the aviator had said to you. Perhaps there was more truth to it than you thought.

“I’m okay,” you promise, peering down at the photos again. An idea hits you all at once. “You said you finished practice early, right?” Your girlfriend hums, clearly confused with where you were going with this. “How quickly can you get to this antique store?”

Paige doesn’t keep you waiting too long. She makes it to you in record time, the jingle of the bell above the door capturing your attention. You glance up, spotting her, and the two of you share matching smiles as she strides closer to press a kiss to your temple, squeezing your hip. “Alright,” she murmurs. “Lemme see these pictures.”

You hover silently next to her as she sifts through the pile of pictures you’d accumulated. She lingers on the black and white photo of the pilot and the shipyard worker – describing that photo as you and Paige still feels a little too weird, but you watch as her brows furrow, her eyes lighting up with something that looks like recognition. You don’t even have to ask to know that she’s feeling the exact same thing that you did.

“This is insane,” she mumbles under her breath, which makes you laugh a little, amused. Paige holds the photo gently in one of her hands as she looks through the others, finding one of two teenagers holding hands on their way to a dance, presumably, considering the way they’re dressed. They don’t look as similar to you and Paige as the first photo did, but it still brings back a sense of nostalgia that Paige picks up on, too. “You remember prom? Junior year at Hopkins?” your girlfriend asks, nudging you gently.

You resist rolling your eyes. “How could I not?” you say sarcastically. “Someone saran-wrapped the doors so tightly that the principal had to call the fire department just so we could get in.” Paige laughs. Affection blooms in your chest despite yourself, and you grin, too. “We made the best of it, didn’t we?” Paige hums in affirmation, brushing her fingers across the photo before you before picking up another one. It’s two people laughing on a porch. You can tell they’re lovers by their closeness. “Remember when I rented my first apartment and you helped me move in?”

Her lips curl into a fond smirk. By help you mean Paige stayed over every night for a week straight, delaying your unpacking and “breaking in the new crib,” whatever that meant. You’d enlisted her to help with your furniture, your decor, and building shelves, but you’d go to bed in her arms and wake up to all of your furniture in completely different spots. “Oh no,” Paige would whine, a terrible actress to this day. “Guess I gotta stay and help you fix this.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was intentionally waking up at night and “inconveniencing” you just so she could stay a little longer and annoy you, but you suppose the real kicker was she never really needed an excuse to be near you, anyway. You would have let her stay for the week even if it meant she didn’t fuck up the way your furniture was arranged.

“I still dunno why your furniture kept moving,” she muses, still committed to the bit. “You ever call maintenance? Or security or somethin’?”

You roll your eyes for real this time, pressing a little closer. She raises her arm to rest it over your shoulders. You pick up a photo of a 30’s bride, her veil long over her face. It wasn’t a secret that you wanted to marry Paige someday – the two of you had been together since high school and you both had discussed as much; now, she was entering her final March Madness tournament as a Husky. The two of you were so interwoven into the fabric of each other’s lives that you were sure you would be together until one of you took your last breath.

“You look pretty in white,” she comments off-handedly, like she’s slick, but you know better.

You grin. “You think so?” you ask coyly. She hums again, a smile of her own growing on her features the more she stares at the picture of the bride. “Well, I think you look pretty good in a suit, too.”

“Oh, little ole me?” she croons, faux shyness lacing her tone.

“You’re so annoying,” you say.

“You’ve loved me since we were fourteen,” she reminds you – as if you’d ever forget it. “You’re stuck with me at this point.”

The truth was, you’d be content to be stuck with her for the rest of your life. The other truth was that Paige’s ego was already so dangerously over-inflated that it’s days away from popping like a balloon with too much helium, so you couldn’t possibly admit that to her. The third truth was that Paige knows you love her, just as she loves you, so she didn’t need you to admit it to her, anyhow. The both of you were stuck with each other, not that either of you minded.

“Let’s get these?” you request, and Paige nods, scooping up your selected photos in her gentle hands.

But it still feels like you’re missing something. You have your photos, the memory of a life long passed – which reminds you; you and Paige will be having a lengthy conversation about that memory later today – but it feels as though you haven’t seen everything the universe clearly wants you to see. So you link hands with Paige, scanning the shop once more as you search for the missing piece.

It’s Paige who actually locates it after a few moments of walking. She glances at you meaningfully, guiding you down a row of bookshelves, eyes roaming over its contents like she knows exactly what she’s looking for. At the very end of the line, there’s an old, dusty, leatherbound book covered in cobwebs laying flat on an antique table, as though someone pulled it off the shelves to read and then forgot about it. Paige exhales like it was exactly what she was looking for.

She drops your hand to brush the back of her hand over the front cover, getting rid of the dust and the cobwebs, and then immediately sneezes. It makes you choke on a giggle, the mystery and the intrigue of the moment softened by Paige’s incessant allergies, and the tips of her ears flush red as you whisper a quiet, “Bless you.”

When the cover is clean, she wipes her hands on her shorts and opens the book carefully to the front page. You peer over her shoulder again. The penmanship is in neat cursive, the ink fading with time, but still legible enough for you to read. There’s a date in the top right corner reading 1543 September 9. Paige whistles lowly, holding the book a lot more gingerly now, which amuses you a little bit.

You look at the first line, reading, “Father procured me this journal to document my life and my emotions. He believes that it will help regulate me and, in quote, save me from this phase of rebellion lest I make a mockery of the crown. I am only eighteen. Surely, he must understand that the life of a princess is not one for me.”

Paige blinks once. “Well, that’s heavy.”

“Paige, she’s eighteen.”

“Technically, like…” your girlfriend pauses to do the math in her head, “...Four hundred and…eighty sum’.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, and when you reach out to turn the page, you’re hit with another memory – only this time, you know that Paige is seeing it too.

1543

“Princess, your father is just trying to look out for you. He is just…a little misguided.”

You huff indignantly as you drag your brush through your hair. You truly do not mean to be this dramatic, but indignance just seems to be the main emotion that your father manages to evoke from you. Ever since you turned eighteen, the “of age” marker determining your eligibility to officially inherit the throne, the King – your father – has been nothing short of particular. Exacting. Expectant. If you’re not studying with your tutor, you’re listening in on his meetings, learning the ins and outs of how to run a country. You’re his only heir, so deep down, you understand why he demands so much from you. There’s a short time between now and when your father won’t be deemed fit to run a country. You’re just upset that being the princess means you can’t be you anymore.

There’s a certain degree of freedom you get used to growing up in the castle. You want for nothing – everything is provided for you, no question about it. You have the best education possible, learning from private tutors all over the world – math prodigies, language experts, philosophers. Everything you could possibly want is at the tip of your fingers. As of late, however, it seems that you may just be broken. 

You long to be outdoors, away from the castle and its stuffy, too large walls. You long to do things for enjoyment and not for obligation. You’re eighteen – you want to be with people your age, not the children of the entitled, pompous bureaucrats that your father rubs elbows with. You want to be you, not the Princess, not the heir to the throne, just you.

It seems there are just some luxuries that one cannot afford, not even monarchs with the world at their disposal.

“‘Misguided’ is one word for it,” you huff, trying to not catch too much of an attitude with your chambermaid, Carlotta. It is not her fault, not in the slightest, and she’s been there for you your entire life – even longer than your father has. “I do not want to be–”

Carlotta hushes you, a gentle, cautious hand resting over your shoulder. You clamp your mouth shut. “You must be careful, Princess,” she murmurs.

“There are eyes and ears everywhere,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. “I know. I’m sorry.”

That was another thing you loathed about being a royal – the constant paranoia. It is a well-known fact that your father has enemies. Perhaps that is just a fact of life that comes with being king, a political figure, someone in charge of making decisions for millions of people. It is hard to be free when you’re tailed by your father’s most trusted knights and officers.

“It is all right,” Carlotta assures you. “Now come – you must be ready for the banquet.”

You nod, swallowing back your remark, and you allow Carlotta to help you into your gown.

The banquet goes as well as you were expecting. It’s loud, raucous, and full of minging, networking, and brown-nosing. You’re certain that you’ve never faked as many smiles or laughs as you have until today, but once it becomes socially acceptable, you sneak out the back door.

Or, as well as one can sneak when there’s a knight tasked with following your every move.

You glance over your shoulder. Just before the door slams shut, a tall figure in breathable armor slinks through the gap, following you at a respectable pace. However, there’s something that gives you pause.

As irritated as you are at the prospect of being tailed by your father’s appointed guards, you’ve made a habit of knowing who they are. Tristan is your usual suspect – he’s tall, lean, and his armor is recognizable. There’s a crest on his breastplate, signifying that he comes from a family of nobles, but this knight lacks the decorative chestpiece. Every other day, you’re then followed by Maximus. He is a little shorter than Tristan, although in place of a family crest, he has the traditional knight’s insignia – he doesn’t come from a family of nobles; rather, he’s an experienced knight who worked his way up through those ranks.

Whoever is wearing this suit of armor isn’t Tristan or Maximus, and you know that while your father makes a habit of annoying you, he wouldn’t reassign your patrols without telling you. Feeling your heart beat a little faster in your chest, you lengthen your strides, trying to get away from whoever is pursuing you without giving it away that you know they’re an enemy.

The issue with all of the country’s royals concentrated in one wing of the castle means that the large majority of the knights are assigned to that wing. That means there’s little protection through the back corridors. That means you need to find a way to get the knight off of your trail. There’s a variety of things you could be used for. A bargaining chip. An arranged marriage. Perhaps you’d just be killed entirely.

You hang a left, casting another glance over your shoulder. You don’t see the knight round the corner just yet, but you can hear his footsteps pick up speed. Realizing how dire your situation is now, you will your body into a run, thanking Carlotta for putting you in a pair of sandals instead of the heels your stylist had set out for you. The heavy clank of armor follows you down the winding halls as you breathlessly search for your exit.

To your right is a set of tall glass doors, leading into the palace gardens. Confident in being able to find somewhere to hide there, you push the doors open and run outside.

What you’re not expecting to find, however, is a tall blonde woman sparring in the dark. She spins on a dime, her sword lowering, but recognition flickers across her face once she realizes you’re the Princess. You briefly wonder if she’s a knight, too, or if she’s here to kill you, as well, but you throw all caution to the wind, deciding to trust the blue of her gaze. “Help me!” you exclaim, throwing yourself behind her just as the glass doors burst open and the turncoat knight barrels outside.

You realize, perhaps a little too late, that the blonde woman is not wearing armor. She’s dressed in a breathable navy and white tunic, the knight’s crest emblazoned across the chest, and a pair of worn boots. At the very least, she’s drastically more agile than her opponent (and taller, too, you note, although you remind yourself that there’s possibly a time and a place for those sorts of realizations). 

The armored knight draws his sword, a quiet acceptance in his body language like he knows he’ll have to go through the blonde knight to get to you, but she’s rigid, confident, rising to the challenge completely.

They collide in a flurry of sparks, loud groans, and the clang of metal against metal. The blonde, to her credit, doesn’t budge, but the force of their impact sends the armored knight stumbling. Using that to her advantage, she delivers a swift kick to his abdomen, which makes the knight fall to the ground completely. 

“Yield!” she barks, her blade against the soft part of his helmet.

He pauses, gazing up at her as if truly contemplating it, before his own leg jerks out, knocking her off balance. She grunts, dropping to one knee, and he uses her injury to kick her backwards as well. He digs his sword into the soil, using it to lift himself up. The knight spins his sword in his hand, remnants of dirt flying off of his blade, and he stalks towards her like a predator to his prey. All you can do is watch on in horror. 

You’re so focused on the other knight that you don’t notice her fingers digging into the dirt next to her until she comes up with a fistful of soil that she launches directly at his helmet. He recoils with a yelp, disoriented, and the blonde knight locates her sword, slashing out in a quick motion and catching the soft spot where his knee bends. He staggers again and she slams her hilt into his wrist, causing him to drop his sword. She grabs it immediately, dual wielding both blades, and the checkmate move comes when she kicks his injured leg. He falls to his knees and she crosses both of the swords under his neck again, chest heaving and sweat beading at her temple.

“Yield,” she commands. “I won’t ask again.”

He lifts his head ever so slightly, meeting your gaze across the garden. You stand your ground even though you’re rattled and you can feel your pulse in your fingertips. Barely eighteen and I’m already surviving assassination attempts, you think to yourself, Father would be proud. Then, he drops his head again, defeat in his posture. “...I yield.”

By the time he finishes his sentences, the garden doors burst open and more of your father’s nights enter the garden, brandishing their blades. They catch sight of the blonde knight, swords to your attacker’s neck, then settle their gaze on you, breathing heavily but not a hair out of place. “Arrest him,” one of the captains instructs, and another knight surges forward to deal with the attacker. “Secure the Princess. Alert the King immediately.”

The garden is a flurry of activity as the knights disperse. One group leaves as they drag away your attacker. Another group surrounds you as if forming a wall between you and any potential danger. Still, you can’t keep your eyes off of your savior, the blonde woman whose cheek is slightly smeared with blood. You’re not sure if it’s hers or his, but this isn’t a night you’re going to forget for a while – not because of the attempt on your life, but because of this knight’s bravery, her spur of the moment decision to put her life on the line for you, especially against an opponent with far more protection than her.

It’s nearly stupid. She’d behaved so recklessly, but it was her job. So why do you feel so drawn towards her?

Your father arrives with a security detail of his own. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting from him, but he gives you a cursory look over, nodding in approval when he sees that you’re okay, before he turns to his men. “Who allowed this to happen?” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to, but you think he’s scarier like this – the deadly sort of calm that only comes out when someone is truly pissed. “Who allowed a turncoat knight to nearly kill my daughter?”

His men are notably silent. Your father scoffs, shaking his head, and he turns on his heel, probably ready to storm out until he catches sight of the blonde knight, standing solemnly in the corner. “Who are you?”

Her voice doesn’t waver when she answers, not meeting your father’s eyes out of respect. “Sir Paige Bueckers, Your Majesty.”

He glances at her – armorless, then he glances at the rest of the knights gathered – uniformed. “Why are you here?”

Paige hesitates, looking up to meet your eyes, a silent plea for help. “She saved me, Father,” you answer for her, drawing your father’s attention back to you. She relaxes slightly, gratitude in her expression. “I noticed the knight following me wasn’t one of my usual handlers. So I ran out here to flee and found Sir Paige.” Your father looks at Paige again, studying her in a new light. His quiet contemplation could mean a lot of things. Then, surprising everyone, you say, “Father, I want her reassigned to my guard detail immediately.”

Your father considers this for a few moments longer, then he turns to the captain. “See to it,” he orders. The captain nods emphatically. And with that, your Father returns indoors, his security detail following. The rest of the knights follow until it’s just you and Paige, who stares at you with a mix of shock and curiosity.

You nod at her, softening. “Come. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Paige, unsurprisingly, is not a woman of many words. You don’t expect her to initiate any sort of conversation with you given your status, but she does look at you – a lot – mostly when she thinks that you’re not aware of it. There is nothing inherently inappropriate about her gaze. You can tell she’s curious. You can also tell that she knows she has a duty to do. Her gaze flickers on and off you to scan the hallways for any sort of potential danger and her hand hovers over the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist as if someone would jump at you both from the shadows.

Functionally, she hasn’t said a single word to you since you met her, yet you battle the urge to get to know her. You know that would never be allowed – a royal fraternizing with a knight. It breaches every code of conduct and tradition that you’ve been raised to recite by memory. Despite your knowledge, there seems to be a pull between you and the knight, one that you’re finding harder and harder to resist as you watch her brows tent in concentration, her eyes studying everything about her surroundings as you lead her to the medic.

When the two of you reach the infirmary, she doesn’t say much else, either, only nodding or shaking her head when the physician asks questions like “Does it hurt when I do this?” or “Do you feel any pain here?” You do watch as her face screws up, discomfort in her features, when the physician pokes and prods at her knee.

She’s fortunate, according to the physician, that it is only bruised and she should expect to recover quickly. Taking an armored boot to the knee when you’re wearing only a thin tunic is usually grounds for a fracture or a broken bone. Paige takes the diagnosis in stride, her eyes trailing after the physician as she leaves the infirmary to fetch some herbs from the greenhouse, and shamelessly, your eyes find the knight again. She doesn’t glance at you, but you can tell that she’d like to, so you break the silence to say, “You don’t need to be so formal with me.”

Her throat bobs as she argues, “I do.” Then, as if you’d forgotten, she reminds you, “You’re the princess. Treating you otherwise would be disrespectful.”

You cock a wry smile. “And would disobeying my wishes not also be disrespectful, Sir Paige?”

She pauses, not expecting that one, and finally, she glances up to meet your eyes. Her eyes are startlingly blue, alert despite the exhaustion and the lingering pain of her battle, but they’re kind. They’re soft in a way you would never expect from a hardened knight. They’re gentle when they appraise you, studying your features, and her features relax as if she’s looking at you – truly looking at you – for the first time. “I suppose it would be, Princess,” she agrees. “I apologize.”

Your smile softens, too. “Considering you saved my life today, perhaps we can call it even?” you suggest, trying for a joking tone, and you find that it’s well-received when she chuckles. “Thank you for that, by the way. I would not be here without your courage.”

“I was just doing my duty,” she murmurs humbly. “My only wish is for you to not have had to witness that.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you say reflexively.

Paige glances at you again, her eyes lingering on your face before a slow smile curls on her lips. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You know she doesn’t intend to say that in any sort of way, but the warmth of her gaze, the approval in her eyes, and her words alone are enough to make your cheeks flush. It’s wrong – that much you’re sure of. You haven’t known the knight for very long, but there’s something so magnetic about her, like you’ve met her before, like you know you’ll be safe with her. This conversation feels like one you’ve had before. That thought doesn’t alarm you as much as it should. Paige just feels right.

Then, she raises her hand, rubbing her face, and she doesn’t realize that she’s reopened the small cut beneath her eye. “Oh,” you say, not nothing much of it as you reach out for a piece of gauze, “you’re bleeding.” Motioning to the wound and ignorant to the way Paige’s breath hitches, you ask, “May I?” She nods and you step between her parted legs, hovering over her as you gingerly reach out with the cotton, fingers light and delicate against her skin, cleaning away the blood. You and Paige are inches apart by now, and the sudden closeness makes your hand tremble, especially when your eyes flick up to meet Paige’s. The expression on her face is almost awestruck, reverent in a way that makes you forget about how dangerous this is. You don’t realize that you’ve planted your free hand on her shoulder, holding onto her to keep her from moving, nor do you realize how her hands grip the edges of the table, knuckles white like she knows it would be wrong to touch you, but the way her breath stutters makes it so obvious that she’s desperate to regardless.

Sobering up, you lean back, red tinging your cheeks as Paige exhales deeply. The physician returns to the infirmary at that time, grinding together herbs in a mortar and pestle and muttering to herself absently. You and Paige exchange a glance, the heat of the previous moment softening as you both put some space between each other, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve stumbled across something that you shouldn’t have – the chemistry between you and the knight. You’ve always been curious and daring by nature; you know yourself well enough to know that you’ll track down that spark and see where it goes, even if it means sweeping the ashes under the rug after it ignites into something you can’t quite stop.

For now, you have to play it smarter. All eyes are on you as you prepare to take the throne from your father, and the last thing you want to do is jeopardize Paige and her future, even if you’ve already done so by assigning her to your personal guard.

Beneath the professionalism, the practiced stoicism that you see right through, you recognize that very same spark reflected in Paige’s eyes – the curiosity, the determination, the willingness to press the match to the kindling if you’d so much as asked. You know this is risky, that this energy between you and Paige is something that will splinter the foundations of the life you’ve grown so accustomed to.

And the worst part of it?

You wouldn’t even mind if it did.

Paige assimilates seamlessly into your routine. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the knight, who adjusts to her new position with a startling quickness and efficiency. Given the recent attack on your life, your father arranged to have her moved to a room only a door down from yours in the Royal Wing of the palace, believing that having her close would allow her to protect you better. She becomes your shadow of sorts, although you had to put your foot down early on in your new…partnership, and force her to walk side by side with you instead of the infuriating ten or so feet away.

“Being close to me would keep me safer, wouldn’t it?” you’d questioned her, by no means trying to be coy about it.

Paige had smiled softly like she knew, amusement and acceptance in her features as she agreed, “I suppose it would, Princess.”

She follows you everywhere – your royal meetings, your appointments with your tutors, to the dining room, and well, if she’s found in your bedroom, listening to you ramble about your latest project, then you’d say it’s for your own protection as much as it’s for the growing friendship between the two of you. When Paige isn’t worried about her professionalism, she talks. A lot. It doesn’t bother you at all. You’re content to listen to her stories, her experiences, her life, how every choice she made throughout the years led her here. Selfishly, you’d think that inadvertently, her choices had led her to you, although you don’t voice that thought at all.

She grew up in a small village a few hours away by horseback – Storrs. It isn’t well known for much except for the cold winters that the locals loathe. She’d recounted her childhood with a fond smile on her face, even the uncomfortable parts like the time she’d hurt her knee severely while sparring or when her parents had divorced. Divorce wasn’t as familiar to you, having been raised in the castle where your father remained with your mother until she passed, even though there wasn’t any love between them after your birth and their failure to conceive a male heir – although that’s a story for another day. When you voiced as such, wondering about the casualness in which she and her parents viewed their separation, she’d merely shrugged and said, “Sometimes people just don’t feel the same love that they did before. Why stick around to force something when your heart’s not in it?”

You’d felt as though that applied to a little more than relationships, considering how you didn’t want to be queen. As much as you trusted Paige, you didn’t think it was the time nor the place to drop that kind of confession on her.

While there’s no more attempts on your life, Paige sticks by you fiercely. If it were anyone else, you’d probably be pissed at the lack of independence, but there’s something about Paige’s company that you cherish, even if it’s just her standing watch at the door while your tutor teaches you philosophy. You like having her around. That thought should scare you much more than it does. For the first time in a really long time, it feels like you’re free. Growing up, you’d never had many friends. Everyone your age was always too aristocratic, too pompous, too entitled. You’d tried, but you could just never get along with them – it was always like you were on the outside looking in no matter what you did differently. With Paige, it feels like you’re shedding all of the past desires to fit in. She makes you feel as though you don’t have to fight your way inside just to be accepted. She makes you feel as though there’s always a place you’ll belong, even if it’s just with her.

So while there aren’t any more attempts on your life, that doesn’t mean your life gets easier. As you progress in your training and you begin to take up more royal duties, there is an increase in the number of suitors that make their way through the castle. Most of them have been arranged by your father, seeking to find a husband to rule next to you – or rather, someone for you to stand next to while they rule. They’re either princes of distant kingdoms, or the high-ranking sons of nobles. You hate all of them. They’re either too old, too stuck-up, too arrogant, or too…male. You’d longed for visions of long, blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, the gentle way in which the knight spoke to you yet the fierce way she protected you. None of these men were her, and you could tell your father was becoming upset by how often you turned them away.

If you hated them, then you’re not quite sure what word to use to accurately portray the amount of disdain that Paige feels for them. You can see it in her expression alone, the white-hot hatred that burns in her eyes even as she speaks to you politely, calmly. You see it in the way she stands unyieldingly next to you, a hand poised over the hilt of her sword as if she was ready to dispose of whichever groveling idiot was trying to propose, if you wouldn’t deny them yourself. You see it in the way her entire demeanor shifts, the way she grows more confident when you’re alone and her hand curls around your waist and she dips her head down to your ear to whisper, “None of them deserve you. Not a single one of them.”

If Paige hadn’t already ruined you for anyone else, then you’re sure she ruins you completely after that.

At first, you think it’s just her commitment to duty. Paige’s entire job is to keep you safe, protected. If she feels as though these suitors would be too violent, too uncaring, too unfit for you, then you suppose she was well within her right as the princess’s protector to feel however she wanted to feel. Then, you think it’s just hate. She knows you almost as well as you know yourself, if not more. At this point, you’re both a little more than princess and knight. You’re friends who share a mutual duty to a kingdom. However, you realize all too late that it’s actually jealousy.

She stands behind you, her tall stature imposing and intimidating as she stares down the last suitor you had scheduled for today. He’s the prince from a kingdom down south. His name is Oscar and if you had to be honest, you got a bad feeling from him as soon as he strutted in, a black and red cape billowing behind him like he’s already king and has nothing to worry about. You’d even felt Paige stiffen behind you, but you promised your father you would at least talk to your suitors before rejecting them (and you were not keen on sitting through another lecture from him).

The interview goes terribly. You can feel Paige’s mood worsen the more Oscar speaks. He interrupts you countless times, talks over you, and when you do get to speak, he dismisses it like it’s trivial and continues rambling on about his success or his fortune or how well he could lead a kingdom. You knew the conversation was over as soon as he promised he wouldn’t take anymore than five mistresses and you had to stop Paige from jumping across the table and stabbing him entirely.

So, you politely tell him, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for in a potential king. I have to look after my people.”

You see the shift in his expression before he even raises a hand. You just couldn’t react fast enough to block the swing.

But Paige does. She catches Oscar’s wrist in her hand, her grip so tight that the tips of his fingers were turning purple and he was choking on pain. Then, she slams his hand into the wooden table before you, the surface almost splintering from the force of it. You can hear a sickening crunch, but all you do is raise your brows as Paige leans over you, her gaze set firmly on Oscar. “We’re done here,” she murmurs, her voice low and threatening. “Raise a hand to the princess ever again and I’ll kill you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

You don’t hear what he says, too stunned to focus on anything but the vein that protrudes from Paige’s neck, the challenge laced in her tone, the way her response has left a warm feeling deep in your belly. He scurries out with a metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, the door slamming shut, and you and Paige are left alone in the conference chamber. Paige breathes heavily next to you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder in both consolation and apology, yet all you fixate on is the way your thoughts race.

Paige is saying something to you, but it sounds like you’re underwater. You push out your chair, standing as she rambles, and you turn on your heel to meet her eyes. There’s still a lingering fire in there although it dwindles the more she talks, concern and something else you can’t quite place taking precedence. Before you have the time to talk yourself out of it or remind yourself of how wrong this is, you curl your fists in the fabric of her tunic and you pull her down to your level.

She immediately freezes against you, the words caught in her throat releasing in the form of an indulgent groan as she finally registers that your lips are on hers. When she relaxes to kiss you back, the intensity is almost overwhelming, like the fire from earlier has returned. She grips your hips possessively, backing you into the table and lifting you onto it for better leverage, one hand dropping to hold your thigh and the other curling around the back of your neck. Paige leans forward, pressing against you like she couldn’t stand to leave any inch of space between you.

The kiss is hazy and it makes your mind spin in the best way possible. You sigh against her, welcoming the intrusion when her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and she holds onto you like she’s scared that you’ll disappear if she lets go. Paige kisses you like you’re hers, which you may as well be. You’re hers to protect, hers to hold – not the princes’, not the nobles’, not anyone else’s.

When you both break away from each other, chests heaving, her voice is rough, low, wrecked when she whispers again, “None of them deserve you.” Her eyes scan yours, her thumb brushing across your pulse point and her breath hitching like she can feel exactly what she’s doing to you. “Not you, the princess. And especially not you, the girl whose heart is as pure as it is kind. The girl who I…”

You swallow thickly, feeling the heat in your cheeks and fighting the urge to pull her back into you as she trails off. “And you do?” you murmur. “Deserve me?”

“I’d fight a hundred men and a hundred men more if it meant proving that to you,” she vows. You know her well enough by now that you don’t need her to prove anything more to you. She already has. Your heart is hers. “This isn’t just a duty to me,” she confesses a few beats later, her voice hardly above a whisper like she’s confessing a secret. “It’s real. What you are to me is real. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will,” you say, confident and assured. “I’m safe with you.” Paige nods, her hands warm against your skin, and you press your temple to hers to admit, “For you, I’d run away and leave it all behind.”

You feel her freeze against you, surprise, mostly. She leans back to meet your eyes. “Princess, you don’t mean that,” she says quietly.

You nod vehemently, your fingers tightening in the fabric of her tunic. “I do, Paige, I swear it.” She softens, taking in the conviction in your tone. “I don’t want this – I don’t want to marry someone else. I don’t want to be the queen. I want you, a life of peace, where I don’t have to worry that someone will try to kill me or if I’m making a decision that will kill my people. I want peace.”

The silence lingers. There’s a realization in the wake of your declaration that in your position, you could never afford peace. Princesses don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. Knights don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. You know you’d give it up in a heartbeat if you could find the courage to. You study Paige’s features closely, waiting for her to speak. She swallows thickly before she does.

“Storrs,” she whispers, confusing you. “My village. We can go there – just say the word and I will take you, I swear it. I don’t owe anything to this kingdom. My loyalty is to you. We’ll be safe there, free, and you can do everything you’ve wanted – you can teach, you can explore–”

“Okay,” you agree.

Paige pauses. “What?” she asks, trying to keep the hope at bay.

“We’ll go to Storrs,” you repeat, a smile growing on your face.

“You mean it?” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking, and all you can truly do is cup her face in your hands, kissing her once more. This one is softer, the perfect seal to the promise you’ve just made to each other, and it feels more right than a crown on your head ever will. Her embrace makes you feel more secure than a legion of your father’s men ever could. You know in your heart that this is where you belong.

Happiness doesn’t last for too long. 

When you wake up the next morning, you can feel that something is off. Paige is usually already awake, standing guard at your door and waiting for you to come out for breakfast. Now, there’s an unusual silence that lingers and it makes you feel on edge.

Instead of Paige at your door, you find Carlotta, wearing an uncomfortable expression on her face. Dread wraps its fist around your heart, squeezing tight, and your chest hurts when you ask, “Carlotta, what’s going on?”

“Your father has requested your presence in the throne room immediately,” she says to you, her voice shaking. You swallow thickly, afraid of what waits for you. You cast an uneasy glance at the door to Paige’s room, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but still feeling as though something is terribly wrong. Carlotta follows behind you as you walk through the winding corridors, anxiety coursing through your veins.

The scene awaiting you in the throne room is not one you could have ever prepared yourself for. Your father sits idly atop his throne, an almost nonchalant laziness in his body language. He’s surrounded by his usual guard detail. Your body burns with anger when you realize Oscar is standing right next to him, his hand wrapped in gauze and a splint, a malicious expression on his face. But what truly devastates you, what makes fear seize your heart entirely is Paige held firmly in the knight captain’s grasp, her hands and ankles shackled. She looks no worse for wear, only disheveled and her bun mussed from an evident fight, but her eyes burn bright with hatred and something that looks like failure.

“My daughter,” the King calls across the room. Everyone directs their attention to you, but you’re not prepared for the amount of grief and shock on Paige’s, like she wasn’t expecting you to see her like this. “Come – we have much to discuss.”

There it is again. That same steely calm from the night in the gardens. Your father isn’t the kind of man to yell – people with power and trained men at their disposal have no need to raise their voices – which is why his demeanor in this situation makes you fearful. Not for yourself, but for Paige.

“I’m not a man who shies away from admitting when he’s wrong,” your father continues when you step closer. “Accountability makes for strong leaders. I’ve always told you that, haven’t I?” You scan his features, your gaze giving nothing away. He’s not looking for a response. “It seems I’ve made a mistake in knighting an individual. Where she goes, trouble follows, such as the night in the garden. And now, with the suitors.” Your father cocks his head, looking perplexed. “Prince Oscar has suffered several broken bones and a fractured wrist due to…your knight being unable to control her anger. Alas, it has come to my attention that she has also filled your head with lies, deceit, and empty promises.”

He stands, his sea of guards parting for him as he makes his way towards you, towards Paige. “If she wants to run away, so be it. If this turncoat knight no longer wants to give back to the kingdom that has made her, that has given her the life she has now, then so be it. What I will not allow is for her to manipulate my daughter – the Princess – into leaving with her.

“So,” he muses, ushering Prince Oscar forward, who gazes at you like he’s won. “We are here to make an example. The monarchy will not be mocked. My daughter, tomorrow at sunset, you will be wed to Prince Oscar. He will be your king and you will inherit the throne. And your knight –” he spits the word like it’s venom, clear distaste evident in his features, “–will be executed at nightfall for treason against the crown.”

Your ears are still ringing.

Your father’s revelation left you numb, reeling. You watched as his men dragged Paige out of the room, her eyes locked on yours in surprise, disbelief, and ever-present grief. Your father had more to say to you, but you weren’t listening. Being forced to marry Oscar of all suitors was at the back of your mind. All you could think about for hours on end was your knight will be executed at nightfall. The word executed circulated through your mind on repeat along with images of Paige’s eyes, betrayed and disappointed all at one.

This wasn’t the plan. You and Paige were supposed to run away. You were supposed to leave kingdom life behind and go to Storrs together. You were supposed to live a life of peace in a small village where the crown couldn’t possibly find you. You’re not supposed to marry Oscar, or watch the love of your life be executed. This was all so horribly wrong.

You’re confined to your room for the entire day, your father feeling as though you would find a way to escape or look for Paige. He knows you better than you’d expected. With nothing but time on your hands, you wait. You cry. You scream and you break the mirror in your room because when you look at it, all you can see is the way Paige had stood behind you as you asked for her opinion on your dress and her jaw had gone slack before she whispered, “I think you’re the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen.” You spiral, because you were so close to making it out but your father and Oscar have derailed your plan.

At nightfall, 24 hours away from Paige’s scheduled execution, Carlotta knocks at your door. She lets herself in when you don’t respond. You hardly look up, even when she takes a seat on the foot of your bed. She’s silent for a few moments before she says, “I’m sorry, Princess.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound scraping against your throat. “It’s not your fault, Carlotta.” Even if it was, you don’t want to think about it. This woman has raised you since you were a baby. You weren’t sure if you could ever handle that heartbreak.

“It’s not,” she agrees softly. She clears her throat. You can almost feel her hesitation. “I was next to your mother when she passed on,” she admits. That confession makes your heart skip a beat. “I held her hand as she was taking her final breaths. I’d loved her, you know. Your father never knew. He didn’t care to. But when I watched my life’s greatest love die, it was a pain unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I thought a part of me died that day. Your mother, however, entrusted me with something special to her – a part of her. She made me promise to take care of her daughter – the Princess – and to this day, you are the most important person to me.”

“Carlotta,” you murmur, tears pooling in your eyes and your voice cracking. “What are you saying?”

“You love her,” she says, like it’s more fact than fiction, like it’s something as obvious as the sky is blue or the grass is green. “Sir Paige. She is your life’s greatest love. I couldn’t save my love. But there is still hope for yours.” She stands, drawing your attention as you feel her move. There is a folded piece of parchment in her hand. Carlotta presses it into your hands. “Read this, and do not lose your faith, Princess.”

Carlotta leaves before you can say – before you can ask anything else of her. Your mind spins as you look down at the paper in your hands, at Paige’s familiar, sloped handwriting. Fingers trembling, you unfold it, and you begin to read.

Princess,

I did not think I would get to speak with you after they dragged me out of the throne room in handcuffs, so you will have to forgive me if this letter is incoherent. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea – the fact, rather, that I will be dying at nightfall tomorrow.

Being a knight, I had always known that my death would be imminent. My profession is not safe. My duty is to put my life on the line for the kingdom, for the king and the princess. I knew of that long before I picked up my sword for the first time. I had always imagined that it would be in combat – perhaps I would be fighting those hundred men and the hundred men more that I had spoken of. Perhaps I would be the lucky one and die of age after living a life of valor, dedication, and virtue. Execution had never crossed my mind.

If there is one part of my life that I could pick out and say is the greatest moment of it, I would say that meeting you is it. Not being knighted for the first time or my father teaching me how to wield a blade. It was you. It is always going to be you. You are my purpose, my reason for fighting. You have made my life worth it, even if we were only a short time.

I want you to know a few things. First, this is not your fault. If I knew the outcome from the very beginning, I would choose you everytime without question. A moment with you is worth an eternity wherever my soul takes me next. Second, do not give up. You are kind, courageous, brilliant – I know you will think of something. Third, I miss you. I have only been apart from you for a few hours, but I miss you; if I knew of a way to make you miss me the way that I do, I would never dare to make use of it for you are undeserving of such an all-consuming ache. The fourth is that I love you. I planned on telling you once we made it to Storrs, after I had introduced you to my family. You deserve to know.

You are my greatest love, Princess. In this life and the next I will never give up on searching for you.

Eternally,

–P

By midafternoon the day of your wedding and Paige’s execution, you can tell that something has shifted once more. The palace is eerily silent. Again. It almost makes you worry, but after considering that your life couldn’t get any worse, you decide that the silence is a problem for you in the future. For all intents and purposes, you’re still essentially trapped in your room, and you spent the better part of the night and the entire day leading up to this moment rereading Paige’s letter to you. It didn’t make you feel any better about the situation, but you try to remember Carlotta’s words to you. They give you strength when you feel like all else is failing.

The minutes tick by until you hear tapping on the glass door leading to your balcony. Believing it may only be a bird, you think nothing of it until the tapping persists, louder this time. The glass is textured, so you can’t see out of it, but you reach for the first sharp object you can find – in this case, it’s one of your heels – and you creep towards the door, pushing it open with caution.

You freeze immediately. The heel slips out of your grasp and Paige is standing before you, her tunic rumpled and exhaustion in her eyes, but she doesn’t look hurt, and that’s all you can truly be thankful for. “I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” she murmurs, a coy smile on her face that is not befitting of the moment, and you could sob as you throw your arms around her neck. She wraps her arms around your waist, lifting you off of your feet. Paige buries her face in your neck, breathing you in and sighing in relief – you’re both okay. You don’t know what to say, stammering through words that don’t make any sense, but Paige squeezes you a little tighter, shushing you.

After a moment, she places you back down on the ground, drinking you in like she can’t believe this is real. Then, she smiles softly. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she says quietly. “Carlotta is waiting for us at the stables. Get your bag and whatever else you need. She’ll take us to Storrs.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, all you can do is nod, wiping your eyes as you retrieve the bag you’d packed after you and Paige agreed to leave. You make sure to slip into a pair of more comfortable shoes and you don’t forget to grab her letter stashed under your pillow. When you’re ready, she guides you down the wall of the palace and into the garden below, creeping through the bushes until you reach the stables. You hug Carlotta so tightly that she groans, laughing, and together, you, Paige, and Carlotta make the journey on horseback to her village.

Her village welcomes you and Carlotta in – they’re definitely a little shocked, but they’re happier to have Paige back and safe. She introduces you to her family, her mom, her dad, her step-parents, her brother and her step-siblings and they all treat you like one of their own, a blended family that’s no less full of love. They own a small little shop, one that dabbles in selling antiquities and artifacts from ages ago. You can see yourself splitting time between working there and teaching the village children, but most importantly, you can see yourself free, in love, and happier than you ever would have been in the castle. It will surely be a national emergency when the King realizes that the princess, the knight, and the chambermaid have all escaped, but you think that’s a problem for someone else.

For the record, Paige does tell you she loves you – in person, not through a letter – that night after you’ve been fully introduced to everyone and her mothers worked together to make a hearty dinner for you and Carlotta. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of having – a love that’s wholly yours, a life to share with someone who cherishes you, and the freedom to live the life you’ve always wanted. You were always destined to find this – destined to find Paige, to love her, to give her your heart completely; the two of you have always been connected by that red string of fate and wherever your souls take you next, you know you’ll find her there, waiting for you.

2025

The memory fades and you and Paige blink in tandem, your hands still resting over the book as you look at each other. Almost no time has passed, although the both of you look like you’ve lived a whole new life entirely, which you may as well have. Paige breaks the silence to mutter, “I was a knight in a past life and in this one, I have to do homework?” Her disbelief makes you laugh, all of the tension dissolving as she joins in with you.

“Says you,” you retort. “I was a princess.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You ain’t never letting that one go.”

“Nope!” you chirp happily. Paige rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off of her face as she closes the book gently. You intertwine your fingers with hers, giving her a squeeze. “Hey, you okay?” you ask.

Paige nods, her smile widening. She leans in to kiss you softly, which makes you grin against her. “Never better,” she assures you. “I was right, though.” You hum, gazing up at her, and she reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “You are my greatest love.”

“You’re mine, too,” you promise, wrapping your arms around her neck as she pulls you into a hug that feels lifetimes in the making. “We’re timeless, aren’t we?”

[enwoso]

Would do a quick oneshot of the arsenal girls hearing tiny call Leah 'Mama'

BELONGED | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist

training had wrapped up early, the girls having a game to play tomorrow as the rest of the girls were scattered across the pitch. alessia was sat on the grass, you perched in her lap. letting you play with the hem of her training top as the rest of the squad chatted around them.

giving you a chance to get out any bundled energy you'd built up from just watching in the sidelines, it also making for an easier afternoon for alessia — you being less energetic.

leah was kneeling a few feet away, tying her laces as she half listening to beth and katie debate about which coffee shop had the best coffee this week. it was the usual post training routine, relaxed and familiar well until you unknowingly dropped jaw dropper of a line.

"mama, can you help me?" you asked holding you water bottle up to leah with your big blue expectant eyes, leah looking down with a smile as she nodded taking the bottle from you.

a brief silence followed.

leah totally unfazed by your words, it being the normal now, took the bottle and twisted the lid off with ease, "there you go angel."

but the rest of the team? they were staring. hard.

beth's jaw was practically on the floor, katie had stopped mid sip of her own bottle as her eyes flickered between you and leah like she had just witnessed the biggest plot twist of a movie in real time. kyra actually looking on offended that she hadn't been told this information sooner.

"hold on," vic was the first to speak, waving a hand dramatically towards leah as alessia stood not too far behind, "did she just—did she just call you mama?"

leah finally noticing the attention, feeling there long stares on her, looked up with a frown not really understanding the point of their shock, "uh.. yeah?"

alessia groaned quietly, already anticipating the incoming chaos along with the questions, the team knew about alessia and leah (thanks to you) but this never seemed to be a topic of conversation. "oh here we go."

"since when?" katie demanded, moving forward like she was about to conduct an interrogation of the biggest crime.

"she's been doing it for a few months now," alessia said, rubbing your back absentmindedly as you stared off into the distance watching the goalkeeper finish their session off, "just.. clearly none of you have noticed?"

beth spluttered, shock still hitting her in waves, "and you didn't think to tell us?"

alessia raised an eyebrow, "do you expect me to make a powerpoint for you guys every time my daughter does something cute?"

"yes, actually or even just a message in the groupchat would have done" kyra deadpanned, a few of the other humming in agreement.

meanwhile, leah was still cradling your bottle, looking between the girls and then back at alessia, "how have they not noticed?"

alessia just shrugged. "they're a bit slow."

katie gasped in offense. "excuse me?" as she continued to ramble on about her great reflexes, not that anyone was really paying attention to that as they were all still in shock about the whole, 'leah, mama' situation.

beth, her mind not really wrapping around the facts, "so she just casually calls you mama, and we've never noticed?"

you, now not distracted by the goalkeepers and instead thoroughly confused by all the fuss. blinking up at beth and answering her question matter of facts, "le is mama."

leah grinned, hearing it never got old in leah's mind, as she reached over to ruffle the top of your head, "that's right, angel."

katie shook her head in disbelief, "i can't believe this. leah's just winning at life. arsenal captain, england legend and now — confirmed favourite parent and loving family."

leah smirked. "i mean, i don't like to brag, but—" alessia groaned, nudging her in the leg. "oh my god, do not start this again."

this not being the first time leah's parent ego had gotten a little too big as she teased alessia on the fact she was now the favourite but deep down alessia knew she didn't need to compete in that as she'd always edge it in a different way.

the team groaned collectively, but there was no missing the warmth in the air. because, really, it didn't matter that they'd only just noticed. what mattered was that you had known all along.

[theyluvjake]

our little secrets — lhs

© theyluvjake - all rights reserved, no permission to copy or post, this is my only account.

pt1 pt2 pt3 (make sure to read pt1 first if you havent!!)

Synopsis: cam boy heeseung. class president reader. the schools perfect student harbors a dirty secret, a dirty secret thats alot closer to her than she realizes. what happens when their paths cross? will they discover eachothers little secret?

MINORS DNI!

PAIRINGS - camboy!heeseung x innocent!reader

CONTENT - college au, smut & fluff with plot!! series, slow-burn, multiple chapters.

WORDCOUNT - 8k

WARNINGS - smut, this chapter doesn't have any sex (yet), just mutual / guided masturbation. caming, dirty talk, use of pet names (baby, doll, slut), praise & degradation, honestly hand kink. mentions of corruption kink. like last chapter, hee is a bit of a perv. but we like that <3

NOT PROOFREAD!

"ook.. so, what was that all about?" sunghoon sort of spoke underneath his breath. it was silent for a while amongst the group minus some of them taking sips of their drinks.

"she probably just... - had to pee! " sunoo blurtted out to fill the silence, only to make it fall silent again,

"ill go check on her-" yunjin was just about to turn to leave when heeseung stopped her.

"no, i can go check,"

his smile was soft and reassuring. yunjin was slightly taken aback as he volunteered, but her curiosity in whatever was going on with him and his new found interest in you, made her back down, silently agreeing by nodding her head.

maybe it was a bad friend mood sending a guy you didn't really know that well to check on you instead of her, but she just needed to see where it would go... y'know, for the plot.

heeseung swiftly made his way through the crowds of people heading straight to the guest bathroom,

*knocks* "um.. y/n are you okay?" fuck. wait what if its not even her in there?.. –

shit. why is he here?! the sound of his voice instantly sent your mind into a panicked spiral. - umm.. maybe i can just pretend im not in here and he will go away? yea! so you did, and you stayed silent.

"your friends just wanted to make sure you were okay... well and i wanted to talk to you."

he bit his lip, thinking he was probably just making whatever was going on worse. but he couldn't go back to the group without checking on you.

talk?? to me? why? this can't actually be happening right now. – y'know, maybe it's not him? maybe my thoughts are just all clouded... i'm just making up stuff..

— because there's no way. that would just be too insane.

you were full on in denial. it was unfortunately the only thing you realized you could do to get through the night. closing your eyes you took a deep breath before opening the door eyes instantly meeting the boys pretty doe eyed brown ones.

"um, sorry, yea i'm ok! just... had an eyelash in my eye.." you giggled nervously.

"ah, ok ok... i was worried it was something i said.." the corner of his lips tugged upwards as a small rush of relief washed over.

"is.. that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"yea, well, and i wanted to still offer you that drink" he couldn't help but smirk as he noticed the light flush of pink painting your cheeks.

you paused for a second. "...well, the thing is i just don't really usually drink..."

"yea, and you usually don't go to parties." he chuckled.

he did make a good point. you didn't, so why would you draw the line at your new experiences now. one drink, that's all. it would be fine right?

"that's also true," you smiled, still feeling anxious, but now having a burning curiosity about him. "sure, i'll take one drink"

he nodded satisfied and before you could register anything, his hand moved to your lower back ever so slightly, just to guide the two of you back towards the kitchen.

the simple feeling of his hand just barely grazing, hovering, over your back was sending waves of electricity through your body.

"so, class prez, what are you doing out at a college party tonight?"

"oh.. um, well it was sort of yunjin and sunoo's idea. i wasn't super on board but... i was curious since i'd never been before."

"ah, i see. i was surprised to see you here." he chuckled, "well, i think everyone was" -

you were about to respond when his voice continued on,

"pleasant surprise though," he said ever-so casually.

you gulped down the knot in your throat and tried to steady your racing heartbeat, but thankfully, before you knew it, you reached the kitchen.

you nervously leaned against the counter while he poured the two of you some drinks before he went to pass you the cup. you hadn't yet looked down, hand reaching for the cup, "thank yo-" then you saw it. his hand.

his awfully familiar, perfectly veiny hand, that just so happened to have 2 identical silver rings on the exact fingers gamer.lhee also frequently had ones on.

you couldn't even finish your sentence before you mumbled something along the lines of 'you had to go', before embarrassingly turning around and completely sprinting away from him.

not long after your disappearing act with heeseung you stayed on the other side of the house, hidden behind yunjin and sunoo, before you managed to make a good enough excuse to leave.

—

after you had gotten home that night, you refused to even look at his page. although that was all your mind wanted to do, to end the burning question and just try and confirm or not confirm that it was him. but you couldn't. not when it felt so possible. not when you knew you had to be in class with him tomorrow.

you attempted to get as good of a night's rest as you could. but it wasn't much, not when you basically got home at 1 am, and weren't able to shut your brain off until around 3 before you could sleep. leaving you with approximately only 5 hours of sleep the next day.

in the morning, you got ready for class, your usual almost uniform-like attire. you just prayed you'd be able to make it through the day without anyone asking about you at the party last night. and above all, not running into heeseung.

you were so embarrassed, you honestly had no clue what you would be able to say to him. it's not like the two of you interacted much, anyways. so why would it be different? yea! it will be fine!

besides before the conversation you two had at the party, you weren't even aware you shared the same literature and physics class, meaning he probably typically sat far across the room from the spot you always sat in. so in theory, all you had to do was try and focus and not think about whether you could feel his eyes lingering on you or not.

however you did not plan for what you saw when you walked into your literature class. lee heeseung, already there, sitting in your chair. sure, there wasn't technically, 'assigned seats' but everyone in the class knew, you sat in that spot every single class.

karma. you weren't sure what for, but this had to be some kind of cruel form of karma. you stood in the doorway for a little too long, to where students now had to nudge past you to get inside the classroom. you were just trying to think of any possible way out of this interaction. but you couldn't avoid him forever. you took a deep breath, fully aware your cheeks had definitely started to turn pink, before walking over to your seat.

heeseung instantly looked up at you with a smirk painting his face, "what? i just figured I'd see how the class president's view of the classroom looks." he shrugged.

"well... now that you've tested it out, could i possibly have my seat back?"

"i don't know... now that i've tried it out, i realized how nice the view is... plus, i'm not doing that great in this class, i think maybe sitting closer will help me with my notes~"

"but-"

"well the seat right next to me is open, you should sit there. you don't mind if i just have yours for the day, right?"

he still wore the same playful smirk on his face, only leading to your face heating up more by the second. you briefly took a look around, at the room, and then the clock. noticing how it was only a couple minutes until the class was starting, and pretty much every empty seat had already filled except for the one next to heeseung.

you sighed and set your books down on the desk, and reluctantly took a seat next to him. before you could even appreciate the shared silence between you two for not even a minute,

"y'know, i didn't really expect you to be the type to ghost a guy mid-sentence."

you gulped and tried to come up with some better excuse but you had nothing.

"yea... um i'm really sorry about that, i don't usually do that or anything.."

he raised his eyebrows curious as to the actual reason to why you ran off, but he didn't push further, instead he chose to use it to tease you.

he chuckled lightly, "don't worry about it, you looked cute running away from me"

he said so matter-of-factly that your jaw almost dropped before you heard the professor speaking, causing the class to finally silence.

"ok class, everyone phones away"

the rest of class, you could barely focus. which was completely unlike you. you couldn't stop thinking about the words.. "pretty", "cute" replaying on loop in your head. as much as you wanted to just pay attention, you couldn't, not when he was only a couple feet away from you.

he easily took note of it too. subtly glancing over at your dazed, flustered expression throughout the entire class.

thankfully, the rest of the class no other words were exchanged. no more teasing or flirty remarks, you finally felt a bit of relief like that was the worst of what would come out of today. but heeseung, he had other plans, he was just starting. this was only your first of three shared classes of the day and his main goal was just to get your attention in every single one.

your next class, you got a break. and then it was on to the two last classes of the day, both of which you shared. economics, and physics.

when you got to your economics class, you took a look around, noticing he wasn't there yet. you quickly took your seat in your usual spot before yunjin joined on your left side.

"ugh, i am so tired," she whined to you,

"tell me about it..." you muttered underneath your breath. the class slowly filled as you chatted with your best friend for the remaining time before the class started. getting so distracted you forgot about heeseung. it wasn't until a little while into class, you heard a familiar voice whispering in your ear. your eyes went wide.

"hey, what page were we on again?"

heeseung. you had been so distracted you failed to even notice heeseung had came in and sat directly behind you.

you carefully turned your head just a little before realizing how close his face was to yours. "um-.. it's 32" you quickly whispered directing your attention back to the front of the room.

"thanks, pretty" he winked before leaning back into his own chair, smiling satisfied.

the heat instantly rose to your face upon hearing the familiar nickname again. the same one that ignited a visceral reaction within you that night at the party, due to the familiarity of the tone, the voice.

the remainder of the class, he continued making up excuses to teasingly lean over, whispering into your ear and your best friend was nothing short of intrigued.

as soon as the professor turned away from the class his lips were practically pressed up against your ear and you felt like you were going insane.

"hey, i missed that part, could i take a quick look at your notes?" he hummed quietly, face so close to yours you could feel his hot breath fanning your ear.

"s-sure, just.. quick" you muttered quietly afraid of being caught speaking while your professor was still mid-lecture.

you carefully passed your notebook over your shoulder, his hands taking it from yours, purposely brushing his fingers over yours in the process. - anxiously tapping the floor with your foot, waiting for him to give it back to you.

"are you almost done?" you slightly leaned to the side, whispering, as the professor had turned around and continued speaking, and you were anxious to have your notebook returned.

"yea, you want it back?" the boy smirked, not that you could see, but you could feel it through the smugness in his voice.

"say please~."

he cannot be serious. "what..?"

"just say please"

you sighed, ignoring the hammering of your heart against your chest.

"please?" you whispered, looking straight forward. but it was more than enough. right as the professor turned away for a brief second, he leaned over enough to place your notebook back onto your desk.

looking down, you quickly made yourself busy, continuing to take notes and try to stuff down all the emotions flowing through your body. that's when you noticed a tiny note written in the corner of your paper.

you look cute when you're blushing. ;)

and just like that you were sure your face was now completely red.

"hey are you okay?" yunjin leaned over noticing how red you were.

"yeah, i'm just hot.. it's a little hot in here" you muttered before removing your sweater.

thankfully the class was nearing the end, finally. as soon as the class was dismissed you quickly packed up your bag and grabbed yunjin's hand rushing the both of you out of the classroom.

"so... what the hell was heeseung doing all up in your space the whole class??"

"i don't know!"

"oh my god, that's why your face was red! you were blushing! do you have a crush on him?? since when?!"

"shut up!" you whispered trying to keep her from practically yelling about this in the hallway. "no! i don't, so since never."

"okayy well can't say the same for him..~" she giggled and you hit her arm.

"shut up. you're imagining stuff." you huffed before the both of you made it into your physics classroom.

this time you were determined to make sure he couldn't sit near you. quickly hopping into the seat next to jake and instructing yunjin to sit on your other side, before you also waved sunoo over, who had just come walking in the door to sit behind you. a sigh of relief left your mouth, seeing how all the seats in your close proximity had already been filled.

you hadn't even noticed heeseung walking in, and taking the seat across from yunjin.

"hey y/n!" jake smiled at you and your gaze lifted greeting him back with a friendly smile.

"hey jake!" - "how was the party last night? everyone was surprised to see you there, did you have fun?"

"oh yea, it was fun.. i guess, - not exactly my thing though." you chuckled quietly before continuing your friendly chit-chat with jake before the class eventually came to a start.

jake was easy to talk to. you two weren't exactly close, but closer than you and heeseung. jake was really good at physics. everyone knew that, so there were a few times he helped you out by offering a few quick study sessions after school at the library. so naturally the two of you did talk when it came to this class.

thankfully, the rest of this class went by smoothly. it was just about nearing the end before the professor announced you would be doing a partner assignment.

"so, pick someone to pair up with. this will be due next week, so please make sure to schedule some time outside of class to work on this with your partner. once you have chosen, before you leave today, just come write down your partnership!"

before you could think,

"hey, do you wanna be partners?" jake smiled, turning to you. and you almost sighed in relief. though yunjin, who had also turned to you, rolled her eyes.

"sure! honestly, i could use some extra help with this unit.. " you smiled to him before the two of you walked to the front of the class to write your names down.

none of which went un-noticed by heeseung. practically burning holes into his friends back. before he could stare any longer he got a backup plan in mind, turning to your best friend just before she had turned to sunoo. "hey, yunjin, do you wanna be partners?"

she was caught off guard at first but then she put 2 and 2 together figuring this was some effort to still get close to you. "sure" she smiled and sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically.

"ugh, i hate you both, you are both the worst." he pouted before turning to sunghoon, "sunghoon, do you have a partner?"

the boy pushed up his glasses before looking up "uh, no?"

"ok, now you do, come on," he said giving him almost no room to even argue before they both walked up to the front together as well.

after all of you had written down your partnerships you all exited the lecture hall agreeing to go to the library so you guys could plan what days you needed to get together to work on the assignment.

"y'know, why don't we all just get together at our house and we can all work together? heeseung was quick to suggest as soon as you all sat down.

"don't the three of you also share a dorm already?" he asked pointing to you yunjin and sunoo to which you all nodded.

"so, since jake, sunghoon, and i share a place and ours is bigger than a dorm, we should all just meet up together there." all of you looked around to see what everyone thought, and it was quickly agreed upon that that was a good idea.

not that you agreed necessarily, but you were quickly outnumbered, on top of that yunjin's enthusiasm was utterly confusing. you all agreed to meet up on friday to work on the assignment. all of you exchanging numbers before going on your separate ways.

—

the next few days rolled around and heeseung seemed to have let down on his teasing for a little bit, and thank god. because you were already stressed about friday the rest of the week. then, thursday came around. your phone dinged as you lay in your bed rolling around on your phone, seeing the notification pop up,

gamer.lhee is live now!

you hadn't even been on his page since the party last sunday. but you couldn't even deny how much you missed it without more time to think, you joined the stream.

you sat up feeling the heat rising to your face, he was fully clothed, the angle just showing his lap and his hands fidgeting with his rings while he chatted with those on the stream.

blushy.baby has entered the chat

"hi blushy.baby, welcome in~" he chuckled to himself, reading the username. oddly or maybe not, it reminded him of you. "cute username, reminded me of someone,"

who??

maybe he has a girlfriend?

maybe a crush?

the comments started rolling in, causing him to chuckle a bit more. "no, i don't have a girlfriend," he clarified, but carefully neglected the ones regarding if he had a crush or not. causing you to try and swallow the lump in your throat. intently watching between the screen and the chat room.

"blushy baby, joins but never talks~ is it because you're shy and blushy~?"

you felt the air get caught in your throat, hearing him single out your username. making your head spin, could he... know? fuck. no! i mean, it's probably not even lee heeseung. like you said, there's no way.

"it's okay, it's cute, i have a thing for cute shy girls." he hummed

blushy.baby: really?

"yes, something about.. about them, i don't know,.. maybe i have a corruption kink." he chuckled darkly before trailing off again ", proud of you for finally commenting something, baby. keep it up, yeah?"

and just like that you carefully squeezed your thighs together. fuck. it wasn't until now, when the comments were so direct, so personal, that you realized how much you loved hearing praises from him. if there was any way to keep you commenting, this was it.

blushy.baby: i will if you keep talking to me like that...

"oh yea?, you like being praised baby, hm? "

"- i was wondering what i should do for today's stream... maybe we can do some praising. maybe some guided masturbation? what do you pretty dolls think?"

the chat instantly sped up with enthusiasm and he chuckled at the eagerness.

"you're gonna be good for me, right?" he hummed his hand lightly grazing over his crotch area where you should start to see the outline of his boner growing.

"alright, now be a good girl for me and take off your pants first hm? dont worry ill follow along." he said as he carefully lifted his hips up in his chair before pulling down his pants leaving him in just his boxer briefs.

like you were put under some sort of trance, you set your phone down against your pillow before lifting your own hips and pulling down your pajama shorts leaving you in just your underwear.

"thats it, just like that," he hummed satisfied, and it almost felt like he could see you. like it was just you and him.

"okay, now leave your panties on, just touch outside for me, hm? just like this" his hand slowly started to stroke the outline of his hardened cock through the strained fabric of his boxers.

and you did the same, slipping your hand down cupping yourself, feeling the moistened material of your underwear clinging to your skin already. letting out a small helpless mutter.

"you're already wet for me arent you? dirty slut."

the sudden use of such degrading words, mixed with his still soft tone, and praises l make your hips shudder. you liked that too... really liked it.

"its ok though, b',cus you're my pretty little slut~, aren't you?" he cooed before letting a small deep chuckle breathe past his lips. he continued, painstakingly slowly stroking himself, the wet patch from his pre-cum leaking out now evident, only soaking you more as you stared at the screen and continued to palm yourself.

"ok lets get rid of these now too, they are in the way." he lifted his hips again just enough to slowly pull down his boxers simultaneously also pulling his shirt over his head. letting his big, stiff and hardened cock hit his stomach as it sprang out.

"look what you do to me.." he grabbed himself in his hand making sure the camera got a good angle of his angry red tip, leaking of pre-cum. "wish i could see what i do to you..." he hummed slowly starting to stroke himself.

on the other side of the screen you were practically drooling just at the sight. your hips needily rutting against your hand. before you too removed the last remaining of your clothes.

"go on, touch yourself." his voice was low and demanding. and it didn't take long for your fingers to slowly start circling your clit.

"mm, thats it baby" he hummed. "now, i want you to imagine its my fingers ok? not yours, mine touching you."

you gulped and closed your eyes doing just as he said and the second you let your imagination roam the better it felt. imagining what his large hands, long fingers would feel like all over you. having the precision that you lacked deeply.

"good girl." - "faster."

at this point, you could barely suppress the whines leaving your mouth, but fearing your roommates would hear you, you turned your head to the side muffling the sounds into the pillow as best you could.

"fuck, i wish i was inside you right now. wanna fuck your tight little cunt." he moaned lowly. and little did you know, the entire time he was thinking about you. about fucking you.

the dirtiness of the words made your brain start to feel weird and fuzzy. your pussy fluttered clenching helplessly around nothing. not even your fingers because still, you had yet to venture into doing anything other than stimulating your clit.

"fuck. im gonna cum. you wanna cum for me, hm baby?" his hand sped up the squelching sounds from the way he was fucking himself into his hand were pounding in your earbuds.

you mindlessly nodded your head as if he could see you, feeling the knot in your stomach building, you were so close.

"lets cum together, yeah? i wanna cum inside you." the sheer thought of that alone sent you flying over the edge the second the words left his lips.

and just like that he started to reach his high as well. imagining what it would feel like to stuff you full. "oh fuck, yes, im coming.." his moans got louder and you continued to rub messy circles on your clit as you rode out your high, your legs and hips shaking and squirming beneath your own touch.

your eyes fluttered open as you slowly started coming down from your immense high. seeing the lewd image on the screen, hee's hand still wrapped around his cock, messy, with cum dripping down everywhere.

"good girl, you did so good for me, pretty." he hummed sweetly. and in that moment you heard it again. not gamer.lhee, lee heeseung. 'pretty'.

it was him.

the sound rang in your ears all you could think about was what it would actually be like to actually be on the receiving end of those words. not through a screen. not to the thousands of others watching him. but to you and only you.

not long after that, the stream ended. leaving you with a world-wind of emotions. but it was already so late. you didn't have time or honestly even the capacity in your brain after all of that to think. you carefully cleaned yourself up before getting back into your bed and passing out almost immediately from exhaustion.

how the fuck. where you going to face him tomorrow.

—

the next morning when you finally woke up, you felt so nervous about the day that you felt physically sick. after the stream last night, it only strengthened your theory on whether or not gamer.lhee was lee heeseung.

you were almost sure of it. and there was no way you could face him today. but yet, you had to.

situation being what it is, you devised a plan, well. kinda. the plan basically entailed ignoring heeseungs presence at all costs. just focus on the project and jake. easy enough, right?

after the day of classes went by, you and your two best friends returned to your shared dorm to get ready before heading over to the boy's house.

"ok, what should we wear?" yunjin spoke almost excitedly as if you were going out to hang out with friends, not work on some boring assignment.

"um... i was gonna wear sweats? what is that not appropriate study attire?" you asked as you walked together through the dorm,

"no that's perfectly appropriate! that's what i was gonna wear too!" sunoo was quick to reassure you only to receive an elbow in the side from yunjin. "OW! what was that-" he rolled his eyes and clutched his side dramatically while giving him a face before continuing with you.

"like sweatshirt and sweatpants?"

"yes?"

"no."

"no?"

"no. how about sweats and a cropped baby tee? still cute but comfy!"

"what is up with you?? why do you care what i wear to work on a school project??" you quickly nipped back at her, unlike your usual demnor, but you were getting slightly irritated, confused as to what the reason for all of this was.

"ok seriously? y/n. heeseung has literally been flirting with you ever since the party, are you that clueless?? i saw all of it in class. plus pretty much all of his friends were eating you with their stares as well. and well, they are all hot. this is your chance!!"

"my chance for what exactly?" you questioned noticing the sudden warmth that had risen to your cheeks. quickly turning away as both of them followed into your room.

"like i don't know, a boyfriend, a sex friend? so many possibilities.." she giggled but not in the way that she was joking, in the way that she was completely and utterly serious. "and that means you admit it right? he was flirting with you!"

"you're crazy. and i don't know! ok! i don't know what's going on with him lately, he's being weird." you obviously were trying to deflect because you obviously couldn't believe let alone admit any of this yet.

"just trust me ok, ill be the best wing-woman, just let me help." she pleaded.

"no, not tonight i need to focus, i need to get a good grade on this project."

yunjin sighed dramatically. "ugh. fine, but you are wearing what i said. i won't interject anything, but the outfit I'm just gonna test a theory ok?"

"whatever.." you finally gave in, just hoping it would make her shut up, and it did. for now at least.

the three of you all got ready which didn't entail all that much since you were already coming from class. you changed into a pair of low-rise baggy grey sweats that pooled at your ankles and paired it with a basic white baby tee that was practically skin tight, just slightly cropped showing the tiniest bit of your stomach. leaving your hair down you fixed your already practically perfect curls, before touching up your flawless makeup.

"you guys ready?" you walked out into the living room finding sunoo, yunjin not far behind.

"yup!"

by the time you guys arrived at the boy's shared house, it was around 4:30pm. yunjin carefully knocked on the door and you anxiously shifted on your feet fidgeting with your school bag before the door was answered. it was jake. you sighed a little in relief.

"hey guys! come on in!" the fluffy-haired boy smiled and the three of you entered into the shared home.

"the guys are in the living room, it's pretty big so we figured we could all just work in there or if it's too loud we can split up around the house, i don't know whatever you guys think works we are cool with!"

jake smiled before leading you all to the living room, not before he got a nice look at you though. he hadn't really taken the time to notice how pretty you were. not until the party when everyone saw you outside of your school persona. but seeing you in his house, in daylight, in casual clothes you looked adorable.

once you reached the living room everyone started to greet each other slowly taking seats around. but as soon as you stepped foot in there you could feel a particularly heavy gaze set on you. heeseung.

you didn't even look at him but you knew it was him. and it was. he didn't even hold back the small lip bite as his eyes drank in your figure from top to bottom only to be brought back to reality when your best friend stepped in front of him.

there was a few other figures lingering around as well. it was jay and jungwon. i guess they didn't need a reason, this is their house but it felt a little strange before the two of them talked. just chatting and letting everyone know they were around if anyone needed help finding anything or food. it was clear though to most that they were just curious, as to what was going on, and more so who was in their house right now.

after everyone got sort of settled in different areas of the room, you and jake took a spot in the corner with some pillows on the floor and spread out your notes and textbooks. "so, did you look over any of the requirements yet?" jake spoke softly,

"oh, uh, no... not yet sorry.." your tone was quickly guilt-ridden and worried before jake was quick to reassure you.

"no, no problem at all, i already did so you didn't have to." he smiled, getting out the instructions given by your professor. "ill just give you a small run-down, and then we can work together on the rest, sound good?" you nodded.

"oh and let me know if im going too fast or you don't understand something, not that you won't... you are like the top student of the school. but just in case y'know,... i know physics isn't your favorite, so honestly, i don't mind doing most of the work!" he smiled reassuringly and for some reason it almost made you blush. you weren't sure exactly why, maybe because you two were finally in such close proximity alone together.

either way, what you hadn't noticed was how heeseung noticed. everything. his jaw was clenched starting holes into jake and you before yunjin brought him back to reality.

"ok, heeseung, could you stop eye-fucking y/n for at least like 5 seconds?"

"what?" heeseung looked back at her barely even acknowledging what she said.

"i agreed to be your partner, god knows why because i know you actually suck at this class, so come on please lets just get something done."

"oh yea... sure, sorry.." he sighed and redirected his focus to the papers infront of him.

about and hour and a half went by and everyone kept to themselves, or moreso, their partnerships. trying to get as much done as possible, before inevitably needing some sort of break.

"my brain hurts..." you whined slightly rubbing your temples. earning a small chuckle from jake.

"we make a pretty good team though, huh? look were almost done in one day!" he gestured down at your work proudly and heeseung overheard the whole thing, getting irritated he walked over to the two of you.

"hey y/n you okay?" your heart dropped hearing the framilar voice, slowly looking up to meet his face.

"oh yea... im fine" you muttered and jake looked up confused as well at the boys sudden approach.

"i just saw you rubbing your head, does it hurt? i have some tylenol if you need some,"

"oh shit, does it? i thought you were just joking around, let me go get some-" jake quickly went to stand up,

"no no!! im fine seriously, i think i just need some water and a snack or something, thats all!"

"say less," jake smiled getting up before offering his hand to help you off the ground aswell, earning a heavy eyeroll from heeseung.

"come on ill show you where we keep the best snacks" he smiled and gently brushed his hand across your lower back guiding you to the kitchen with him. a framilar feeling from when heeseung did the same exact thing to you at the party.

which heeseung instantly noticed and pissed him off even further.

"snacks? hell yea fuck this " sunghoon instantly stood up and so did the others everyone gravitating towards the kitchen for a small snack break.

heeseung followed closely behind the two of you, before he stopped biting his tongue, and decided he had enough of jakes hands on you.

heeseung swiftly came up behind jake,

"hey sim, pretty sure this project doesnt require such a hands-on approach." he glared before turning his direction towards you. jake just looked at his friend confused at the sudden passive aggressive comment.

"you good? you don't need jake to babysit you, right?" heeseung stepped between the two of you creating enough space between the two of you for his comfort. grabbing you a bottle of water from the fridge. "here, and let me know if your head gets worse and you need the tylenol, hm?"

heeseungs sudden attentiveness had your heart racing and your stomach fluttering. and the tension between him and jake was palpable now. you tried to make sure to maintain your composure (you weren't.)

because when you reached out to take the water bottle from his hand you instantly had flashbacks to last night. that hand, his hand, his voice, him. you nearly dropped it when the boy caught it and handed it to you again "careful there pretty, you sure you're okay? –" he leaned in subtly enough to where it wouldn't look suspicious. "or do i just make you nervous" he smirked quickly pulling back before casually taking a seat.

the others were all already sitting around the kitchen table, snacks in hand chatting and eating. You took a seat in the only empty chair, almost as if it was intentional, the only seat open was between both jake and heeseung. You reluctantly sat down anxiously sipping on your water, almost completely silent as the rest of the group chatted among themselves.

"wait, guys i have an idea.." yunjin suddenly speaks up and the misciclanious chatter quiets. "lets play a game... y'know, as a break while were here, - how about truth or dare?"

everyone looks around but it doesnt take but a couple seconds for everyone to agree. partially because all of you were so bored, but mostly because it gave everyone an excuse to procrastinate for a little while longer.

"i'm down" jake and sunghoon immediately responded in which heeseung followed.

"can we play too?" jay and jungwon walked up hearing the commotion from the kitchen.

"the more the merrier!" sunoo clapped his hands excitedly and you almost let your whole head fall on the counter hoping it would hit hard enough to knock you out.

"who wants to go first?"

"ill go!" jungwon quickly volunteered

"ok, truth or dare jungwon?" yunjin asks sitting up on her elbows.

"truth"

"If you had to survive the zombie apocalypse with one person in this room, who would it be?"

jungwon sighed as he looked around thinking deeply about his answer.

"shit... i dont know i feel like im probably fucked with all of you to be honest but, maybe jay or jake? I know jay can fight, and well jake is studying in healthcare so he could probably help keep me alive.."

"yess sirr!" jake chuckled and posed proudly while jay laughed, nodding.

"ok sure, but don't make it seem like i just go around beating people up won..."

the rest of the group went back and forth between some light hearted and casual truths + dares. heeseung, casually pulled out his phone, opening his twitter and deciding to tweet an update to his account as he frequently would. but it was weird,

at the exact same time he tweeted, your phone which was upside-down next to your arm buzzed. weird.

i mean obviously everyone gets notifications, he shouldn't have thought that much of it, but the timing was so perfect. he decided to send another one, and surely enough, your phone buzzed again. his eyebrows immedialty raised. no fucking way.

gamer.lhee: ??

he tweeted a third time, just a random series of question marks and right on time, your phone buzzed, a third and fourth time. and there you were, completely oblivious as to what was happening. too busy listening to the others playing the game to even notice your phone buzzing on the table.

he really had no way to prove it but he had to try. and the fact you were all playing truth or dare made it even easier. he quickly set his phone down and re-focused his attention to the rest of the group.

"ok, heeseung, you haven't gone yet, truth or dare" yunjin smirks and you can only pray to god she doesn't say anything stupid, but you know her.

"truth"

"who in this room would you trust the most with a secret?"

perfect.

"y/n." heeseung quickly and casually responds, to which his best friend gasp offenedly.

"dude are you serious, in a room full of your best friends??" jake scofs

heeseung shrugs, "i don't know, something just tells me that y/n is really good at keeping secrets."

you immediately turned your head, feeling your heartbeat quicken, so fast that it had you debating if you would go into cardiac arrest. why... how.. why would he,,.. why would he say that??? he can't know. how would he know.

you just looked up at him flustered and confused and he just shrugged again keeping the same smug smirk on his face. "am i wrong?" he asked but this time quiet and directed at you.

"ok my turn to ask!" sunoo shouted excitedly, seeing that the questions and dares were starting to pick up in the heat.

"y/n, truth or dare?"

your eyes widened like a warning towards sunoo instantly. what best friends they are. you were practically begging him with your look to go easy on you but you knew he wasn't.

you rubbed your temples trying to gauge which choice would be less lethal. truth, right?

"truth, i guess.."

"ok, when was the last time you thought about kissing someone..." he pauses briefly before finishing the question, "- in this room?"

your face said everything.

"oh?" sunghoon raised his eyebrows curiously as pretty much everyone in the room, except for 3 people seemed surprised. yunjin, sunoo, and heeseung. who wore a smug smirk on his face.

"oh? so, recently then?" sunoo teases further only causing your face to redden even more.

jake quickly also turned his attention to you, although he didn't want to make you even more embarrassed, so he said nothing. just sat in silence wondering who it could be. feeling a slight twinge of jealousy.

"n-no.." your voice quickly betrayed you as your words stumbled out in a stutter. "i don't, i mean, - i haven't thought about,.. kissing, anyone! , ever!"

"you are literally such a bad lair." yunjin scofs

jake quickly noticed how red your face was, and whilst heeseung was relishing in your flustered state, jake quickly took it into his hands to help his partner out of the situation.

"ok my turn, no one has asked me yet!" jake says to the group eyes starting to re-direct to the boys.

"ok, truth or dare jake" jay quickly replies

"dare"

"do your best impression of one of us"

jake carefully looks around before his eyes locked on his target for a second. jake proceeds to sassily cross his arms and roll his eyes hard, before giving jay a nasty side eye. collectively everyone started laughing

"sunoo." the group almost said in unison, as they continued laughing at jakes sassy impression of sunoo.

"hey!" sunoo snapped back but he couldn't even argue as it was completely accurate.

"ok, seriously though this was fun, we should get back to working now though," jake says while others boo and sigh

"hey i never said we couldn't continue this another time?" the rest of the group agreed and everyone went back into their spots in the living room.

everyone slowly got back into working on their projects and jake could tell your mind was elsewhere, so he without asking took on most of the work finishing up the project.

"hey y/n? can i ask you something?"

you turned quickly meeting the boys gaze,

"sure, what is it?" he paused for a minute before he asked you quietly, wanting to make sure no one overheard.

"is there something going on between you and heeseung?"

you eyes widened taken aback by jakes question,

"no, why..?" you quickly responded

"oh, i dont know, it just kinda seems like theres something going on between the two of you lately..."

"theres not! well.." you paused as you thought back to the night of the party. maybe he already told the guys what happened?

"well?"

"did he ever tell any of you what happened at the party?"

jake raised his eyebrows and shook his head, "no, did something happen between you two at the party?"

"no! well sorta... i just, he offered me a drink and i said yes and then i sorta.... ran away.."

you looked down fidgeting with your fingers. honestly you found jake easy to open up too. he was someone who was easy to talk to and instantly made anyone feel comfortable in his presence. so it wasnt hard to be truthful with him. it felt nice honestly.

its not like you couldn't talk to your best friends, its just that, you knew as soon as you did it would make it real. because they would encourage you, and you weren't exactly sure if thats what you wanted yet. with jake, he just was there to listen.

"why? - i mean, whyd you run away?"

"honestly... i dont know" you lied. obviously you couldn't tell him the full truth. you couldn't tell anyone.

"hey, well, if you ever need someone to talk to know that im around" he smiled warmly before playfully reaching over and ruffling your hair.

"i know yunjin and sunoo are great but its obvious they aren't always the most subtle people..." jake chuckled to which you did as well.

"yea, tell me about it."

"im here to listen, and i promise anything you tell me ill keep to myself." he smiled and you could tell he was being genuine.

"thanks jake" you smiled back warmly

"hey, at least we got the project done! no one else seemed to finished today. i bet we will get a 100%" he smiled bumping your arm and heeseung took note of the giggles and closeness clenching his jaw.

"you like her, dont you?"

heeseung snapped his head back to yunjin,

"is it that obvious?"

"hm, not really, well to me yea, but i dont think anyone else has noticed."

heeseung sighed as he admitted his feelings for the first time ever.

"good luck with that, she hasnt dated anyone since like middle school."

"so are you gonna help me out or what?"

"eh, maybe,– maybe if we get a good grade on this assignment."

heeseung sighs like hes doomed bc he knows whatever grade the both of them got on the project would be purely based off if yunjin knew what she was doing, because he did not.

"you are such an idiot, why do you think i agreed to be your partner when she partnered up with jake? its obvious that was the only reason you even asked me. "

"thanks," he smiled

"yea yea, whatever, u should probably hurry up, looks like jake thinks he has some sort of a chance too," she said and both of them shifted their direction to the two of you.

heeseung clenching his jaw as he saw the way jakes hand brushed over your arm.

"does she like him?" he asked gaze still fixated on the both of you.

"no idea, she doesnt talk about any of that, shes always so focused on school i havent heard anything about her having a crush in years."

the conversation slowly simmered out and heeseung got another idea as he saw you finally open your phone. he quickly pulled up his twitter account before tweeting again

gamer.lhee: "you watching me, angel?"

your face immediately turned red seeing the notification, clicking on it and seeing the previous ones. that's when it clicked. the whole time your ringer had been on. he was testing you. he knows.

you quickly stood up and excused yourself to the bathroom, something that was seeming to become a habit now. heeseung followed behind before his arms cornered you against the hallway wall.

"heeseung, what are you-"

he leaned in, dangerously close, lips almost brushing against your ear.

"do you also get this flustered when you watch me at night too?"

- tbc.

dont forget to reblog if you enjoyed it!!! <3 super helpful and appreciated!!

note: also feel free to comment and let me know what you thought of this chapter!! im open to hearing feedback and whatever you guys enjoyed so i can make the next one better!! ^.^ tysm for reading!! hopefully i didnt make too many errors lol..

taglist!: @yohanabanana @heebear @4eeseungz @wonniewonsblog @yangjungwonnie @eugenia29-blog1 @merwdusa @river-demon-slayer @planetmarlowe @woniesbae @ad1m4ise @allthesqueaks @yoonglestangies @clxodyvesprr @millis-diary @immelissaaa @penny44224 (lmk if you'd like to be added <3!)

[heejamas]

out of tune ˖ ୨ 🎙◞⋆ ☆

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader

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

genre: enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c: 27k // warnings: not entirely proofread, smoking (reader and beomgyu smoke), drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, classic enemies to lovers type of plot

author's note: GUYS. i’m finally releasing this prisoner that’s been rotting in my drafts for a million years this one’s a longer fic, so i’m splitting it into part 1 and part 2! it’s definitely a slowburn, and also my first time writing a full-length fic like this. depending on how much y’all like it, i’ll drop part 2 👀 so let me know what u think!! hope u enjoy <3

The HYBE cafeteria was unusually bright today. Or maybe that was just your headache talking.

You sat slumped at one of the corner tables, your laptop was open in front of you, but the words on the screen blurred together every time you tried to focus. Your body was in the office, but your soul was still somewhere on the dance floor from last night.

You were never drinking again.

A cup of coffee slid into your line of vision. You blinked, slowly lifting your head to see the familiar figure dropping into the seat beside you.

“Rough night?” Taehyun asked, amusement laced in his voice.

You didn’t answer, just wrapped both hands around the coffee like it was a lifeline and nodded your thanks. You took a sip, the bitter warmth cutting through the fog in your brain, and exhaled through your nose.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pressed.

You finally peeled off your glasses and turned to him with a deadpan expression. “Do I look like I had a peaceful night?”

Taehyun let out a soft laugh. “No. You look like someone who made a lot of bad decisions and is currently regretting all of them.”

You sighed. “That’s exactly what happened.”

Taehyun was one of the few people in this building you actually liked. As a manager for a junior HYBE group, he wasn’t directly involved in your work, but somehow, over shared coffee breaks and snarky side comments during meetings, you had become friends. He was calm, observant, and, most importantly, he never judged you when you showed up like this.

“Who dragged you out last night?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Yunjin,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple.

Taehyun whistled. “That explains it. She doesn’t just go out—she goes out.”

“Tell me about it.” You shook your head. For a few moments, you just sat there, sipping your coffee in comfortable silence. The caffeine was starting to work, clearing the fog in your brain just enough for you to remember why you had dragged yourself out of bed in the first place.

“Anyway,” Taehyun said, as if reading your mind, “you think you got it?”

You glanced at him. “Got what?”

“The ENHYPEN album. You think you landed the producer role?”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against your coffee cup. “Yeah. I mean, I should. I have the best pitch. It’s mine to lose.”

Taehyun hummed, watching you carefully. “Unless…”

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Unless the company decides to give it to Beomgyu.”

His lips quirked up slightly, but he didn’t deny it. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. If there was one person in this entire company who got under your skin more than anyone else, it was Choi Beomgyu. Beomgyu, your so-called “rival.” Beomgyu, the golden boy of the production team. Beomgyu, the one person standing between you and total creative dominance.

Since the moment you started working at HYBE, the two of you had been locked in a never-ending competition. You were both young, both talented, and both desperate to prove you were the best. Every project turned into a silent battle. Every meeting became a chance to outshine each other. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he came back swinging with something better.

And, worst of all, he was good. As much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu was one of the most talented producers in the company. His compositions were sharp, his sound design was clean, and when he wasn’t being an arrogant pain in your ass, he actually had an ear for what made a song great. But that didn’t make him any less infuriating.

“He’s been talking about it a lot,” Taehyun said, watching your reaction.

“Of course, he has,” you muttered. “He loves the sound of his own voice.”

Before Taehyun could press you, your phone buzzed with a notification. Your stomach flipped when you saw the email preview on your screen.

[HYBE Entertainment] Producer Assignment for ENHYPEN’s Next Album

Taehyun caught the way your shoulders tensed. “Well?”

You swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and opened it. And then, in bold letters, you saw it:

Lead Producers: Y/N & Choi Beomgyu.

You stared at the screen, unblinking.

Taehyun leaned over. “So?”

Slowly, you turned to him. “I hate this company.”

You barely had time to process your misery before you were ushered into one of the production meeting rooms. The headache was still lingering, but the coffee had helped enough that you could at least pretend to be functioning.

Across the table sat Baekhyun, ENHYPEN’s main A&R manager, flipping through a thick binder filled with concepts, references, and scribbled notes. He was in his mid-thirties, sharp-eyed and always impossibly put-together, the kind of guy who could walk into any room and immediately command attention.

“You look like hell,” he said, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” you muttered, dropping into your chair.

Baekhyun smirked, but didn’t push further. Instead, he slid the binder toward you. “Alright, let’s get to it. This is going to be ENHYPEN’s biggest album yet. They’re growing like crazy, and we need something that reflects that—something bold, mature, but still fresh.”

You nodded, flipping through the pages. There were mood boards, keywords, visual concepts—deep reds, blacks, a contrast of sharp and soft. “So, a sexy vibe,” you noted.

“Sexy, but not just for the sake of being sexy,” Baekhyun clarified. “It’s not about being provocative, it’s about confidence, about knowing your worth and expressing it. It needs to feel natural, not forced.”

“Got it,” you said, scanning a page filled with song references—everything from dark R&B to stripped-back acoustic ballads. “And the sound?”

“We want duality,” Baekhyun said, leaning forward. “Something sleek, something intense, but balanced with softer, more emotional tracks. Like… a contrast between the chase and the catch.”

You smirked. “So basically, heartbreak wrapped in temptation.”

Baekhyun snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

You nodded, your mind already racing with ideas. This was the kind of project you thrived on, creating an album that told a story, something cohesive but layered, something that felt alive.

“I can already hear it,” you murmured, flipping to a blank page and jotting down rough ideas. “We need instrumentals that hit deep, a mix of live elements and modern production. R&B basslines, warm analog synths, breathy vocals in the right places…”

Baekhyun grinned. “See? This is why I knew you were the right person for this.” Your ego swelled, but before you could respond, he casually added— “And why Beomgyu is the perfect person to work on this with you.”

Just like that, your mood soured. You shut the binder and looked up at him, unimpressed. “Really?”

Baekhyun laughed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying that you don’t like him. Which, frankly, is why this is going to be so interesting.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “We have completely different styles.”

“Which is exactly why this works. You bring structure, he brings unpredictability. You focus on energy, he focuses on emotion. You push each other, even when you don’t realize it.” You groaned, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. Baekhyun leaned back, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know, if you two weren’t so busy trying to one-up each other all the time, you might actually make a great team.”

You scoffed. “Doubtful.” Baekhyun only shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. You sighed, standing up and gathering your notes. “Fine. If this album flops, I’m blaming you.”

He smirked. “Noted.”

You turned toward the door, bracing yourself for the inevitable headache that would come from working directly with Beomgyu for the next few months. But as soon as you pulled it open, you nearly walked straight into someone.

Someone tall, with long black hair falling messily over sharp eyes that gleamed with something infuriatingly smug. His features were all sharp angles and effortless confidence, full lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made your blood pressure spike before he even said a word.

Choi Beomgyu.

Dressed in an oversized black hoodie layered under a leather jacket, silver chains peeking out from the neckline, and ripped jeans that looked both expensive and carelessly thrown on, he looked every bit like the type of person who thrived in controlled chaos. Like someone who knew exactly how to get under your skin and enjoyed every second of it. And he always made it look easy.

Your stomach twisted, not with nerves, not with excitement, but with that same frustrating mixture of irritation and awareness that always came with him. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, Beomgyu had a presence. The kind that made a room feel smaller when he walked in, like he pulled all the energy toward himself without even trying.

He was leaning casually against the doorframe, like he had been waiting for you to walk straight into him. His dark eyes flickered down at you, amused. He chuckled, stepping aside just enough for you to pass. But before you could make your escape, Baekhyun called from inside the room—

“Beomgyu, perfect timing. Y/N and I were just talking about how great you two are going to be working together.”

You clenched your jaw. Beomgyu turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “We weren’t.”

Beomgyu grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Too bad, cause I think we’re going to have so much fun.”

You took a slow breath, reminding yourself that murder was illegal. Then, without another word, you pushed past him and walked out of the room. Behind you, you could hear him laugh under his breath.

This was going to be hell.

By the time you finally stepped out of the HYBE building, the sky had already melted into deep shades of indigo. The day had been long, hours spent inside the studio, fine-tuning beats, layering harmonies, trying to shape the skeleton of a project that didn’t even exist yet. Your brain felt like mush, the melodies still buzzing in your head like an overplayed song on repeat.

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, letting the cool night air wake you up a little as you made your way toward the subway. Your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones, but your mind wouldn’t shut up.

It was annoying how easy it was to think about the project, how ideas kept forming without you even trying. Even more annoying? The realization that, in some twisted way, Beomgyu was actually a good fit for this album. You hated that it made sense.

Because as much as you wanted to believe you could do this on your own, you weren’t stupid. You knew your strengths, you were a producer first, a composer second. Melodies came naturally to you, the kind that could make someone feel something without even needing lyrics. But lyrics weren’t your strong suit. You could write, sure, but not the way Beomgyu could.

That was the problem. He was good. And he knew he was good.

His songwriting had this effortless quality, like he wasn’t just writing songs, he was telling stories. He knew how to take a concept and turn it into something that felt real. And if this album was supposed to be all about desire, longing, and the push-and-pull of emotions, then yeah, maybe he was the right person for this. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

With a tired sigh, you pushed the thought away as your train pulled up to the station. You just needed to go home, take a hot shower, and vent to the one person who wouldn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit.

By the time you unlocked the door to your apartment, you could already hear the faint sound of music playing from the living room.

Yeonjun was sprawled across the couch, laptop balanced on his stomach, probably tweaking some mix for one of his own projects. He worked at SM, but somehow, despite the constant rivalry between companies, the two of you had ended up as roommates.

Not that it was surprising. You had known each other for years, long before either of you had started working in the industry. Your friendship had survived everything: late-night study sessions in college, chaotic moving days, and now, the shared struggle of being overworked producers.

When you enter your place, the smell of something warm and familiar wrapped around you instantly. “You cooked?” Your voice came out halfway between shock and suspicion.

Yeonjun, who was also eating his ramen, looked up to give you an unimpressed look. “First of all, rude.”

You let out a breathy laugh, kicking off your shoes. “I mean, last time you ‘cooked,’ we almost set off the fire alarm, so forgive me for being a little traumatized.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the table, where two bowls were already set out. “Sit. Eat. You look like you just survived a war.”

You groaned, dragging yourself to a chair. “I feel like I just survived a war.”

He lifted up, and sat across from you, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you take the first bite. The warmth of the broth was immediate, soothing the tightness in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there. Yeonjun waited until you had eaten a little before speaking again, voice softer now. “Long day?”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Yeah. But…” You paused, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. “I got it.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Got what?”

“The Enhypen album,” you said, finally looking at him. “Baekhyun gave me the project.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then, his face lit up. “Oh, shit!” He practically lunged over the table to shake your shoulders. “Y/N, that’s huge! Why didn’t you say that first?”

You laughed, swatting his hands away. “I was getting there!”

“You deserve this,” he said, grinning as he leaned back again. “Seriously, they couldn’t have picked anyone better. I knew this was yours.”

His words sent a strange warmth through your chest, one that had nothing to do with the ramen. “Thanks,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I really wanted it.”

Yeonjun’s smile softened. “And now you have it.” Then, after a beat—“Wait, this means you’ll be locked in the studio for months. I’m never gonna see you.”

You snorted. “Please. You’ll be begging me to stop ranting about synth layers by the end of next week.”

“Okay, yeah, probably.” He smirked. “So, what’s the concept?”

You sat back, letting your head rest against the chair as you thought about it. “Sexy, but in a romantic way. Like… polished, expensive. Desire, but not in a loud way. It’s supposed to be smooth. Mature. A little dangerous, but still aching for something real.”

Yeonjun let out a low whistle. “Damn. Sounds like a dream album.”

You nodded, your fingers drumming absentmindedly against the table. “I spent all day trying to build a soundscape that fits that vibe. The melodies are coming together, but…” You hesitated. “It’s missing something.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “What?”

You exhaled, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl. “Lyrics.”

He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head, waiting. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Baekhyun thinks it’s the kind of album that needs a really strong lyrical identity. It has to feel intentional. Like every word matters. And… I get it. But that’s not really my strong suit, you know?”

Yeonjun nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So… you need a songwriter.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. And that’s the problem. Because Baekhyun already assigned me one.”

Yeonjun’s lips curled at the edges. “Lemme guess.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Yep.”

His grin stretched wider. “Beomgyu.”

You pointed your chopsticks at him. “Don’t start.”

He just laughed, leaning back against his chair. “I mean, I get it. He’s good. And if the concept is all about longing, I hate to admit it, but that’s his thing.”

You exhaled sharply. “I know. That’s what’s pissing me off.”

Yeonjun chuckled. “So what, you guys are just gonna be stuck in a studio together for the next few months?”

You poked at your ramen. “Pretty much.”

“You gonna survive that?”

You scoffed. “I’ll manage.”

Yeonjun gave you a knowing look. “You say that now, but I know you. You’re gonna drive yourself insane over this.”

You groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

He nudged your foot under the table. “Hey. For what it’s worth, I think this is gonna be good for you.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Because,” he said simply, “Beomgyu pushes you. You hate it, but you need it. And whether you want to admit it or not, the two of you working together? It’s gonna make something insane.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, dropping your head onto the table dramatically. “Why do you have to be so right all the time?”

He laughed, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “It’s a curse.”

You swatted his hand away, but the heaviness in your chest felt a little lighter. Maybe Yeonjun was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed. But still, if Beomgyu so much as breathed wrong, you were going to kill him.

The sound of your alarm was the first thing you registered. Sharp, insistent, and entirely too aggressive for this early in the morning You groaned, rolling onto your side to slap at your phone blindly. A soft knock came from your door.

“You alive in there?” Yeonjun’s voice was muffled but amused.

“Barely,” you grumbled.

The door creaked open slightly. “You’ve got ten minutes before I leave. If you’re not ready, I’m not waiting.”

Liar. He always waited. Still, you forced yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You barely had time to throw on some semi-presentable clothes before you were slipping into Yeonjun’s car.

The drive was comfortable, filled with sleepy silence and whatever playlist Yeonjun had on shuffle. Every now and then, he’d hum along to a song or tap his fingers against the steering wheel, the familiarity of it making your exhaustion a little easier to bear.

“Big day?” he asked eventually.

You sighed. “Yeah.”

Yeonjun glanced at you. “You nervous?”

You shook your head. “No. Just… mentally preparing myself.”

He smirked. “For the album or for Beomgyu?”

You shot him a glare. “Drop me off right here. I’ll walk.”

He snorted, pulling up in front of the HYBE building. “Good luck,” he said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Try not to freak out.”

“No promises,” you muttered, stepping out.

As you made your way inside, the familiar hum of the building’s early morning routine surrounded you, employees shuffling in, conversations murmuring in the background, the faint notes of music drifting from a nearby studio. Your first stop, as always, was the company café. You needed caffeine. But as you approached the counter, your mood soured instantly.

Because standing there—already engaged in conversation—was none other than Beomgyu.

And he wasn’t alone. Taehyun, of all people, was with him, the two of them deep in discussion. The sight made your stomach twist weirdly. You had always found it strange how someone as levelheaded as Taehyun could willingly spend so much time with him.

You weren’t sure what they were talking about, but the second Taehyun spotted you, his face lit up. “Morning, Y/N,” he greeted, completely oblivious to the way your eyes immediately locked onto Beomgyu.

“Morning,” you replied, forcing yourself to focus on Taehyun instead. “Didn’t know you two were having a little coffee date.”

Taehyun rolled his eyes, but Beomgyu, ever the opportunist, smirked. “Jealous?” he asked.

You scoffed. “Of what, exactly?”

Beomgyu shrugged, stirring his coffee lazily. “Me. Him. This moment of pure camaraderie.”

You gave him a deadpan look. Taehyun sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I even try.”

Before you could respond, Beomgyu leaned against the counter, regarding you with that ever-present smugness. “Baekhyun told you about the meeting, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What meeting?”

Beomgyu’s smirk widened. “Figures.”

You groaned. “Beomgyu.”

The songwriter just lifted his cup to his lips, clearly enjoying this. He swallowed his sip of coffee, dragging out the silence before finally saying, “Baekhyun scheduled a meeting for us. With Heeseung.”

Your brows furrowed. “Heeseung?”

“He’s co-producing some of the album,” Taehyun explained. “He’s been really hands-on with this comeback.”

You nodded slowly. You had known Heeseung was involved, but this was the first you were hearing about an actual meeting. “So when is this happening?” you asked.

Beomgyu glanced at his watch. “In about… twenty minutes.”

You inhaled sharply. “Are you serious?”

Beomgyu grinned. “What? You need more time to prepare?”

You opened your mouth, probably to say something regrettable, but Taehyun quickly stepped in. “Okay, let’s not start this before a meeting.” He shot you both a pointed look. “Try to behave, yeah?”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the counter to grab your coffee. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” You turned on your heel, shooting him one last glare before heading for the conference room. This was going to be a long day.

The conference room is sleek, all clean lines and soundproofed walls, but the air inside feels thick with expectation. You lean against the table, arms crossed, trying not to let the weight of the situation sink in too much. Across from you, Beomgyu sits with his usual careless ease, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s got all the time in the world.

Baekhyun flips through the binder of notes, while Heeseung sits beside him, watching everything with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his. Heeseung is a lot of things, an incredible performer, a perfectionist, and most of all, observant. Even now, you can feel him studying you and Beomgyu, picking up on things you aren’t even saying out loud.

"Alright," Baekhyun says, snapping the binder shut. "This album is going to be big, but we need it to feel cohesive. That’s why I brought you three together." He nods toward Heeseung. "Heeseung's been working on the overall creative direction with the group, so he’s got a vision for the sound. But you two—" he looks between you and Beomgyu, "—need to bring that vision to life."

Heeseung leans forward, clasping his hands together. "I have some ideas for the emotional beats of the album. I think it should feel… layered. Not just desire for the sake of desire, but something deeper. Craving, frustration, vulnerability. The kind of push-and-pull that makes people feel something."

You nod, already picturing melodies in your head. "I get that. It can’t just be surface-level. The production has to carry that duality too, something sleek but aching underneath."

Beomgyu hums beside you, finally paying attention. "I like that. But we can’t overcomplicate it. It still has to hit immediately, you know? If the production is too… pretty, it won’t land."

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn’t planning on making it ‘pretty.’"

His lips curve into a smirk. "You say that, but your demos always start out all delicate before you drown them in atmosphere."

You scoff, but before you can fire back, you remember something. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your files. "Actually, I have something. It’s just an idea, but…" You trail off as you connect to the speaker and press play.

The room fills with the soft hum of synths, a deep bassline kicking in a second later. The melody is restrained, almost hesitant, but there’s tension in it, a slow build that promises something bigger. Baekhyun leans back in his chair, nodding along, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. Heeseung listens with his head tilted slightly, his brows furrowed in thought.

But it’s Beomgyu you’re watching.

His usual air of disinterest is gone. He’s listening—actually listening—his fingers absentmindedly tapping a rhythm against the table. His lips part slightly, his head tilts, and then, without saying a word, he grabs his notebook, flips to a blank page, and starts writing.

You should be annoyed. Maybe you are. But more than that, you’re intrigued. Because you recognize this version of him, the one who isn’t just all cocky smirks and sharp remarks, but the one who gets lost in the music the same way you do. The one who doesn’t just hear songs, he feels them.

And maybe it’s because you recognize it, or maybe it’s because you can already hear something forming in your own mind, but before you even realize it, you’re reaching for a pen.

The two of you don’t speak at first. You don’t need to. Beomgyu jots something down in a messy scrawl, then taps the edge of his notebook twice before turning it toward you.

Won't you give it to me? Our secret

You stare at it for a second, then shake your head. "Too direct," you murmur, crossing out a word with your pen. You rewrite it underneath—

Won't you let me in? Our secret

Beomgyu’s eyes flicker with something—approval, maybe, or just excitement—and he immediately scribbles something in return, adjusting the cadence of the next line to fit. Back and forth, line by line, the song starts to take shape. He throws out a melody, you refine it. You hum a transition, he finds a way to make it sharper.

At some point, you pull your chair closer without thinking, angling yourself toward him as you lean over his notebook. He shifts too, elbows resting on the table, so close now that you can feel the warmth of his arm next to yours. His knee bumps against yours, but neither of you moves away.

Your phone is still connected to the speaker, and every now and then, you pause to tweak the demo, adjusting a chord, adding a reverb effect, testing how the lyrics sit against the melody. The more you work, the more the energy builds.

It’s like a high. The thrill of chasing an idea, of catching it just before it slips away. Baekhyun exhales a quiet laugh, finally breaking the silence. "Well, damn," he mutters, amused.

You glance up, only now remembering that he and Heeseung are still in the room.Heeseung is watching the two of you with his arms crossed, one brow raised like he’s witnessing something he wasn’t expecting. "Is this how you two always work?"

Beomgyu leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head like he didn’t just spend the last twenty minutes hyper-focused beside you. "We've never worked together"

Baekhyun smirks. "That's a shame."

You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop. Because the truth is, you don’t actually know how to explain it. You and Beomgyu have spent so much time trying to one-up each other that you’ve never really thought about what it feels like when you work together.

And maybe you don’t want to think about it too much now, either.

Beomgyu is watching you, his expression unreadable, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll say. You hesitate for half a second, then roll your eyes, reaching over to shut your notebook.

And maybe it’s just the adrenaline from the session, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but as you gather your things, you can’t shake the feeling that this—whatever just happened between you and Beomgyu—is something you’re going to be chasing again.

The moment you step into the hallway, you exhale, feeling the lingering buzz of the brainstorming session still thrumming under your skin. Your mind is moving too fast, melodies and lyrics weaving together even as you try to shake them off.

Before you get too far, Heeseung catches up to you, matching your pace effortlessly. "That was impressive," he says, hands tucked into his pockets.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. "What was?"

He smiles knowingly. "Don’t play dumb. The way you and Beomgyu just… locked in like that. You guys have a really strong creative dynamic."

You scoff. "Please. It was a one-time thing."

Heeseung just hums in amusement. "Sure," he says, voice dripping with skepticism. "But seriously, I really liked what you did with the demo. That shift in the pre-chorus? That was smart."

The unexpected praise makes your steps falter slightly. You work with a lot of talented people, but compliments from someone like Heeseung, who has an ear for every small detail, actually mean something. "Thanks," you mutter. "Still needs work, though."

Heeseung nods. "Yeah, but that’s what makes it exciting. You and Beomgyu had some really solid ideas in there. I can already tell this album is gonna be something special."

There’s something in his voice, genuine, excited. It’s the same kind of excitement you feel when a song starts coming together, when you can hear the final product before it even exists.

And maybe—just maybe—that feeling is stronger now because of how easily you and Beomgyu fell into rhythm together. Not that you’re going to admit that.

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps approaching. Beomgyu slows as he reaches the two of you, glancing between you and Heeseung with mild curiosity. "What’s this? A secret meeting?"

You roll your eyes. Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. "Relax, man. I was just telling Y/N how good that session was. You guys really work well together."

Beomgyu gives you a look, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he tilts his head toward Heeseung. "You heading out?"

"Yeah," Heeseung nods. "But I’ll catch up with you guys later."

With that, he gives you one last easy smile before walking off, leaving you alone with Beomgyu. Big mistake. The second Heeseung disappears down the hall, Beomgyu turns to you with a lazy grin. "So," he drawls, "what did he say about me?"

You narrow your eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says, shifting his weight against the wall. "Did he say I was a genius? A lyrical mastermind? The only reason this album is gonna be good?"

You glare. "Wow, and here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly get more unbearable."

Beomgyu just laughs, completely unfazed. "I’m serious, though. You should really start getting used to working with me. I mean, if this first session was any proof, we make a great team."

You cross your arms. "Yeah, alright"

Beomgyu tilts his head. "Anyway, I’m gonna be in my studio for a bit—working on some ideas. You know, since I’m so dedicated."

You raise an eyebrow. "And this concerns me how?"

His smirk is instant, sharp. "Because, genius, that demo we worked on still isn’t finished. And if I remember correctly, you’re kind of obsessed with making things perfect."

You exhale through your nose, already feeling the trap he’s setting. "I’ll work on it on my own."

"Sure, sure," he muses, rocking back on his heels. "Except… we both know it’s better when we do it together."

You roll your eyes. "I don’t ‘do things together’ with you, Beomgyu."

He grins, leaning in slightly. "You did today." Your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate that he’s right. You hate that, for a moment, working with him didn’t feel like a battle, it felt electric.

Beomgyu seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, because he shrugs, all casual confidence. "I mean, if you wanna waste time trying to fix it alone, be my guest. But you saw how fast we worked together. We could probably finish a whole verse in an hour—less, if you don’t get distracted staring at me."

You scoff. "Oh my god. You're unbelievable."

"You keep saying that, but you still haven’t said no."

You open your mouth to argue, but then, against all logic, you hesitate. Because he’s right. Again. For as much as you can’t stand him, the truth is undeniable: when you and Beomgyu get into that creative zone, things happen. He watches you carefully, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as you consider it. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you relent. "Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by later."

Beomgyu beams, clearly way too pleased with himself. "Knew you would."

"Don’t get cocky."

"Too late," he says, already turning to leave. But just as he starts walking away, he throws one last remark over his shoulder— "Can’t wait to see how long you last before you come running to my studio."

You swear under your breath, clenching your fists. That smug little—No. You’re not letting him get to you. You pull out your phone, ignoring the way your heartbeat is still uneven, and type out a quick text.

[you]: are you at the company?

Taehyun responds almost instantly.

[taehyun]: Just finished up. Why? [you]: meet me outside [taehyun]: …Are you about to fight someone? [you]: just fucking get there jesus

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you reach for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in your jacket. It’s a bad habit—one you don’t let yourself fall into often—but it’s always been your go-to when you feel like you might actually explode.

You light up, inhaling deeply, letting the nicotine settle in your lungs as you lean against the wall. The city hums around you, cars passing, distant chatter from people walking by, but your head is still full of Beomgyu. His smirk, his voice, the way he gets under your skin so damn easily.

You take another slow drag. A few minutes later, footsteps approach, and then—

"You really need to quit that," Taehyun says, stepping up beside you.

You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. "Yeah, yeah."

He looks at you for a moment, then sighs. "Beomgyu?"

You shoot him a glare. "I hate how predictable that was."

Taehyun just laughs, shaking his head as he leans against the wall next to you. "Alright. Tell me what happened."

And you do. Between slow drags of your cigarette and exasperated hand gestures, you let it all out. Beomgyu’s arrogance, his teasing, the way he makes you want to strangle him and throw yourself into another session with him at the same time. Taehyun listens, nodding along, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

When you finally finish, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. "You know," he says, "for someone who ‘hates’ working with him, you sure as hell can’t stop talking about him."

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I swear to god, if you say one more thing—"

"Relax," he grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. "I’m just saying. If this keeps up, this album’s gonna be fun to watch."

"Fun," you mutter, taking one last drag of your cigarette before flicking it away. "Yeah, sure. If Beomgyu doesn’t kill me first."

Taehyun snorts. "I dunno. You’re the one smoking like you’ve just seen your life flash before your eyes." You shoot him a glare, but he just grins. Taehyun shifts beside you. "So, you’re going this weekend, right?"

You frown. "Going where?"

"The HYBE party," he says, like it should be obvious. "Producers, execs, big names—basically a ‘who’s who’ of the industry."

You make a face. "Oh. That thing."

"Yes, that thing," he deadpans. "Don’t tell me you weren’t invited."

"I was."

"And?"

"And I ignored it."

Taehyun groans. "Of course you did."

You roll your eyes. "Why would I waste my time going to that? It's just a bunch of industry people getting drunk and kissing each other’s asses."

"Yeah," he says, "and that’s exactly why you should be there."

You huff, leaning back against the wall. "Taehyun, I barely have time to eat, let alone go make small talk with people I don’t care about."

He gives you a pointed look. "If you want more people to care about you, you need to start showing up to these things."

You open your mouth to argue—but then his words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. Because you’ve heard them before. Not from him. You’re good, but no one’s ever gonna notice if you never leave this cave.

Beomgyu’s voice, unshakable, rings through your head.

It was late—too late, really, for either of you to still be in the studio—but you had been working, tweaking a demo, lost in your own world. And then he had walked in, leaning against the doorframe with that lazy smirk, watching you like he had you all figured out.

At the time, you had rolled your eyes and told him to fuck off. Now, standing here, you hate that his words come back so easily.

Taehyun must notice the shift in your expression because he nudges your shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

You blink, shaking the thought off. "Yeah. Fine."

"Uh-huh," he says, unconvinced. "So, you’re going?"

You sigh, kicking at the pavement. "I’ll think about it."

He smirks. "That means yes."

You groan, "I hate you."

"You hate a lot of people," Taehyun teases, already stepping away. "But I’ll see you at the party, yeah?"

You don’t answer. But the thought lingers, anyway.

The walk back inside feels heavier than before. Maybe it’s the cold finally settling into your skin, or maybe it’s the fact that Taehyun’s words—and Beomgyu’s, fucking Beomgyu’s—are still bouncing around in your head.

You push the thoughts away as you step into your studio, shutting the door behind you. This is what you need. Work. Something to focus on. Something that doesn’t smirk at you like it knows you better than you know yourself.

Sitting down in front of your computer, you slip your headphones on and pull up a track you’ve been building. The beat kicks in, a deep, pulsing rhythm, crisp percussion layered underneath. You tweak a synth, adjusting the filters until it hums just right. The bass needs more weight. You push it up, listening as the sound thickens, your fingers moving without thinking.

The door swings open. You pull your headphones off, already prepared to tell whoever just barged in to knock first, but the words die on your tongue when you see who it is. Soobin.

He pauses in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting to see you here either. His eyes, soft, dark, perpetually kind, widen slightly before he lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh—shit. Sorry," he says. "I thought this room was empty."

You shake your head, waving a dismissive hand. "It’s fine. You’re not bothering me."

He hesitates for a second, shifting on his feet like he’s not sure if he should stay or leave. You take him in properly, his hoodie slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his wrists, his hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Soobin has always had this way about him, gentle, easygoing, warm in a way that makes people feel safe without even trying.

Soobin steps further into the room, leaning against the doorframe with that easy, almost shy smile of his. "So," he starts, his voice warm and easy, "how’s the project going?"

You lean back in your chair, giving a small shrug, trying to look casual despite the knot in your stomach. "Yeah, it’s going… well. I’m happy with how the beat is shaping up. Just need to refine a few things."

Soobin smiles, his gaze drifting to the computer screen, clearly not just focused on the music. There’s a softness in his expression, like he knows when you’re holding back, but he doesn’t push. "Beomgyu said you two were going to be working together on the new album," he says casually, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, still lingering by the door.

The mention of Beomgyu makes you stiffen for a split second, but you force yourself to remain composed. You try to play it cool, even though the words "working together" feel like they’ve got a much sharper edge to them.

"Yeah," you say, keeping your voice neutral. "Baekhyun put us both on the project. Not really my first choice, but… it is what it is."

Soobin tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Hmm."

You raise an eyebrow, sensing that there’s something more to his reaction than he’s letting on. "What? What’s up?"

Soobin shrugs, his smile returning, but it’s a little softer now, like there’s something he wants to say but he’s not sure if he should. "I’m just surprised. Beomgyu never really talks much about the people he works with, you know?"

Your heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

He looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes flicking to the screen again before meeting yours. "I mean… he mentioned you, actually. Said your work was 'solid.' Which, for him, is practically a compliment."

You blink. Beomgyu? Complimenting you? It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in. "Wait, seriously?"

Soobin chuckles, shrugging. "Yeah. Maybe he’s not as much of a jerk as you think." He pauses, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Or maybe he’s just trying to get under your skin."

You roll your eyes, though there’s a small smile playing at the corner of your lips despite yourself. "I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the second option."

Soobin seems to think about that for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "But hey, maybe working together will surprise you."

You shoot him a skeptical look, but there’s something in Soobin’s voice, something sincere, that makes you pause. "Maybe," you say, your tone softer. "I just don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of surprise."

Soobin chuckles, stepping back toward the door. "Well, if anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you."

You watch him leave, his figure disappearing behind the door with that usual, casual air he carries, but his words stay with you. If anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you.

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your chair, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor on your screen. The beat you’ve been working on earlier suddenly feels distant, like it’s just background noise to the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You didn’t expect Soobin to say that. In fact, you didn’t expect him to even mention Beomgyu.

Beomgyu's ego. The words replay in your head, and you can't help but feel that familiar bitterness rise in your chest. He was arrogant, always so sure of himself, as if he thought he could charm his way into every room he walked into—every meeting, every collaboration, every conversation. But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was how effective it was. He was good at what he did. So good, it made you sick to admit it.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard, but you don't type anything. Instead, you let your mind wander back to the countless times you’d crossed paths with Beomgyu. From the first time you’d met him, there had always been this unspoken tension between you two. You could never quite pinpoint why, but it was always there, like a challenge, an unspoken game.

Beomgyu was never afraid to speak his mind. Never afraid to push you, challenge you, throw something in your face to see how you'd react. He wasn’t the type to back down, especially not in a field like this, where every day felt like a battle for the top spot.

And yet, in all the years you’d worked alongside him, you’d never been able to figure him out. You hated how unpredictable he was. How he’d come in with that cocky grin, take control of a room with nothing more than his presence, and leave you second-guessing everything about the project you’d just finished.

It wasn’t just his confidence that grated on you. It was the way it worked. How easy it was for him to charm clients, co-workers, everyone. You’d always been the opposite, quiet, focused, just a little too serious for the industry’s taste. But Beomgyu? He could weave his way through conversations, make jokes, make everyone like him.

You weren’t so good at that. You weren’t good at pretending things were okay when they weren’t, and you definitely weren’t good at ignoring the way Beomgyu’s presence made your heart race just a little too fast.

You pull your headphones back on, the sound of the track filling your ears, but it doesn’t help. You can’t stop thinking about him. About his stupid smile, the way he’d always act like he knew more than you, the way you’d find yourself questioning every decision you’d made just because he disagreed with it.

You stare at the screen, tapping your fingers absentmindedly on the desk. The ping of a new message from the company chat pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance at the screen, already knowing who it is before you even look. Beomgyu.

You almost groan, but instead, you open the chat without thinking too much about it. His message is short—typical Beomgyu. And, of course, he has to type in all lowercase letters, just like you do.

[beomgyu]: you coming to work with me today or nah?

You lean back in your chair, staring at the message for a second. He always had to throw in that annoying casual tone, like you were just some kind of colleague he could poke fun at. Not that you were going to let him get to you.

[you]: maybe

The typing bubble shows up immediately, and you can already tell he’s typing a response. Of course, he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

[beomgyu]: alright, i’m coming over. don’t run away this time.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling deeply. As much as you’d like to ignore him, you know that when Beomgyu’s around, the work somehow gets done. Annoying as he is, he’s good.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft sound of the door to your studio creaking open. You don’t even look up from your computer at first, but you can feel his presence in the room. It’s hard to miss, he’s got this way of filling up space with his confidence, as if he belongs in every room he enters. "That was fast," you say, still clicking through your files.

"I was already on my way," Beomgyu replies smoothly. His voice is light, teasing, but you can hear the subtle scratch of his hoodie against his skin as he moves, stepping closer.

Only then do you finally glance up. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he watches you like he’s already won something. "Thought you’d be hiding from me again," he muses.

You huff a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. "I wasn’t hiding. Just… working. Something you should try sometime."

Beomgyu pushes off the frame, walking toward you with that effortless, too-cool confidence that somehow never looks forced. He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he nods toward your screen. "What have you been working on, then?"

You hesitate for a beat. It’s not like you don’t want to show him, it’s just that you know how this goes. He’ll have something to say, and you’re not sure if you’re in the mood to let him have an opinion today. Still, your fingers move on their own, pulling up the track. "A beat," you say, pressing play. "Something I was messing with earlier."

The studio fills with the low pulse of a kick drum, steady and clean. A deep bassline follows, smooth but weighty, the kind that makes your chest vibrate. You keep your eyes on the screen, tweaking the volume slightly, but you can feel Beomgyu’s gaze shift. He’s listening. Really listening.

When the beat fades out, you finally glance at him. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something unreadable. He stays quiet for a moment, and just when you think he might actually be serious for once, he speaks.

"It’s… not bad," he says, dragging out the words just to be annoying.

You scoff. "Not bad?"

He shrugs, fighting a grin. "I mean, I expected worse. But yeah. It’s solid." You stare at him for a second before shaking your head. Beomgyu finally laughs, a soft, genuine sound, before nudging your chair lightly with his knee. "Come on. Let’s make it better."

You side-eye him. "Since when are you this eager to work?"

He gives you a slow smirk. "Since I found out I have to prove I’m better than you."

You scoff but don’t argue. Instead, you press play again, letting the track fill the studio once more. The beat hums through the speakers, crisp and layered, but something still feels… incomplete. It’s a skeleton, a strong foundation, but it needs something to make it breathe.

Beomgyu’s fingers drum lightly against the desk, following the rhythm. "The bass is solid, but it needs more texture," he muses, his voice slipping into something more thoughtful. "Maybe a reverb on the snare? Just enough to make it feel bigger."

You hum, considering. "That could work." Your hands move quickly, adjusting a few settings, adding the effect he suggested. When you play it back, the subtle change makes a difference. The beat hits deeper, lingers in the air.

Beomgyu tilts his head, listening. "Yeah… that’s better," he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright, now lyrics. What’s the vibe?"

You purse your lips, thinking. "Baekhyun wanted something sexy but with emotional weight. Not just a throwaway club song—something that actually sticks with people."

Beomgyu hums, tilting his head. "So, like… temptation?" You glance at him, curious. He gestures vaguely with his hands. "Something that feels like you shouldn’t be doing it, but you want to anyway. You know, that whole ‘I’m trying to stay away, but I keep coming back’ thing."

You hesitate, but that actually makes sense. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you type a few rough phrases, trying to capture that idea. "Something like…" you murmur to yourself, voice trailing off as you think.

Beomgyu shifts closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watches your screen. "Try flipping it," he suggests. "Instead of ‘I can’t stay away,’ what if it’s more like ‘I know you don’t want me to stay away’?"

Your fingers pause. You glance at him. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, like he knows exactly what he just did. You scoff lightly, shaking your head. "You would think of it that way."

Beomgyu grins. "What can I say? I like a little push and pull."

Rolling your eyes, you type out the line anyway. And to your annoyance, it works.

From there, the writing flows easier. He throws out ideas, some ridiculous, some brilliant. You counter them, sharpen them, adjust the phrasing. He tests melodies under his breath while you tweak the instrumental to match. The push-and-pull dynamic you usually hate about him actually fuels the process, and before you know it, the bones of the song are coming together.

At some point, Beomgyu gets up and paces the room as he mumbles lyrics under his breath, testing cadences. You watch as he stops, rewinds, repeats lines to himself like he’s working out a puzzle. It’s the most serious you’ve seen him look all day.

And, annoyingly, you find yourself thinking, not for the first time, that Beomgyu is actually really good at this. You shake the thought away. No need to inflate his already massive ego.

Eventually, you both get so lost in the work that time stops mattering.

As Beomgyu stretches, his arms extending above his head, the hem of his hoodie lifts just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. He lets out a low groan as his back pops, shaking off the hours spent hunched over the desk. You barely register it, too lost in the sound of the track looping softly in the background, but then you catch the way he suddenly stills.

His gaze flickers to the clock on the wall, and his expression shifts. "Holy shit," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s past midnight."

The words barely register at first. Your brain is still swimming in melodies, unfinished lyrics, and the lingering energy of collaboration. But then the weight of time settles in, and you finally blink, pulling yourself back into reality.

You sit up straighter, stretching out your fingers before glancing at the studio door. The hallway beyond is silent. The once-busy building has gone eerily still, the distant hum of conversations and footsteps long gone.

"Shit," you murmur, running a hand through your hair. "Didn’t even notice."

It’s not surprising. This happens sometimes, getting so lost in the process that hours slip by unnoticed. But something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t just work alone. That, for once, Beomgyu wasn’t just a distraction or an annoyance, but someone who helped.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, is watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. Then, as if snapping back into his usual self, he lets out a small breath and leans against the edge of the desk. His smirk creeps in, lazy and familiar.

"Wanna grab a beer?"

The words are so casual, so effortless, that it takes you a second to process them. You snort, already shaking your head before he can even try to convince you. "Not even if you paid me."

Beomgyu clicks his tongue, feigning deep disappointment, like you just shattered his fragile dreams. "Tsk. Alright, alright. I get it. You’re all work, no fun."

You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, he leans in slightly. Not close enough to invade your space, but just enough that his voice drops a fraction, almost like he’s sharing a secret.

"I’ve got until the album drops to change your mind."

There’s something about the way he says it. Not teasing, not pushy, just confident, like it’s already a done deal. Like he knows you’ll give in eventually.

You scoff, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, just the tiniest flicker of a smile before you school your expression back into indifference. "Good luck with that," you mutter, standing up and stretching your arms.

Beomgyu watches you for a beat longer before pushing off the desk, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. He doesn’t say anything else, just hums in amusement as he heads for the door, his posture loose and easy.

And somehow, you already know. He won’t drop it.

The dream was still vivid when you woke up. The melody, the lyrics, everything had felt so real, like the song had already existed somewhere in your mind, just waiting to be found.

You barely remembered throwing on your clothes and rushing out the door, but now you were here, practically jogging through the HYBE hallways, desperate to get the words down before they slipped away.

Your mind was a mess of half-formed ideas and lingering dream logic, but the one thing you knew for certain was that this had to be written today. The only problem? Beomgyu was nowhere to be found.

You’d expected to see him the second you walked into the studio, already lounging in his usual spot, feet up on the desk like he owned the place. But the room was empty. No bags, no coffee cups, no signs of life.

You frowned, pulling out your phone on instinct, but there were no messages. No snarky texts from him, no last-minute updates about being late. Nothing. You tried not to dwell on the fact that it unsettled you. That you were even looking for him in the first place.

Instead, you headed back into the hallway, hoping to run into someone who knew something. That someone turned out to be Taehyun, who was standing near the vending machines, scrolling on his phone. "Hey," you called, walking up to him. "Have you seen Beomgyu?"

Taehyun barely looked up, but the slight smirk on his face told you he’d heard you just fine. "You’re looking for him?"

You folded your arms. "I just need to talk to him about the album."

He hummed, finally glancing up from his phone. "Sure. About the album."

You sighed. "Taehyun—"

"I haven't seen him," he cut in, clearly enjoying this way too much. "And even if I had, I don’t think I’d tell you. This is way too entertaining."

You rolled your eyes. "Unbelievable."

"You could just text him, you know," Taehyun pointed out.

"I could," you admitted, "but I shouldn’t have to."

Taehyun just shrugged, biting back a grin. "Well, if you’re that desperate, good luck."

You groaned, turning on your heel and heading down the hall. Desperate. Right. Beomgyu wasn’t the only person you could talk to about music.

So, instead of wasting time looking for him, you made your way to a different part of the building, where you knew you’d find people who actually showed up to work. Enhypen's break room was surprisingly lively when you walked in.

Heeseung was sitting at the center table, scrolling through his laptop, while Jake and Jungwon were arguing about something (probably a game) on the couch nearby. Sunghoon and Sunoo were by the fridge, debating which energy drink was less likely to kill them, while Jay and Niki were huddled over Jay’s phone, watching a video of some kind.

The moment you stepped inside, seven pairs of eyes turned toward you. "Whoa," Jake said, blinking. "You actually left your studio?"

"She exists outside of work?" Sunoo added, looking genuinely fascinated.

"Crazy, right?" Jay smirked. "I thought she was just a myth."

You sighed, dropping into the chair across from Heeseung. "Hilarious. All of you."

Heeseung closed his laptop, leaning forward with an amused grin. "So, what brings you here?"

The others perked up, too, the room’s energy shifting as they all turned their attention to you. You hesitated for only a second before reaching for your phone, pulling up the rough voice memo you’d recorded half-asleep that morning.

"I had this dream last night," you explained. "It was kind of abstract, but there was this melody, and I woke up with the start of a lyric in my head. It’s not much yet, but—"

"Play it," Jungwon interrupted.

You did. The room fell silent as the low, dreamy hum of your voice filled the space. It was raw, just a melody over soft chords, the words barely formed, but you could already hear the potential in it.

When it ended, there was a beat of silence. "That’s sick," Niki said immediately.

"It sounds kind of nostalgic," Jake added. "Like something that pulls you back to a specific memory, even if you don’t know what memory it is."

Heeseung nodded, thoughtful. "The vocal layering could be really cool if you lean into that hazy, dreamlike feel."

You took mental notes as they spoke, their excitement feeding into your own. Collaborating like this, bouncing ideas off of people who genuinely loved music as much as you did, was one of your favorite things. For the first time that morning, you forgot about Beomgyu entirely. Almost.

Because as the conversation started winding down, you found yourself asking, "By the way… has anyone seen Beomgyu today?"

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "He’s never here on Thursdays."

That made you pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don’t know the details," he admitted, "but every Thursday, he just… doesn’t show up. It’s like his unofficial off day or something."

You frowned. "And no one questions that?"

Jay shrugged. "He’s Beomgyu. He gets away with a lot."

That was true, but it still felt odd. Beomgyu was everywhere, all the time. It was part of his personality, the way he always had to make himself known, make his presence felt. So, why did he suddenly disappear once a week? And more importantly… Why did you care?

The glow of the computer screen was the only thing illuminating the studio now. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing at your eyes as the melody you’d been playing on loop for the past twenty minutes continued to hum faintly through the speakers.

The demo was coming together, slowly but surely. You had the skeleton of the track—the instrumental was rich, the atmosphere was there, but the lyrics still felt incomplete. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t quite find the missing piece.

You sighed, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your chair back slightly. The worst part? You knew exactly what was missing.

Beomgyu. You hated that realization.

As much as you wanted to deny it, things just worked when he was around. Ideas flowed easier, the process felt smoother—hell, even when you were annoyed at him, it still fueled the energy in the room. The back-and-forth, the push and pull, it all somehow led to better music.

And today, without him, it felt like dragging a boulder up a hill. You shook your head, refusing to dwell on it. It wasn’t like you needed him. You’d been making music for years before he ever stepped into your life.

Still, as you saved the latest version of the demo and shut your laptop, you couldn't shake the irritation bubbling in your chest. What the hell does he even do on Thursdays?

Pushing the thought away, you grabbed your jacket and slung your bag over your shoulder. You’d been here too long already, and at this point, you weren’t getting anything else done tonight. Just as you stepped out into the hallway, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

[yunjin]: we’re at hyehwa. bring your tired workaholic ass over here [yunjin]: before you ask, yes, yeonjun is here. yes, taehyun is here. and yes, hueningkai is here. no excuses

You exhaled through your nose, the corners of your lips twitching upward despite your exhaustion. Of course they were at Hyehwa, the bar that had somehow become your unofficial meeting spot over the years.

For a moment, you debated going straight home. But then you thought about how much time you’d already spent alone in the studio tonight, trapped in your own head. Maybe you needed a break after all.

The second you stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the bar wrapped around you like a worn-out leather jacket. The dim lighting, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, it was the kind of place that always felt easy, no matter how long the day had been.

And, as expected, your friends were easy to find. Yeonjun was the first one you spotted, lounging in the booth like he had no bones in his body, one arm draped over the back of the seat. Taehyun was sitting next to him, scrolling through his phone, while Hueningkai was across from them, laughing at something Yunjin was saying. There were already a few empty beer bottles on the table, condensation still dripping from them.

You rolled your eyes as you walked over. "You guys started without me."

Hueningkai beamed. "Of course we did. You’re late."

You slid into the seat next to Yunjin, ignoring the way they were all looking at you like you were some rare specimen that had just wandered into the wild. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, flagging down the bartender for a drink. "I was working."

"We know," Taehyun said, side-eyeing you. "You’ve been working non-stop."

Yunjin leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. "So? How’s the album going?"

You hesitated, drumming your fingers lightly against the table. "It’s… coming together."

Yeonjun squinted at you. "That doesn’t sound convincing."

You sighed. "It’s fine. Just a long day."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "A long day or a long day without Beomgyu?"

You froze mid-sip, the beer bottle barely touching your lips before you slowly lowered it back down to the table. "I’m not talking about him right now," you said flatly, setting the bottle down with a quiet clink against the wood. "I’m here to have a drink with my friends, not to analyze my work situation."

Taehyun smirked like he knew exactly what you were doing. Yeonjun raised his hands in surrender, but the knowing look in his eyes was still irritating. Hueningkai, ever the agent of chaos, just grinned.

"Alright, alright," Yunjin said, leaning back. "No Beomgyu talk. But, speaking of things you do need to talk about—" She fixed you with a pointed look. "You’re coming to the HYBE party, right?"

"I'm thinking about it," you corrected, crossing your arms. "I have work to do. I don’t have time to stand around making awkward small talk with industry people who don’t even know my name."

Yunjin groaned, dramatically letting her head fall against the table before snapping back up with renewed determination. "Listen. You spend every waking moment working on this album. You need to breathe. Plus, I’m going."

"And?"

"And that means you have no excuse not to."

You snorted. "That logic is flawed."

"It’s actually foolproof," she argued. "And you know who else is going? Taehyun."

You hesitated, glancing at Taehyun, who only gave you a small shrug like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe it wasn’t. And maybe… just maybe… you were a little tired of feeling like a ghost in this industry.

"…Fine," you muttered.

Yunjin’s face lit up. "Yes!"

"I’m going with you and Taehyun," you clarified. "And if it sucks, I’m leaving early."

"Deal," she grinned, clinking her beer against yours.

As the conversation moved on, you took another sip of your drink, pushing away the nagging thought that had been lingering at the back of your mind. Because you knew exactly who was going to be at that party. And whether you admitted it or not, part of you was already wondering if you'd run into him.

When you woke up, sunlight was already spilling through the curtains, the golden hue casting soft shadows across your room. For a few blissful moments, you lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting yourself exist in the quiet. But the minute your mind fully registered what day it was, that peace shattered. The HYBE party.

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. Part of you still wanted to back out. It wasn’t like anyone would really care if you didn’t show up. You weren’t the kind of person people noticed at these events. And yet… you’d already agreed to go.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you padded into the kitchen, still in your oversized sleep shirt, your hair a mess from sleep. To your surprise, Yeonjun was already up, standing by the coffee machine, scrolling through his phone. "You’re awake early," you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up, smiling lazily. "And you look like you got hit by a truck."

You scowled, reaching for a mug. "Thanks."

Yeonjun chuckled and, before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "You looked like you needed it," he murmured against your hair.

For a second, you stiffened, but then you exhaled, letting yourself melt into him, pressing your face against his chest. He was warm, solid, and familiar. The kind of comfort that didn’t need words. "…I don’t know why I feel weird about tonight," you admitted quietly.

Yeonjun didn’t let go, just rubbed small, soothing circles against your back. "You don’t have to go if you don’t want to."

You sighed. "I know. But… maybe I should go. Maybe I need to stop avoiding these things."

He hummed in agreement, waiting a beat before asking, "Beomgyu’s gonna be there, huh?"

You groaned into his shirt. "Why are you like this?"

He laughed, finally pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Because I know you. And I know that’s part of what’s making you overthink this."

You didn’t deny it. Because as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you was wondering—if you went, would you run into him? And if you did… then what?

The day dragged on slower than usual, each hour stretching endlessly as you fought to keep your mind occupied. You had promised Yunjin you’d go to her apartment to get ready together. As much as you had hoped the day would pass without the need to confront your nerves, the time had come. The tension in your chest flared up again, and for a split second, you wished you could back out. But you couldn’t.

When you arrived at her apartment, Yunjin was perched at her vanity, still in a robe, mascara wand frozen mid-air as she turned to look at you. "Took you long enough," she teased, a grin pulling at her lips.

On the bed, Taehyun was sprawled out, scrolling through his phone with that signature, mildly unimpressed expression he always wore. "I’ve been trapped here for thirty minutes," he deadpanned. "Save me."

You snorted, already feeling more at ease. This was exactly what you needed, the mindless chatter, the shared chaos of getting ready, and the reminder that not everything in your life had to revolve around late-night studio sessions and a certain annoying producer who lived rent-free in your head.

By the time you were all dressed and out the door, the city lights stretched out in front of you, buzzing with life. The party was already in full swing when you arrived, the familiar pulse of bass-heavy music vibrating through the ground, bodies moving under dim lights, and the haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

Yunjin led the way, slipping effortlessly into the crowd. Taehyun trailed behind with his usual nonchalant vibe, and you… well, you were busy doing exactly what you promised yourself you wouldn’t do: scanning the room for him.

And then, you saw him.

Beomgyu stood near the corner of the room, deep in conversation with Soobin. It was the kind of effortless, laid-back energy that somehow made him stand out in a room full of people trying too hard.

He wasn’t drowning in one of those oversized hoodies he always wore in the studio. No, tonight was different. He had on a simple black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing just enough of his wrists to make you irrationally annoyed. The fabric clung to him in all the right places, and paired with black jeans and silver rings on his fingers, he looked…

You blinked, irritated at yourself. No. Absolutely not.

But your eyes betrayed you, tracing the way he casually ran a hand through his hair as he laughed at something Soobin said. He looked relaxed, like he belonged in this kind of environment, like he wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent hours annoying the life out of you in the studio. And worse, he looked… good. But you would literally rather die than admit that out loud.

What you didn’t know was that, from across the room, Beomgyu was watching you just as intently.

He leaned against the wall, drink in hand, nodding absentmindedly as Soobin spoke, but his attention kept slipping, drawn back to the way you moved through the crowd. The way your eyes flickered around the room, pretending not to be looking for him. The way you laughed at something Yunjin said, even though you were clearly trying to hide how uncomfortable you felt being here.

It was unfair, really. How easily you occupied space in his head without even trying.

"Are you even listening to me?" Soobin’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Beomgyu blinked, tearing his gaze away from you. "Huh?"

Soobin sighed, already used to this. "I said, how’s the album coming along? Baekhyun’s been hyping your demos, but you’ve been suspiciously quiet about working with Y/N."

Beomgyu scoffed, taking a sip of his drink. "It’s… fine."

Soobin raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

Beomgyu hesitated, rolling the glass between his fingers. "She’s annoying," he muttered. "Thinks she knows everything. Always overcomplicates the production and acts like she’s too good to work with me."

Soobin let out a quiet laugh. "Right. And that’s why you’ve been writing the best shit of your career since you two started working together."

Beomgyu shot him a look. "Shut up."

"You like working with her," Soobin said, deadpan.

"I do not," Beomgyu snapped, a little too quickly.

Soobin’s grin only widened. "No? Then why do you keep staring at her like that?"

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, eyes flickering back to where you stood with Yunjin and Taehyun. You looked good tonight. Too good. And it was pissing him off. Because ever since that stupid studio session where you accidentally made magic together, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

The way your mind worked. The way your fingers moved across the keyboard, tweaking melodies until they hit just right. The way you bit your lip when you were focused, completely lost in the sound.

You made him crazy. And maybe that’s exactly why the album was turning out the way it was, raw, sharp, full of tension. It wasn’t just music. It was you. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She drives me insane."

Soobin smirked. "And here you are saying that you don't like working with her."

Beomgyu glared at him. "I swear to god, Soobin—"

"Come on," Soobin grinned. "You’re just not ready to admit that this whole ‘hating each other’ thing is actually… kind of your thing."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Because deep down, he knew Soobin was right. And that terrified him.

You weren’t exactly expecting Baekhyun to pull you aside at this party, but here you were, following him through the crowded room as he weaved between people with practiced ease. "Y/N," he started, glancing back at you with a smirk, "I’ve been meaning to introduce you to someone."

You barely had time to ask who before you found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol, one of HYBE’s creative directors. He was taller than you expected, dressed in a sleek black suit that somehow made him look more approachable than intimidating.

"Y/N’s producing the new Enhypen album," Baekhyun introduced casually.

Seungcheol’s eyes lit up with recognition as he extended his hand toward you. "Ah, I’ve heard about you. Your demos are impressive."

You shook his hand, hiding the way your stomach flipped at the compliment. "Thank you. I’m… still figuring things out."

"You and everyone else in this company," Seungcheol chuckled. His tone was light, polite, the kind of effortless charm that only someone who’s been in the industry for years could pull off.

The conversation flowed easily from there. Seungcheol asked about your creative process, subtly throwing in references to producers you admired, showing he actually understood what you did. It felt… good. Like for once, someone saw you as more than just “the girl working with Beomgyu.”

Which was exactly when Beomgyu appeared. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever Seungcheol was saying, but you felt it. That weird shift in the air when someone’s eyes are on you.

Beomgyu stood just a few feet away. You forced yourself to ignore him, focusing back on Seungcheol, who was mid-sentence about the new creative direction HYBE was taking. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Beomgyu lingering, not quite joining the conversation, but not leaving either.

It was annoying. Typical, actually. You knew exactly what he was doing, standing there, listening, watching. Almost as if he was waiting for the right moment to insert himself. And, of course, he did.

"Y/N," Beomgyu’s voice cut in smoothly, "Baekhyun’s been looking for you."

Your eyes narrowed as you turned to face him. "Funny. I’ve been with Baekhyun for the past ten minutes."

Beomgyu’s lips twitched, but his gaze flickered, just for a second, toward Seungcheol. "Guess he forgot to mention it." There it was. That subtle edge in his voice. Not enough for anyone else to catch, but you knew him too well by now.

Seungcheol seemed unfazed, stepping back slightly as if sensing whatever weird energy was happening between you two. "I’ll let you handle that," he said, offering you a polite smile. "It was great meeting you, Y/N. I’ll keep an eye out for your work."

"Likewise," you replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. Seungcheol disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Beomgyu standing there in uncomfortable silence. You turned to him, arms crossed. "Really? What was that?"

"What was what?" Beomgyu replied, all fake innocence.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, already moving past him.

But before you could disappear into the crowd, you heard him mumble under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch:

"I bet he doesn’t even know what a compressor does."

You stopped dead in your tracks, spinning around to face him. "Oh my god, you’re actually jealous."

Beomgyu blinked. "What? No."

"You totally are."

"I just think," he said, with that infuriating smirk, "that some people like to talk more than they actually create."

You stared at him, half in disbelief, half wanting to strangle him. "Unbelievable," you muttered, turning away again.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you," you shot back over your shoulder.

But as you pushed through the crowd, your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the music. And somewhere behind you, Beomgyu stood there, running a hand through his hair, wondering what the hell you’d done to him.

The night pressed on, and you let yourself slip into the chaos of the party.

Yunjin dragged you to the dance floor, her hand wrapped around yours as the bass vibrated through your chest. Taehyun hovered nearby, doing his signature head-bop move with a drink in hand, pretending he was too cool to enjoy himself when, in reality, he was having the time of his life.

You allowed yourself to let go for a bit, letting the music drown out the noise in your head, the pressure of the album, and, most importantly, the fact that Beomgyu was somewhere in this room, probably still brooding after whatever weird stunt he pulled earlier.

But even as you danced, laughed with Yunjin, and stole sips from Taehyun’s drink, you felt it. That annoying awareness of him.

You caught glimpses of him through the crowd, leaning against a wall, talking to Soobin, occasionally scanning the room. And somehow, every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d hold your gaze for just a second too long before looking away, leaving something heavy and unspoken lingering in the air. It was messing with your head.

You slipped out to the smoking area, grateful for the cool night air against your skin. There were a few other people scattered around, some making out against the wall, others huddled in quiet conversations, but you found a spot in the corner, leaning against the railing as you lit a cigarette.

It was a bad habit, one you only fell back into when you were stressed. But tonight, it felt… necessary.

The first inhale burned your lungs in that oddly comforting way, and you let your head fall back, eyes closing for a moment as you exhaled. You barely heard the door creak open behind you, but the familiar voice made you tense instantly.

"Wow. Didn’t peg you as a smoker."

You opened your eyes, already irritated. "Of course, it’s you."

Beomgyu stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with that same infuriating expression he always wore, somewhere between amused and way too pleased with himself. He huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer until he was leaning against the railing beside you.

"I’m not stalking you," he muttered, eyes flickering to your cigarette. "I just needed air."

"Right," you replied, taking another drag. The silence between you stretched for a moment, surprisingly comfortable. The muffled music from inside bled through the walls, mixed with the distant sounds of traffic from the streets below.

"I didn’t know you smoked," Beomgyu said quietly.

"I don’t," you replied. "Only when I’m overthinking."

He glanced at you. "What are you overthinking about?"

You hesitated, unsure why you were even entertaining this conversation. "The album," you finally said. "And… other things."

Beomgyu hummed, eyes fixed ahead. "Same."

That surprised you. For some reason, you always assumed Beomgyu was immune to self-doubt, that everything came easy to him. But now, standing here under the dim light, he looked tired. Almost like he was carrying the same weight you were.

He grinned, and for a moment, the tension between you softened into something else. Something unfamiliar. You took another drag of your cigarette before handing it to him without a word.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re sharing with the enemy now?"

"Take it or leave it," you muttered.

He hesitated for half a second before accepting it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling slowly. You hated how attractive that looked. And of course, Beomgyu caught you staring.

"Careful," he said, handing it back to you with a smirk. "If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me."

"God, I regret this already," you groaned, turning away.

But Beomgyu just chuckled, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed against yours. "Too late," he murmured. "You let me in."

You took the cigarette back from Beomgyu, bringing it to your lips again as the cold air pressed against your skin. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The music from inside thumped faintly in the background, but out here, it felt like you were in a completely different world, one that was quieter, slower.

"So," Beomgyu started, breaking the silence, "have you thought more about track five?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Are you seriously talking about the album right now?" You turned to him, disbelief written all over your face. "We're at a party."

Beomgyu shrugged. "What, you think I know how to do small talk?" You huffed, half amused, half annoyed. "You were literally talking about work with Seungcheol earlier," he quipped, stealing it from your hand again.

You let him, watching as he took another slow drag before handing it back. You groaned, already regretting letting him stay out here. "Oh my God. Don’t."

"I’m just saying," Beomgyu muttered, gaze fixed on the ground. "He was totally flirting with you."

You rolled your eyes. "He was being polite."

"He called you talented and touched your arm twice," Beomgyu deadpanned. "That's textbook flirting."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Why do you even care?"

Beomgyu hesitated. "I don’t care," he said, a beat too late.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sure." Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it by taking another drag of the cigarette. Beomgyu shifted beside you, leaning his weight against the railing. "You know," you started, voice low, "for someone who allegedly doesn't care, you spend an awful lot of time ruining my conversations."

Beomgyu let out a soft scoff, eyes fixed somewhere ahead. "You looked bored."

"I wasn’t bored."

"You were faking interest," he replied without hesitation. "You do that thing where you tilt your head slightly and nod, but your eyes are already somewhere else."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Didn’t know you analyzed me that much," you muttered.

"I don’t," Beomgyu replied too quickly.

You just hummed in response, taking another slow drag. The distant hum of the party buzzed faintly behind you, but out here, it felt like you’d slipped into some strange, quieter version of reality.

Your eyes flickered to him again, noticing the subtle tension in his posture, the way his fingers tapped against his rings, the same nervous habit you’d seen in the studio when he thought no one was looking.

You hesitated before speaking again. "Why don’t you work on Thursdays?"

Beomgyu stilled. You almost regretted asking, but he didn’t look at you, didn’t deflect like you expected him to. Instead, he let out a slow breath through his nose.

"I visit my mom," he said quietly.

Your breath caught in your throat. "What do you mean?"

"She’s been sick for a while," he added, almost like he was saying it more to himself than to you. "Autoimmune thing. Thursdays are… her day."

Your grip on the cigarette faltered slightly. You hadn’t expected honesty. You turned to him, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, like saying it out loud would make it heavier. "I didn’t know," you said softly.

"Yeah," he replied, almost like he was amused by your reaction. "Why would you?"

You wanted to say something, but words felt too fragile for whatever this was. So you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling that strange shift in the air, the one where he felt less like your annoying rival and more like… You weren’t sure what.

Beomgyu glanced at you then, catching the way you were looking at him. "What?" he asked, almost defensive.

"Nothing," you replied, turning away.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything you’d never noticed about him until now. You pressed the cigarette against the railing, watching the ember die out. The air outside felt heavier than usual, but maybe that was just the way Beomgyu’s presence filled every empty space.

"I should head back," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Beomgyu didn’t look at you. He stayed leaning against the railing, gaze fixed on some distant point in the city, jaw tight like he was holding something back.

"Do yourself a favor," he said suddenly, voice low. "Be careful with who you let think they know you."

You frowned, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu exhaled slowly, like he already regretted speaking. "These people," he gestured vaguely toward the noise inside. "They’ll act like they want you around. Like they see potential in you. But they don’t actually care. They just want something to say they discovered first."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You think that’s what Seungcheol was doing?"

Beomgyu scoffed, eyes flickering to yours. "I think you’re too naive to notice when people are looking at you for the wrong reasons."

You stared at him, searching for whatever this was, this strange tension that always seemed to surface when the two of you were left alone. But before you could step inside, Beomgyu spoke again.

"I’m serious, Y/N." His voice softened slightly. "You're new to this. You think people in this industry want you to win, but they don't. They want you to be grateful. They want you to be quiet. And the second you stop being useful to them, they’ll move on."

You hesitated, hand hovering over the door handle. "And you?" you asked quietly. "What do you want from me, Beomgyu?"

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, barely above a whisper:

"Nothing."

You turned back, but he was already looking away, like he hadn’t just said something that would stay stuck in your head for weeks. You lingered for half a second before slipping back inside, the noise of the party swallowing you whole.

But somehow, you could still feel him. And that scared you more than anything.

The party felt louder when you stepped back inside, but maybe that was just the ringing in your ears from whatever the hell that conversation with Beomgyu was. You pushed through the crowd, head spinning, eyes searching for familiar faces. Yunjin and Taehyun were by the bar, Yunjin holding a half-finished drink and Taehyun looking like he was ready to disappear from this place an hour ago.

"I’m heading out," you told them.

Yunjin pouted. "Already?"

"I’m… tired." You offered her a weak smile, not really in the mood to explain why your chest felt weird or why Beomgyu’s words kept looping in your head.

Taehyun raised a brow but didn’t question it. "Get home safe."

You nodded, squeezing Yunjin’s arm lightly before slipping away. As you stepped outside, the night air hit you harder than you expected. You pulled out your phone and hesitated for a moment before typing:

[you]: where r u?

It didn’t take Yeonjun long to reply.

[yeonjun]: me and kai just found a sketchy fried chicken place that’s probably violating health codes. u want in?

You smiled.

[you]: can u come pick me up? [yeonjun]: omw.

You waited by the curb, the distant hum of the city filling the silence Beomgyu had left in your head.

When Yeonjun’s car pulled up a few minutes later, you moved toward it, already feeling the tension ease at the thought of greasy food and whatever chaos he and Kai were on tonight. But as you reached for the door handle, your eyes flickered to the side.

There, a few feet away, Beomgyu stood near the entrance, Soobin beside him, waiting for their own ride. You weren’t sure if he saw you first or if he was already looking, but when your eyes met, something heavy passed between you.

His gaze shifted to Yeonjun in the driver’s seat. Then back to you. You stepped into the car, shutting the door behind you.

"Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?" Yeonjun asked as you buckled your seatbelt.

"Nothing," you muttered.

Through the glass, you caught one last glimpse of Beomgyu, standing there with Soobin, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze still following you as the car pulled away. Something about the way he looked at you sat uncomfortably in your stomach, like he was trying to figure something out but refused to admit he cared enough to.

You turned away, resting your head against the seat.

Beomgyu watched the car disappear down the street, jaw tightening.

Soobin, who’d been standing quietly next to him this whole time, finally spoke, breaking whatever strange daze Beomgyu had fallen into. "So… that guy in the car," he nodded toward the street where Yeonjun’s car had disappeared, "is that her boyfriend?"

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed almost instantly. He felt the muscle in his cheek twitch as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "How the hell would I know?" he muttered, too quickly. "It’s not like I’m friends with her."

Soobin let out a short laugh, "Yeah," he said, nodding slowly. "That’s definitely something someone who doesn’t care would say."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Mostly because he couldn’t. Because Soobin was right. And that fact made something burn in his chest in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

It wasn’t like he cared who you left with. So instead of acknowledging whatever the hell this feeling was, Beomgyu just scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. "Whatever," he muttered. "She’s not that interesting anyway."

Soobin snorted. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Beomgyu shot him a glare, but Soobin just grinned, already knowing exactly what was happening. Because it was obvious to everyone but Beomgyu. He wasn’t just annoyed with you. He was already losing. And worse, he didn’t even realize he was playing.

The weekend passed in a blur of chaotic laughter and burnt virtual pizzas. You'd spent most of it holed up in your apartment, playing Overcooked with Yeonjun and Kai. Between screaming at each other in the kitchen and ordering way too much takeout, you actually felt… okay.

It was easy to forget about Beomgyu when you were surrounded by Yeonjun’s easy energy and Kai’s ridiculous commentary. Easy to forget how weird you’d felt after that conversation outside the party. How something about the way Beomgyu looked at you that night had stuck to your skin, refusing to leave.

But now, Monday morning had arrived, dragging you back to reality.

Yeonjun’s car rolled through the streets of Seoul, the city still half-asleep as the sun painted soft light across the buildings. You stared out the window, anxiety already bubbling in your chest at the thought of stepping into that studio again.

"You’re spiraling," Yeonjun said, breaking the silence.

You turned to him with a frown. "I’m not spiraling."

"You are," he replied easily, eyes still on the road. "You always do this before big projects. You convince yourself you're not good enough, overwork yourself to the point of insanity, and then act surprised when you have a breakdown in the bathroom."

"That happened one time," you muttered. Yeonjun shot you a look "Okay, twice," you admitted.

He sighed, softening. "You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N. You’re one of the most talented people I know. You just… need to stop letting other people’s opinions get in your head." You chewed on the inside of your cheek, not fully convinced but too tired to argue. When Yeonjun pulled up in front of the HYBE building, he shifted in his seat to face you. "Don’t let him get to you," he said, like he could read your mind.

Your stomach twisted. "Who said this is about him?"

Yeonjun raised a brow. "You forget I’ve known you since forever. I know how your brain works. You groaned, pushing the door open "Y/N." You paused, turning back to him. Yeonjun leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Go make history."

You smiled despite yourself. "You’re so cringe."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

As Yeonjun drove off, you turned toward the entrance, and immediately froze. Beomgyu stood a few feet away, leaning against the building’s brick wall, cigarette balanced between his fingers. He was watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, hair messy like he’d been here for a while.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Since when do you smoke?" you asked, voice laced with confusion.

Beomgyu brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly before replying, "Felt like it."

His voice was flat, uninterested, but his eyes lingered on you a second too long. You didn’t know what you were expecting, maybe some cocky remark, some teasing jab about how you were already looking for him first thing in the morning, but this wasn’t that.

Your eyes flickered over him. Messy hair, dark hoodie slightly wrinkled, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled by something you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion or irritation or something else entirely, but the longer you looked at him, the more uneasy you felt.

You glanced at the cigarette between his fingers, then back at him. "You know," you started carefully, "when I offered you one at the party, it wasn’t supposed to be, like, an invitation to pick up a habit."

Beomgyu finally looked back at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. "And yet," he said, taking another drag, "here we are."

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Beomgyu."

"What?" he muttered, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You hesitated. You didn’t know what you wanted to say, really. That he looked like shit? That something about him felt off, wrong, like a version of him you weren’t used to seeing? That, for some reason, it actually bothered you?

Instead, what came out was: "You shouldn’t."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You shouldn’t either." You opened your mouth, then shut it. He wasn’t wrong.

A heavy silence settled between you. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, watching the embers at the tip of his cigarette burn down, before he finally crushed it under his shoe.

"You’re gonna be late," he muttered, nodding toward the entrance.

You studied him for a beat longer, but whatever was going on with him, he clearly wasn’t going to tell you. And you weren’t about to push. So, you simply nodded and stepped past him, heading toward the doors.

Beomgyu watched as you stepped inside without another word, your expression unreadable. Something about it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He clicked his lighter open and closed absentmindedly, the metallic snick breaking the early morning quiet. His fingers itched to pull out another cigarette, but he hesitated, staring at the crushed remains of the last one under his shoe.

This wasn’t supposed to bother him. None of this was supposed to bother him.

His eyes drifted toward the spot where Yeonjun’s car had been parked just minutes ago.

He knew who Yeonjun was—everyone did. One of the youngest producers at SM, annoyingly talented, the kind of guy whose name always came up in conversations about industry golden boys. Beomgyu had seen his work before, even respected it in a distant, objective way. But what he hadn’t known was that you and Yeonjun were close.

Beomgyu had never cared to pay attention to your life outside of work. As far as he was concerned, you existed within the walls of HYBE, always one step ahead of him, always in his way. That was just how things were. But now, his brain kept circling back to the sight of you stepping out of Yeonjun’s car, back to the way Yeonjun had leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead like it was second nature.

His grip on the lighter tightened. He didn’t understand it.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have a life outside of the studio. It wasn’t like he expected you to just… exist in the same orbit as him, only crossing paths when necessary. It wasn’t like it bothered him.

Beomgyu scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. What does it matter? It doesn’t. It’s none of my business.

He reached for another cigarette, but before he could light it, his fingers hesitated over the lighter. Instead, with a sharp exhale, he shoved both back into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall. There was work to do.

The pre-chorus had been frustrating you for days, and as much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu had an ear for this kind of thing, he always knew how to make a build-up feel effortless, how to land the right emotional weight in just a few bars. You could spend another three hours trying to figure it out yourself, or you could go straight to the person who could fix it in ten minutes.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. The last thing you wanted to do was go to his studio. But you weren’t about to let your own stubbornness slow this project down. So, before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed your notebook and pushed yourself up from your chair.

When you knocked on the door, there was no immediate response. You hesitated before pushing it open anyway, Beomgyu never cared about formalities, and you weren’t in the mood to wait around.

The room was dimly lit, monitors casting a faint glow against the walls, soundproofing panels muting the outside world. Beomgyu was at his desk, hoodie draped loosely over his frame, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the surface as he stared at his screen.

He didn’t look up when you walked in. "You busy?" you asked.

There was a pause before he finally sighed, dragging his gaze away from the monitor. "What do you want?"

You frowned at his tone, disinterested, distant. "I need a second opinion on the pre-chorus," you said simply. "Something’s off, but I can’t figure out what."

He nodded once, pushing his chair back and gesturing lazily at the extra seat beside him. "Fine. Play it."

You sat down, plugging in your USB and pulling up the track. The moment the instrumental filled the room, you forgot about everything else. Your frustration, his mood, it all faded into the background as you focused on the music.

Beomgyu listened in silence, his expression blank as the pre-chorus built up, then crashed into the chorus. When it ended, he rolled his chair slightly forward, resting his elbow on the desk.

"The chord progression in the build-up is too predictable," he muttered. "You need more tension before the drop, otherwise it just falls flat."

You nodded, adjusting some of the notes. "Like this?"

Beomgyu leaned in slightly, watching the screen. "Move that second chord up a half step. And stretch the last measure—make it drag just a little longer before the hit."

You followed his instructions, layering in the adjustments before playing it back. This time, the build-up carried more weight, pulling in a tension that hadn’t been there before.

You turned to him, and for the first time since you walked in, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes, satisfaction, maybe. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. "Better," he said simply.

You studied him for a beat, something about his demeanor still nagging at you. Normally, Beomgyu would’ve had more to say—some kind of sarcastic comment about how he had to fix your mess again, or at least a self-satisfied smirk. But instead, he just leaned back in his chair, looking tired.

You debated saying something, asking something, but before you could, he spoke again. "That all?"

It wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t warm either. Just neutral. And for some reason, that made your stomach twist. "…Yeah," you muttered. "That’s all."

You unplugged your USB, pushing your chair back. Beomgyu didn’t say anything else, just turned toward his screen like you had never been there in the first place.

Then, without another word, you turned and walked out. The door shut behind you with a quiet click, leaving Beomgyu alone in the dim glow of his studio, the silence stretching longer than it should have.

You had been in the studio for hours.

The kind of hours that made your back ache from sitting too long, that made the glow of the screen start to blur, that made every melody sound wrong no matter how many times you tweaked it. It just wasn’t clicking today.

You had gone through four different versions of the same verse, rearranged the chord progression twice, even scrapped an entire section just to start over, only to end up in the same place, frustrated and stuck.

You hated this feeling. It wasn’t the kind of creative block where nothing came to you. It was worse. The kind where everything came to you, but nothing sounded right. Nothing felt like it was enough.

By the time you checked the clock, it was already late. Later than you realized. With a heavy sigh, you shut your laptop and rubbed at your temples, willing the tension headache forming behind your eyes to go away. You weren’t going to get anything done like this.

So, you grabbed your bag, checked your phone, and sent Yeonjun a quick text.

[you]: can you pick me up? i’m done for today. [yeonjun]: omw. 10 min.

You exhaled, pocketing your phone before stepping out of the building.

The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cool against your skin. The city was quieter at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic subdued into a low hum. You stood near the curb, crossing your arms as you waited, letting yourself breathe for what felt like the first time today.

And then, of course, you spotted Beomgyu. You hesitated before walking over, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air, curling around the dim glow of the streetlights.

You stared at him, momentarily taken aback. "You shouldn't keep smoking," you said, your tone quieter now.

His fingers twitched slightly around the cigarette, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he brought it back to his lips, inhaling like he was trying to make a point, though you weren’t sure if it was to you or to himself. "Look who's talking" he muttered.

You watched him carefully, the way his jaw tensed, the way his shoulders sat just a little heavier than usual. This wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent half his time annoying you, smirking like he had the whole world figured out.

You hesitated before speaking again. "It wasn’t a good day."

Beomgyu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You exhaled. "I couldn’t get anything to sound right. I swear, the harder I tried, the worse it got."

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, the faint glow of the cigarette flickering between his fingers. "You’re too hard on yourself."

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "You think too much. You want everything to be perfect on the first try."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "That’s how it works, though. If it’s not good enough, then I have to keep going until it is."

His lips curled slightly, not a smirk, not a frown. Something in between. "And what if you’re the only one who thinks it’s not good enough?"

You didn’t have an answer to that. Beomgyu didn’t wait for one. He took another slow drag, then exhaled, watching the smoke disappear into the air. You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Yeonjun would be here soon. Beomgyu, ever observant, noticed.

His voice was colder when he spoke next. "Waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?"

You blinked, caught completely off guard. "What?"

Beomgyu gestured lazily with his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "That guy. The one who dropped you off this morning."

You stared at him for a second, processing. And then, a laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected and breathy. "Yeonjun?" Beomgyu didn’t react. Just stared at you, like he was waiting for an answer. You shook your head, still half-amused. "He’s not my boyfriend."

Something flickered in his expression, too quick for you to catch. But before you could think too hard about it, a familiar car pulled up to the curb.

Yeonjun honked the horn once, rolling down the window. "Let’s go, loser."

You pushed off the railing, turning back to Beomgyu. "See you tomorrow."

He only nodded, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. And as you walked toward the car, you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

Beomgyu's drive home felt longer than usual. Maybe it was because the city was too quiet at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic reduced to distant hums. Maybe it was because his thoughts had been too loud all day, refusing to settle even now.

Or maybe it was because of you.

Beomgyu clenched his jaw, fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way you lingered in his mind long after you had already left. The way your voice still echoed in his ears, the way your laugh, short, breathy, surprised, had caught him off guard when you realized he thought Yeonjun was your boyfriend.

Why the hell did I even ask that? He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

In the week that followed, something had shifted.

It wasn’t obvious at first, just small things. A missed comment here, a glance avoided there. But as the days passed, it became impossible to ignore. Beomgyu was different.

You had spent so much time fighting him for space, rolling your eyes at his smug remarks, bracing yourself for whatever new way he’d find to get under your skin. And now, suddenly, there was nothing.

No teasing. No playful jabs. No sarcastic smirks across the studio. It wasn’t that he was rude. If anything, he was polite, too polite. The kind of detached professionalism that you had never associated with Beomgyu before. It was driving you insane.

You barely saw him on Tuesday. Which wasn’t uncommon, sometimes, you worked separately, each focused on different aspects of the album. But usually, even on those days, you’d cross paths in the break room, or he’d pop into your studio just to complain about how much better his demos were than yours.

Beomgyu was already in the studio when you arrived on Wednesday morning, sitting at the mixing console with his headphones on, completely absorbed in whatever track he was working on.

You hesitated in the doorway for a second, waiting for him to acknowledge you. He didn’t. Not until you cleared your throat and said, "Morning."

Only then did he glance up, giving you a small nod. "Morning."

That was it. No comment about how tired you looked, no sarcastic Wow, you actually showed up on time?—just morning. You forced yourself to ignore the weird weight in your chest as you sat down and pulled up your own files.

On Thursday, when you arrived at the HYBE building that morning, something about the usual rhythm of your day felt… off.

And then it hit you. Beomgyu wasn’t here. Beomgyu never worked on Thursdays.

The hours passed, your progress slower than usual. By lunchtime, you gave up and went to the break room, hoping food would help clear your head.

Enhypen was already there, sprawled across the couches and chairs like they lived in this building. You slid into a seat next to Jake, barely registering the conversation around you as you scrolled through your phone.

"You good?" Jungwon asked, eyeing you over his drink.

You blinked. "What?"

"You just seem distracted," he said. "More than usual."

You shrugged. "Just a slow day."

Jake nudged your arm. "Maybe you just need to get out of the studio for a bit. Reset your brain."

"Maybe," you muttered.

A pause. Then, before you could stop yourself— "Did Beomgyu eat before he left yesterday?"

The words left your mouth before you even thought about them, and immediately, you regretted it. Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"No reason," you said quickly, looking down at your phone. "I just… I know he forgets to eat when he’s working."

Heeseung hummed. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Sunghoon glanced up from his drink. "You could just text him and ask, you know."

You scoffed. "Like I care that much."

Jungwon smirked. "Uh-huh." You ignored them, tapping your fingers against your cup. It wasn’t a big deal. Beomgyu could take care of himself. That’s why, on Friday, you gave up.

If Beomgyu wanted to be distant, then fine. Let him be distant. You weren’t going to sit here and try to figure out why he had suddenly decided to act like you were nothing more than a coworker.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But when you walked into the studio that morning, the first thing you noticed was that his bag was already there. You weren’t sure why that made your shoulders relax slightly.

You ignored the thought as you set your things down, pulling up the demo you had been struggling with all week. Your goal was simple: work, focus, and not let whatever this was with Beomgyu get in your head.

But apparently, he had other plans. Because suddenly, after an entire week of acting like you barely existed, he was everywhere.

The first time he appeared in your studio, you barely reacted. "Hey," he said casually, leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. "Can you listen to something real quick?"

You gave a short nod, sliding your headphones down to your neck as he walked in. He played a section of the track he had been working on, something stripped down, mostly just melody and chords. "It feels empty," he muttered, frowning slightly. "I don’t know if it needs more layering or if I should just change the chord progression entirely."

You listened, trying to focus on the music instead of the fact that this was the most he had spoken to you all week. "It’s fine," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "Just needs a little more texture."

Beomgyu nodded, thoughtful. "You wanna add something?"

You hesitated, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "You don’t need my help."

He shrugged, tilting his head slightly. "Yeah, but you’re good at this part."

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. But instead of responding, you just reached for your mouse and started tweaking the mix, ignoring the way he stood behind you, watching.

By lunchtime, you had stopped keeping track of how many times he had walked into your studio.

"Hey, quick question—" "Hey, do you have the latest version of—" "Hey, can I borrow—"

It was endless. At first, you had answered him normally, keeping things short, professional. But the more he did it, the more irritated you became. Not because he was being annoying. But because why now? Why spend an entire week pretending you didn’t exist only to suddenly act like everything was normal? You weren’t going to play along.

So, by the fourth time he showed up at your door, you barely even looked up. "I’m busy," you muttered, clicking through your project files.

Beomgyu blinked. "I didn’t even say anything yet."

"You were going to."

He hesitated, then let out a small chuckle. "Damn. Am I that predictable?"

You didn’t answer, just continued working. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift slightly, like he was about to say something.

But instead, he just exhaled and muttered, "Never mind," before walking away. You ignored the strange twist in your stomach and forced yourself to focus on the screen.

You had just finished saving your project when you decided to take a break, stretching your sore muscles before stepping out into the hallway. You weren’t planning on running into anyone, but as soon as you turned the corner, you nearly walked straight into Seungcheol.

"Oh," you said, stepping back slightly. "Sorry."

He smiled, easy and confident. "No need to apologize."

You already knew him, Baekhyun had introduced you two at the HYBE party last week. And while your first meeting had been brief (and rudely interrupted by Beomgyu), you remembered how intently he had listened when you talked about your work.

"You’ve been keeping busy," he mused, crossing his arms. "Baekhyun showed me some of the demos from your sessions. I was impressed."

Something warm settled in your chest. "Really?"

Seungcheol nodded. "You have a good ear. I meant to follow up after the party, but you disappeared before I could."

You huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Seungcheol’s gaze stayed steady. "If you ever want to share more of your work, my office is always open. I’d like to hear what else you’re capable of."

It wasn’t an empty offer, you could tell. This was an opportunity. And you weren’t about to waste it. "I’d love that," you said sincerely.

Seungcheol smiled, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before nodding. "I’ll be waiting, then."

And with that, he walked past you, disappearing down the hall.

You barely had a second to process before you felt it, that shift in the air. A presence behind you. You turned slightly, and there he was. Beomgyu was standing just a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression unreadable. Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced yourself to act normal.

Beomgyu's gaze flickered briefly down the hallway where Seungcheol had disappeared. Then, finally, he looked back at you. "You should be careful with him," he said, voice flat.

You frowned. "What?"

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly. "Seungcheol. He doesn’t offer that kind of thing just to anyone."

There was something in his tone, something that wasn’t quite neutral. You crossed your arms. "I know that. He’s creative director. It’s literally his job to look for talent."

Beomgyu scoffed, gaze dark. "Right. Sure."

Your frown deepened. "What’s your problem?"

"Nothing," he muttered, already turning away. "Forget it."

And just like that, he walked past you, heading back to his studio without another word. You stood there, confusion and irritation swirling in your chest. What the hell was that?

So, after that, you had spent the entire day locked in your studio.

It wasn’t intentional at first, you had just wanted to get some uninterrupted work done, to make up for how frustrating this week had been. But one track turned into another, one minor adjustment turned into an hour of tweaking, and before you knew it, the sun had set and most of the building had emptied out.

You barely noticed. At some point, Taehyun had texted asking if you wanted to grab dinner, and you had ignored it, too caught up in your work to even think about food.

It was only when your screen blurred in front of you, exhaustion pressing against your temples, that you finally admitted defeat. You packed up slowly, rubbing at your tired eyes as you stood. The quiet hum of the studio, once comforting, now felt suffocating after being inside for so long. You needed air.

When you opened the door, ready to leave, you nearly tripped over something. A cup. An iced americano, sitting neatly in front of your studio, condensation beading against the plastic.

You stared at it, confused, before noticing the small note taped to the lid. Your brows furrowed as you peeled it off, unfolding the paper between your fingers. The handwriting was messy, slanted, but familiar.

don’t pass out in there

Your lips parted slightly. There was no signature, no indication of who it was from. But you knew. Of course you knew, it was Beomgyu's handwriting.

Your fingers tightened around the note as your heart did something stupid in your chest, something warm, something soft, something you did not want to acknowledge.

Because what the hell was he doing? He had spent the entire week keeping his distance, barely speaking to you, only to suddenly spend the whole day in your space asking for your help. And now this?

You exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in your stomach. Maybe this was just some weird attempt at making up for how weird he had been all week. Or maybe he was just screwing with you again, playing some long game you didn’t understand. Or maybe… maybe he just noticed.

Noticed how hard you were working. Noticed that you hadn’t taken a break all day. Noticed you.

You clenched the note tightly before shoving it into your pocket. Your confusion hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. But as you picked up the coffee, taking a slow sip, you realized something else. For the first time all week, Beomgyu had made you smile.

When Saturday morning arrived, you forced yourself to push work aside. No checking mixes, no tweaking arrangements, no thinking about deadlines. Instead, you spent most of the day in the apartment, lounging on the couch while Yeonjun flopped down beside you, mindlessly flipping through TV channels.

"Are you actually not working today?" he asked, stretching his arms above his head.

"I told you I’d take a break," you muttered, though even as you said it, your fingers twitched with the urge to check your email.

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but you suck at taking breaks."

You rolled your eyes. "I’m trying."

"You better be," he said, nudging your leg with his foot. "We have a big night ahead."

Ah. Right. The party. You had promised Yunjin and the others that you’d actually go out tonight, no bailing at the last minute, no pretending you were too busy with work.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like going out. It was just that sometimes, after spending all week drained from work, the last thing you wanted was to force yourself to be social.

But tonight, you needed it. So when evening rolled around, you found yourself in front of your closet, sifting through outfits while Yeonjun lounged on your bed, watching with an amused expression.

When you were finally ready, Yeonjun whistled. "Damn. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you actually wanted to impress someone tonight."

You scoffed. "I just want to have fun."

Yeonjun smirked, but thankfully, he didn’t push it. Instead, he just slung an arm around your shoulders as you both headed out.

The place was already packed when you arrived, the bass from the music thrumming through the floors as bodies filled the space. You spotted Yunjin first, standing near the bar with Hueningkai, Taehyun, and a few other familiar faces. She waved excitedly when she saw you, immediately pulling you into a hug.

Yeonjun handed you a drink, and you gladly took it, letting the warmth of alcohol relax your shoulders as you settled into the atmosphere. For the first hour, it was easy. You danced with Yunjin, laughed at Taehyun’s terrible attempts at flirting with someone near the bar, took ridiculous selfies with Hueningkai.

It felt normal. And then, as you were making your way back from the bar with a fresh drink in hand, you saw him.

Beomgyu.

Your steps faltered for half a second before you recovered, eyes flickering over the scene in front of you. He wasn’t alone, he was with Soobin, Heeseung, and Jungwon, all of them gathered near a booth in the corner.

But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that he was here. It was the fact that he was already drunk. You could tell immediately, the way his smile was looser than usual, the way he leaned slightly against Soobin as he talked, the way his gaze was just a little too unfocused.

And then, as if he could feel you looking, his eyes found yours. For a second, neither of you moved. Then—

A slow, lazy grin spread across his lips. You barely had time to process before he was pushing off the booth, making his way toward you. You braced yourself.

"Look who it is," he drawled, stopping in front of you. His voice was warm, teasing, the opposite of how he had been all week. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d see you here either."

Beomgyu let out a breathy laugh, tilting his head slightly. "Why? You think I just sit in the studio all day?"

You crossed your arms. "You literally do."

"Fair point." He took a sip of whatever drink he was holding before glancing over your shoulder, his gaze flickering toward the group of people you had been with. "You come with Yeonjun?"

You blinked at the question, caught off guard. "Yeah?"

He hummed, expression unreadable. Before you could say anything else, Soobin and Heeseung appeared beside him, greeting you easily. "Hey," Heeseung said, flashing his usual friendly smile. "Didn’t expect to run into you tonight."

You shrugged. "Trying to be social for once."

Soobin chuckled. "That’s new."

Jungwon, who had been hanging back slightly, smirked. "Are you guys gonna fight here, too, or do you save that for work?"

You rolled your eyes. "We don’t fight."

Beomgyu snorted. "Oh, we definitely fight."

The group laughed, and despite yourself, you felt your shoulders relax slightly. This was weird. You weren’t used to seeing Beomgyu like this, loose, relaxed, actually enjoying himself instead of glaring at a screen for hours. For a second, you let yourself take him in.

Beomgyu looked… different. Not in a drastic way, but enough for you to notice. He wasn’t in his usual oversized hoodie or the comfortable, slightly-wrinkled clothes he practically lived in at the studio. Instead, he was wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric slightly unbuttoned at the top, showing just enough skin to be annoying. His silver jewelry caught the dim lighting of the room, glinting slightly as he shifted his drink from one hand to the other.

It suited him way too well. You hated that you noticed that. And then, just as you were about to shake the thought away, his gaze flickered over you.

You weren’t sure what you expected, maybe another cocky remark, another teasing jab, but instead, his eyes moved over your outfit in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. "You always wear black," he murmured, almost to himself, but his voice was just loud enough for you to catch.

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He took another sip of his drink, tilting his head slightly. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear color."

It wasn’t true, not entirely, but the fact that he had even noticed made something twist in your stomach. "You don’t exactly pay attention to what I wear, Beomgyu," you shot back, crossing your arms.

Beomgyu hummed, his eyes still on you, dark and unreadable. "You think I don’t?"

There was something about the way he said it, something that made your throat go dry. You refused to acknowledge it. Instead, you forced a scoff, shaking your head. "You’re drunk."

"So?" He took another sip, then smirked. "Still got eyes, don’t I?"

And then, just as quickly as it appeared, Beomgyu leaned back, shifting the energy entirely. "Anyway," he drawled, glancing over at the people you had been with earlier, "are you gonna introduce me to your little friend group, or are you scared they’ll like me more than you?"

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden change. "What?"

He gestured vaguely with his drink. "I don’t know half the people you hang out with. Thought I’d be polite and say hi."

You narrowed your eyes. "Since when are you polite?"

Beomgyu tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to figure something out. His smirk wasn’t as sharp now, still there, still insufferable, but softer around the edges, like he was letting himself enjoy this. "Come on," he murmured, leaning in slightly. "Introduce me."

You scoffed. "Why do you even care?"

"Maybe I just wanna see how you talk about me when I’m not around." He grinned, slow and teasing. "Bet you make me sound like a villain."

"You are a villain," you shot back.

"And yet," he mused, taking another sip of his drink, "here you are, still standing here with me instead of running back to your actual friends."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, a voice cut in.

"So," Yeonjun mused, stepping up beside you, eyes flickering toward Beomgyu. "You’re the Beomgyu, huh?"

Beomgyu didn’t miss a beat. "And you’re the Yeonjun."

Your stomach dropped. This was not happening.

They stared at each other for a moment, taking the other in. Yeonjun looked relaxed, but his sharp gaze held a flicker of curiosity, like he was trying to decide if Beomgyu was worth his time. Beomgyu, for his part, seemed perfectly at ease, his usual smirk still playing at his lips, shoulders loose, like he found this whole thing amusing.

And then, to your horror, they both grinned. "I’ve heard a lot about you," Yeonjun said, crossing his arms.

"Same," Beomgyu replied. "Didn’t think we’d actually meet like this."

You narrowed your eyes. "You two know each other?"

"Not personally," Yeonjun said, shrugging. "But come on. We work in the same industry. I know his work. He’s good."

Beomgyu smiled, tilting his head. "I know your work too, by the way. Not bad."

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

Beomgyu grinned. "I’d say pretty good, but I don’t wanna inflate your ego this early in the conversation."

Yeonjun laughed. "Fair enough."

You looked between them, deeply suspicious. "Why does it feel like you two are getting along?"

Beomgyu glanced at you. "Why? You want us to fight?"

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. "Relax, Y/N. Not everything has to be a battle."

You huffed, taking another sip of your drink. "So," Beomgyu mused, eyes flickering between you and Yeonjun, "how do you two know each other anyway?"

Yeonjun barely hesitated before answering. "College," he said with a small grin. "We met during our first year and just… clicked. Ended up being inseparable after that. And now, we live together."

Beomgyu’s brows lifted slightly, his expression shifting, not in surprise, not in jealousy, but something closer to genuine interest. "Oh, that’s cool," he said, nodding. "Didn’t expect that, but it makes sense."

You glanced at him, skeptical. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Beomgyu shrugged, looking at you. "I don’t know, I just didn’t really picture you as the roommate type. I figured you’d be one of those people who hates sharing a space with someone."

Yeonjun snorted. "Oh, she definitely does."

You shot him a glare. "I do not."

"Sure," Yeonjun said, amused. "That’s why you leave your headphones on all the time and act like I don’t exist when you’re in work mode."

Beomgyu laughed. "Yeah, that checks out."

You rolled your eyes. "Are you two bonding over making fun of me?"

"Absolutely," Beomgyu said easily.

Yeonjun grinned. "It’s kind of fun."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. Beomgyu ignored you, still focused on Yeonjun. "So what’s it like living with her?"

Yeonjun hummed, considering. "Honestly? Not bad. We’ve got our system. We both get busy with work, so we give each other space, but it’s nice having someone around who actually gets it, you know? Plus, she’s a decent cook."

You scoffed. "Now that is a lie."

"It’s not!" Yeonjun defended. "She has, like, three solid recipes."

Beomgyu laughed. "Okay, now I really need to know what these are."

Yeonjun counted on his fingers. "Kimchi fried rice, pasta, and… something that she refuses to name, but it’s actually good."

Beomgyu turned to you, intrigued. "What’s the mystery dish?"

You crossed your arms. "I’m not telling you."

Yeonjun smirked. "She’s embarrassed because it started as a ‘let’s throw random shit together and see what happens’ meal, but it accidentally turned out good."

Beomgyu grinned. "That’s kind of impressive."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because I’m curious," Beomgyu said simply.

You didn’t really have a response to that.

Something about the way he said it, not teasing, not smug, just genuinely interested, made you feel a little off balance. You were used to bickering with him, used to sharp words and playful jabs. But this? Him actually wanting to know about your life? That was new.

And for some reason, it made your stomach flip.

Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder toward the bar, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, as fun as this has been, I gotta go. Yunjin’s waiting on her drink, and if I take too long, she’s gonna start a manhunt."

With a final chuckle, Yeonjun clapped a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder, shot you a look that was somewhere between good luck and I’m enjoying this way too much, and disappeared into the crowd.

You exhaled, already bracing yourself for whatever Beomgyu was about to say now that you were alone. But instead, "So," he said, turning to you, eyes practically shining. "Did you like the coffee?"

You stilled. You had known it was him the second you saw it, left outside your studio door Friday night, your exact order scribbled on the side of the cup in handwriting you recognized immediately. He hadn’t signed his name, hadn’t said anything, just left it there like some anonymous act of kindness.

You sighed. "It was fine."

"Fine?" he repeated, looking personally offended. "That was good coffee."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why did you even do that?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"The coffee," you said, crossing your arms. "Why’d you leave it?"

He scoffed, like the answer was obvious. "You were working too much."

You frowned. "And?"

"And," he said, dragging the word out, "I saw you in there, looking half-dead, and figured you needed it." Your lips parted slightly. It was such a simple explanation. No teasing, no ulterior motive, just that. Beomgyu, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered by your confusion. "I mean, I could’ve let you pass out on your keyboard, but I’m a good person," he said, grinning.

You scoffed. "Sure. That’s why you did it."

"Obviously," he said. Then, with zero hesitation—"Hey, you smoke, right?"

You blinked at the sudden shift. "What?"

"If you wanna go outside for a bit, I’ll come with."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "Why not?"

You stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell his angle was here. This was strange. All of this was strange. Beomgyu wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t teasing you just to get under your skin. He wasn’t smirking like he had some grand plan to annoy you. He was just… talking. Open. Chatty. And worst of all, nice. You didn’t trust it one bit. But still, for some reason, you found yourself nodding.

"Fine," you said, already turning toward the exit.

And as the two of you stepped outside, you couldn’t help but feel like you had just agreed to something far more complicated than a smoke break.

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the cool breeze biting at your skin. The distant hum of the city filled the silence, car headlights flashing by, conversations drifting from people walking past. Beomgyu fell into step beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, his presence oddly easy despite how complicated he made everything feel.

The two of you had been in sync somehow. You weren’t used to that. With Beomgyu, everything was usually sharp edges and competition, but tonight had been… easy. And now, out here, with no studio walls between you, no music to drown out the noise in your head, you felt like you should say something.

You were still trying to figure out what the hell was up with him tonight when a voice called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned toward the sound, and your stomach immediately flipped.

Yunho.

The last person you expected to run into tonight.

He was leaning against the railing near the edge of the building, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck and an open wool coat, the kind of outfit that made it impossible to forget just how unfairly good-looking he was.

You two used to hook up a while ago, and you hadn’t seen him in months. Hadn’t spoken since things had fizzled out, no big falling out, no dramatic ending, just… a slow, mutual silence.

You barely had time to react before he was stepping closer, wrapping his arms around you in an easy, confident embrace.

“Been a while,” he murmured, voice warm against your ear.

The hug lingered. A little longer than it should have. Beomgyu hadn’t said a word, but you could feel him there. Standing just a few feet away, watching.

When Yunho finally pulled back, his hands slid down your arms before he let go completely. His gaze flicked past you, landing on Beomgyu, curiosity sparking behind his eyes. He waited, expectant.

You hesitated. Just for a second. “This is Beomgyu,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “He's my… coworker.”

The second the word left your mouth, you knew it was the wrong one. You didn’t have to look at Beomgyu to know he heard it loud and clear.

Yunho’s expression didn’t change, if anything, his amusement deepened as he extended a hand toward Beomgyu. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Beomgyu took it, but the shake was brief, impersonal. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

The energy shifted, thickening with something unreadable. You could feel it brewing, creeping into the air like a storm about to break, but Yunho didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Instead, he turned back to you, eyes glinting with something playful. “I was actually heading out, but if I’d known you were here, I would’ve stuck around longer,” he mused, tilting his head. “Maybe next time.”

The words were casual, but the way he said them? Not so much. And Beomgyu caught it. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled slightly in his pocket, the way his shoulders squared just a fraction.

Yunho shot you one last lingering glance before stepping away. “See you around, Y/N.” He turned around, and silence settled between you and Beomgyu, thick and suffocating.

You let out a slow breath, bracing yourself for—what? A sarcastic comment? A joke? Some passive-aggressive remark about your taste in men? Something. Anything.

But Beomgyu just pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a thing. You frowned, watching as he took a slow drag, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cold air.

“Hey,” you said finally, tilting your head at him. “You okay?”

Beomgyu exhaled another lazy puff of smoke, gaze still fixed somewhere off in the distance. “What do you mean?”

Your frown deepened. “You’re suddenly being quiet.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “And?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he murmured. “Just enjoying my smoke break.”

Something inside you twisted. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your patience. “Beomgyu—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know.” He finally glanced at you then, dark eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable. “That guy,” he said simply. “You don’t have to explain anything about him.”

The words shouldn’t have bothered you. But they did. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good,” he said. And just like that, he looked away again, as if that was the end of the conversation. As if he didn’t care.

And that—finally, finally—pushed you over the edge.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You’re fucking unbelievable.” Beomgyu didn’t react. Just took another slow drag of his cigarette. That only pissed you off more. “You keep doing this shit,” you snapped, voice rising. “One second you’re nice to me, then you’re cold again. Then you’re pushing my buttons just to get a reaction—what the fuck do you want from me?”

Silence. Beomgyu’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the cigarette tightened just slightly.

You shook your head, letting out a sharp breath. “I swear, I don’t get you. You act like you hate me, but then you do shit like leave me coffee. You act like you don’t care, and then you get all weird and broody all of the sudden. You make no fucking sense.”

Beomgyu took one last drag before flicking the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out with his shoe. “I never said I hated you.”

Your breath hitched. It was quiet. Just five words. But something about the way he said them, low and deliberate, made your pulse stutter. His gaze was steady, fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. And suddenly, you realized, this was the first time either of you had ever really talked about it. About whatever this was.

Beomgyu shifted, hands slipping back into his pockets. His voice dropped just slightly, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. “But you’re right about one thing.”

You swallowed hard. “What?”

He took a step closer. Not much, but enough that you could smell the faint trace of smoke on his clothes, feel the warmth of him even in the cold. “I do like pushing your buttons.” His lips twitched—just barely, just enough to let you know he wasn’t done. He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It’s fun watching you try so hard to pretend you don’t like it.”

And just when you thought that was it, that he was done messing with your head for the night, he added: “But don’t worry.” His voice was light, almost casual. “I don��t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker.”

He smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. Then he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and—

No.

You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.

my masterlist | previous fic

author's note: ok so i KNOW this fic got way longer than i originally planned but here we are lmaoo. i’m already working on part 2 and really hope y’all like this first part so i can post the second one!! also, i wanted to have this done in time for beomgyu’s birthday but yeah… that didn’t happen lol. anyway, hope y’all enjoy <3

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝖄ES, SUGAR ♱ ℳ.𝓢.

✵ ❪ 𝒚𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒐 ❫ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ms x f!r, katseye 7th member!au, fluff ── disclaimers: jealousy, ya’ll know the drill atp we three chapters deep (read in dark mode!) enjoy xx

ℭatalogue, pt one, two

MEGAN NOT PLAYING AROUND ABT Y/N (PER USUAL)

21.2k likes | 433k views | 19th Mar, 2025

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip one: [ TIKTOK + WEVERSE LIVE ] n/nlarz live

“Here in Katseye, we believe in starting strong. No beating around the bush, no stupid sub plot-lines, and definitely no bullshit when it comes to making our fans happy, because that is our number one priority. We make music to make you guys happy, and in turn, that makes us happy. You crazy kids always find a way to entertain us, so we do our part to entertain you.”

user01 omg this hoe is really tokyo drifting circles around the elephant in the room right now

user02 or team really said let’s get our very own shakespeare

user03 not eyekonville successfully cyber bullying y/n into addressing the tiktok yall this fandom is not real

“Oh my God, you’re stalling the hell out of this right now,” Lara snorted, head resting against her fist. The two of you sat at Lara’s desk, the violet LEDs on in the room with the older’s rnb playlist playing softly through her speakers.

You clasped your flushing cheeks into your hands, groaning. “Well, I’m not exactly excited to talk about this!”

Lara scoffed, raising an eyebrow and eyeing the live, as if sharing a knowing look with the fans watching the both of you at home. “You guys really thought you could put something like that out and not spark hellfire in Eyekonville?”

“It was so long ago! I didn’t think it would blow up like that.”

Two years ago, you posted a tiktok on your personal tiktok account of a challenge you and Megan did during your Dream Academy days. It was before the group was formed, and you were kindly instructed to remove it after your debut, but some fan who’s been following you since your predebut days seemed to have reposted it on twitter. The tweet gathered a total of 53M views and 1.2M likes from both eyekons and those unfamiliar to your music. Now fans shamelessly bombarded you with questions about it any chance they got.

The tiktok in question was the two of you doing the lipstick trend to the song “Appcalypse” by Cigarettes After Sex.

You appeared onscreen first, putting on some red lipgloss before the phone panned to black-haired Megan, staring at you, the camera going unnoticed by her dreamy eyes as she stared at you with a gentle smile. Every visible inch of skin littered with a variety of smudged or clear red lipstick marks.

[ holy fucking shit i did six backflips when i saw the tiktok ]

user04 they fr hard launched during da and forgot abt it

user05 deadass i always knew megn/n wasn’t just a figment of my imagination they been sus since da

user06 guys she’s abt to hard launch again act surprised

“You posted it during mission two?” Lara stared at her phone, definitely watching the video once again online. She shook her head, “Damn, I forgot ya’ll were rooming together.”

“Okay, before any of ya’ll put on your tinfoil hats and make up conspiracy theories about this, it was just a trend. Nothing more. We spent a lot of time together during training and we did a lot of challenges like that one, okay?” you stammered, clearing your throat. You thanked all the Gods the room was coloured so the fans couldn’t see your flushed cheeks. “Megan and I are friends—and now roommates, but that’s it.”

user07 oh yeah cuz i do couple trends w my friends too

user09 so this convinced a total of negative a trillion people

user08 i think doechii wrote a song about you honey

Lara giggled at the comments clocking your lies, glancing at your disapproving gaze as she fell back into her swivel chair. You sighed, shaking your head. “Guys, I swear on my mom, it is not what you think! We were just doing a tiktok trend!”

[ y/n baby you’re talented at a lot of things… just not lying ]

“Yeah, guys, come on, she’s being so for real right now…” Lara added in a monotonous tone of mockery. “You wouldn’t want everyone’s favourite Katz to get in trouble now, would you?”

“I do that with all the other girls too—How about this, if I promise to post this video of Sophia and I doing a couple’s yoga trend that was all over tiktok like two months ago, will you guys believe me?” You desperately sought to keep things tame, not wanting unnecessary trouble with your management team. Though, all press is good press, and the 63k people watching you try and make a bad case against dating rumours with your fellow bandmate would attest to that.

user09 kissing all over is different from doing poses tgt

user10 honey we saw the marks leading down meimei’s neck into her shirt you did not have to do allat for a casual trend

user11 i’d never let my bsf kiss me like that even for a trend

[ the look megan gave her though?? how is that platonic??? ]

“That’s the best answer you’re gonna get from my girl,” Lara chuckled, winking at the camera, “If y’all really wanna know what’s up that bad… guess you’ll have to stick with us.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip two: [ TWITCH ] d4vd x katseye streamathon

“No, have you seen this girl’s roblox avatar? She got that drip. She’s a certified gamer!” Daniela nodded, pursing her lips and giving D4vd an ‘mhm’ as his jaw dropped.

Serves him right for doubting your gaming skills. Silly D4vd.

You held your hands up as he let out an ‘ooh’, crossing your arms. “What can I say… I’m always on that bloxburg grind.”

Lara rolled her eyes playfully, “I’ll say, this bitch will stay in her room and never come out if she didn’t legally sign a contract. y/n and Megan are the most loser-coded, discord server npcs I have ever met. Like all they need is each other and their ipads.”

“Hey, why am I catching strays right now!” Megan whined.

You chuckled, a hand lifting to stroke the small of her back. She readjusted her beanie, leaning forward with a pout. She read the chat’s amused comments on Lara’s words, glancing back at you. “Are you just gonna take that?”

You shrugged, “To be fair, we are pretty addicted, Mei.”

[ it’s giving gentle husky x orange cat duo and im here for it ]

“Yeah, I know y/n’s the boss at dress to impress, we should get her on this.” Daniela moved away from the centre of the frame to make space for you. You slipped between her and the desk, grabbing the ipad from Lara. Daniela’s hands slipped up to grip your hips, locking you in place as she continued to banter.

Sat to the side just a little bit behind Daniela, Megan couldn’t help but eye the both of you every couple seconds.

The chat pointed out how she was doing her signature “laugh then lock in” bit, but in a more “show jealousy then remember she needs to lock in” way. Her eyes would linger on the two of you, on Daniela’s hands caressing your waist, a little too long with her eyebrows slowly furrowing and her smile fading. Then she would remember she was on camera.

user01 ooh somebody’s lookin a little jealousssssss

user02 megan forgot she needs to stay employed for a second

user03 bro’s fr getting war flashbacks rn

user04 what a good day to be a dann/n defender ;)

“Somebody asked if Daniela and y/n are bread and peanut butter, ‘cuz Megan is exactly the jelly they need right now,” D4vd read aloud, eliciting laughter from everybody in the room but a stunned Megan. She sometimes forget Twitch was an American platform and they were allowed to say more things they weren’t allowed on Korean ones like Weverse. But even you seemed to be going along with the teasing. D4vd sighed, “Oh my God, that’s gold, you guys have the best fan base.”

“Oh, Mei, I’m sorry for hogging the ipad. Here, you and I are both experts, if we work together, we should be able to beat these hoes at their own game.” you scorched over, peeling yourself from Daniela’s greedy fingers to make room for Megan. The redhead slid in, indirectly pushing the blonde out towards the edge of the frame, finding herself behind you.

[ y/n is so cute and oblivious oml but she loves megan sm ]

She internally cooed at your blissful ignorance, melting at you doing your best to include her. She’ll take what she could get, her mood immediately lightening up upon taking Daniela’s spot behind you, looping her fingers into the belt hoops of your baggy jeans. You two fell into your own little world, choosing outfits on the game as the others gave you input.

user05 megn/n pda i repeat MEGN/N PDA

user06 girl ain’t nobody looking at the stupid game screen rn

user07 they’re really making the most of the american rules

user08 ah yes there’s my daily megn/n fix

“So are we gonna say anything, or…?” Lara mouthed towards Daniela. She sat to your left, leaning back to gesture at the blonde so the two of you wouldn’t see. Sucked in your own world, on the virtual runway, you and Megan were too entrapped with the game and your fans to notice.

Daniela gave D4vd a look, who didn’t really know what to say. He was pretty entertained by the two of you’s intimate stance.

The blonde eventually shook her head, waving a hand. The three of them moved on to play the game with you two too. Slowly, you moved to sit on Megan’s lap, her arms around your hips and her head over your shoulder.

[ god i’ve never felt more single in my sad and lonely life ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip three: [ TIKTOK LIVE ] @meretmanon

“I think the plan is. we wake up at 6:30, we get downstairs at 7, get a coffee and maybe a pastry for breakfast, then get in the van and head for the hotel we’re getting ready at.” Manon was gathering her makeup, listing your schedule. She had decided to go live, having nothing to do as she does her makeup to ready for the seven of you heading to Sophia’s family home.

Everybody was gathered in Daniela and Manon’s room, waiting for their eldest member to finish getting ready.

The tiktok live went viral on tiktok after it ended for a couple moments in the background. This was during a time when the company was trying their hardest to manage the group’s image after some threads on twitter with the tag “#megn/n” had gotten out of hand with some unwanted attention.

You were clearly perched in the right bed behind Manon, Sophia, Lara and Yoonchae spread on the other. You rested against the headboard, entranced by the phone in your hand as the other three watched TV.

“Oh my God, don’t even talk about the early morning tomorrow, I’m absolutely dreading it.” Daniela groaned, emerging from the bathroom to stand behind Manon, gazing down at the comments flooding the chat. She caught sight of you sitting in the background, eyeing Megan, who, unknowingly appeared on camera, sauntered her way around the bed to lean over you. The blonde quickly moved to stand in the way of the view, blocking the ordeal from the live.

user01 i saw that. I SAW THAT.

user02 WAS MEGAN LEANING DOWN FOR A KISS WTF

user03 nah they trained daniela to be on it fr

user04 this is some pazzi shit all over again (pls get the ref)

user05 hold me down cuz im abt to go feral

Manon and Daniela shared a look, but neither of them dared to address the compelling topic of discussion amongst the fans.

Later on in the livestream, Daniela eventually moved off to take a call from her parents. Scurrying off, she left Manon in front of the phone, sitting on the floor in between the end of both beds. Lara was laying over the edge of the left one, talking about how excited they were to see the Laforteza’s.

Megan’s feet poked from the right side, hanging off the side of the bed. She suddenly propped herself up, laying on you, who moved just into frame as you laid on the pillow.

Knowing the group had been briefed about keeping the whole megn/n thing under tabs, Sophia nudged Manon, who then moved so her body would cover the two of you once again.

user06 show it to me please SEND IT TO ME RACHEL

user07 oml the gate keeping im foaming at the mouth

user08 so where are all the megn/n deniers now huh??

user09 nah yall can’t cover that up we saw that kiss jn

[ no cuz why were they working so hard to cover things up that live, it’s so funny cuz sophia and the girls were fighting for their lives but megn/n did not gaf like at all ]

When somebody would say things about y/n having a girlfriend or Megan having a boyfriend, Lara would very unsubtly make a face; most of the time it would be a smirk with a raised eyebrow at how ridiculous the comment was.

“y/n, somebody said they want to take you to breakfast,” Manon read aloud, not bothering to even look at your reaction.

A small, mumbled, “better not” from Megan could be heard once the fans enhanced the audio.

[ y/n definitely keeps this girl in check… ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip four: [ WEVERSE LIVE ] solo mei for the win ;)

“I wish I could read, I’m dyslexic,” Megan cackled, setting her makeup bag down. “I love audio books though, if you guys have any recommendations, I’d love to try them out.”

A knock sounded, Megan’s head snapped towards the door. “Somebody just knocked… hello?”

The door creaked open, and you popped in. “Baby, you forgot to grab your id this morning—!” The way Megan’s eyes widened, you knew you had fucked up on some level. It was only then did you notice the phone and ring light in front of her, and the extremely cautious “oh shit” look on her face.

user01 “BABY”??????????????? HELLO??????????????????

user02 IM FUCKING OVULATING DONT DO THIS TO ME

user03 oh nah oh nah i’m folding hard asf rn

user04 EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP ITS HAPPENING

user05 that has to be y/n l/n i recognize that voice

You thanked God you were still out of frame, setting the id down on the table and gesturing for you having to leave. She doesn’t react or address the situation, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I love audio books. I’m actually better at math than english, so if you guys need help with homework, I’m here.”

user06 nooooo bring y/n back we’ve missed her :(

user07 not megan acting like we didn’t just catch them

user08 WHY ARE YOU ALL SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS???

[ love how they just never talked about this after but i just know they got their ass beat by their pr team ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip five: [ COSMOPOLITAN ] Katseye Q&A

“y/n, you’ve been known to have a more impulsive tendency, and you’ve mentioned before you love getting impromptu tattoos. What’s the most recent tattoo you’ve gotten, and why did you choose to get it?” The interviewer questioned, the shot quickly cut to the seven of you. In the back row, sat Sophia, Yoonchae, you and Lara, in the front, Daniela, Manon and Megan. Six pairs of eyes turned to you.

“Oh, I, uh—” Caught off guard by the sudden spotlight burning you in place, you shifted, chuckling awkwardly. When you blanked, you began internally panicking.

You hated talking about your tattoos. It made you nervous because you’ve gotten a lot of criticism for it in the media.

“Actually, y/n and I got tattoos together. We wanted to get something that symbolized Katseye’s debut, so she got a (your charm), and I got a dual cherry on the inside of our left ring fingers.” Megan flashed the tattoo towards the camera, the editors zoomed in really quick.

You played along, showing yours as well.

“Oh, wow, that’s really cute!” The interviewer chuckled, “So will this be a ‘all seven of you’ kinda tattoo, or will this stay just the two of you for now?”

Lara groaned, “Oh, girl, trust I will be tatted the hell up in the future. I will be getting my key sooner or later.”

As the conversation shifted, you could feel Megan’s hand slide behind Manon’s to give your thigh an encouraging squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it eased your nerves. You glanced at her, and she shot you a quick wink. It drove megn/n truthers up the fucking wall. Your hashtag trending on Eyekonville.

The interview continued, but in that moment, fans knew, even if it wasn’t plastered on billboards preaching about it, the little relationship, whatever it may be, between you two was sacred.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ❪ 𝖈alliope 𝖘peaks! ❫ 。 writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet… anyway BREAKIN DISHES PART 4 COMING SOON TO THEATRES NEAR YOU!! keep sending in suggestions and ideas i dont reply to all of them but i read them all! i love you all, happy reading! xx

@sillymommy6969 ©

[theavocadosthree]

🗣️🗣️SAM IS THE NEW CAP! WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT 🗣️🗣️

As I always have had said,

Sam is a great guy with plenty of good and true values that up holds what Steve had. Sam is a man of integrity, perseverance, respect, dignity, and the want to do what is right. We have seen him without any hesitation help out Steve and Natasha when they were considered enemy of the state with shield. Sam fought tooth and nail for the avengers as Falcon. Previous to that, Sam had also lead the VA groups in hope to help other Vets with their trauma and PSTD. Steve saw the values in Sam, not just because he also was military but because Steve saw a lot of himself in Sam Wilson. Sam had his heart in the same place. To do what is right, even if you have to bend the rules every once in a while.

Now onto our friend James Buchanan Barnes,

To make myself clear, I love Bucky and I think he would be an amazing Captain America. Do I think now is the right time is this time line? No. And Here is why:

Yes Bucky has values and integrity but we all know that Bucky is still shown as a liability to the state and country for all that he had done within the Winter Soldier programming HYDRA had put into his head. He’s still in therapy as required by the government and just like normal folks with trauma that are super soldiers.. Healing takes TIME. When you think of it, Bucky had no control over any of his actions, for YEARS, and he’s just now getting this back. In infinity war is when we see him start to gain back his old mind, which yet again has not still fully healed. Falcon and the Winter Soldier rolls around and Bucky is still trying to catch up and make amends. Yet again, HEALING IS A PROCESS. It’s going to take a while before Bucky makes amends. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have what it takes to be the next in line to wield the shield but just means he’s in a major plot point in his own character development within the MCU.

In conclusion…(and my personal opinion)

I have yet to see the new movie due to not having a ride there nor the money to go see it due to medical expenses and bills but believe me I am so proud of Anthony Mackie getting his Starring role as the Main character in his OWN movie! And you best believe it when CABNW starts streaming I will see that movie first thing when it comes out on Disney+. But from what I’ve seen from spoiler free reviews of the movie I know he’s killing it. Sam’s going to do great and I can’t wait to see the dynamic that he, and Joaquin have in the movie. Sam Wilson is an amazing character with an interesting background, and a family man too!! I’ve always loved him and yet gain can’t wait to see what happens in Brave New World.

And to the folks out there petty still about the fact Sam IS Captain America, Deal with it, or move onto another character story line. Read the comics. Either way there’s no need to be hateful. You don’t like the movie? Cool. No need to be petty either. You don’t have anything nice to say? Keep it to yourself. Simple as that.

Sam is the new Cap as simple as that! Let’s be happy for both characters! Nuff’ said.

Every criticism of Captain America; Brave New World means nothing to me, and here is why: My 11 and 15-year-old nephews, who are Black boys, loved Captain America: Brave New World. Every other review or criticism is invalid to me because when 15-year-old Billy said, “That was the best Captain America movie” and 11-year-old Manny ran around the house the next day saying, “I’m Captain America” that’s all that mattered. That’s all that matters. Two Black boys saw it and loved it. That’s important. Sam Wilson is important.

[narcjsistx]

— 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔! | bllk boys

✶ plot: the character gives your sibling the chance to go down on the field with him before the game, and this leads you to think that maybe he really is someone you could marry since he shows so much care. idk if you know when before the matches the players of the teams go out on the field during the anthem, often with the players there are kids! it's such a cuteee thinggg (╥﹏╥)

✶ characters: sae itoshi, rin itoshi, micheal kaiser

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

✶ ITOSHI SAE ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

In the noise of the arena, the Japanese anthem seems to almost fade into the background. The participants are much more focused on shouting, in announcing that the players are finally taking to the field after almost half an hour of delay due to an alleged accident of the German team bus, which had a flat tire. While you were waiting you often imagined the annoyed faces of your boyfriend, who surely threatened his manager to leave if the game didn't start at the scheduled time. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, you don't know. He's definitely annoyed, but he didn't make it obvious probably because today your younger brother is with him. You still can't believe how your brother finally convinced Sae, after years of begging him. When you finally see both of them, you understand that it is not a dream and that your brother is actually in the most famous field in Spain

When you told your family that in Spain, during your Erasmus, you had met the man who was now your boyfriend, they hadn't worried. You hadn't specified that Sae, your boyfriend, your brother's favorite player, from the team that your family had supported for years even before you were born, was that man. When Sae and your family were introduced, your brother categorically decided that now you would no longer have another man in your life other than the ReAl midfielder. Not that you minded this obligation. But you were happy to see your brother so close to him and Sae who, strangely, treated him with kindness. It was probably because he also had a younger brother, he knew what it meant to be the eldest son

You had been with him for two years now, yet your brother had to beg him for a long time before he achieved his goal. Sae had not given in until then because he thought it was a way to invade his privacy and that of your family, but after seeing a photo of Rin and your brother he had agreed. You didn't even know why you wanted to compare a photo of your little brother and Rin as a newborn, but something had moved in Sae's heart, and now he and your brother were walking onto the field with an entire stadium chanting the name of the best midfielder of recent years, your amazing boyfriend

With your phone you film the scene, while your mother next to you starts to shed a few tears "Don't you think you're exaggerating?" you say, teasing her. The Spanish anthem starts, and the players line up in front of the crowd, the children in front of them and wearing smaller uniforms than the team. Your mother smiles "I'm so happy for Kuroi. He wanted it so much, and I understand why Sae didn't want to do it, and yet they're both there!" she says wiping away a tear

Sitting in the stands, you have the chance to be quite close to the players. Your brother notices you, and smilingly starts waving in your direction, proudly showing the jersey he is wearing: like the ReAl uniform, on the back he has "Sae" written and his number, 10. You record the scene and you notice how, in the video, you can see your boyfriend behind Kuroi looking at him curiously, maybe even a little proudly. While both sing the anthem, the children remain in front of the players even when the camera reflects the scene on the big screen of the stadium, also showing Kuroi with his excited eyes. Sae gives you an interested look when he notices your proud look, and you return it by blowing him a quick kiss. You see him roll his eyes, but you know he's calm, it's just the usual

"You know..." your mother says, and you turn around curiously "I think after this, you have no choice but to marry Sae. I don't think Kuroi would recover if you ever broke up, not after this" she says, and even though you know she's joking, her words hit you a little harder than usual. You and the ReAl player have been together for a while now, you never talked about marriage but it happened that you both admitted that you would like to spend the rest of your lives with each other. This relationship, Sae himself, has given you so much love that you know perfectly well that you could never have such a connection with anyone other than him. It's in the way that, even without words, his gestures speak: it's clear that he loves you, and you love him in a way that you can't even quantify

"That might be an option. I'm waiting for him to have the courage to get down on one knee" you joke, and your mother chuckles with you, patting you on the shoulder "If he had the courage to love you until today, I think marrying you is quite easy" she says, and you roll your eyes amusedly "Really funny"

Her words are not casual, not when Sae asked her for her blessing on your union a few weeks ago. He told her that it is not casual to have Kuroi with him on the field, and that after the end and victory of the match he intends to ask you to marry him in front of the entire stadium, but especially in front of your family. But you don't know this yet

✶ ITOSHI RIN ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

"Remember, you have to always stay close to Rin, if I see you running somewhere I swear to go down on the field and chase you in front of everyone in the stadium!" you say to your sister, but she giggles, hugging your boyfriend's leg. Rin ruffles her hair, letting out a sigh "She'll be good. She promised me, right Kae?" asks the youngest Itoshi, and your sister immediately nods "Of course big brother!" the little girl says, smiling happily, and you sigh, mentally telling yourself that everything will be fine "Okay... but I swear, if you act bad, it's the last time I'll make you do something like that. Mom didn't even fully agree..." you say exasperated, but you feel Rin's hand lightly squeeze your wrist "Don't worry so much. I'll take care of her"

Ever since Rin came into your life, your younger sister Kae has started to see him as the brother she never had. You have always been two daughters in the family, and even though both you and she wanted a brother, unfortunately you never had the chance to have one. When Rin made the transition from classmate to boyfriend five years ago, Kae was thrilled to welcome him into the family. He and she actually spend a lot of time together, and while Rin's character is extremely reserved and cold, you've never seen him act distant with your sister: it's wrong to say that they just love each other, they literally have a brotherly relationship. It warms your heart, especially when you plan on spending the rest of your life with this guy, since you've been a couple for a while now

Having Kae join Rin on the field was actually quite an unexpected idea. You and your boyfriend had spent the last few months in France for his special training, and only returned to Japan for your sister's tenth birthday. The problem arose when, on the plane, you both realized that you hadn't bought the birthday girl any presents: busy with the various preparations for the return trip, you hadn't bought anything in France. You realized it when you saw a little girl opening a present on the plane, and unexpectedly Rin saw the same scene at the same time and thought the same thing

On the evening of her birthday, after many hours of flying, Rin said that your gift for Kae would be to have her join him on the field in the next match, which would take place the following week against Italy. Kae had literally jumped out of her chair to hug both, even though your mother wasn't completely convinced, unlike your father who asked to be able to go on the field too. So now, as you go up to the stands to watch the game and the anthem, you think about how all this is so extraordinary and at the same time strange

When you sit down, the Japanese anthem begins to fill the stadium. You see Rin with his usual serious face and Kae, in front of him and wearing a Japan jersey, singing excitedly. You see in your sister's eyes an emotion that you have seen in her a few times, and thinking that all this is thanks to Rin makes you think a little more than usual: your relationship is not perfect, you argue like all normal couples, but you would never replace your beloved boyfriend with another person. You've loved each other since you were both fourteen, and now that he's on the Japanese national team and you've started college, your love has only grown. You're 19, but you both think you could go on forever like this, and that's exactly what makes you realize how much you really care about this relationship

Rin loves you, your family, your life and your soul. If that's not perfection, you don't know what is. You know that you both are still young and have goals, but if he asked you to marry him literally now, you would accept without regrets

The game begins, the kids going back to the locker room where you know your dad is waiting for Kae. You watch the rest of the game with them, while Kae tells everything Rin told her before she left, how good she was and how she wants to do it again. The match ends with Japan winning, with a goal scored by Rin himself: the whole stadium starts to shout, while you applaud happily. The journalists immediately take possession of the field and the players, and the same happens to Rin, who is captured by the cameras of the Japanese national TV. A reporter points the microphone at him, while your boyfriend lowers his water bottle

"Great match today, Itoshi Rin! No one expected less from the former Blue Lock number one. Do you miss the structure?" says the man, and Rin takes a few steps forward "It was a fundamental stage in my career, but half of the idiots who were with me are now in the national team, it hasn't changed that much" he says, and the man laughs "You're right, just today you scored with an assist from Isagi Yoichi, also a former number one. Speaking of other things, today a little girl came out on the field with you during the anthem..." he says, and Rin clears his throat "It was my girlfriend's younger sister. She's here too" he says, and the man smiles "I know! You both recently returned from France, didn't the city of love give you the chance to face an important stage in your relationship? After all, you've been together for a while" he says, and Rin raises an eyebrow "You mean Paris?" he asks, and the man nods "I'm talking about a possible marriage proposal in Paris" he says, and Rin's eyes widen a bit. He's silent for a few seconds, and then speaks slowly "I haven't had the chance... although we're both still very young. I might try next time"

Your father and Kae notice how you are almost paralyzed, a fierce blush that burns your face. Tonight you leave for Paris

✶ MICHEAL KAISER ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

"I wonder how he'll sing the German national anthem if he can barely speak" Kaiser says, and you think about it for a while. It's not a stupid question, but at the same time you don't want to think of an answer "I have no idea. You didn't know that until a few years ago, anyway" you say resting your head against his chest, and he tightens his grip on your waist "Remember to wait for him here. As soon as he's finished he'll come back to you" he says, and you nod "I know. I'll wait here"

Both you and Kaiser watch your brother being around the other kids who will be taking the field. Leon doesn't talk much, he's quite shy, but at the same time he always wants to be around other people. Both you and Kaiser think it's a bit of a weird behavior, but you don't worry too much, you think it's just something that will change as he grows up. Micheal, on the other hand, is the one who is a little more worried, but you can understand his behavior: as a child he never had the chance to be supervised by someone older, so he always had to correct his wrong or right behaviors himself. Leon has nothing, he is simply a child who is growing up, but Kaiser has always shown to be particularly fond of him. From the first moment they met, one winter evening three years ago, Leon became your boyfriend's favorite kid. Kaiser taught your brother to play soccer, and since he's gotten much better lately, Michael gave him the chance to stay with him before the match against Spain, during the German anthem

The team begins to line up, players calling out the kids they’ve been matched with. Kaiser leaves a kiss on your forehead, walking over to Leon "We gotta go. Are you ready?" he asks your brother, patting him on the back. He nods, taking his hand. You know how difficult physical contact is for Kaiser, but he has never refused to shake Leon's hand "Perfect. You have to promise me to shout the anthem, though. I want the whole stadium to hear your voice" he says, and you raise an eyebrow, while Leon also shakes his head, unsure "You have to, I want the whole stadium to know about you, the next striker of Bastard Munchen. Then you're with me, you don't have to be afraid, right?" says Kaiser teasing him, and Leon finally speaks "Okay Micheal..." he says, hiding his happy emotion

Kaiser nods in satisfaction, turning to you only briefly "Wait here, remember" he says, and you nod once more "I told you I’m not moving. Why are you so worried?" you ask, chuckling, but he sighs in amusement "You’ll see later" he says, and before you can ask him any questions he and your brother start walking down the stadium. The anthem starts in the stadium and all the players greet the crowd, while the children shout and laugh. You see Leon a little nervous, but a few words from Kaiser seem to calm him down

In your family, only you are capable of calming your brother's little moments of anxiety. You have always been the one to be his mother, and since Kaiser came into your life, he too has felt almost the duty to be there for your brother. Since he has been there too, only you and Micheal calm him. Leon could almost be your son, if he wasn't your little brother; it's something that both you and Michael think about, especially considering how important you both are to him. When you started being the girlfriend of the German prodigy, you never expected to see him so attached to your family, and honestly, you wouldn't have blamed him: Kaiser never had someone to call family, a group of people who taught him what love meant. You knew that bonding with your family wouldn't be easy for him, and yet it had happened so easily that for a second you thought you had misunderstood everything

What was yours had become his too. What you loved, your family, had become his family almost naturally, as if it was destined for your love and that of your relatives. You knew how much he cared, and it only made you even more proud to love him, of loving everything of Kaiser Micheal. You knew perfectly well his opinion on marriage, you knew how he was afraid of getting married because his parents had never given him an example of a healthy and loving marriage. You knew how much the idea of making a mistake, of becoming his father and locking you in a toxic marriage scared him, even if he had never pulled a hair on your head. You understood his motives and respected them, but if he ever asked you to be his wife, you knew full well that you would accept

You look over at your two treasures, and Leon seems to be having a blast as he shouts out the German national anthem, which is slowly coming to an end. Once again, Kaiser has managed to bring out the best in your brother, making the most enjoyable moment possible. As the music ends you approach the agreed upon spot, but you notice how the players are not starting to take their positions on the field. You raise an eyebrow, as the German team and the children slowly disappear from the pitch, while Leon runs towards you

"Come with me" your brother says, taking your hand and leading you down to the field "What do you want to do...?" you ask perplexed, shy in front of all the people's eyes. The soccer field empties completely, with only Kaiser left in the center. You watch him doubtfully as Leon takes you near him, leaving you once they reach the center of the field "Do you know anything?" you ask your brother, but he shakes his head "Just a little. Michael knows the rest" he says, chuckling, the laugh of someone who definitely knows everything. You remain in front of Kaiser, who however does not seem to give any answers to your doubtful look "What are you doing?" you ask for the umpteenth time, while you feel Leon's hand detach "Thank you. I owe you something" the German says to the boy, but he shakes his head "Nothing. Just make her happy" he says as he walks away, heading towards the edge of the field

In front of the eyes of the entire stadium, you and Kaiser remain. You begin to get nervous, while his calm gaze gives you absolutely no answer "Don't get nervous. Trust me" he says taking your hands, and you sigh resignedly "I don't want to die of anxiety" you say smiling nervously, and he nods "You won't die of anxiety. At least wait until you see the rest"

Kaiser clears his throat, taking a long breath. "Hello. No introduction needed, you already know perfectly well who I am. Maybe you know me for being your boyfriend, maybe for being the prodigy of an entire nation, but you are surely the only one who knows me as Michael, the same one who cried in your arms several times already. You know how my courage and narcissism are my signature, how my charisma is known by entire nations, or at least by their soccer teams. I always use my courage for myself, but never for others... and I thought I can do it once, just once for another person. One decisive time, that terrifies me but that you deserve. I thought about it for a long time, telling myself that we were fine the way we were, that we didn't need such a big gesture to confirm that I love you. But you are you, you have always gone beyond your limits to love me, to give me a sense of family and home that I never had. I want to use this courage for you, to ask you for something that I know scares me but that I want to do..." says the man. You see him kneel on one knee, opening a velvet box that reveals a ring with a blue sapphire

"... do you want to marry me, say yes to me in front of free Germany but above all in front of Leon?" says the man, showing you for the first time a completely new version of himself: that's not Kaiser Michael in front of you, that's not Kaiser, that's not even Michael. That's your Kaiser Michael, someone the whole world doesn't know but you know like yourself. Your hands are shaking as you try to cover your mouth and eyes that are slowly watering, but you can't ignore the emotion that's slowly eating you alive

"Of course I do" you say with a shaky voice, and the stadium erupts in a ferocious roar. Kaiser stands up, placing the ring on your finger before pulling you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder "Thank you. Thank you for everything"

[vinnyvamppp]

Hey love you are a great writer so much so i had to request you to write a fic This story idea is super toxic This would never be a real scenario But I'm twisted so here's how it goes sinister mark or whom ever you choose is trying to study and girlfriend is just trying to get his attention kissing him, loving on him taking pictures with him and his snaps and accidentally hit her. He doesn't think that she will fight back though turning into this toxic love hate f$ck

You would be doing a great service (to me mostly😩)

Attention Hungry

NOTE: The person requested and the people have agreed! Typing this on my phone in staples while they fix my computer made me lose brain cells. Sorry in advance! Didn’t stray too far from the request. @nefertiti2003

Warnings: Rough Sex, Accidental Assault, Mild Choking, Mutual Orgasm, Hate Fucking, Power Imbalance, Pussy Eating, Dom!Invincible Variant, Power Bottom!Reader, Biting, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Love/Hate Relationship, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Sinister!Mark x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,072

Mark is at his desk, the glow of his tablet screen reflecting against the sharp angles of his face. His brows are furrowed in concentration, scanning lines of text faster than any normal person could. The lamp above casts long shadows, stretching across his strong frame, making him look even more unapproachable than usual. You should know better than to bother him when he’s like this. Focused. Distant. Untouchable.

But you never listen.

You step behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest against his back. His body is warm—too warm, like a furnace barely contained beneath his skin. A normal person would melt under the heat of him. You just take it as an invitation. “Mark,” you murmur against his ear, letting your lips brush against the skin just below it. He doesn’t react. Not at first.

You tighten your arms, fingers splaying over the solid muscle of his chest. “You’ve been sitting here forever.”

Nothing.

You try again, trailing your fingers up his neck, into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. His jaw tenses. Progress. A smirk tugs at your lips. “You’re really gonna ignore me?” Still nothing.

Alright then.

You grab his phone from the desk and spin away before he can snatch it back. “Smile,” you tease, pointing the camera at him. He doesn’t even glance up, still reading, as if you’re nothing but background noise. So you step closer, angling yourself into the shot, pressing against his arm. Click. The flash goes off, illuminating his sharp features, and his unreadable eyes. Blinding you in the process. That gets his attention.

It happens fast. Too fast.

A blur of movement—his hand shoots out. A hard impact. Your head jerks to the side. The sharp sting spreads across your cheek before you even register what happened. For a second, everything stops. Your breath catches. Your heart slams against your ribs. Mark’s hand hovers in the air where your face used to be, fingers still curled slightly from the slap.

You gasp. He blinks.

Then—he exhales sharply through his nose, something unreadable flashing behind those crimson-tinted eyes. A mistake? No, he doesn’t make those. His mouth parts like he’s about to say something, but you don’t give him the chance.

Your hand flies before you even think about it, striking him across the face just as fast. The crack of skin-on-skin reverberates through the room. His head barely moves. Your palm burns from the impact. It didn’t hurt, but he felt it. He shouldn’t have felt it, that means he was getting weak, it meant he had to show who was stronger, better in every way. And he would.

Silence. Heavy. Charged.

Slowly—too slowly—Mark turns his head back toward you. His tongue swipes over his lip, testing for blood. And then he grins. “Really?” His voice is low, amused. Dark. Your heart pounds, but you don’t step back. You can’t. The air between you is electric, suffocating, dangerous. His fingers flex, then relax. His eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate. He shifts in his chair, the movement lazy—like a predator just now deciding whether the thing in front of him is prey or something worth playing with first.

Then, with one hand, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down onto his lap. "Now you have my attention."

He seemed amused, if anything.

With a short huff, your wrist curled against his firm grip, yanking with all your might. Nothing. His fingers barely budged, the strength in his hold effortless, as if he wasn’t even trying to restrain you, just reminding you that he could. Your jaw clenched. “Let go.” Mark tilted his head, eyes glinting under the dim light. “Why?”

Your skin burned where he touched you. Not from pain—from frustration. From the way he always did this. Letting you squirm, watching you fight, like you were nothing but a passing entertainment. Like you didn’t even matter. “You don’t even care,” you snapped, struggling again. “I don’t know why I—” He cut you off with a low chuckle. “Why you what?” His grip loosened, but only enough for his fingers to slide down your forearm, keeping you anchored in place. “Keep coming back? Keep trying to get my attention?”

Your breath hitched, but you covered it up with a scowl. “You never bother with me, Mark.” Something flickered in his expression—brief, perhaps sympathetic, but it was gone. “You’re always off somewhere else,” you continued, voice sharper now. “Thinking, planning, doing whatever the hell you do. You don’t talk to me, you don’t look at me, unless I force you to. Like I’m a distraction.”

Mark sighed, as if this entire conversation was beneath him. “You are a distraction.” The words stung more than you wanted to admit. Your nails dug into his wrist. “Then why the hell are you still holding onto me?” His fingers flexed around your arm. A quiet, drawn-out moment passed before he leaned in, just slightly, breath warm against your skin. “Because,” he murmured, “you’re not boring.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated the way your body reacted to him—to this. With a sharp inhale, you pushed against his chest. “I should leave.” Mark didn’t stop you. Didn’t tighten his grip. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms dropping to his sides, leaving you free. Daring you. His eyes met yours, calm, knowing. “Then do it.” The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. Your muscles tensed. He watched and waited.

Seconds passed. Your heart pounded. You should leave. You should turn around, walk out the door, and never look back. But you didn’t move. Mark smirked. “That’s what I thought.” Your fingers curled into fists. “I hate you.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, dragging his gaze over you, slow, deliberate. “Funny. I hate you too.” Your chest rose and fell, breath shaky with something you refused to name. “Then let me go.” He exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh, before reaching out. His fingers traced your jaw, gentle, too gentle before gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t think you want that,” he said, voice dropping an octave. “And I know I don’t.”

And just like that, you were pulled right back into his orbit.

You moved first, tilting your chin up, daring him, challenging him. His lips met yours in an instant, not gentle, not sweet—hungry. It was all heat and dominance, a battle for control that neither of you wanted to lose. His hand slid lower, fingers pressing into your skin, grounding you against him. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, meant to remind you exactly who he was—who you were dealing with.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Still think you hate me?" You exhaled shakily. "More than ever." Mark’s grin was sharp, almost cocky. "Good."

He stood up abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. With a firm grip on your hips, he lifted you effortlessly, tossing you over his shoulder like a ragdoll. You yelped in surprise, the breath momentarily knocked out of you. You managed to gasp out as he carried you across the room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He ignored your weak protested mumbles, his hand resting heavily on your ass as if to remind you of his dominance.

The bedsprings creaked as he threw you down onto the mattress, your body bouncing from the impact. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he was on top of you, his weight pinning you down. Your hands scrabbled at his chest, but he easily overpowered you, gripping your wrists and shoving them above your head.

His other hand found your throat, fingers curling around your slender neck. He applied just enough pressure to make you gasp, to remind you who was in control. His red eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a dark, feral hunger.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Fuck, yes. Now give it to me." He released your wrists, only to grab the collar of your shirt. With a sharp tug, he tore the fabric open, sending buttons flying across the room. Your breasts bounced free, the cool air pebbling your nipples.

He wasted no time, ducking his head to inhale your sweet scent as his tongue teased your collarbones. He sucked hard, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pain and pleasure straight to your core. His hand roughly traced the curves of your figure, squeezing what he could. You arched into him, a moan escaping your lips. But he was already moving, trailing kisses down your stomach, pausing to flick his tongue against your navel. Lower and lower he went until his face was nestled between your thighs.

He breathed hotly against your core, the damp fabric of your panties the only barrier between you. With a low growl, he tugged them aside, exposing you to his hungry gaze. Without warning, he licked a long stripe up your slit, from entrance to clit, the wet heat of his tongue making you shudder. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing him closer, silently begging for more. He obliged, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard. At the same time, he slid two fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out, giving you little time to adjust.

Your hips bucked against his face, fucking yourself on his tongue and fingers. But he didn't let up, his grip on your thighs holding you in place as he feasted on your pussy like a starving man. "Jesus, Mark," you gasped, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "Don't. Fucking. Stop..."

You doomed yourself, his eyes meeting yours

But just as you were about to tumble over the edge, he delivered a harsh teething and pulled away, leaving you empty and aching. You groaned at the loss, but it was quickly silenced as he covered your mouth with his, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, pressing against your thigh. He ground against you, seeking friction, and you knew he was just as desperate as you were. With a snarl, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. He yanked your hips up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You barely had time to steady yourself before he was inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

You cried out at the sudden invasion, your walls stretching around his thick length. But he didn't give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall. Each thrust was harder than the last, his hips slapping against your ass as he pounded into you. The obscene sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixing with your muffled moans and his grunts of pleasure.

His hand found your hair, fisting the strands and pulling your head back. He leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear. Both of too far gone in the haze of pleasure to form coherent words. He seemed to take that as a yes, his thrusts becoming even more brutal.

You felt the pressure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips. Your legs began to tremble, your arms threatening to give out beneath you. "Come for me," he demanded, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. "Let me feel you come all over my cock." This time coming as a more of a plea.

And with that final command, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your walls clamped down around him, fluttering and squeezing as wave after wave of ecstasy washed through you. Behind you, Mark let out a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. He buried himself deep one last time, spilling his release inside you with a shuddering groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both struggling to catch your breath. Finally, Mark slipped out of you, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. “We’re… not done yet, you fuck.” You sneered, and he obliged with a toothy grin. The tip of his cock rubbed gingerly against your lips as he parted the soft flesh. This is so dramatically written LMFAO.

[errriiie]

Let me see ya move

jackieshauna x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, poly relationships, shauna shipman, jealousy, OOC extra tags: fem!reader, y/n mentions, porn with so-little-plot, jealous sex, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), spanking, degrading (not much but still), praising, dirty talk, rough all the way until the end, sweet in the end :з word count: 3.5k proofread english is not writer's first language! You had been in a relationship with Jackie and Shauna for a few months now. You were enjoying it, and if you closed your eyes, your poly relationship was perfect. You liked them both, too, but there was a catch - you didn't quite know when to draw the line. Then Jackie and Shauna had to do it for you.

You said you'd step away "to pour some punch." Jackie and Shauna were fine with that - you want a drink? Well, they'd be there to haul your drunken body back to Shauna's car and take you home to sleep it off. When you're with your girls, you don't have to worry about anything, after all.

But you weren't back for a minute. Or two. Or five. That's when they started to worry.

"Where is she? I don't see her, do you, Shauna?" Jackie's eyes hawk-eyed, scanning the crowd around her, trying to sound loud enough to be heard over the throngs of school kids chattering away at this party.

"I don't think I see her," she mutters, her eyes darkening as she senses something is wrong. "No normal person spends five minutes pouring themselves a fucking punch."

"So we're thinking the same thing, Shauna?" Jackie asks dully, getting up from the couch. Just to clarify.

"Looks like it." Shauna replies, standing up. Her arm flings over Jackie's shoulder to keep her close. They walk through the crowd, Shauna looking menacing enough and Jackie looking serious enough that people make way for them as soon as they see them. Luckily (probably for you) they find you quickly. You were talking to some... girl? Jackie frowned. They don't even know who she is! Some no-name girl was talking to you. Oh, it was driving them crazy.

Jackie came up to you first, frowning and breathing through her nose, and Shauna followed.

"Hey," Jackie smiled falsely, finding your hand and taking a firm grip on your elbow. "So this is where you are and we've been waiting for you. Have you been pouring yourself a punch for so long? Or are you doing something else?" she asks, looking at you almost murderously.

Your heart sinks because you don't like that look. "Oh, I was just chatting with Jess," you smile shyly, "Here's Jess, by the way."

Jess smiles tightly, clearly unhappy that her opportunity for a quickie just disappeared.

"Hi... Jess." Jackie tries not to grind her teeth. Shauna doesn't even say hello, her eyes boring another hole into the damn bitch's head. "Anyway, come on, baby. We need to talk to you about something."

"Uh, okay? Bye, Jess." You wave awkwardly before letting Jackie drag you away from Lottie's mansion. You suspected something. Jackie leads you by the hand in front, squeezing it almost painfully, and Shauna is right behind you, burning you with her brown eyes.

"Why are we leaving? It's still early! It's not even midnight, and I haven't had a drink yet." You asks sadly as you three walk to Shauna's car. The car door slams shut with a metallic clang that makes your teeth rattle. Jackie shoves you into the backseat with uncharacteristic roughness, her perfect manicure digging crescent moons into your wrist. Shauna revs the engine hard enough to make the entire car vibrate, her knuckles bone-white around the steering wheel.

"Midnight?" Jackie hisses, climbing in after you. Her lipstick smears slightly from how hard she's biting her lower lip. "You think this is about curfew, Y/N?"

Shauna peels out of Lottie's driveway, gravel spraying. The radio blasts Hole's Violet at max volume. You feel Shauna's eyes burning through the rearview mirror - not the warm caramel gaze that melts when you wear her flannels, but something feral. Jackie's fingers suddenly cup your jaw, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her thumb presses hard against your bottom lip. "That girl's tongue was practically down your throat!" she whispers, breath hot and uneven against your ear. "You gonna let anyone taste what's ours?"

You sigh, taken aback by Jackie's reaction. You already knew she was jealous - of course you did, but usually she just pouted and sulked until you made it up to her with pretty promises and kisses and more. But now she seemed more persistent than she'd ever been with you. "But that's not true, she didn't do anything..." you muttered, trying to protect the remnants of your pride that were seeping through your fingers.

The car swerves as Shauna takes a turn too fast, her voice cutting through the music's snarl: "Seatbelt her, Jax. Now."

Jackie's free hand snakes across your hips, yanking the frayed belt across your lap with a violent click. Her other hand remains clamped on your face, rubbing your cheek in a halting, rather sharp motion. "We're not mad," she lies through clenched teeth, pupils blown wide. "We just need to... remind you." You don't quite understand what this is all about. You're starting to fidget with the tension now, restrained by your seatbelt, and you're trying to avoid your girlfriends' eyes. "I... you think I was flirting with Jess? I didn't!" Some small realization finally dawns on you. "She just asked me what I was doing here, and she said my dress was nice, and we just talked for a while. That's all. Jackie, I would never..." you trail off, "You can't be serious."

The engine dies with a shudder that runs through the car's steel frame. Shauna's door flies open.

"Serious?" Jackie barks a laugh that cracks like thin ice, unbuckling your seatbelt with a violent yank. "You let her breathe on you. Smile at you. Take up space that's marked!"

Shauna's hands clamp around your waist from behind before your sneakers hit gravel. Her teeth find the juncture of your neck and shoulder - not a bite, but the threat of one. "Walk," she growls against your skin, steering you toward the darkened colonial house.

Jackie slams the front door so hard a framed soccer trophy crashes downstairs. "You think we don't see?" Her voice climbs octaves with each step up the staircase, nails digging into your arm. "How they look at you? How you blush when they-"

Shauna kicks her bedroom door open, moonlight slicing across the yellowjacket banners on her walls. Her hands spin you roughly, back hitting the wall hard enough to knock breath from your lungs. "Ouch," you sigh. Then Shauna's grip immediately loosens, and her eyes briefly flicker with worry before she hides it. She obviously overdid it a bit, but she'll apologize to you later.

"Lesson time," Shauna murmurs. The captain's hands frame your face with terrifying gentleness.

"You belong here," Jackie whispers, thumb pressing your lower lip. "Not in some skank's mouth at a party. You know we love you, right, baby? And Shauna and I hate it when that happens. If you don't get enough, we'll make it up to you double, but don't do that."

Shauna vibrates against your collarbone as her hands slide up your thighs. "Let's make sure you remember.» You breathe anxiously. You knew your girlfriends' ways - you knew they could be like this if they wanted to. It was important to them to let you know that the three of you belonged equally to each other. And that it couldn't be any other way, but you really didn't think you were being flirted with! Although it was obvious. She was constantly staring at your pretty breasts and trying to undress you with her eyes. You saw it, but chose to ignore it. You weren't exactly sure why, but you weren't that stupid, obviously. Jackie and Shauna wouldn't like you if you were a complete idiot.

So you just lean your back against the wall, as if it could save you, and look at the floor in shame instead of at your girlfriends. "I... I'm sorry about this. I really don't know why someone always tries to flirt with me," you admit, "But I love you both." "Oh sweetheart," Jackie's sweetness undercut by the way her hands untie the ties of your dress, "you don't get to play naive with us." Her thumb swipes roughly across your cheekbone, smearing the tear you didn't realize had fallen. "We've seen that look a hundred times - the way their eyes drop to your tits, that stupid little smirk they give when they think they've got a chance." Shawna’s eyes darken as her hands slide up your sides possessively. "Should've seen your face," she growls, calloused fingers finding the hem of your dress. "All wide eyes and bitten lips while that bitch mentally undressed you." The fabric tears slightly as she yanks it upward, cold air hitting your thighs. You feel uncomfortable in your clothes - they even bothered to take off your favorite party dress completely, although, knowing them, they probably did it on purpose. "Like you didn't fucking know."

Jackie’s teeth graze your jugular as Shauna's palm slaps your bare thigh, the sting making you jump.

Shauna's teeth replace Jackie's at your neck, biting hard enough to bruise as her hand snakes between your legs. "First lesson," she growls against your skin, fingers pressing insistently through damp cotton. "You don't stand there looking like fucking dessert unless you want to get eaten."

"I d-don't want to be eaten-" you mumble, stumbling, your breath almost catching from so many insistent touches. You find it hard to stand against the wall, wanting to move onto something soft, but you don't think you've earned it yet. "I don't want anyone but you, I'm so sorry..." you mumble, sighing and twitching as Shauna's fingers brush against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. Your hips jerk instinctively, wanting more. Jackie's lips brush your temple as she pins your wrists above your head, her voice honeyed poison. "Shhh, baby, we know," she murmurs, her hands sloppily running down your chest, groping at your hard nipples. “But your body is such a fucking liar.” She helps one of your thighs stay in the position Shauna wants.

Shauna's growl vibrates through your skirt as she rips your panties sideways. "Should've worn the ones we bought you," she snarls, calloused thumb spreading you open. "The black lace with our initials." Her finger trails up, stopping just above your clit. "This cotton shit's for strangers." “Look at me,” Jackie demands, tilting your chin up, "You're so cute right now. You're so loyal and good, aren't you? I never doubt you, baby..." "Don't praise her too soon," Shauna interrupts sharply, turning to you, "Do you think we like being this crazy?" Her finger circles your clit roughly, making you wetter. "You make us animals."

The bed creaks as Shauna suddenly yanks you down onto it, forcing your back to meet the softness of Shauna's mattress. Shauna's bed was always soft, and you took great pleasure in sleeping on it when the three of you had sleepovers, letting Jackie get in the middle. "Second lesson," she rasps, shoving two fingers deep without warning. Her other hand smacks your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "You come when we say." Jackie straddles your face, trembling as she peels her lace aside. "Clean up your mess," she whimpers, nothing sweet left in her voice now. Her thighs clamp your ears as Shauna's palm muffles your moans, fingers curling cruel and perfect inside you.

You felt like you were being torn apart. Okay, it was intense - sex with your girlfriends was often like that, especially when they were both in a good mood, but you still weren't used to this tension in the room just because of you and what you did. You really loved the attention, yes. You were very attractive and it was just something you had to accept - girls loved you and looked at you.

But still, you always wanted attention only from Shauna and Jackie. And it was sincere. You just maybe sometimes didn't know how to ask for it. And then you began to unconsciously use the attraction of others to you as a crutch. True, you didn't know if you could do it, but... some ideas pay off.

You moan into Jackie's pussy as your hips tremble from Shauna's fingers inside you, filling all your wet space. You don't take your submissive and mistake-licking gaze off Jackie's eyes, confusedly watching how exactly she squirms on your face, using your tongue as a means of self-satisfaction and how hard she squeezes your head with her thighs. You want to cum so much, but Shauna has forbidden it: and you can't even utter a word, since your mouth will be busy until Jackie is completely sated with you. Jackie's moans pitch higher, her thighs trembling like violin strings against your temples. "That's it, Y/N," she gasps, fingers twisting in your hair as she grinds down harder. "Take your apology right from the s-source..." Her hips stutter, flooding your tongue as she comes with a shattered cry. But when she collapses back against the headboard, her touch turns tender—thumb brushing your spit-slick chin, voice syrupy with false sympathy. "Poor thing. All that work and you're still dripping."

Shauna's fingers curl upward, pressing that sweet spot that makes your vision blur. "Think she's learned yet?" she growls against the shell of your ear, palm smacking your ass again when you buck against her hand. The yellowjacket poster above the bed stares down judgmentally as she drags you upright by your throat. "Look at you," she sneers, forcing your gaze to the mirror across the room—to the mascara streaks, the bite marks blooming like ink stains, Jackie's lipstick smeared across your cheek like war paint. "Our dumb little attention whore." "I'm... I'm sorry." You mumble, whining as you feel the wetness between your legs. "I'm really sorry, I won't do this again. Just... just let me come, please? I love you so much." You slur, letting yourself squeeze your thighs together. How cheeky of you. Shauna's palm cracks across your inner thigh, the sting blooming hot as she pries your legs apart with brutal efficiency. "Squeeze again," she growls, calloused fingers digging into your quadriceps hard enough to bruise, "and I'll tie these ankles to the bedposts with your own fucking hair." Her other hand twists deeper, knuckles pressing mercilessly against your g-spot as she leans in to lick the tears from your cheek. "You come when your mouth remembers who owns it." Jackie’s hand slides over Shauna’s flannel-encased collarbone, her coral nails contrasting against the sweat-damp cotton of Shauna's tank top. "Now Shauna, maybe we should let her cum if she begs hard enough? I mean, I feel sorry for her already. She's our little girl, right?" Jackie pouts, trying to get to Shauna's heart, although it feels like a game. Usually you are the ones who fuck Jackie, you remember. But apparently, for this game, Jackie gave herself over to an experiment in behavior. You couldn't say you didn't like it. "Please, please, please-" You give in immediately, not even daring to resist. Not even hearing Shauna's response. You need it so much, oh god, you want this release, and only after this will you be able to rest forever. "I need it so much. I'm sorry, I'm guilty before you," your ears turn red from your own confessions. "Just let me cum-" Shauna smirks contentedly as she pulls her fingers out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. "You want it?" she purrs, her free hand sliding up to clamp over your mouth. "Prove you're ours." Her teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder as she nods to Jackie—a silent command.

Jackie's lips curve into a saccharine smile as her hand lets go and pulls your hair, her fingers toying with the gold necklace she gave you last month. "Let's make it a prayer," she coos, "Beg properly this time. Tell us who you belong to while looking in the mirror. Every word wrong adds ten seconds before you come."

Shauna's fingers plunge back in with a wet slap, her rhythm brutal as she forces your gaze toward the reflection—toward Jackie's pristine perfection contrasted against Shauna's disheveled fury. "Start talking," Shauna growls, her palm muffling your first broken syllable as Jackie takes your chin, wanting to entice you to look in the mirror.

You groan loudly, your head resting so tiredly in Jackie's hands. You turn your head towards the mirror with a feeling of shame and unfulfilled duty. You fucking hated this mirror. "I..." You bit your lip, looking at yourself and hesitating. Fuck, you've never admitted this to yourself before. Shauna's fingers twist viciously inside you, the heel of her palm grinding against your clit with enough pressure to make your legs shake. "Eyes open," she snarls, using her free hand to wrench your face toward the mirror. The reflection mocks you—Jackie's lips pressed to your ear, Shauna's teeth buried in your shoulder, your own face flushed and tear-streaked like some debauched saint in a Renaissance painting.

Jackie's voice drips false compassion as she traces the bite marks on your collarbone as Shauna pulls away, apparently satisfied with her bite on your body, making you whine and squirm. "It's okay to say it, sweetheart," she murmurs, her breath hitching when Shauna's thrusts make you jolt against her. She kisses your cheeks haltingly, leaving marks on them. "We already know the truth. Just let it out so we can make you feel good."

The words clot in your throat like spoiled honey. Shauna's laugh is dark as she slows her fingers to a torturous crawl. "Think she needs more motivation." Her free hand snakes up to pinch your nipple hard through your dress, the fabric suddenly abrasive as sandpaper. "Count of three, or I stop completely. One—"

"Yours!" The confession rips from you like a splintered bullet, voice cracking as Jackie's nails dig crescent moons into your hips. "I'm yours, both of you, only ever—fuck—"

Shauna's fingers piston into you with renewed fury, her grin feral in the mirror's reflection. "Louder."

"YOURS!" you scream to the girl in the glass—to the trembling mess with Jackie's lipstick smeared across her cheekbones and Shauna's handprints blooming on her thighs. "I belong to Jackie and Shauna, I'm—oh god—I'm your dumb little—"

Jackie's mouth crashes onto yours, swallowing your sob as Shauna finally lets you break. The orgasm tears through you like a forest fire, your back arching so violently you nearly headbutt Jackie. Shauna rides you through it with brutal precision, her free hand clamping over your mouth when the pleasure borders on pain. "That's it," she growls against your sweat-slick temple. "Take what you earned."

The mirror fogs with your panting breaths as Jackie gently wipes tears from your cheeks, her voice syrup-sweet again. "Good girl." Her thumb brushes your swollen lower lip. "Now let's discuss your punishment for making us wait so long." You haven't had time to recover from your previous orgasm when you look at them in shock, feeling your heart drop into your heels. "W-What?" you ask, sounding like it's more of a squeak. Your eyes dart between Shauna, who is positioned between your legs, and Jackie, who is sitting next to your head.

You don't know what to do when they start giggling and quickly lose their old temper.

Jackie's laugh breaks first, her fingers immediately softening as they card through your sweat-damp hair. "Oh baby," she coos, pressing featherlight kisses along your trembling jaw, "you should see your face." Her hands flutter over you like nervous doves — brushing sticky strands of hair from your forehead.

Shauna's already across the room rummaging through her soccer duffel, broad shoulders blocking the lamp light. When she turns back, her calloused hands are surprisingly gentle wrapping her favourite red flannel around your shoulders. "Drink," she grunts, pressing a water bottle to your lips, her thumb wiping a stray droplet from your chin when you choke on the first sip.

"Shh, we've got you," Jackie murmurs, arranging herself behind you so your back rests against her chest. Her signature sweet perfume envelops you as she rocks gently, her lips moving against your ear. "We just... God, when we saw her touching you—" Her voice cracks. "We wanted to kill someone at that moment. You had to come back very, very quickly, and she literally stole you!"

Shauna's knee hits the mattress as she straddles your legs, her usual scowl softened at the edges. She presses her forehead to yours, "You're ours to protect," she growls low enough that only you can hear it. "Even from our own fucking selves."

Jackie's fingers interlace with Shauna's over your heartbeat, their shared warmth seeping into your bones. "No more parties for a week," she declares, nuzzling the crown of your head. "We're staying in. Making you watch 10 Things I Hate About You until you can recite the poem scene."

Shauna's snort ruffles your bangs as she tucks the blanket tighter around your hips. "And eating those shitty rainbow cookies you like," she adds gruffly, her calloused palm lingering on your cheek. "The ones that taste like Play-Doh."

The yellowjacket banner above the bed flutters in the sudden breeze from Shauna's window, moonlight painting silver stripes across your tangled limbs. Jackie hums the chorus of "Kiss Me" off-key into your hair while Shauna's thumb traces absentminded plays from last week's game on your thigh. Their synchronized breathing slowly steadies yours, the earlier frenzy dissolving into something warmer, softer—a shared language written in heartbeat rests and tangled ankles.

The three of you loved each other. But sometimes you really felt like your girlfriends liked to torture you a little. But at least the torture was sweet.

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

One thing I adore about Destiny is that not only is it a game about love, it’s a game about love in its many forms and it’s not afraid to show how messy, yet rewarding, that can be (loose thoughts incoming).

Familial, platonic, agape, romantic, it’s all there and often the lines between them are blurred, creating such a strong feeling of tenderness that transcends and changes throughout the story.

There‘s love that persists for an eternity because the individuals are so long lived and love that persists for an eternity because it’s effects ripple through time, even long after the lovers have perished. Erianna and Wei Ning come to mind for it was Erianna‘s love that changed everything between humanity and the hive.

There‘s conventional romantic relationships like Saint and Osiris (though their passionate fight to be together goes beyond what can even be considered typical), then there are relationships that go beyond what’s customary that are just as intimate, like Drifter and Eris or Ikora and Chalco. So much value is placed on relationships that aren’t standard, allowing for a wide variety of lovers to be seen.

Whether it’s by birth or by choice, Destiny is all about the heart tearing obstacles that comes with loving family. From the Osmiums to the Sovs to the worm gods to even the light and dark metaphorically, Destiny is filled to the brim with characters struggling to love their family through the damage inflicted upon them and their differences. They endure so much pain and work through so much interpersonal and intrapersonal conflict just for the chance to love and be loved, showing that their connections are something worth bleeding over to them.

There is also such a prominent theme of an agape (which is usually used in the Christian setting to describe the love of a god for its creations, but I think the definition of it being an unconditional, selfless love that applies to every being fits Destiny much more) love with the Traveler and it’s reasoning for why it acts the way it does. Its desire to uplift, its attachment and sympathy for the Witness and it’s people, the way it describes the sheer honor it feels to even be present for the existence of life, its endless hope, its sacrifices, its desire for people to do right by others, its respect for autonomy and free will, it‘s all just so moving and heartfelt. It’s loves existence so dearly, in the best way it can, and suffering so immensely for that love altered the course of the universe forever.

Destiny is also not afraid to show attempts at love that have gone awry. Maya and Chioma, the Precursors‘ reasoning behind creating the Witness, Calus‘ constant pursuit of admiration, Eramis and House of Salvation, everything Xivu Arath has going on in Heresy, and much more, all prove that even when executed wrong, even when harmful and/or ignorant, believing that they are being „loving“ and the desire to be loved is still a large motivator for many actions in the game.

Finding purpose in commitments to others is a core part of these characters and the pain they cause forces the audience to consider important questions like „what is true love?“, „how can we love better?“, „when does the desire to be loved become unhealthy?“ These questions force the audience to ask WHY love is so important to Destiny‘s plot and makes them evaluate how they bring Destiny‘s messages into how they love in their own lives.

Self love is important to Destiny as well with so many plot lines involving healing, recovery, and dealing with the past. There are characters in this game that transform with time and grow into people they didn’t even think they could become, inspiring audiences to love themselves and embrace growth that’ll nurture them. Most Destiny fans I know can certainly name a moment or character that helped them overcome a struggle that kept their spirit barren and I know I can describe how self love in Destiny stirred a similar love within myself.

There is countless examples of love between friends, love between strangers, love between old enemies; love is so abundant everywhere you look in Destiny, even amongst all the devastation, that to remove it would rob Destiny of its very identity.

Destiny is about love. It’s about loving incorrectly, loving against all odds, loving to heal, loving to protect, loving spouses, loving your people, loving yourself enough to change, loving the universe, loving existence, loving enough to sacrifice for it, loving irrationally, loving enough to correct the way you love.

Destiny is about how proper love will change everything, you must simply encourage it to grow.

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Listen, they are going to bait everyone forever because their whole job doing press for this show is to maximize engagement. That’s it. Not representing upcoming plot lines with integrity, not reassuring the fan base, just getting more eyeballs on their show.

Tim is selling a product AND weirdly invested in the fandom liking him AND has a tendency to change his mind about shit that is coming up five minutes before they shoot it, rendering all his previous comments about it null and void.

Oliver has spent seven seasons dodging Those Questions AND is also weirdly invested in the fandom not turning on him AND defaults to only talking about his own character when he’s not sure what to say. “Buck thinks he killed any chance at a relationship” (or whatever he actually said, I don’t know, I don’t read the interviews 🤷🏻‍♀️) is a factual statement that is unlikely to get him into trouble in that particular interview.

Trying to make predictions based on either of these dudes is like reading tea leaves, only probably less accurate. Please stop letting them kill your vibe?

Crazy idea but I feel like maybe we should just... stop reading interviews/articles written by Buddie journalists??

We know they're going to ask biased questions and frame things in a way that gets them clicks from Buddie shippers. We know that most of them are at least moderately unprofessional, some of them wildly so.

We know that Oliver will give vague, noncommittal, and often word-salad-y answers to avoid confirming anything. We know he knows which interviewers are Buddie shippers, and that he tends to avoid stepping on toes.

We also know that Tim avoids giving away spoilers by framing things in a way that is sometimes bait-y, and that he's talked about things in interviews that never actually end up happening on the show.

I just don't know why anyone is bothering to give these writers clicks or attention. Like, we know they're baiting Buddie shippers - why are you letting them bait you?

[jojaxcola]

You've literally inspired me to wanna make my own OC mockumentaries I absolutely love your series so much 😭🙏🏻

So I wanna ask if it's alright with you, where do you get inspo for silly moments? How did you start? What are the little tidbits you've come to learn after making a few joja mockumentaries?

Awww thank you so much!! If you do end up making your own series, I hope you have a lot of fun with it, and I'd love to see it!!

(Sorry this post is late, I wanted to take my time with the answer below the cut!)

As for the "origin story" of the jojamart mockumentary and how i come up with ideas for the entries:

As for how the series started, the first time I watched The Office was on a really long flight this past October where the in-flight entertainment had all of season 3. After seeing it, it clicked why so many people loved it haha. So while riding out the rest of the flight (and for a few week after that) I thought about what it might look like if Stardew were to be adapted for television in a mockumentary-style format. (mainly just as a fun creative exercise.)

My first idea was to portray Lewis as producing an in-universe documentary to highlight Pelican Town as a whole, with the corrupting influence of Joja growing as time went on (No. 9 is probably the closest to the original vibe but I still wanted it to be a comedy). Morris, Sam, and Shane were going to be the main characters of the JojaMart plot. But I realized that the JojaMart plot thread was the closest thing to why I enjoyed The Office (being about conflicting personalities generating absurdity in a confined space). Plus Sam is my favorite character. So that's what I ended up drawing out.

I wanted the entries to look like subtitled screencaps of out-of-context clips, mainly because I see them everywhere on the internet and they're also very easy to draw:

I liked how these kinds of posts can still be enjoyed by people who have never seen The Office before (like me before October 2024) because the humor is very self-contained. So I started off making the JojaMart entries like that.

The first few were intended to still be accessible to people who had never played Stardew Valley before, sorta like they were watching a pilot episode. Those entries had to establish the basics (Sam is the cheerful, outgoing, and annoying janitor; Shane is the grumpy alcoholic shelf stocker, Morris is their boss who cares about them in a purely performative sense, etc.).

I think the general rule of thumb I follow when portraying a particular character is to write them like I have two people in my audience: one has never played Stardew before, and the other is the character's biggest fan. I don't know how well I've followed this, but it's what I have in mind when I'm writing up scripts.

Usually for inspiration I like to comb through the characters' wiki pages. I think it's useful to look at their quotes, their liked/disliked gifts, and their trivia to find little things that can be extended into a little story. For example, no. 17 was inspired by the fact that Jodi gives the player the ice cream recipe and says that it won first place in a cooking competition, and no. 18 (which followed up on 17) was inspired by a quote by Sam wondering if his mother was really happy with her life. I think it's really fun to try and combine different facts about the characters!

Some other sources of inspiration I have are:

Wanting to use a particular line of dialogue (e.g., "He kinda has this vibe that really screams 'divorced'" in no. 11)

Wanting to use a particular shot (e.g., Pierre being covered up with ads in no. 9)

Wanting to show a specific headcanon (e.g., Sam doing impressions in no. 5)

I hope this is helpful! Good luck with your work :)

[canonkiller]

catching up on Things I Like: childhood edition

1. Mega Bloks Dragons: both the toy line and the animated movies were, as one can expect, a heavy feature of my childhood. I continue to inflict the movies on my friends as an adult, because it's fun. there's a lot of evidence for how I stylize dragons in the movies, especially with Thoron

enjoy my badly handmade gifs.

2. Hot Wheels World Race / Acceleracers: were I not born with glass bones and paper skin I would be doing extreme sports or racing and I know this in my bones. I was deeply envious of the cars in this show / movie (I had the movie version on DVD)

Most of the gifs are of the characters so here's a PNG of a car instead. I loved this fucking thing

3. Rune Factory Frontier: full disclosure, I've never managed to beat this game, because I am bad at the fighting parts. However. I think it's a delight (barring a few specific parts that I really wish were left out, but such is life) and also I can say with confidence that as an 11 year old I wanted to look like the protagonist so bad. It shaped a lot of my opinions on game design and UI, that's for sure.

4. Spider Riders: I feel like every time this was on tv it was one of the same three episodes but I still watched it every time anyway. I was also deathly afraid of spiders at the time. to this day idk what the fuck the plot is, but whenever I think back on things I used to watch, I think yeah, I liked spider riders, I should actually watch it some day.

5. Power Rangers Dino Thunder: I need not say more. also the reason I briefly took karate classes as a kid

[tsscat]

I don’t think it’s misplaced to critique the racial aspect of this because even if the intent is the symbolism of innie’s autonomy, because ultimately, it’s presented as a white man abandoning a woman of color for a white woman. Yes, there is a lot of context as to why this is happening, but the moment in and of itself has clear racial undertones.

You can tell these undertones also by way of people’s underlying, racially-motivated reactions. I’ve seen a lot of people in this tag over the past few days react gleefully, jeeringly at Gemma’s suffering, as they have previously, due to Mark’s decisions. People talk a lot about not pitting Gemma and Helly against each other, but let’s be honest, it’s primarily white Helly fans who “want MarkHelly to win” doing this to bash a woc character to elevate a white woman.

Now I don’t expect show writers to constantly be thinking about their audience’s reaction to things, that would be a terrible way to write. The reaction I describe is also definitely also missing the themes of the finale. But I do think that when you present racialized dynamics like this, people are more likely to respond in this way.

This is also not the only case of poorer treatments of characters of color in this season, with Dylan being treated as secondary and Reghabi being completely forgotten so that Cobel could step in (I get she’ll probably come back, but still).

That being said, I think you are right that it is ultimately unfinished (though a season is meant to be a complete thing in and of itself, but that’s another convo), and there is more to come. I think I have more mixed feelings for Gemma’s storyline given the themes of reproduction, fertility, and childbirth that have existed throughout the entire show. And I do think a lot of this had to do with racist casting standards. But racist casting is also intertwined with how these characters are treated in their plot lines. And I don’t think people are missing the point of the finale if they critique that.

Edit/add-on: If there's one thing I hope for I do think the ending of the finale sets up a lot of opportunities for Gemma as a character, so again, there's definitely a lot a season 3 would add to this.

the critiques of the severance finale wrt essentially (i)markhelly vs (o)markgemma keep hitting weird and ringing misplaced. to me. and i'm trying to articulate why and it's like. i think that the mark (pun not intended) of a valid racial critique is being missed by positing "gets chosen by mark" as the measuring stick that decides if the finale was Good or Bad.

my good faith take is that severance is ultimately working towards that final nirvana of synthesis, with dylanists having been framed as the more emotionally fulfilling, more fair, more peaceful path towards freedom vs the necessary but violent rebellion of mark and helly, both hellyists (and i don't think severance wants us to think they are in the wrong - helena and (o)mark are far more abusive to their innies than (o)dylan ever was. they have dug their heels in and refuse to relinquish their control over their subjugated selves, as opposed to (o)dylan. which is a far more common and expected reaction from those in power.) BUT. but. mark is not yet reintegrated. a complete mark reintegration is going to be an extremely momentous event upon which everything will revolve, when it happens. we are not at a point within the narrative where we can consider mark a single character (yet).

(i)mark has always been the main character. the arc of the show has always been about the innies fighting to first discover and then secure their personhood. severance is a rebellion storyline, an oppression allegory. like christ alive, we got the *stands on a table* we are many, they are few! speech.

(i)mark doesn't know that he (he! the mark synthesis! the mark final form!) loves gemma. i don't care about (i)mark and helly as a ship, i don't care to think about them in Scenarios or AUs or what have you. BUT i care about mark and helly as the vehicle through which severance explores and signifies choice and humanity. i find that deeply moving - that last moment of (innie!) mark chosing himself as an entity separate from (o)mark, chosing even a handful of minutes more of life and love and independence from the powers that be - it's a triumph. the show was always going to lead us here. lumon may or may not try to kill (o)mark, but there's (in the innies minds, at that moment) not a universe where (i)mark and helly get to live. they are in a doomed timeline. they have nothing, not even their flesh belong to them. they are so suffocatingly denied or personhood that to steal even one more moment together they must kidnap their own bodies.

THAT SAID.

that said. i have talked about how annoyed i am that gemma's motivation was "ohh woman can't have baby". i think that writing choice was lazy. believable, sure, and it makes sense within the narrative, but i hate it. it's reductive, it's objectifying. i wish they had given gemma more life beyond "marks dead wife", i wish we had gotten to know her as a person as complex and moody as mark scout.

i am also tired of allegories for oppression being filled with white faces.

the racial problem in the helly/mark/gemma dynamic exists within what i can only think to call the infrastructure of showmaking. with diversity being applied as a coat of paint to the outer edges of a cast, rather than roles being written for non-white people, or letting main characters be non-white. there's no reason why gemma couldn't be white and helly asian, or mark, or all of them, except racism in casting.

ON THE OTHER HAND.

i try not to judge shows before the story is completed. to let a non-white character end a story unhappy or in tragedy might often be an afterthought of racism in storytelling but it doesn't have to be. we have been shown that severance can handle a complex racial narrative with milchick. i am hoping that the same will happen with gemma, either because of critiques currently being made or because they have always planned to address her racial identity in relation to both mark, helly, and lumon, but we haven't gotten there yet.

or they might not.

they might have filled their talking-about-race quota, and the intersection of racism and misogyny might be a tragic, infuriating blind spot in the severance writers room. idk man, maybe we just need to give the writers the benefit of the doubt. only time will tell. and if they fuck it up we will still have our hammers next season

[nephilimeq]

Why I think Buck/Tommy is endgame

I honestly think the two of them are going to end up together in the end because of the fact that we had no idea that Lou was going to be in the most recent episode. This tells me that they are keeping a very tight lid on what's actually happening with the plot lines because they don't want fan interference.

If the show is consistent about anything, it is consistent with how it sets up it's endgame couples, and that is with this exact type of dynamic. We saw it with Henrietta and Karen, Athena and Bobby, and Maddie and Chimney.

...And the fact is we are seeing aspects of all three of those endgame relationships in this relationship. Hen and Karen dealt with instability because of Hen cheating, and it's obvious from how Tommy reacted to Buck and Eddie's friendship (specifically in regards to how he perceived their friendship) that he has dealt with someone who was unfaithful in the past and is being exceedingly cautious...but problem is he won't talk about it.

Then you have Bobby and Athena, who rushed into their relationship and hit some unexpectedly rocky areas because they didn't actually know each other as well as they realized after they got married, which is echoed in how Buck and Tommy rushed into aspects of their relationship, such as when Buck asked Tommy to move in with him and Tommy pulled back. People say that Bobby isn't impulsive, but he asked Athena to marry him so quickly, sooo...like father like son?

Maddie and Chimney. They developed an incredible friendship and then fell in love over time after forming a strong emotional bond—but then a lot of Maddie's trauma (which she hadn't really talked about) came bubbling up and caused huge rifts between them that they had to work through. This is the same with Buck and Tommy with regards to some sort of previous relationship trauma that has been hinted at in Tommy's past because of how he has been reacting by running every time he thinks he's about to get his heart broken (ie, like Maddie running because she doesn't want to hurt the people in her life).

I feel like there are echoes of all of those other three relationships into their relationship because the two of them are meant to be endgame.

Mind you, I'm assuming that the writers for the show are doing this on purpose.

They could also just be lazy and leaning on to old tropes.

Fingers crossed.

[somuchwatersoclosetohome]

good morning job seekers here are my thoughts on last night's stage/fright!! others have covered the main plot points and points of interest so this is literally ~1000 words of self-indulgent inane drivel that i wrote in my notes app at 1am (so sorry if there's misremembered lines / typos etc.), you're welcome

(will edit as i remember more stuff)

spoilers for stage/fright 22/03 evening show

le general observations

ok first up let me just say the VIBES for this show were IMPECCABLE. as many of you know this is my third watch and i feel like the energy this time was j u i c y

this time and the last time i went were both saturday evenings which i think can be good? like this audience were super engaged but not overly rowdy... it felt the right level of keen-ness that the company were responding to

all of this to say that it definitely looked to me as if the company but especially R&S were 👏 feeling 👏 themselves 👏

also means that when y'all go and see s/f be keeeeen!! they really respond to (the appropriate amount of) whooping and hollering at the right moments. i mean they literally say in the programme "you can't hear smiles" lol and we all know about reece's experiences with the 'corpses' in the producers lmao

speculation.com, i wonder if the company are feeling this but i'm definitely acutely aware that there's <2 weeks left of the run now 🥺 (where did all the time go???), which i'm trying hard not to think about because (1) sad and (2) what will i base my personality on from 6 april 2025

i’m going to cry SO HARD on the final shows

act 1

R&S got a muuuuch longer applause than i've seen previously when they come out in front of the curtain post-hamlet / a house divided scene to introduce the show. like the applause and wooping went on what felt like a solid minute. they looked happy it was cute!!

paul whitehouse was the hostage and lmaoooo did the guy milk it. the bit where they ask him what he's been in he just kept going listing stuff for aaaages

BUT it looked like R&S were having a great time here. i mean tbh reece spent most of this section with his back to the audience or adjusting his moustache bc he was lol'ing so much

an EXCELLENT fast show reference when paul has to do the spanish accent on the phone and len/eddie comes out with "SCORCHIO" iykyk

covered elsewhere but eddie knows paul from gone fisting / gone girl (and one other that i have neglected to remember)

paul whitehouse cannot play the trumpet. like at all. no sound was produced (len/eddie even says "try turning it on" and mimes switching it on haha)

len/eddie/steve's voice goes so high when he says "it's jUst a sTiCK of ceLerY" and tommy/ray/reece visibly loses it cracking up

🚨 jeremy dyson callout 🚨 as paul is leaving he said something about working with the clever/smart one jeremy dyson haha

also from the BCDR wider bit, tommy's voice crack on "you almost died len" was hearTBREAKING reece nailed it 10/10

act 2

let me open this section with HUGO my one true love this character has grown on me so much and he is honestly such a highlight. he needs his own spin-off tbh

reece was also playing hugo turned up to 11 imo

hugo/reece got a full on applause for his elements song dance number i was so happy!! last couple of times i've seen it's just got some laughs but this time people clapped for ages again to the point they had to wait for people to stop clapping before they could continue. YES BBY YOU'RE AMAZING

hugo did the leg amputation bit SO exaggeratedly this time, from the "this one sir?" to dragging the bone saw along the tray when he takes it from madam cragg

in general the p h y s i c a l i t y of reece in this production is just something else. he does it as eddie and hugo and the fucking bunny hops and exaggerated movement are just so good and make such a difference so thank you rs for the commitment to the bit

between the last time i saw s/f and this time i learned about the concept of sleeve garters (i think thanks to @vagueeyes) and now i noticed them on goudron muahah

i'd picked up from others' watches to watch marcus during the trepanning scene and yes! very worth it!! he mouthes along with the lines very nice detail

every time i've seen the musical number R&S have both looked sooo happy and again tonight. honestly petition for both of them but especially r to be in a fully fledged musical bc he smiles so much in this segment man is in his element

standing ovation 💖💖💖

stage door

right ok so first my GOD i have not seen the line this long so far?? like it literally went from the stage door around the corner onto charing cross rd and almost back to the main entrance of the theatre?? and they still came out and signed everything for everyone that was waiting 😭 true kings i'm still in awe at how they just... don't have to do this at all and yet they still do and they're so patient with everyone

i mean i said nothing of note to them bc i was on cloud 9 (hur hur) but just !!! thank you for coming out

i noticed this last time i went but absolute lols how steve is always the always the one carrying all the gift bags etc. from fans and reece is entirely unencumbered (apart from infamous CAT bag) like yas king go off

i overheard someone asking steve if there was going to be a DVD of the show and he said no 😔 but i wonder, who knows if you can trust these jokers... theres_been_a_twist.mp4

and THEN i had A Thought: imagine the concept - a filmed version of stage/fright with a commentary a la TLoG shows..... please simon evans do it for the fans

omg this is so long and i've said like nothing of note hahahaha ok well thanks for sticking with it

(oh also i'm actually writing this from the afterlife because i touched reece's hand)