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[ylangelegy]

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one. 

[littlelamy]

hi!! love ur work!!

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

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

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

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

and then there was him.

drew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it was him.

drew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you weren’t letting him go anytime soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eventually, though, reality crept back in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wonwoonlight]

when he finds out you're sick through the internet

A/N: idol!au. OC is also a celebrity though I don't explicitly say what. tiny teensy angst bc cheol is a worried Boyfriend💔 1.5k words! another random word vomits bc that's the only way i know how to write now lol idk why but everytime i write this kinda fic it's always seungcheol looooooooooooooool. not proofread, but enjoy!

[part 2]

Seungcheol doesn't really get angry.

For the three years you've known him in which you've dated him for two, you've only seen him actually get angry a total number of three times. None of them was directed at you, and all of them are for reasons that you would've exploded upon way before he did.

Seungcheol is patient and rational.

Seungcheol is normally patient and rational.

But he's never normal when it comes to you. And even though the patient bit still stands, nothing about his feelings towards you is ever rational. He's a little too emotional, a little too rash, and a little too worrisome when it comes to your wellbeing.

So when he's relaxing in the practice room during a break with his members, for once not on his phone because he's charging it somewhere on one of the tables, and he hears Seungkwan gasps a little upon his phone, he thinks there's another scandal blowing up upon the industry. But when the younger guy's blown out eyes meet him, colors drained from his face, Seungcheol hates that he knew it could mean one thing: something happened to you.

He shoots up almost immediately, not registering any words that come out of Seungkwan's mouth. His hands shake a little when he unlocks his phone, and his heart drops when he reads the official post from your company's twitter account that states your current condition, that you might need to pause your activities for the time being due to health reasons, apologizes for the worries, and asks for the fans' understanding.

He wants to get angry.

At who, he’s not sure.

At your company, for pushing you even though they know your schedule is practically inhumane? At your manager, for not making sure that you have decent rest in between schedules? At you, because he’s been telling you to fucking stop running towards whatever goal you have in mind but you insist that you know your limit and you’ll know when to stop?

Apparently, no you fucking don’t because else this wouldn’t have happened.

The rest of the members look at him in worry, and Jeonghan silently walks to their manager and the other staff to let them know about the situation at hand, that Seungcheol would probably not be in his best state to continue practice at the moment. The leader would probably insist that they continue anyway, but they’ve practiced for almost five hours already anyway and they could spare an hour or two for the leader when it’s clear that he’s worried beyond measure.

Seungcheol bites his lip as he tries to call you, his concern skyrocketing by the seconds the longer the beeping sound goes, no sign of you picking it up. He tries one more time, but you still don’t answer and he’s about to hurl his phone at the wall when your manager calls him instead, tells him that he sees his name flashing on your phone, informs your whereabouts, and that he should just drop by your place in a few hours if he wants to see you because right now you’re still sleeping in the car and he’s taking you home.

He finds it hard to say anything, a lump growing in his throat until he manages to swallow it down and ask how you’re doing right now.

“She’s… exhausted.” Your manager says quietly. “I know it’s my job to take care of her but… you know her. She didn’t tell me that she’s been having a hard time sleeping at night the past few weeks and it finally took a toll on her.”

It’s hard to suppress his anger, his breath heavier than usual though it’s not too noticeable unless they know Seungcheol. He wants to scream at your manager, but he knows it won’t do anyone any good and it’s really not the time nor the place for that. So he mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ before he hangs up, his members looking at him with a mix of worry and understanding when he looks up at them.

“Go.” Soonyoung says. “We’ve practiced enough today. Take care of your girlfriend and tell us later.”

Seungcheol nods and sprints out of the room, beyond thankful that his members always have his back.

Seungcheol is glaring at you when you wake up, though the way his thumb is still softly caressing your head and the worry in his eyes clearly tell you that his anger is nowhere near his distress. 

You offer him a weak smile, unable to defend yourself because you know what his eyes are scolding you for.

“Sorry?” You whisper and immediately cringe at how dry your throat feels.

He doesn’t say anything as he helps you sit down and hands you your favorite mug. Taking in the moment, you frown at how weak you feel, though you really only have yourself to blame because you genuinely thought you’re okay and you can take it.

You know it’s on you for taking as many schedules as possible, practically everything that your company offers you even when your manager says he doesn’t think it’s physically possible for you to do all that in such a short span.

Thinking about it now, you realize that your manager and the rest of your team also gets the short end of the stick through your decision. Him, your make up team, and your stylists would all need to be with you and your ambition forgets to consider their wellbeing even when you wrongly claim you would be able to handle it.

Guilt starts to eat you inside out, and it grows even larger as you see Seungcheol in front of you–didn’t he say he had practice today?–his face screams distressed and his shoulders tense since God knows when.

“Hey, talk to me.” He says softly when he notices you’ve been spacing out and you’re nibbling on your lip like you would when you’re anxious, taking away your mug before enveloping your hands with his.

You tear up almost immediately, and he moves to sit on the edge of your bed to usher you into his chest, patiently listens to your nonsense as you try to talk through your tears. He gets the gist of it: sorry–manager–company–wellbeing–my team–didn’t think it through–made you worry–overestimated myself–sorry–and the list goes on. He exhales as he hugs you tighter, both understanding and upset at the turns of events.

Being in the same industry, he gets what you’re trying to do, understands that you feel the need to keep on running while you’re able to, relates that you’re doing everything for yourself and your fans. But still, it’s hard not to be upset to know you’re pushing yourself too hard when he’s been telling you there’s no need to run as fast as you are without resting; that you’ll only hurt yourself one way or another and he hates that the one time he needs to be right, it’s this.

You end up laying down against his chest on your bed, hiccups and sniffles filling your bedroom along with a random song he’s humming against your head. You pull away to properly look at him, the first time you’re doing it since you woke up earlier, and his hum stops in question.

“Thank you.” You manage to whisper, your fingers grasping the front of his shirt without even realizing. “For being here when I woke up.”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why you’re thanking him, simply leans down to plant a long, chaste kiss against your forehead before he pulls up your blanket so it’ll cover you properly.

“Just… don’t surprise me like that again, okay?” His breath is warm against your face, pleasantly so, and you nod as you promise him that you’ll take better care of yourself moving forward. 

“Are you staying the night?”

“Yes, I’ll return to the dorm the day after tomorrow. They’ve given me a day off.” You cringe at his words, though thankful that he’s been in the industry long enough to attain that kind of privilege. But still, you feel bad that you’re obstructing his practice and his members just because you’re foolish enough to– “Hey. Stop. I know what you’re thinking. No need to feel bad. I’m actually glad I get to rest with you.”

“But–”

“No buts. The kids can do without me for a day.” He playfully bumps his forehead against yours, his lips hover above yours merely centimeters apart.  He doesn’t meet your lips, though he kisses their corner sweetly and wraps you back into his embrace to the point where there’s no space between you two. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good night, Cheol.”

“Night, baby.”

“See you in my dream?”

“I’ll see you anywhere you want me to be.”

He hugs you tighter, and you try your best to return the gesture despite the awkward position of your arms. It’s uncomfortable and you’re sure your arms will be sore the next morning.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when you succumb to sleep and find Seungcheol smiling at you on the other side of your dream, as real as he can be.

cont.

[hetalian-veteran]

The Draw of the Hetalia Fandom (and Why You Can Never Leave)

From the perspective of a fan of (technically) twelve years or so.

Something occurred to me a while back, and I wanted to share it to get other people's thoughts. I'll try to add funny pictures and gifs to break up the wall of text so it won't be as exhausting to read.

I made a post the other day about how the Hetalia fandom always draws you back in. This was, of course, based on the joke about how you can never really leave the Hetalia fandom. A joke you can find virtually everywhere you look in fan spaces online.

But this begs the question. Why? Why can't you ever truly leave the Hetalia fandom? What is it about this fandom that consistently draws you back in?

And note that people don't talk about Hetalia itself, but rather its fandom. You could stop watching the show or reading the comics for years, but the fandom is what won't fully leave you be.

(The Hetalia fandom every time you check to see if it's dead yet).

One answer I've heard has to do with the phenomenon known as Associative Memory, where you can learn and remember the relationship between unrelated items.

For example, you watch Hetalia, a series about the countries of the world personified as anime characters. These characters have their own personalities, traits, quirks, etc. And the more you watch the show and get into the fandom, the more you start to associate these things with one another.

For instance, someone can say the word Italy, and I'll start thinking about Feliciano Vargas. Or someone could say the name Matthew Williams, and I automatically associate that with Canada. Or I could see bushy eyebrows and immediately start thinking of APH England. Heck, someone starts talking about Vikings and my thoughts almost always go to the Viking Trio of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. I could go on, but you get the idea.

And there's also the fact that we live in a world full of the countries that the show has personified characters of, which would in turn likely remind you of Hetalia.

But there's something more here going on. I've thought about it for a long while, and I think I've realized one of the biggest reasons why you can't fully leave the fandom.

It's because of how versatile the characters of the series can be in fan content. Allow me to explain.

(Me preparing to explain to everyone the epiphany that came to me one dark, stormy night).

Hetalia is a series with literally no plot. Like, zero. Some episodes may impact each other, but the overall series is episodic in nature. The only episodes you'd have to watch in order would be the ones going over the miniature love story between Chibitalia and HRE. And then there's the sequence of episodes going over the Industrial Revolution in season seven, and then the sequence of episodes explaining the relationship between Czechia and Slovakia. But that's it. And the Industrial Revolution and Czechia and Slovakia episodes aired in the latter seasons, long after the fandom was already very big and well established.

The episodes are largely adaptations from the original webcomic and thus are all a bunch of skits haphazardly thrown together. So I'll reiterate what I said earlier; there is no real, canonical plot to Hetalia. There are canon events and facts about canon characters, but seeing as the show is largely skits, they aren't tied down to any real narrative.

(The Hetalia fandom whenever they're given a piece of canon they don't like).

This leaves a lot of room for headcanons. Which leads to fans sharing their headcanons online. And when headcanons get super popular, they become fanon. And when a piece of fanon gets super popular, where it finds itself getting mingled with fanart, fanfiction, and even fan theories, you'll have people who start to confuse it with actual canon. There's really a lot to be said for the wild fanon of Hetalia, but I'll get to that another day. I need to turn the focus back onto the characters themselves.

I'm just gonna put it out there. The Hetalia characters are largely one-note. This isn't to say there isn't some depth to a few of the characters, but these characters are largely the epitome of "what you see is what you get." Especially in the early days of the series. The characters all have a set of straightforward, basic character traits, with their interpersonal relationships often being displayed in a very simplistic manner.

For example, Italy is a pasta-loving coward who's a massive flirt. Germany is strict and authoritative with a no-nonsense attitude. Japan is quiet and soft-spoken, only speaking up when he feels the need. America is a bombastic dork with a hero complex. England is an arrogant stick in the mud. France is a hopeless romantic who flirts with anything that has a pulse.

(Me taking a moment to pause and push away the cringy middle school memories of me shamelessly fangirling in class).

And as I said, their relationships are typically portrayed as simplistic as well. Italy annoys Germany, but Germany doesn't want to get rid of him because he's one of his only friends. England and France hate each other. America is that hyper-extroverted friend trying to get his introverted friend, Japan, out of his shell. Switzerland and Lichtenstein have a sweet sibling dynamic. And Prussia and Austria are portrayed as old friends who like to antagonize one another.

Because of the way the characters and their interpersonal relationships are written, this also lends them open to a lot of headcanons and eventual fanon. Not to mention that most of the characters have canon, human names. So if you want to use these characters in a fanfiction, particularly one where you don't want to depict them as countries (which is most fanfics), you have names at the ready that you can use.

And because of the simple way the characters are written, you can potentially write or portray these characters however you want in fanwork without too many people complaining that someone "isn't in character." There is so much room for your own interpretations of the characters. As long as you keep some of their basic personality traits from the series intact, you can portray the characters however you want. Especially because there's no real canonical storyline to drag them down. Because of the lack of canon storyline, you don't have to worry about fanworks being canon-compliant, canon-divergent, or canon-adjacent.

(Fanfic writers when they realize canon cannot stop them from creating whatever they want).

Do you want to portray Romano as the notorious mafia boss, Lovino Vargas, in the 1930s? Go ahead. As long as you can keep some of his cowardly and stubborn nature intact, you can do what you want with little trouble.

Do you want to portray England as the infamous pirate, Arthur Kirkland, in the 17th century? As long as you maintain his disdain for France, have at it!

Do you want to write a college AU with all of the characters present? As long as you keep in mind their personalities and have a basic understanding of their interpersonal relationships, have fun!

Now you're probably sitting there thinking, "Big deal, people can create all kinds of fanwork, regardless of what its content is, or what property it's for. What makes the Hetalia fandom so special?"

It's special because, since Hetalia is a series with almost zero canonical storylines, and the characters are portrayed in such a simplistic way, both of which lend their way to boatloads of headcanons and fanon, as well as small scraps of canon information that we can choose to either ignore or elaborate like crazy on...

Hetalia is a freaking goldmine for creating all kinds of fan content.

(Hetalians when creating the 2p! variations of the characters, probably).

So much fan content is out there. From creepypastas, to Hetaoni, Dreamtalia, the 2p! characters, historically accurate AU's, school AU's, and so, so much more. All because the canon is just loose enough to allow all kinds of fan content to be created and not seem too far off from the series or characters.

And that fan content ends up being way, way more fun than the actual series itself! Don't get me wrong, I still love the show, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't (or currently don't) have a freaking blast every time I engage with fan content. The creativity is insane, and the fanon is even more fun and entertaining.

The reason you cannot fully leave the Hetalia fandom isn't just because of Associative Memory, but because of the immense amount of fan content and fanon where, because of the nature of the series, you can do, write, draw, and create whatever you want. You can project onto these characters and their stories and interpret them to your own personal tastes. And you know what? That's a heck of a lot of fun.

And there you go, that's my two cents.

[jenosonlywife23]

Paint me in your colors

request;hiii can I request friends to lovers with jaemin idol au pls（＾ω＾） Hope you like this anon!!!

The world knew him as Na Jaemin, the idol. The sweet talker with the dazzling smile, the performer who made hearts race on stage. But to you, he was just Jaemin—your best friend, the boy who used to sneak into your apartment at midnight with takeout and stories from his never-ending schedule. The boy who, despite the flashing cameras and screaming fans, always came back to you.

Lately, though, things had shifted. The playful teasing, the lingering touches, the way his gaze felt heavier when he looked at you—it was different. And it scared you. Because Jaemin wasn’t just your best friend. He was the person you couldn’t lose.

“Are you even listening?” His voice cut through your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been staring at him for too long.

You were in his studio—his creative hideaway, a place far removed from the chaos of the industry. His latest project, a massive canvas propped against the wall, was a riot of colors. Swirls of red, blue, and gold covered the surface, but somehow, the real masterpiece stood in front of it, dressed in a simple hoodie and sweats, his hair still damp from practice.

“I was just... admiring the art,” you said quickly.

Jaemin smirked, setting his paintbrush down. “The canvas or me?”

You rolled your eyes, masking the way your heart hammered against your ribs. “Your ego is unbearable.”

“And yet you’re still here.” He took a step closer, and your breath caught. “Come on, help me with this.”

“Jaemin,” you groaned. “You know I can’t paint.”

He reached for your wrist, pulling you toward him with ease. “You don’t have to. Just—” He dipped his fingers into a tray of paint and, before you could react, swiped a streak of yellow across your forearm.

Your gasp was immediate. “Jaemin!”

“What?” He grinned. “Now you’re part of my art.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but the warmth of his fingers still lingered where he’d touched you. And when he handed you a brush, his gaze expectant, daring, you found yourself giving in—like you always did.

You dipped the brush into blue and dragged a line across his cheek. “Now you’re part of mine.”

Jaemin froze, his smirk faltering just slightly. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up. And suddenly, the teasing energy between you shifted, like a thread pulled too tight.

You swallowed hard. “Jaem...”

His voice was softer now. “You know, I could have anyone paint with me, but I only ever want you here.”

Your heart clenched. “Jaemin, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His fingers brushed yours, smudging paint between your hands. “Tell you the truth?”

You took a step back. “You’re an idol,” you said, the words heavy. “You have the world at your feet. I’m just... me.”

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You think any of that matters? Do you know what I do after every stage, every tour, every exhausting practice?” He took another step forward. “I come here. To you.”

Your breath hitched.

“You keep me sane,” he murmured. “You make me feel like Jaemin, not some idol everyone expects me to be.” His fingers tilted your chin up slightly. “I don’t care about the world. I just care about you.”

Everything inside you screamed to stop this. That loving an idol was a losing game. That one wrong move could ruin everything.

But then Jaemin smiled—soft, certain. Like he already knew.

And when he leaned in, you let yourself fall.

The kiss was slow, careful, like he was memorizing every second of it. His hands cupped your face, his touch warm despite the paint smearing between you. When you finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, laughter bubbling in his chest.

“So?” he murmured. “Ready to be my masterpiece?”

You smiled, your fingers tracing a smudge of color across his jaw.

“Only if you let me paint you back.”

And in that moment, with the world outside fading away, you realized—Jaemin had already painted himself into your heart long ago.

[w1w2]

The Dance We Share

Nakamura Kazuha x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 12k

Synopsis: A new member joins an already successful girl group, bringing talent, determination, and a history that threatens to disrupt the group’s harmony.

Requested by Anon

Notes: I got a bit carried away with this.. I guess I'm in my angs era.

Also, to the Anon that have requested that, please let me know if you like it

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The journey to this moment had been a whirlwind of auditions, sleepless nights, and quiet moments of doubt. Y/N had pushed herself harder than ever before, driven by an unrelenting desire to make her dreams come true. There were days when she felt invincible, buoyed by the promise of what could be, and nights when she doubted everything, the sacrifices, the exhaustion, the relentless grind. It had all led her here, to this practice room, standing on the precipice of something she had both longed for and feared.

As Y/N stepped into the room for the first time as an official member of LE SSERAFIM, a mixture of excitement and apprehension bubbled beneath her calm exterior. She was no stranger to performing, to auditions, to high-stakes environments, but this was different. This wasn’t just a group, it was a phenomenon. They had already carved their place in the industry, and now, she was expected to do the impossible: step in, catch up, and somehow shine without overshadowing.

She wasn’t just filling a spot, she was filling Garam’s spot.

The name carried weight, not just within the group but with fans, critics, and the media. Garam’s sudden departure had left a hole in LE SSERAFIM’s lineup, a gap that fans had fiercely debated how to fill, if it should even be filled at all. Social media had been abuzz with speculation when her addition was announced.

Was she the right choice? Would she fit in? Could she live up to the expectations?

These questions, along with a litany of comparisons, would undoubtedly follow her every move.

It was daunting, suffocating even, but Y/N had resolved to prove herself worthy, not just to the world, but to her new groupmates.

The atmosphere in the practice room was warm but tinged with careful politeness. Y/N could feel the subtle tension that came with welcoming a new member. They were trying, but it wasn’t effortless yet.

Chaewon, ever the responsible leader, was the first to step forward. Her smile was encouraging, her tone genuine but measured, as if she were balancing the roles of leader and mediator.

“Welcome to the family,” she said, her voice kind yet carrying the unspoken understanding that Y/N had a lot to prove.

Sakura followed, offering soft words of encouragement in Japanese that brought a flicker of comfort to Y/N’s nerves. Yunjin added a playful comment about how they could commiserate over the grueling trainee experience. Even Eunchae, the group’s youngest, greeted her with a bright, bubbly enthusiasm that made Y/N feel lighter, if only for a moment.

They were kind, supportive even, but Y/N could sense the invisible wall. They were a tight-knit team, and she was the outsider. For now.

And then there was her.

Kazuha stood apart, her presence understated yet impossible to ignore. She offered a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was none of the warmth or easy grace that lit up her face in the photos and videos Y/N had studied before joining. Her expression was carefully neutral, her eyes flitting to Y/N for the briefest second before darting away, as if the mere act of looking at her was too much to bear.

Y/N’s chest tightened.

She had prepared herself for this moment, told herself it wouldn’t matter. It had been a year since they had seen each other, a year since they had been anything to each other. And yet, standing here now, with Kazuha just a few feet away, every memory they had shared surged back to the surface like a tidal wave.

The studio smelled faintly of sweat and polished wood, but in her mind, it was the faint perfume of the ballet studio that came rushing back. The soft padding of pointe shoes, the music filling the air, the sound of Kazuha’s laugh as they perfected a lift. Late-night conversations whispered over cooling cups of tea. The quiet promises that had once felt unbreakable.

And the heartbreak.

It was a pain so sharp it had felt like it might split her in two. The suffocating ache of watching Kazuha walk away after Y/N had laid her heart bare. The way she hadn’t even looked back.

“Zuha,” she had called her back then, her voice soft, affectionate, laden with trust.

But that was a lifetime ago. A lot changed during these months. 

Now, they were strangers. Or at least, that was what they were pretending to be.

The flash of pain was gone as quickly as it had come, buried beneath the professional mask Y/N had perfected during her years of training. She couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud her now. She was here to work, to perform, to prove that she belonged.

When the first practice session began, Y/N threw herself into the choreography with everything she had. She followed the beats, absorbed every direction, and moved with a precision born of determination. The music was loud, the mirrors reflected every step, and the members exchanged approving glances.

But Kazuha kept her distance. She spoke only when necessary, her words clipped and professional. She avoided eye contact altogether.

The room was filled with music and movement, but to Y/N, it felt like they were dancing around a silent truth neither of them dared to face.

For the rest of the day, Y/N focused on the steps, on the voices of her teammates, on the beat of the music, anything but the shadow of the girl she once knew.

Anything but Kazuha.

The first days were always the hardest, and for Y/N, it was no exception.

The soft hum of music played in the background as the group gathered in the spacious practice room. The mirrored walls reflected each member, moving with synchronized precision, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel the stark contrast of her presence among them. She was hyperaware of every glance, every whispered comment exchanged in the corners, though the others had been nothing but kind.

Kazuha stood at the far end of the room, tying her sneakers with meticulous care. She hadn’t said much since the initial greeting. Their interactions had been limited to curt nods and brief, professional exchanges. And yet, the weight of Kazuha’s silence pressed down on Y/N like a tangible force, suffocating and inescapable.

As they worked through the day’s routine, the tension between them became harder to ignore. Their gazes met in fleeting moments, the kind of accidental eye contact that was too brief to hold meaning but too frequent to be unintentional. Each time, Kazuha would quickly look away, leaving Y/N wondering if she was imagining the flicker of something —guilt, regret, or even longing—in her dark eyes.

“Y/N, you’re picking up the choreography quickly,” Chaewon said, breaking the silence as the group took a short water break.

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, her lips curving into a polite smile.

“It’s impressive,” Sakura added, her tone warm. “You fit in well.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the encouragement, but her mind was elsewhere. Despite the praise, she couldn’t shake the unease that clung to her like a second skin. She stole a glance at Kazuha, who was quietly stretching in the corner, her movements fluid and precise.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her water bottle as the memories began to resurface.

The ballet studio was a place of dreams, a sacred haven where artistry met discipline. The air always carried the faint scent of resin and effort, a combination of polished wooden floors, sweat, and ambition. For Y/N, the studio had been a second home, a place where she could lose herself in the rhythm of movement, the poetry of dance. It wasn’t just the physicality of ballet that she loved but the way it demanded her soul, her entire being.

That summer had started like any other, grueling practices, blistered feet, and a fierce determination to perfect every pirouette, every arabesque. But then Kazuha arrived, and everything changed.

They first met during a partnering class at the prestigious summer intensive. Y/N had been scanning the room when her gaze landed on a girl who moved like liquid light.

Kazuha Nakamura. 

Her name was whispered in admiration by the other students, her reputation as a prodigy preceding her. Kazuha was an enigma, her movements were graceful yet powerful, her presence quiet yet commanding.

When the instructor paired them together, Y/N felt a jolt of nervous excitement. Kazuha was tall and poised, her every step brimming with elegance. Y/N couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious next to her. But the moment they began to move, everything clicked.

Their connection was instantaneous, as if their bodies instinctively understood one another. Y/N’s playful, expressive energy filled the spaces Kazuha’s disciplined movements left behind, creating a harmony that stunned even their instructors. In the span of a few weeks, they had gone from mere dance partners to a team that everyone admired.

“You two are like magnets,” their instructor had once commented, watching as they nailed a complex lift. “Completely different energies, but when you’re together, it just works.”

And it wasn’t just their dancing that brought them closer.

Outside of practice, Y/N and Kazuha were inseparable. They often stayed late at the studio, the overhead lights dimming as the evening stretched into night. Their conversations drifted from dance to life, their voices echoing in the empty hall.

Kazuha spoke with quiet passion about her dreams. Her family in Japan, her love for ballet, her desire to push herself further than anyone thought possible. Her eyes would light up as she described the feeling of losing herself in movement, as if the world disappeared and all that remained was the music.

“You make it sound magical,” Y/N had said once, lying on her back on the studio floor.

“It is magical,” Kazuha had replied softly, her head tilted to the side as she stared at the ceiling. “It’s like… you’re telling a story without words. That’s what I love most about it. It’s honest.”

It was in moments like those that Y/N found herself falling.

At first, it had been admiration, a deep respect for Kazuha’s artistry and discipline. But as the days turned into weeks, her feelings began to shift. She found herself drawn to the way Kazuha’s lips curved into a small smile when she nailed a particularly difficult routine, or the way her laugh would break through her composed exterior when Y/N teased her.

Kazuha, for all her quiet elegance, had a surprisingly goofy side. She wasn’t afraid to try ridiculous dance moves when they were alone, their laughter filling the empty studio as they dared each other to push the limits of their creativity.

“I bet you can’t do this,” Y/N had said one night, attempting an exaggerated, clumsy leap.

Kazuha had raised an eyebrow, her competitive streak flashing through. “Oh, I can do it. Better than you, actually.”

Moments like those were the foundation of their bond. It was easy, effortless, until it wasn’t.

The confession happened on one of those golden evenings when the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the studio floor. They had just finished practicing, their bodies aching from hours of work. The room was bathed in hues of amber and pink, the kind of light that made everything feel softer, dreamier.

Y/N had been pacing for the better part of an hour, building up the courage to say the words that had been burning on her tongue for weeks. Kazuha sat cross legged on the floor, oblivious, carefully unwrapping the tape from her toes.

“Zuha,” Y/N started, her voice trembling slightly.

Kazuha looked up, her expression curious. “Yeah?”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest. She had rehearsed this moment a dozen times in her head, but now that it was here, the words felt heavy, unwieldy. Taking a deep breath, she decided to just say it.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kazuha’s eyes widened, her hands freezing mid-motion. She stared at Y/N, her expression unreadable, as if she were trying to process what she had just heard. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out.

Y/N felt her stomach drop.

“I…” Kazuha finally began, her voice hesitant. She stood slowly, taking a small step back. “I can’t… I don’t know if I can do this.”

It wasn’t a rejection, not explicitly, but it felt like one. The words cut through Y/N like shards of glass. Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her composure.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said quickly, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “I just… I needed to tell you. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t okay. Not really.

For a while, they tried to pretend nothing had changed. But the tension was there, a fragile undercurrent that neither of them acknowledged. And then, weeks later, Y/N learned the truth.

Kazuha had been offered an opportunity to train in Korea, a once in a lifetime chance to pursue her dream of becoming an idol. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Y/N, until the decision was finalized.

The day Kazuha told her was one of the worst days of Y/N’s life.

“I’m leaving,” Kazuha had said, her voice breaking slightly. “I… I got an offer to train in Korea. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Y/N stared at her, disbelief and hurt swirling in her chest. “When were you going to tell me? After you were already gone?”

Kazuha looked down, guilt written across her face. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

“Too late for that,” Y/N said bitterly.

Kazuha’s voice wavered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I just… I need to follow this path.”

Y/N wanted to scream, to tell her that leaving wasn’t the only option. But she knew it would be futile. Kazuha had already made up her mind.

The goodbye was quiet, almost anticlimactic. There were no grand gestures, no promises to keep in touch. Just a hug that felt too short, a whispered apology that didn’t feel like enough, and then she was gone.

And Y/N was left behind, staring at the empty studio that once felt like home, wondering how someone who meant everything could walk away so easily.

“Ready to run it again?” Yunjin’s voice snapped Y/N back to reality.

She blinked, quickly pushing the memories aside. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

As the music started, Y/N threw herself into the routine, channeling every ounce of emotion into her movements. Her body moved with precision, her steps matching the beat perfectly. She couldn’t afford to falter, not now, not with Kazuha watching.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kazuha move to her position. Their movements were synchronized, but the distance between them felt like an ocean.

When the song ended, the group broke into applause. “You two have great chemistry,” Chaewon noted, her comment light but laced with meaning.

Y/N forced a smile, glancing at Kazuha. Her former partner said nothing, her expression unreadable as she turned away.

The tension between them lingered, a silent shadow that neither of them could escape. For Y/N, it was a constant reminder of what they had been and what they had lost.

The days leading up to the comeback were nothing short of punishing. Practice sessions stretched endlessly, often bleeding into the late hours of the night. The only constants were the pounding bassline of the title track, the mirrored walls reflecting their every move, and the collective effort to perfect a routine that demanded nothing less than excellence.

For Y/N, the grueling schedule was both a sanctuary and a battlefield. The sheer intensity of the practices left little room for her mind to wander. There was no time to dwell on the tension simmering between her and Kazuha when she was counting beats, perfecting angles, and ensuring that every step matched the rhythm. Yet, every practice session brought them closer, physically, emotionally, metaphorically. And no matter how focused she tried to be, no amount of precision could stop the unspoken emotions from creeping in, carving their way into the space between their movements.

The choreography was as intricate as it was demanding. It wasn’t just about hitting the right moves, it was about embodying a raw, rebellious energy. The routine thrived on synergy and fluidity, requiring the six of them to move as one.

But Y/N and Kazuha’s roles in the intro carried a different weight altogether.

The song’s opening was more than just choreography, it was a statement. The intro was designed to captivate, showcasing the dynamic contrasts within the group. Y/N and Kazuha were paired for this critical moment, their movements a duet of tension and harmony. It was a bold choice by the choreographer, one that placed them at the center of attention before the full routine even began.

“Alright, Y/N and Kazuha,” the choreographer called out, clapping her hands to draw everyone’s attention. “Let’s see the intro again. From the top.”

Y/N grabbed a quick sip of water, wiping the sweat from her brow before stepping into position. She felt the familiar twinge of nerves settle in her stomach as Kazuha approached. Her former partner carried herself with a calm, almost detached grace, her expression unreadable as always.

Kazuha moved into place, her posture flawless, her eyes focused somewhere beyond Y/N’s shoulder. Their proximity was unavoidable now, and for a moment, Y/N felt her breath hitch.

“Ready?” the choreographer asked, eyeing the pair.

They both nodded, and the music began.

As the opening beats thundered through the studio, their bodies moved instinctively. The intro was slower than the main choreography, a carefully choreographed interplay of motion and stillness that required complete focus. Y/N stepped forward, her hand outstretched, while Kazuha mirrored her with a sharp, fluid grace.

Their movements were designed to contrast Y/N’s bold, grounded energy against Kazuha’s airy, ethereal fluidity. They circled each other, their steps deliberate and precise, the tension between them palpable even in the silence between the beats.

The section culminated in a synchronized lift, Y/N’s hand finding Kazuha’s with a familiarity that startled her. Her palm was warm, steady, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N felt the years between them dissolve. Kazuha’s grip was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between them outside of practice.

Y/N hoisted Kazuha effortlessly, the lift smooth and fluid as Kazuha extended her limbs with perfect control. Their gazes met briefly before the sequence ended, the transition seamless as they broke apart and prepared to move into the main choreography.

For anyone watching, it was nothing short of breathtaking.

To Y/N, it was maddening.

There was something about the way their movements aligned so effortlessly, as if their bodies remembered something their minds refused to acknowledge. The tension that existed between them in silence seemed to vanish in motion, leaving behind a connection that felt... timeless.

When the music cut off, Y/N’s heart was pounding, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the exertion or something else entirely.

“That was perfect,” the choreographer said, her tone laced with satisfaction. “You two have incredible synergy.”

The compliment hung in the air like an echo. Y/N forced a small smile, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before retreating to the corner of the room. She grabbed her water bottle, taking a long sip as she tried to calm her racing thoughts.

For a moment, she felt Kazuha’s gaze on her, an almost imperceptible pull, as if the other girl was trying to bridge the distance between them with nothing but a look. But when Y/N turned her head, Kazuha had already turned away, her focus back on the choreographer’s instructions.

It was infuriating how composed she seemed, as if the connection they shared on the floor meant nothing to her.

But Y/N knew better.

There were cracks in Kazuha’s facade, subtle, fleeting, but there. The way her shoulders tensed when their hands brushed. The slight hesitation before they made eye contact during transitions. The way her voice softened, almost imperceptibly, when she gave Y/N instructions.

Y/N hated how easily she noticed these things, how her mind cataloged each moment like a keepsake she couldn’t discard.

“Let’s go again,” Chaewon’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

Y/N nodded, taking her place once more. But as the music started again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just dancing. They were navigating something far more complicated, something neither of them was ready to name.

And no amount of flawless execution could erase the tension simmering beneath the surface.

The group’s dynamic had been relatively smooth since Y/N joined. Everyone had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome, offering support during her transition into the group. Yet, there was one glaring exception: the quiet, uneasy tension between Y/N and Kazuha. It was subtle enough to avoid immediate scrutiny but persistent enough to raise eyebrows among the more observant members.

Chaewon was the first to pick up on it.

It was during one of their breaks, the group sprawled across the practice room in various states of exhaustion. Chaewon sat on the floor, absently scrolling through her phone while her eyes flicked toward Y/N and Kazuha. They were on opposite sides of the room, as usual.

Y/N sat with her back against the mirror, her phone in hand, though her furrowed brow and restless fingers suggested she wasn’t truly engaged. Kazuha, meanwhile, was perched on the edge of a bench, her focus entirely on adjusting the laces of her shoes. Her movements were deliberate and methodical, as if tying her sneakers was the most critical task in the world.

Chaewon leaned toward Sakura, keeping her voice low but pointed. “Something’s going on between those two.”

Sakura followed her gaze, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. “Y/N and Kazuha?”

Chaewon nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah. Have you noticed how... stiff they are around each other? It’s like they’re trying too hard to act normal.”

Sakura tilted her head, considering. “I thought they were just being professional. You know, new member, team dynamics, all that.”

Chaewon shook her head slightly. “It’s more than that. Look at them.” She gestured subtly with her chin.

Sakura’s eyes darted between the two, picking up on the details she’d initially dismissed. The way Y/N’s gaze flickered toward Kazuha for a fraction of a second before darting away. The way Kazuha’s shoulders stiffened every time Y/N shifted in her direction. It wasn’t the typical awkwardness of strangers learning to work together.

“You think it’s serious?” Sakura asked after a pause.

Chaewon exhaled quietly, leaning back against the mirror. “I don’t know, but it’s definitely not nothing.”

Sakura hummed in agreement, crossing her arms. “Should we say something?”

“Not yet,” Chaewon replied after a moment of thought. “They’re not making it anyone else’s problem yet. But if it starts affecting the group, we’ll have to step in.”

Sakura’s gaze lingered on Kazuha, who had finished tying her shoes and was now leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her expression unreadable. “You think it’s awkward ex energy?” she asked, half-joking but with a flicker of curiosity.

Chaewon smirked faintly, shaking her head. “I’m not playing detective. But whatever it is, they need to figure it out.”

“Maybe we should lock them in a room together,” Sakura said dryly.

Chaewon snorted, shooting her a sidelong glance. “Let’s try not to escalate things just yet.”

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, though Chaewon’s eyes drifted back to Y/N and Kazuha. She could feel the tension between them even from across the room, a charged undercurrent that made her uneasy. She just hoped it would sort itself out before it became a problem for the group.

For Y/N, every interaction with Kazuha felt like walking a tightrope. On the surface, they were cordial, exchanging polite words when necessary. But beneath the veneer of professionalism, there was a storm of unresolved emotions.

One moment, Y/N would catch herself watching Kazuha, her chest tightening with the remnants of affection she couldn’t quite bury. The next, the memory of their last goodbye would surface, twisting the affection into a dull ache of resentment.

Why was it so hard to let go?

It didn’t help that Kazuha was an enigma. She maintained a polite distance, never giving too much or too little. But Y/N could see the cracks in her composure, the fleeting moments when her gaze would soften, when her lips would part as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

One evening after practice, Y/N found herself lingering in the studio longer than usual, stretching out her sore muscles. She thought she was alone until she heard a soft voice behind her.

“You did well today.”

She turned to find Kazuha standing a few feet away, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. It was the first time Kazuha had spoken to her outside of practice instructions.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, her tone clipped.

There was an awkward pause. Kazuha opened her mouth as if to say more, but the words never came. Instead, she gave a small nod and walked away, leaving Y/N with a swirl of frustration and confusion.

By the end of the following week, the rest of the group had picked up on the awkward dynamic. Eunchae, ever the curious and straightforward maknae, was the first to address it, albeit clumsily.

“Unnie,” she said one afternoon, plopping down beside Y/N during a break. “Why are you and Kazuha unnie so weird with each other?”

Y/N choked on her water, her eyes widening in surprise. “Weird? We’re not weird.”

Eunchae tilted her head, unconvinced. “You don’t talk much. And when you do, it’s all… stiff.”

Before Y/N could respond, Yunjin sauntered over, grinning. “Don’t mind Eunchae. She’s just nosy.”

“I’m not nosy!” Eunchae protested.

“You kind of are,” Yunjin teased before turning to Y/N. “But she’s not wrong. You and Zuha have been... tense.”

Y/N bristled, unsure of how to respond. She hated that their tension was becoming so obvious, but what could she say? That the girl she was avoiding was also the girl who had once held her heart?

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said finally, standing up and brushing off her leggings. “We’re just adjusting. That’s all.”

Kazuha wasn’t faring much better. She kept her distance, not because she wanted to but because she didn’t know how to bridge the gap. Every time she looked at Y/N, she was reminded of the past.

She wanted to apologize, to explain, to somehow make things right. But every time she tried, the words got stuck in her throat. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t sound hollow?

One night, as she sat alone in her dorm room, she stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over Y/N’s contact. She had never deleted the number, though she hadn’t used it in over a year.

“I’m sorry. Can we talk? Let me explain.” The words sat in the message box, stark and inadequate.

With a frustrated sigh, she deleted the message and tossed her phone aside. Apologizing wouldn’t change the past. It wouldn’t erase the hurt she had caused.

For now, all she could do was focus on the work and hope that time would dull the edges of their shared pain.

The final straw came after a particularly grueling practice session. Chaewon called for a break, and while the others dispersed to grab water or collapse onto the floor, she motioned for Sakura to follow her.

“Kazuha,” Chaewon called softly, her voice cutting through the chatter.

Kazuha looked up from where she was sitting, her expression calm but guarded. “Yes, unnie?”

“Can we talk for a minute?” Chaewon asked, her tone gentle but firm.

Sakura leaned against the mirror, her arms crossed as Kazuha hesitated before nodding. The three moved to a quieter corner of the room, away from the others’ prying eyes.

“What’s going on with you and Y/N?” Chaewon asked directly, her eyes fixed on Kazuha.

Kazuha’s posture stiffened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “What do you mean?” she said carefully, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Chaewon sighed, her expression softening. “You know what I mean. This tension between you two, it’s getting harder to ignore. It’s affecting the energy in the room.”

“We’re not asking to pry,” Sakura added, her tone calm but insistent. “But if there’s something unresolved, it’s better to deal with it now before it starts affecting the group.”

For a moment, Kazuha said nothing, her gaze dropping to the floor. She seemed to be waging an internal battle, her jaw tightening as she struggled to find the words. Finally, she exhaled a shaky breath.

“Y/N and I… we knew each other before,” she admitted quietly.

Sakura and Chaewon exchanged a glance but remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“We were close,” Kazuha continued, her voice tinged with guilt. “Back when we were both training in ballet. She… she confessed to me.”

Chaewon’s brow furrowed slightly. “And?”

Kazuha swallowed hard. “I didn’t handle it well. I was overwhelmed, and then I got the offer to train in Korea. I left without… without really talking to her about it. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time, but looking back, I know I hurt her. Badly.”

Sakura’s expression softened, a hint of understanding in her eyes. “And now that you’re working together again, it’s bringing all of that back.”

Kazuha nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to apologize, but… I don’t know how.”

Chaewon placed a comforting hand on Kazuha’s shoulder. “You can’t change the past, but if you’re serious about making things right, you need to be honest with her. Avoiding the issue is only making it worse for both of you.”

Kazuha nodded, though her face was shadowed with uncertainty.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Eunchae had planted herself beside Y/N, her wide eyes studying her unnie with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“You’re not yourself today,” Eunchae said, her voice light but probing.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

Yunjin joined them, plopping down on the floor with a dramatic groan. “Tired or avoiding something?”

Y/N shot her a sharp look, but Yunjin’s grin was disarming. “Don’t give me that face,” she said. “It’s written all over you. Something’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N insisted, though her voice lacked conviction.

Eunchae tilted her head, her tone uncharacteristically serious. “Is it about Kazuha unnie?”

Y/N stiffened, her eyes darting toward the younger girl. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re weird around her,” Eunchae said simply.

Yunjin chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Subtle, Eunchae. Really subtle.”

Y/N sighed again, this time heavier. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Yunjin asked gently.

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, she considered brushing them off, but the genuine concern in their eyes made her pause. She didn’t want to unload everything, but maybe letting a little out wouldn’t hurt.

“We… have history,” Y/N admitted vaguely.

Eunchae’s eyes widened “Kinda. And it didn’t end well.”

Yunjin hummed thoughtfully. “Well, whatever happened back then, it’s obvious there’s still something between you two. Whether it’s anger, regret, or something else, it’s not going to go away unless you deal with it.”

Y/N bit her lip, unsure how to respond. Part of her knew they were right, but the thought of confronting Kazuha felt like reopening a wound that had barely begun to scar.

Later that evening, the group wrapped up practice, the exhaustion settling over everyone like a heavy fog. The mirrored walls reflected six tired faces, flushed with the effort of hours spent perfecting their routines. Slowly, the others began to gather their things, the hum of quiet conversation mixing with the rustling of bags and the clinking of water bottles.

Y/N lingered behind, her body stretched across the wooden floor as she worked through the tight ache in her legs. The solitude was welcome, a brief reprieve from the constant presence of her teammates. She needed these moments to collect herself, to push aside the day’s frustrations, most of which seemed to revolve around one person.

“Y/N.”

The sound of her name, spoken softly yet distinctly, made her freeze mid-stretch. She knew the voice instantly.

Turning slowly, she saw Kazuha standing a few feet away. The other girl’s posture was hesitant, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. There was something in her expression that Y/N couldn’t quite place, an almost fragile determination.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, her tone neutral but tinged with weariness.

Kazuha shifted her weight, her fingers fidgeting as if they didn’t know where to rest. “I… I wanted to talk,” she said, her voice steady but quiet.

Y/N straightened, crossing her arms. Her posture turned guarded, a wall of defense built in an instant. “About what?”

“About us,” Kazuha replied softly, the words almost lost in the stillness of the room.

Y/N’s jaw tightened. Her heart clenched at the word, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. She didn’t reply, letting the silence stretch as she waited for Kazuha to continue.

Kazuha took a small step forward, her eyes searching Y/N’s face for any sign of openness, any crack in the armor. Finding none, she pressed on, her voice trembling slightly.

“I know I hurt you,” she began, her words deliberate, as if she were choosing each one with care. “And I’m sorry. I was scared, and I made the wrong choice. I shouldn’t have left without—”

“Stop,” Y/N interrupted sharply.

Her voice was calm, but there was a hard edge to it that made Kazuha flinch. Y/N could see the flicker of hurt in Kazuha’s eyes, but she didn’t let herself waver.

“Kazuha, I don’t need your apology,” she said coldly, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

Kazuha opened her mouth to protest, but Y/N didn’t give her the chance.

“It doesn’t change what happened,” Y/N continued, her voice gaining strength as her emotions boiled to the surface. “You left me once without a second thought. Do it again and leave me alone. We don’t need to be more than professional.”

Kazuha’s expression crumbled, the weight of Y/N’s words hitting her like a physical blow. Her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. For a moment, she stood there, frozen in place, her usually poised demeanor nowhere to be found.

“Just drop it,” Y/N said, her tone quieter now, but no less firm. She turned away, grabbing her water bottle and towel as if to signal that the conversation was over. “It’s too late for apologies anyway.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Kazuha stood motionless, her hands limp at her sides as she stared at Y/N’s back. She wanted to say something, anything, to break through the wall between them, but the words stuck in her throat.

Finally, she nodded, the motion small and defeated. “Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to Y/N.

As Kazuha turned and walked away, her footsteps slow and heavy, her chest ached with a mix of regret and determination.

She had known this wouldn’t be easy. She had known that Y/N wouldn’t forgive her overnight. But hearing those words, feeling the cold finality in Y/N’s voice, was harder than she’d expected.

Yet, beneath the hurt, a flicker of resolve remained.

She couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t erase the mistakes she’d made or the pain she’d caused. But she could try to make things right in the present.

As Kazuha exited the room, the resolve in her steps began to solidify. She didn’t know how yet, but she wasn’t going to give up.

The pressure of the upcoming comeback was relentless. The group’s schedules were packed with rehearsals, vocal practices, and concept meetings, leaving little time for rest. Every moment was dedicated to perfecting their performances, and the weight of expectations hung heavily over all of them.

For Y/N, the intense workload was manageable, it was the simmering tension with Kazuha that made each day feel like a marathon. No matter how hard she tried to focus, Kazuha’s presence seemed to loom over her, an invisible yet suffocating force.

Kazuha wasn’t faring any better. Despite her best efforts to act normal, the unresolved emotions between her and Y/N were beginning to take their toll. Her movements during rehearsals became less fluid, her usually calm demeanor occasionally cracking under the strain. The rest of the group had noticed, though they tried to give the two space, hoping they’d sort it out on their own.

But the cracks in the group’s harmony were becoming harder to ignore.

The rehearsal room was filled with the steady thump of the track as the group worked through yet another run of the choreography. The mirrors reflected six bodies in motion, their steps sharp and precise. At least, most of the time.

“Y/N, you’re a beat late on the transition,” the choreographer called out, her voice cutting through the music.

“Sorry,” Y/N replied quickly, adjusting her position.

They started the routine again, and this time, Y/N made sure to hit the timing. But just as they reached the formation change, she felt a slight hesitation in her footing, her mind momentarily distracted. It wasn’t much, barely noticeable, but Kazuha caught it.

“Seriously?” Kazuha snapped, her voice louder than intended as they finished the sequence. She turned toward Y/N, her frustration breaking through her usually calm facade.

Y/N froze, her brows furrowing. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Kazuha repeated, incredulous. “We’ve gone over this part a dozen times, and you’re still off. We don’t have time for mistakes.”

The tension in the room was palpable as the other members exchanged uneasy glances. Chaewon stepped forward, her mouth opening as if to diffuse the situation, but Y/N spoke first.

“Maybe if you weren’t so focused on criticizing me, you’d actually notice your own mistakes,” Y/N shot back, her tone icy.

Kazuha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. “This isn’t about me. This is about you not taking this seriously enough.”

“Not taking this seriously?” Y/N repeated, her voice rising. “I’ve been working just as hard as everyone else, so don’t you dare act like I’m slacking off.”

The argument escalated quickly, their voices cutting through the room like shards of glass.

“Enough!” Chaewon’s voice rang out, firm and commanding. She stepped between them, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

“Both of you, stop,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t the time or place for whatever this is.”

Sakura placed a hand on Kazuha’s shoulder, gently pulling her back. “Let’s take a breather,” she suggested, her voice calm but pointed.

Kazuha clenched her fists, her chest rising and falling as she tried to rein in her emotions. Y/N looked away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, the anger still simmering beneath her skin.

The group gathered in a loose circle, the air thick with tension as Chaewon took charge.

“This can’t keep happening,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s starting to affect the group. We can’t afford that. Not now, not ever.”

Yunjin nodded in agreement, her expression serious. “We all feel it. The tension, the arguments, it’s throwing off the energy in the room.”

Eunchae looked between Y/N and Kazuha, her wide eyes filled with worry. “Unnies, can’t you just talk it out? Please?”

Kazuha and Y/N avoided each other’s gaze, their silence speaking volumes.

Chaewon sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I’m not asking you to magically fix everything right now. But if you don’t address this, it’s only going to get worse. You need to talk. Privately.”

Sakura added, her voice softer but no less insistent, “You don’t have to be best friends, but you do have to find a way to work together without dragging the rest of us into it.”

For a moment, neither Y/N nor Kazuha responded. The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for one of them to speak.

Finally, Y/N exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

Kazuha nodded, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. We’ll talk.”

The other members exchanged relieved glances, though the tension between the two girls remained.

As the others left the room to give them space, Y/N and Kazuha found themselves alone in the studio. The door clicked shut, leaving behind an oppressive silence that neither of them seemed willing to break.

Kazuha stood in the middle of the room, her hands fidgeting at her sides, while Y/N leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly. Her posture was defensive, her gaze sharp and expectant.

Kazuha opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, her throat tightening with the weight of everything she wanted to say. Apologizing felt inadequate. Explaining herself felt impossible.

“I…” she began, but the words faltered, slipping through her grasp.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression hardening. “If you don’t have anything to say, I’m leaving,” she said curtly, pushing herself off the wall.

“Wait,” Kazuha said, her voice trembling slightly. But when Y/N turned to face her, eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and anger, Kazuha froze.

The words she wanted to say, I’m sorry, I still care about you, I want to make this right, stayed lodged in her throat, trapped beneath the fear that whatever she said wouldn’t be enough.

Y/N shook her head, her disappointment evident. “That’s what I thought.”

Grabbing her bag, she walked to the door without another glance. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Kazuha standing alone in the empty studio, her hands still trembling.

For a long moment, she stayed there, staring at the floor, her chest heavy with regret. The silence around her felt crushing, a mirror to the emptiness she felt inside.

The tension didn’t ease in the following days. Y/N and Kazuha’s avoidance of each other became even more pronounced, their interactions limited to what was strictly necessary. The rest of the group noticed the strain, their own frustration mounting as the two continued to dance around their issues, figuratively and literally.

Chaewon and Sakura had had enough.

“This has to stop,” Chaewon said during a rare moment of quiet in the dorm. She sat on the couch, her arms crossed as she watched Y/N disappear into her room without saying goodnight to anyone.

Sakura nodded, her expression thoughtful. “They’re like magnets stuck in reverse. The longer this goes on, the worse it’s going to get.”

Yunjin, sprawled out on the other end of the couch, chimed in. “We need to do something. They’re clearly not going to fix it on their own.”

“I agree,” Chaewon said, her tone firm. “But it has to be subtle. We can’t just sit them down and force them to talk.”

Eunchae perked up from where she was munching on snacks at the table. “What if we made it seem like part of a group activity? Something where they’d have no choice but to work together?”

The four of them exchanged looks, the beginnings of an idea forming.

A few days later, Chaewon announced the plan during a rare moment of quiet in the practice room. She stood in front of the group, hands on her hips, her expression calm but purposeful.

“We’re doing a team bonding exercise tomorrow,” she said with an air of casual enthusiasm, though her tone hinted at an unspoken determination.

“Bonding?” Y/N repeated skeptically, glancing up from adjusting her shoes. The word rolled off her tongue with clear doubt, as if the concept itself was absurd.

“Yup,” Chaewon replied, her voice light but firm. “Pairing up for trust-building activities. It’ll be good for morale.”

“Morale?” Yunjin echoed from the back, raising an eyebrow. “Whose morale is suffering exactly?”

Chaewon shot her a look, and Yunjin quickly raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying…”

Sakura chimed in with a knowing smirk. “Trust-building, huh? Sounds suspiciously like one of those ‘corporate retreat’ activities you see in movies.”

“Call it what you want,” Chaewon said with a shrug. “But it’s happening. Everyone needs to participate.”

When the pairings were announced the next day, the tension in the room was almost palpable.

“And the first pair is… Y/N and Kazuha,” Chaewon said, her tone deliberately neutral.

Y/N immediately frowned, her eyes darting to Kazuha, who shifted uncomfortably in her spot. “Seriously?” Y/N muttered, her voice low but sharp enough to carry.

“It’s random,” Chaewon replied smoothly, though the slight tilt of her head and the faintest quirk of her lips suggested otherwise.

“Sure it is,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, her skepticism evident.

From the sidelines, Sakura’s smirk grew wider, though she quickly disguised it with a loud cough. Eunchae, ever the enthusiastic maknae, clapped her hands together. “This is going to be fun!”

“Fun,” Y/N repeated flatly, already regretting her life choices.

The practice room had been transformed into a makeshift obstacle course, complete with low hurdles, cones to navigate, and mats scattered across the floor. It was a far cry from the polished precision of their usual choreography sessions, and yet, the stakes felt just as high, if not higher for Y/N and Kazuha.

The rules were simple: one partner would be blindfolded, while the other guided them through the course using only verbal instructions. It was an exercise in trust and communication, two things Y/N and Kazuha seemed to lack entirely.

“Alright, you two are up,” Yunjin called, gesturing for Y/N and Kazuha to step forward. Her grin was a little too wide, her amusement barely concealed.

Y/N sighed heavily, pulling the blindfold over her eyes with a resigned air. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, her tone laced with irritation.

Kazuha, standing just behind her, took a deep breath, her nerves evident in the slight tremor of her hands. She moved into position, her fingers hovering awkwardly near Y/N’s shoulders before she finally rested them lightly. Her touch was hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure if it would be welcome.

“Ready?” Kazuha asked softly, her voice almost tentative.

“Just start,” Y/N replied curtly, her arms hanging stiffly at her sides.

Kazuha’s voice was quiet at first, almost unsure. “Take a step forward. Slowly.”

Y/N followed the instruction, her movements cautious, her senses hyperaware of every sound and shift in the room.

“Now a little to the left,” Kazuha said.

Y/N adjusted her footing but paused. “A little to the left? Be specific. How much is ‘a little’?”

Kazuha bit her lip, the frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. “Two steps to the left,” she corrected, her tone sharper than before.

Y/N muttered something under her breath but complied.

As the course progressed, the tension between them grew thicker. Kazuha’s instructions became more clipped, her frustration slipping through with each correction, while Y/N’s responses grew increasingly pointed.

“Watch out for the cone,” Kazuha said quickly.

“Where?” Y/N asked, her tone edged with impatience.

“Right in front of you,” Kazuha replied.

“Great,” Y/N snapped as she stumbled into the cone. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I told you it was there!” Kazuha shot back, her voice rising slightly.

“Yeah, about half a second too late,” Y/N retorted.

From the sidelines, the rest of the group watched with varying degrees of amusement and concern. Eunchae’s eyes darted nervously between the two, while Sakura leaned against the wall, whispering something to Chaewon. Yunjin, meanwhile, was openly grinning, clearly entertained by the train wreck unfolding before her.

“Could you at least try to help me avoid breaking my neck?” Y/N snapped, ripping off the blindfold in frustration. Her tone was sharp, her patience worn thin.

“I am trying,” Kazuha shot back, her own voice rising. “But maybe if you’d stop being so difficult, this wouldn’t be so hard.”

“Try harder!” Y/N retorted, glaring at Kazuha. “This isn’t that complicated.”

Kazuha’s composure cracked, her frustration bubbling over. “Oh, because you’re so perfect, right? You think you’re the only one dealing with this? You think I don’t see how you look at me, like I’m some kind of villain?”

Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger. “Maybe if you didn’t leave me the way you did, I wouldn’t look at you like that.”

The words hit like a slap. Kazuha’s breath caught, her chest rising and falling as she stared at Y/N. “You think I don’t regret it?” she said, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “Every single day, Y/N. You think it was easy for me to leave?”

Before either of them could continue, Chaewon’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“Enough!”

The entire group had stopped to watch the argument unfold, their expressions ranging from shock to exasperation. Chaewon, her patience clearly at its limit, exchanged a look with Sakura, who nodded.

“That’s it,” Sakura said, walking over and placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “We’re done letting this ruin practice.”

“What—” Y/N began, but Sakura cut her off.

“You two need to figure this out. NOW,” she said firmly, steering them toward the storage room attached to the practice studio.

“Wait, we—” Kazuha started, but Chaewon was already opening the door.

“In. Both of you,” Chaewon said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Yunjin leaned casually against the wall, her voice carrying an edge of humor despite the tension. “We’ll let you out when you stop acting like this. Good luck.”

The door shut with a resounding click, leaving Y/N and Kazuha alone in the cramped, dimly lit storage room.

The silence between them was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation system. Y/N stood with her arms crossed, glaring at the floor, while Kazuha paced a few steps, running her hands through her hair.

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N muttered, her voice tight with anger.

“No,” Kazuha snapped, turning to face her. “What’s ridiculous is how you can’t even give me a chance to explain myself!”

Y/N’s head shot up, her eyes narrowing. “Explain? Explain what, Kazuha? How you broke my heart and left without even looking back? What could you possibly say that I haven’t already told myself?”

Kazuha’s jaw tightened. “You don’t think I wanted to stay? You don’t think I hated myself for leaving?”

“Then why did you?” Y/N shouted, her voice cracking as the emotions she’d tried to bury came rushing to the surface. “Why did you leave me if it was so hard for you? You made me feel like I didn’t matter!”

“That’s not true!” Kazuha yelled, stepping closer, her own emotions spilling out now. “You mattered to me. More than anything! But I was scared, Y/N! I didn’t know how to handle everything, and when the opportunity came to train in Korea, I thought it was the only way I could make something of myself!”

“You didn’t even try to talk to me about it!” Y/N shot back, tears stinging her eyes. “You just left! Do you have any idea how much that hurt? How much I hated myself for thinking I wasn’t enough to make you stay?”

Kazuha froze, her breathing ragged as she stared at Y/N. Her chest tightened, the weight of Y/N’s words pressing down on her like a crushing force.

“Y/N…” she began, her voice trembling, but Y/N cut her off.

“Don’t,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “Don’t say you regret it now. Don’t tell me you hated it, because that doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t change what you did!”

The anger and hurt in Y/N’s voice were like daggers, each word slicing through Kazuha’s already fragile defenses.

“I know I can’t change it!” Kazuha shouted, her voice breaking as the floodgates finally gave way. “I regret it. Every. Single. Day. You think it was easy to leave? To walk away from the person I—”

She stopped herself, but the words were already out there, hanging in the air.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her voice shaking with fury and something far more vulnerable. “To walk away from the person you what, Kazuha?”

Kazuha’s fists clenched at her sides, her emotions too powerful to contain anymore. Her voice rose, raw and desperate, as she finally let the truth spill out.

“The person I loved!” she shouted, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face.

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling like a heavy blanket over both of them.

Y/N froze, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as the confession echoed in her ears.

“You don’t get to say that now,” Y/N said finally, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. “Not after everything.”

“I know,” Kazuha said, her tears falling freely now. “I know I don’t deserve to say it. I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But it’s the truth, Y/N. It’s always been the truth.”

The raw sincerity in Kazuha’s voice pierced through Y/N’s anger, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kazuha took a tentative step closer, her eyes filled with a desperate kind of hope. “Then let me prove it,” she said. “Whatever it takes, I’ll prove it to you. Just… don’t shut me out completely.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of their emotions, their shared history, hung heavy in the air between them.

The aftermath of their explosive fight in the storage room left Y/N and Kazuha emotionally drained but strangely lighter, as if the weight of their unresolved past had finally begun to lift. Neither of them had all the answers, but for the first time in a long time, there was clarity. They had finally said the words that had been trapped inside them for far too long.

The following days, the practice room felt different. The tension that had once hung over Y/N and Kazuha like a storm cloud was still there, but it was softer now, less suffocating. When their gazes met across the room, it wasn’t avoidance or anger that lingered in the air, but something closer to understanding.

It started small.

A quiet “Good job” from Y/N when Kazuha landed a particularly tricky turn in the choreography, her tone soft but genuine. It was a simple phrase, yet it lingered in the air, a far cry from the sharp retorts and icy silences of weeks prior.

Kazuha reciprocated in kind. During one grueling rehearsal, she noticed Y/N struggling with a sequence and instinctively reached out, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder. “Try shifting your weight earlier,” she suggested, her voice steady but kind. The advice worked, and Y/N’s smile, small but sincere, was enough to make Kazuha’s chest ache in the best way.

These small gestures, though seemingly insignificant, carried immense weight for the two of them. Each act of kindness, every shared glance, felt like another brick being placed in the fragile foundation they were rebuilding.

Their interactions, once tense and awkward, grew warmer, more natural. They began to talk during breaks, not about anything particularly deep, but enough to show the others that something had shifted.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to notice.

One afternoon, during a rare lull in practice, Y/N and Kazuha sat against the mirrored wall, quietly laughing over a shared joke about their last photoshoot. The sound was light, genuine, and startlingly out of place given their recent history.

“Are we dreaming?” Yunjin teased, watching the scene unfold with exaggerated disbelief. She clutched her chest dramatically, as though the sight of Y/N and Kazuha laughing together had physically floored her. “Is this real? Should someone pinch me?”

Sakura smirked from her spot on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her as she leaned back on her hands. “Careful, you might jinx it,” she said, though the amusement in her tone was impossible to miss.

Chaewon, sitting nearby with her water bottle in hand, simply smiled. She didn’t say anything, but the quiet relief in her expression was unmistakable. The uneasy tension that had once plagued their dynamic was finally beginning to dissipate.

Eunchae, never one to hold back, plopped down between Y/N and Kazuha with a wide grin. “You two should argue more often,” she said, nudging each of them with her elbows. “It’s good for the group!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, while Kazuha let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“Yeah, sure,” Y/N replied dryly, though the corners of her lips curved upward despite herself.

Eunchae’s grin widened, clearly satisfied. “See? You’re already happier!”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the group’s dynamic felt easy again, like slipping into a favorite song after a long silence. The others didn’t press too much, knowing that the progress between Y/N and Kazuha was delicate, but their quiet support was felt all the same.

As practice ended that day, Chaewon gathered her things and glanced at Sakura. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said softly, watching as Y/N and Kazuha walked out of the studio together, their conversation flowing effortlessly.

Sakura nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s nice to see them like this.”

As their friendship slowly mended, their synergy on stage grew stronger. The group was rehearsing one of the centerpiece performances and the sections that paired Y/N and Kazuha together took on an entirely new energy.

Their movements, once marked by tension and hesitation, became fluid and seamless. There was an unspoken connection between them that shone through in their performances, a connection that had always been there but was now unburdened by the weight of their unresolved feelings.

It wasn’t just their team who noticed.

Fans began pointing out their chemistry in online discussions and live-stream chats. Edits of their synchronized movements and subtle interactions started circulating, and while Y/N and Kazuha didn’t acknowledge it publicly, the comments brought a secret warmth to both of them.

Away from the cameras and everyone else, Y/N and Kazuha were slowly rebuilding the trust they had lost. It wasn’t easy, some days were better than others but the effort was mutual.

One evening, after a long day of schedule, Y/N found herself in the dorm’s cozy living room. The lights were dim, casting a warm glow over the space as she sank into the couch, a fleece blanket draped over her lap. She scrolled idly on her phone, letting the quiet of the evening soothe her frayed nerves.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Kazuha until she was standing nearby, holding two water bottles.

“Oh,” Y/N said, sitting up slightly as Kazuha extended one of the bottles toward her.

“Here,” Kazuha said simply, her voice soft but steady.

Y/N accepted it, twisting off the cap and taking a sip. “Thanks,” she said, her tone light but genuine.

Kazuha sat down beside her, leaving a small but deliberate space between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was the only sound in the room.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said when we were locked up in the storage,” Kazuha began softly, breaking the silence. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the cap of her own bottle.

Y/N turned to look at her, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Which part?”

“All of it,” Kazuha admitted, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “How I hurt you. How I made you feel like you weren’t enough. You were right. I should have talked to you instead of running away. I should have trusted you enough to let you in.”

Y/N studied her for a moment, the sincerity in Kazuha’s voice cutting through the remnants of her lingering resentment. The vulnerability in her words was disarming, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt herself lowering her guard.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Y/N said quietly, setting her water bottle down on the table. “I’ve already heard it. Now I just need to see it.”

Kazuha finally lifted her gaze, her eyes steady as they met Y/N’s. “You will,” she said with quiet determination. “I promise.”

Y/N nodded, a small, tentative smile softening her features. “Good.”

Another night, they found themselves sitting on the dorm balcony, wrapped in the stillness of the city night. The balcony wasn’t large, just enough for two chairs and a tiny table, but it offered a perfect view of the twinkling lights stretching out to the horizon.

The air was cool but not cold, and both of them sat bundled in sweaters, savoring one of the rare moments their packed schedule allowed them to breathe.

“I missed this,” Kazuha said suddenly, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Y/N turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “Missed what?”

“This,” Kazuha said, gesturing between them with a small, almost shy smile. “Talking. Laughing. Just… being with you.”

The words hung in the air, unadorned but heavy with meaning.

Y/N hesitated, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in Kazuha’s tone. There had been so many moments like this between them in the past, moments of quiet honesty that had felt so natural, so easy. Now, they felt like rare treasures, fragile but precious.

“I missed it too,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft. She turned her gaze back to the city lights, but the faint smile tugging at her lips gave away her emotions.

The confession lingered between them, but this time, it didn’t feel heavy or suffocating. It felt like a step forward, tentative, careful, but forward nonetheless.

As they sat there, the quiet stretching on, Kazuha leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly. “I’ll keep saying it, you know,” she said after a moment, her voice playful but sincere.

“Saying what?” Y/N asked, glancing over at her with a curious smile.

“That I’m sorry. That I care about you. That I—” Kazuha stopped herself, biting her lip as her cheeks flushed faintly in the dim light. “That I want to fix this.”

Y/N shook her head lightly, her smile widening just a bit. “Just don’t mess it up this time,” she said, her tone teasing but carrying an undercurrent of earnestness.

“I won’t,” Kazuha replied, her voice steady.

It wasn’t just a friendship they were rebuilding, it was the foundation of something much deeper. Neither of them said it outright, but the shift between them was undeniable. The glances lingered a little longer, their conversations carried a tenderness that hadn’t been there before, and their moments of silence felt comfortable, not strained.

Still, some things remained unspoken. Beneath the surface of their growing connection, there was a tension, an unaddressed question neither of them had dared to voice. Y/N sensed it in the way Kazuha sometimes looked at her, as if trying to find the courage to say something more.

One quiet evening, as they wrapped up yet another day of practice, the unspoken question that had lingered between them for months finally came to a head.

The studio was dimly lit, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound after the music had stopped. The other members had already left, their chatter fading down the hallway as the door swung shut behind them.

Kazuha lingered, standing near the mirrored wall, her movements hesitant. Her fingers brushed against the hem of her hoodie as if she were trying to ground herself. Y/N, who had been on her way out, paused at the doorway, noticing the way Kazuha’s gaze lingered on the floor, unfocused.

“You coming?” Y/N asked lightly, her voice breaking the silence.

Kazuha’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Y/N’s. There was something in her gaze, nervous but resolute, that made Y/N hesitate.

“In a minute,” Kazuha replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face. “What’s up?” she asked, stepping back into the room and folding her arms as she leaned casually against the wall.

Kazuha hesitated, her hands fidgeting again. Her eyes darted toward the mirror before landing back on Y/N. She took a deep breath, as though she were gathering courage.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” she began, her voice trembling slightly but carrying an undercurrent of determination.

Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, her curiosity growing. “Thinking about what?”

Kazuha shifted, taking a step closer. Her movements were deliberate now, her gaze locking with Y/N’s. “I know we’ve been rebuilding things slowly,” she continued, her words careful and measured. “And I didn’t want to ruin that, but… I need to say this. Properly. This time.”

Y/N’s confusion deepened, her arms uncrossing as she stood up straighter. “Say what?”

Kazuha took another step forward, the space between them growing smaller. She clasped her hands together to still their trembling and took another steadying breath.

“That I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, clear and unwavering, reverberating through the quiet studio like a delicate but powerful note.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding as she stared at Kazuha. For a moment, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, shock, warmth, a flicker of nervous excitement.

Kazuha, her cheeks flushed but her eyes steady, pressed on. “I know we said we’d focus on being friends again, and I don’t want to ruin that,” she added quickly, her voice tinged with nervous energy. “But I couldn’t keep pretending that my feelings weren’t still there. They never went away, Y/N. I know I should’ve told you sooner, back then, but I was scared. I can’t keep hiding it anymore.”

Y/N stared at her, her emotions swirling together in a chaotic but undeniable warmth. She could see the vulnerability etched across Kazuha’s face, the way her hands trembled slightly, the earnestness in her eyes as she waited for Y/N’s response.

For a moment, Y/N said nothing, and the silence stretched on, broken only by the faint hum of the air. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I still have feelings for you too,” Y/N admitted softly, her voice warm but tinged with caution.

Kazuha blinked, her shoulders visibly relaxing as relief washed over her face.

“But,” Y/N continued, her smile fading into a more serious expression, “we’ve both changed. So much has happened, and I don’t want to mess up what we’ve rebuilt or the group.”

Kazuha nodded quickly, her agreement earnest. “I know. Slow is good. I just… I needed you to know. I couldn’t keep holding it in.”

Y/N stepped forward, the last bit of distance between them vanishing as she reached out to gently touch Kazuha’s arm. Her fingers lingered for a moment before she shifted closer, hesitating briefly before wrapping her arms around Kazuha in a soft, tentative hug.

Kazuha froze for a split second, surprised, before she melted into the embrace. Her arms came up slowly, encircling Y/N in return. The warmth of the hug felt like a balm, soothing the unspoken pain they had both carried for so long.

“Thank you for telling me,” Y/N murmured, her voice steady but warm, her words muffled slightly against Kazuha’s shoulder.

Kazuha’s lips curved into a soft smile, a faint pink coloring her cheeks as she held Y/N a little closer. She hesitated for only a moment before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple, the gesture filled with quiet affection.

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet Kazuha’s gaze, their faces inches apart. The moment lingered, the air between them charged with something tender and unspoken.

After a beat, Y/N smiled, a small, genuine smile that lit up her face. “Come on,” she said softly, her tone lightening as she stepped back, though her hand briefly squeezed Kazuha’s arm before letting go. “The others are probably wondering what we’re doing.”

Kazuha let out a small laugh, the sound carrying a newfound ease. “You’re probably right,” she said, her voice soft.

As they walked out of the studio together, side by side, there was a quiet but undeniable shift between them, one that neither of them could deny.

Months later, the group stood backstage, their hearts racing as the deafening roar of fans filled the arena. It was the encore of their first major concert, and the sheer energy in the air was electric, a palpable buzz that made every moment feel larger than life.

Y/N stood near the back of the group, adjusting her in-ear monitor as she took in the scene around her. The members huddled together, a mixture of excitement and nerves evident on their faces. Chaewon was at the center of the group, her voice calm yet commanding as she delivered a final pep talk.

“This is it,” Chaewon said, her gaze sweeping over each of them. “The last performance. Let’s give them everything we’ve got.”

The group nodded in unison, their determination shining through despite the exhaustion of the night. When the huddle broke apart, everyone began to take their places.

Y/N was about to step toward her position when she felt a familiar presence beside her. She turned to see Kazuha, her expression soft but purposeful as she approached.

“You ready?” Kazuha asked, her voice low but steady. She held out her hand, her fingers outstretched in a silent invitation.

Y/N smiled, her chest tightening with warmth as she slid her fingers into Kazuha’s. “Always,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow. The roar of the arena faded into the background, the chaos of the moment giving way to an intimate stillness that belonged to just the two of them.

Kazuha took a small step closer, her grip on Y/N’s hand firm but gentle. Leaning in, she pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s cheek, her lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Thank you for trusting me again,” she whispered, her voice carrying a vulnerability that made Y/N’s heart flutter.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, but she didn’t hesitate to return the gesture. She leaned in, her own lips brushing against Kazuha’s cheek in a gentle kiss. “Thank you for not giving up,” she murmured, the sincerity in her tone leaving no room for doubt.

Their moment was short-lived, interrupted by the familiar sound of Yunjin’s playful voice cutting through the backstage noise.

“Are we getting an encore or a love confession back here?” Yunjin teased, her grin wide as she leaned against one of the stage props.

The group erupted into laughter, the tension breaking as the lighthearted teasing spread. Even Chaewon cracked a small smile, though she clapped her hands to refocus everyone. “Alright, save the confessions for later. Let’s go.”

Y/N and Kazuha exchanged an amused glance, their hands still entwined.

Hand in hand, they stepped onto the stage together. The deafening cheers of the crowd enveloped them like a tidal wave, the sheer energy of the moment sending chills down Y/N’s spine. The arena was awash in light, the glowsticks held by fans creating a sea of shimmering colors.

The bright stage lights bathed them in warmth as they took their positions, their hands finally parting as they prepared for the final performance. Y/N glanced at Kazuha one last time before the music began, a small smile tugging at her lips.

And then the song started, the beat pounding through the speakers as the group moved in perfect unison. Y/N and Kazuha danced side by side, not just as performers, but as partners once more, bound by a connection that had withstood distance, heartbreak, and time.

The encore was electric, a culmination of their hard work and the love they shared with their fans. The cheers grew louder with each beat, and as Y/N and Kazuha exchanged a brief but meaningful glance in the middle of the routine, Y/N felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years.

They weren’t just facing the stage. They were facing the world. Together.

[no-saints-around-here]

Quiet Afternoon

Yandere BFF Bonten Rindo & Bimbo!Reader

Masterlist

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a little nsfw spinoff from my BFF Rindo series, starting here, masterlist here! not necessary to read but it'll provide some context imo

tw: yandere, smut, dubcon, sexual assault, double pen, afab reader, dead dove do not eat

The muffled clap of skin meeting skin echoed through the opulently decorated bedroom, though calling the enormous space a bedroom was generously stretching the term to its limit. Tastefully decked out in dark-toned hardwoods and the occasional flourish of gold and silver, the priceless masterpieces that decorated the walls and corner of the room as if spoils of wars were barely visible in the dim light, polished frames and shined metal unable to shimmer in the dull ambient glow of the intricate chandelier that hung above the bed. Yet despite all the glitters and glamor that shared the space, it was only the four-poster bed that received any ounce of the spotlight - or more so you, ever so elegantly posed naked on your fours above less sparsely-dressed yet obviously fuming Rindo.

“What the fuck-” The words were hissed through gritted teeth as he harshly thursted himself upwards. “Did I say about talking to the others? Huh?!” You only huffed, unable to even catch your breath as strong arms simultaneously forced you backwards and onto him, his hips meeting the flesh of your buttocks with a wet slap as the Bonten executive plunged his entire length into you.

You, however, barely seemed to notice your self-proclaimed best friend’s foul mood as he pounded himself into you, the pleasure overwhelming any coherent thought that might have been left in that empty head of yours. Angelic voice that once could transfix and mesmerize crowds now reduced to mere huffing and wheezing, your doe-like eyes rolled backwards as he grinded his cock harshly against that one soft, spongy spot of your inner wall. Rindo was sure that the only thing keeping you up was his strength; the same strength that had kept you safe from the big bad world since you wore him down into friendship in childhood. But it was precisely this fact that had the well-feared mobster pissed off enough to tip his hand and break the sole unspoken rule he had held himself to for all these years to punish you.

Even after so long and what could be considered a forcibly short but successful stint as an idol, you still had barely a brain cell to share between both halves of your head, still couldn’t even follow a single simple instruction that he was sure he had drilled into you countless times. 

It was just a routine job, no more than a few hours to be spent apart from you. His orders were easy and direct as they always were when it came to you: forbidding you from leaving the room until he was back, to keep the door locked at all times, and to not breathe a word to any of the other Bonten members except in an absolute emergency. Straightforward enough, yet where did he find you upon his return from his exhausting mission? Not in your shared room, no; he found you instead mesmerized by Koko, that slick, stingy motherfucker trying to brainwash you into selling nudes. Convincing you that he, Rindo, your best friend in the entire world, wouldn’t mind in the slightest since there was money to be made, and that Koko had buyers - dedicated, obsessed and very, very wealthy fans still reeling from your sudden retirement from the industry - lined up that would shell out a bomb for just a mere teasing shot in your panties. 

Lies. You should know better than to think those honeyed words were nothing but lies. Because you were his and only his, and as your friend and sole protector, he would happily kill every last person who dared to lay such vulgar eyes on you.

“Why were you with Koko? What else did he say?” The younger of the Haitanis demanded, gloved grip tightening ever so slightly around your hips.

Despite the strong air-conditioning going at full blast and having done so for the past couple of hours, the prominent beads of sweat that clung to your forehead gleamed softly as if crystals clung to your skin as you panted, gasping to catch your next breath. A complete opposite from his own state. Rindo didn’t feel the slightest bit winded from this post-work workout despite being mostly clad in his combat outfit: the bulletproof vest paired with a simple black shirt and tie only missing a similarly colored pair of pants, with said clothing having long been stripped off and hurriedly discarded. Though more irritating was having to watch the dirt and grime and filthy blood of the outside world being rubbed off onto your bare skin - he’ll have to make sure that you got an extra thorough bath later. God only knows what kind of sickness you could catch.

You, however, remained unresponsive to Rindo’s demands except the occasional whuff and sharp exhale, lost in the pleasure rippling through your body from the valley between your legs. 

Finally pulling himself out from his spiraling thoughts, the Bonten executive paused in his movements, sharp violet eyes narrowing at your failure to respond as he left himself half submerged in your folds. “Are you even listening?” He snarled, accompanied with another strong thrust that earned him a throaty gasp from you before stopping once more.

Rindo’s only answer was your struggle against his hold in a vain attempt to regain the sudden loss of friction. “Ah-ahh Rin-rin,” you whined, pleaded, as you desperately tried to regain the momentum that sparked pleasure in your abdomen, though your attempt to grind against him was in vain. "I really tr-ied!"

He already did so much for you - the tattoo on the front of his neck that branded him as Bonten was all for you. Who better to protect you from rabid world who would tear you apart without hesitation than the largest criminal organization in Japan? All those tortured souls, those eyes that he stared straight into before ending their life, all the blood that stained his hands. Rindo did it to keep you safe, to keep you by his side. And this was how you repaid your best friend? “You didn’t try hard enough.”

Countless men he had killed who had tried to take you away, who had tried to steal away your heart, who had tried to get you to notice them. And countless more he will kill - strangers, Bonten employees, former fans. He would kill them all for you. But even now, Rindo couldn’t quite muster himself to get genuinely angry at you. Even after you betrayed his trust, it was pretty much what Rindo had expected - you had always been quite the airhead, which was why you depended on him, why he, your best friend, had to care for you and look after you.

He’ll punish you for this transgression all right, but not too much; the thought of you fearing him, leaving him, sent shivers down his spine. Just a little bit wouldn’t hurt to keep you in line.

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Sure, Ran might have been strolling down Executive Row with the precise intention of poking his nose into his younger brother’s business, especially after the juicy rumors swirling as to what went down a couple of hours earlier with Koko. Now clean and dressed in a fresh set of shirt and shorts, this part of Bonten HQ was predictably void of souls - no servant would dare be caught loitering where the bosses lived. But being able to hear your harmonious voice whining from the corridor for all to hear? Even he didn’t expect something so bold from Rindo, not when the latter had a custom-made soundproof bedroom door installed the day he moved in. And sure enough, the thick, heavy padded steel door was slightly ajar, an oddity in the otherwise lifeless hallway neatly lined with an alternating pattern of invaluable treasures and rightly shut doors - Rindo must have been in a mighty hurry if he failed to do something so routine.

The rare and untimely creak of the usually well-oiled door fortunately failed to draw any attention, Ran noted, and the full view of your naked backside mooning him from the entrance quickly made it clear what his dear brother was occupied with. He remembered you well not only from your shared childhood in the Haitani household, but more recently from your time on the stage, those captivating melodies that you belted out without a second thought roaring up to the front of his mind once more. No doubt he still hears them from time to time on the air, but having had the opportunity to listen to you in person once, it was clear why you had rocketed to stardom. But ah Rindo - he kept you close to his side all this time. Negotiating with Mikey just to let him have you, he was always so obsessed with you, baring his teeth at any of the other executives that dared to even glance your way, let alone allowing you anywhere close to rabid fans eager for a piece of you. He even hides his fucking gun from you. No wonder he forced you to retire from stardom.

For a moment, Ran stood watching the two of you from the doorway. Rindo was frustrated at whatever sin it was that you had committed, and this was his idea of a “punishment”, yet that baby boy nestled amidst the luxurious fabrics was still so obviously, painfully gentle. The way he was edging you so carefully, glancing up at your face every other second just to make sure you weren’t actually hurting, still giving you the occasional pump so that you weren’t left completely high and dry; what else was there to say? Ran was nowhere this kind even to his favorite private whores. The smell of sex filled every breath he took as the cool air leaked out from the bedroom and into the otherwise empty passage, before the man finally turned to gently close the door behind him, locking it shut. A smell he was no stranger to, and while he was sure Rindo would maybe be okay if it was just him, but he would definitely be pissed if any of the others ever saw you in your current state. Pissed enough to end them with a clean gunshot to the head probably, and Ran shuddered at the possibility of having to bail Rindo out from Mikey’s wrath.

A soft chime ringing out from an unseen clock was like the starting bell of a fight, and it was a smirk that pulled at Ran’s lips as he padded over to the centerpiece of the room. Time to make this little session a proper punishment - he did have a heart after all, and if it did help Rindo keep you more in line, then fantastic

Your self-proclaimed best friend only took note of the unwelcome intruder when the nightstand drawer was pulled open, and in an instance, that look of mock anger (Ran was certain it was all just a bluff) fell away into horror as their eyes met. “What the fuck-“ Rindo stammered, the gears in his head seemingly coming to a grinding halt. You at least had enough awareness left in you to let out an eep at the sudden introduction of another voice, though you quickly settled back down as Rindo’s arms tightened protectively around you; maybe you assumed that all this was Rindo’s idea? Ran wouldn’t be surprised - your airhead already relied so heavily on the other to guide you through life.

“You left the door open. So I invited myself in.” The older of the two helpfully supplemented, signature lazy grin plastered all over his face as he rummaged for a little before pulling out a small tube.

“Get out!”

“Aww Rin-Rin, why’re you being so mean?” Ran teased as he slid onto the plush bed, comfy blankets that usually swaddled you and your delicate skin puffing up under his bony self as the man made his way across the enormous mattress. “I’m just here to help.”

“Don’t you dare touch her,” swore Rindo, the previous anger that had melted away from his face just minutes ago flaring up once more, cheeks reddening as he glared down Ran. “I’ll fucking kill you, I swear.”

But the fighting words barely bothered the older Haitani, more than used to his brother’s all bark and no bite when it came to actually making a move in front of you. “You want to punish her, don’t ya?” Drawled Ran, as he finally reached you. You jumped when cold hands touched your cheeks, spreading them apart with a critical eye as if appreciating a feast. “Doesn’t seem like it with what you’re doing.” 

Ignoring the continuously growing threats that Rindo was growling at him from the bed, Ran instead busied himself making a show of squeezing out what was revealed to be lube from the small tube and generously coating his fingers. The shiny liquid seemingly glimmered under the light of the chandelier against the backdrop of your equally glittery skin, his anticipation of what was to come shortly quickly leading to a tent in his shorts. After all, desire for something was directly proportional to how off-limits it was, and you had been off-limits to him since Rindo first brought you home. He couldn’t wait. Casually pushed two slicked digits into your tight pucker, giving it a few lazy pumps in what seemed like an attempt to loosen and oil your bottom up for him, his impatience got the better of him, and the Bonten executive gave up all pretense. Hurriedly pushing down the band of his shirts and pulling out his already hard dick, you weren’t given a warning other than the light touch of his length as Ran lined himself up. 

Your eyes popped open the same time that his head was forced past your ring of muscles, and your nose scrunched, an unmistakable sign of the flaring pain from between your legs. And the struggles started right after as you made a valiant attempt to free yourself from Rindo’s arms, the beads of sweat that clung to your hair holding on for dear life as you tried to wriggle away. “Ri-Rin, it hurts…”

But Ran was already lost to the warm heaven he, like an explorer stumbling upon the entrance to nirvana, had discovered within your wriggling body.  “Oh- oh f-fuck,” was all the man could moan as his length sank in slowly and surely, the feeling of your newly opened bottom clutching and squeezing around his dick pure ecstasy, his mind almost liquid mush. Was this heaven what Rindo had been hiding from him all these years? Probably not, the executive floatingly mused to himself, as he pushed himself further inwards, given how deep in denial his younger brother was when it came to his relationship with you. 

Your backdoor was miles better than any whore he had taken, in a league of your own, and that was putting it lightly - the warmth of your insides around him, combined with your muffled pained whines almost enough for the older Haitani to cum instantly if he had an ounce lesser of self-control. Sex might not have been Rindo’s top priority for keeping you out of the public’s eye and away from the rest of the Bonten executives, but god it should be - Ran would have been happy to pay an unimaginable number of zeros just for access to you..

Even Rindo let out a deep throated groan at the additional friction, before he caught himself and bit it back. Yet it was clear that you were stretched beyond your limit, the double penetration visibly causing strain between your legs, your thighs spasming with effort as you bit down hard on your lips, tears welling in those doe eyes of yours.

Slender fingers reaching down to gingerly touch at where you and Rindo were joined, the light exploratory brushes of his fingertips only serve to intensify your discomfort, as judged from the whimper that escaped your lips. Ran whistled - if that was enough to hurt…. That too failed to stop the smugly grinning executive, the older Haitani never ceasing as he continued to force his way past muscles that failed to keep him out, until he finally bottomed out in you, his balls slapping with enough force to let out an audible squelch. A pause, a temporary mercy to let you adjust to his size alongside Rindo’s, but more for Ran to admire the new expression that tore at your face.

An agonized grimace, a bleed of blood that adorned your plush lips, the idol that captured hearts was lost in the sea of pain he was putting you through. There was something beautiful about it, Ran admitted, as he ran one hand through your sweat-drenched hair, teasingly tracing light patterns into your back - he doubt there were many people who had ever seen this side of you, and it was a privilege he would treasure. The lust came flooding back as your tears fell, and Ran couldn’t resist leaning over to press a kiss to the back of your head before straightening.

“Move Rindo,” Ran grunted, as he started to grind his cock against your walls, pulling out slightly before slamming himself back in. “Move, dammit.”

‎

‎

“Fucking hell Ran, you’re hurting her!” In a bid to dislodge the other from you, the younger of the two had attempted to roll you over and under him, but the slightest nudge had you crying out at the extra stretch, and Rindo stopped. He wasn’t going to lie that he wasn’t enjoying the extra friction - he had never experienced anything close before - but you were and always will be his first priority. You crying was the last thing he wanted, and the guilt was welling at the base of his gut. What fresh new hell was he putting you through? 

Yet for all the nasty names his brain was yelling at him for not calling off this entire session, for not reaching under his pillow for his gun, Rindo couldn’t bring himself to pull out just yet. Against him knowing better than to continue, his hips began to thrust once more, and said gangster could only shove down the protesting best friend inside him.

He couldn’t tell when him and Ran had synced up, their thrusts falling into a pattern of one in, one out. The sheer friction generated was godly - the divine feeling of his cock rubbing up against another felt through the thin wall that separated your pussy from your ass as they were forced past each other. And as the seconds  - minutes, hours? Rindo had long lost track of time - your own cries of pain died down, you letting out tired whines and grunts as you laid spent on Rindo’s chest, the two brothers too busy hammering their hips against yours in a chase of pleasure to notice. All three of you toppled over that edge at the same time, Rindo letting out a strangled ‘fuck’ before like a tension coil finally allowed to release, his hot cum spurted deep into you as he shuddered against you. And nestled as far as he could push in your ass, Ran’s cock pulsed and shuddered as he too released his load into you. 

Around them, the sudden warmth seemed to trigger a response from you, your walls tightening around them as you came, though you barely twitched, your eyes already half-closed as you laid cuddled against Rindo, exhausted. Letting out a satisfied grunt, Ran finally pulled out of you, falling backwards to sit on the plush bed in a daze, the last dribble of cum drooling from the head of his softening dick. “That was- '' Said mafioso swallowed hard, unable to describe the feeling, though jumbled mind quickly latched on to the white cum starting to seep from both your holes. “Trying to get her pregnant?” 

Post-nut clarity hit Rindo like a truck, and the bliss plastered across his face evaporated, giving way to a dark, angry look. Reaching under his pillow, it was that telltale click as a familiar pistol was pulled from underneath the white covers. “That was you overstaying your welcome,” snarled Rindo, as he leveled the barrel straight at Ran. “Fuck. Off.”

Ran beat a hasty retreat, barely able to push his dick back into his shorts before he disappeared behind the heavy steel bedroom door, said door groaning as it was locked shut with a soft thud. 

Alone once more, the background whirl of the air-conditioning suddenly seemed so loud, the air blowing through unseen grates whistling as it drifted down from the high ceiling. The made-man turned his attention to you, violet eyes softening as he took in your fatigued form and your flushed cheeks. Stripping off his gloves, your best friend carefully rubbing his thumb over where hot tears had torn their way down your delicate skin, before chancing a glance between your legs. Ravaged would have been light - Rindo grimacing at the sight of your still panting pucker, red and inflamed from where it had been forced open. 

Sighing, the man bundled your naked form ever so gently into his arms, shifting his way off the bed and standing with a crack of his knees. You stirred, looking up at him with swollen eyes. “Rin rin?”

He hummed as he crossed the room towards your built-in bathroom. “What is it?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle as it always was when it came to you, a 180 from the feared Bonten gunman who took lives with nay a blink.

“...” You yawned, snuggling into his chest, your eyes fluttering close once more. “Nothing.”

“Hey, no sleeping yet.” He nudged you. “Pee, shower, then doctor.”

“Doctor?”

Just to make sure you were alright down there, Rindo admitted to himself, the guilt that he had suppressed previously now back to eat away at his heart, but he said nothing more to you. He’ll make it up to you, he swore to himself. Somehow, someway. With a click, the yellow lights flicked on, illuminating the marble-floored spotless bathroom.

You piped up again as you caught your reflection in the mirror. “Koko said - Koko said if I made enough money,” you paused, interrupted by another yawn. “You could stop working.”

“I don’t need your fucking money, stupid.” Placing you down on the toilet, the purple-haired man flicked your forehead, rolling his eyes. And that was the truth. It didn’t matter - it had never mattered - what he had to do. All this was for you. All he needed was you.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I can't figure this 1905 house in Pittsburgh, PA out. Was it once a church? Is it the industrial look they were going for? The lighthouse look? However, the realtor delusionally describes it as a "sophisticated California Style Contemporary." It has 4bds, 2ba, and they're asking $1.5M. Check this out.

From the front, the doors look like church doors, but thru the window you can see the lighthouse stairs.

The front entrance hall where the first thing you see is the staircase.

Okay, so here we are in the lighthouse portion. Is that an exhaust fan on the lower right? A vent? I've never seen one of those. I wonder what it costs homeowners to have a home completely painted white before they put it on the market.

So, I guess that you go down to the living room. One thing about this home is that it's very angular. So, here's the living room with a fireplace. and the angled wall on the right is the kitchen, so the area alongside the living room must be the dining area?

This is what I mean about it being angular. The door opens to the lower deck in the rear of the home.

Remodeled kitchen with the dated oak cabinets. They removed the doors in the middle and replaced the end one with glass inserts to modernize them a bit. (But why didn't they put glass in the other one?)

Maybe this is supposed to look like a ship?

This is nice. I think it's a bedroom, b/c it's carpeted- the bds. are all carpeted. It opens to the 2nd level deck in the rear.

This is what the decks look like- angles. Notice that the neighbors' decks aren't like that.

This room has a fireplace and wood flooring, so it may be a TV room or den. It also has a door to the deck.

One of the secondary baths with an angled wall.

The top floor view.

I would say that this is the primary bedroom on the 3rd level. It has skylights, a fireplace, a couple of niches and a small door with a storage space.

Open closet space and door to the uppermost deck.

The en-suite has a double sink with a granite top.

This is a shower room, probably counts as the 3rd bath, even though the listing says 2.

Another view from the uppermost floor.

So, there's a porch plus 2 decks.

Look's like there's a yard with bushes and trees, plus a garden.

That's the Ohio River.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/820-Grandview-Ave-Pittsburgh-PA-15211/11363316_zpid/?

[alinawritess]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 ❀ | Rewrite

❀ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. Vinnie Hacker x fem!reader x Matt Sturniolo

❀ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. Four years ago, Vinnie and you, were once deeply in love, but had to part ways as both your skyrocketing careers in Hollywood and LA strained your long-distance relationship. The breakup was heartbreaking, leaving Vinnie with unresolved feelings. Now, at a glamorous Hollywood party, he unexpectedly encounters you, his former flame, who is now with the charismatic YouTube star Matt Sturniolo. As old emotions resurface, their polite yet charged interaction hints at unresolved tension and nostalgia.

❀ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 7.4k

❀ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬). Heartbreak┆︎ Emotional Distress ┆︎ Long-Distance Relationship Challenges ┆︎ Regret┆︎ Unresolved Feelings ┆︎ Nostalgia┆︎ Emotional Vulnerability┆︎ No Use of Y/N.

❀ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. I actually decided to read this and edit it, hope you like it (I didn't write seven THOUSAND words for no reason) <3

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐠𝐨

Vinnie and you had been together for two wonderful years, just starting out in the influencer industry. Nobody really knew you two were dating; it was something private, a decision both of you had made. People and fans knew you were both seeing someone, but they just didn't know who. Your relationship felt like a perfect fit, filled with love and understanding.

Today, as you come through the apartment doors, exhaustion is written all over your face after a long day of practicing your lines for your upcoming movie. The filming is in Hollywood, and you haven't figured out how to tell your beloved partner that maybe you should take a break while you're filming. After all, he had his days where he seemed busy too. To say that your relationship was perfect would be a lie; recently, both of you had been busy with your hectic schedules, barely having time for one another.

As you walk through the door of your shared apartment, Vinnie looks up upon hearing it open.

"Hi, love," he greets you with a smile.

"Hi, Mr. Hacker," you say, playfully using the new nickname you made up for him.

Vinnie chuckles warmly, the sound of his laughter filling the room.

"Mr. Hacker? Oh, is that what we're going with now?" he teased, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest, his gaze fixated on you, his smile widening.

Vinnie chuckles. "That's a new nickname. Not really your style to be calling me by nicknames," he adds.

He walks up to you and gently wraps his arms around your sides, but you pull back slightly.

"Do you hate it?" you tease lightly.

He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He pulls you close again, not letting you pull away this time.

"No, not at all. I quite like it," he murmurs, his voice soft and low. His hands rest on your hips, his fingers gently massaging small circles into them.

He notices your initial attempt to pull away, his smirk turning into a quizzical expression. "Is everything okay?" he asks, sensing something amiss. Seeing your hands fidget and sensing your distracted thoughts, he truly knew how to read you like an open book, understanding your every emotion.

"We need to talk," you say, slipping from his embrace.

His smirk fades instantly once you say those words. That phrase, "We need to talk," had a reputation for never indicating anything good. Vinnie instinctively tenses; his mind begins to wonder if anything is wrong with you and your relationship.

He looks at you for a moment, noting the way you slipped from his grasp. A pang of anxiety washes over him, but he tries to keep his face calm.

"Okay," he starts, his voice steady despite the flutter of worry that is coursing through his veins. "What is it that you want to talk about?"

"I feel like we're not on the same page in life as we used to be," you say, your voice tinged with concern.

Those words hit Vinnie like a punch in the gut. He takes a step back, his eyes searching your face, trying to read your emotions. He knew this conversation was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to hear.

His hands clench into fists subconsciously, his knuckles turning white.

"What do you mean we're not on the same page?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of defensiveness.

"You've been pretty distant with band things and photoshoots," you explain, "and I guess we only see each other once or twice a week. None of us have even brought it up; it's like we don't care that our schedules mess our relationship up and we don't even try to fix it or talk about it. Every time we do see each other, we just act like we're some perfect couple, like nothing's tearing us apart beneath the surface."

Vinnie listens, his expression growing more solemn with each word you speak. Your words strike at something deep within him, a truth that he has been trying to ignore.

He looks down at his hands, fingers clenching and unclenching as he absorbs your words. A muscle in his jaw tenses as he grapples with the reality of what you're saying.

"I didn't realize it was affecting us that badly," he admits, finally looking back up at you. "I guess I just... I don't know. I thought we were handling things, you know?"

"It's fine," you reassure him. "I'm not saying stop chasing your dreams. Go for it. But what if we took a break?"

Vinnie's gaze hardened a bit at the mention of the word "break." The fear of losing you crept into his heart, and it showed on his face. However, he tried to keep his voice calm.

"A break...?" he echoed, the word feeling heavy on his tongue.

He takes a step forward, his eyes locking with yours. There's a mixture of panic and pleading in his gaze. "You... You mean break up...?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Yeah..." you say. "You know, maybe try things, chase our dreams."

His heart sinks upon hearing your answer. He had hoped that you weren't referring to a break-up, but now the reality of the situation was setting in.

Vinnie takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. There's a mix of shock and hurt in his eyes.

"Chase our dreams...?" he repeats, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. He walks around the kitchen island and sits on one of the stools, resting his elbows on the countertop and burying his face in his hands.

"Is that what you really want?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"Kinda," you admit. "Maybe you'll finally be the model or singer you want to be. Maybe your band will finally hit the top 100 charts, maybe even number one. And maybe, just maybe, I can be on TV."

Vinnie sighs, his shoulders growing heavy with the weight of your words. A part of him wanted to argue, to defend the dreams he's been chasing for years, but the look on your face told him you were serious about this.

He looks up, his gaze falling on you, his expression a mixture of sadness and resignation.

"So this is... This is really happening, then?" he asks quietly. "We're ending this. Is that what you're saying?"

"I suppose, I mean the truth is we've been so distant from each other. We barely have enough time for this relationship," you explain. "I'm going to be in Hollywood for a while for my upcoming movie, and you're going to be in LA. Is it truly going to work?"

Vinnie's hands grip the edge of the countertop tightly, his knuckles turning white. A pang of regret stabs through his heart as he lets the news sink in.

"Hollywood..." he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

He looks back up at you, his gaze searching. "For how long will you be in Hollywood?" he asks, dreading the answer.

"I really don't know," you say.

The uncertainty in your voice only worsens the knot tightening in Vinnie's stomach.

"Not knowing for sure...?" he repeats, his voice filled with both frustration and fear. His grip on the countertop tightens even more.

He stares at you for a few moments, his mind racing with thoughts. Then, he lets out a frustrated sigh and stands up, pacing around the kitchen.

"And what about us? What happens to us?" he asks, his voice tinged with desperation.

"I don't know, Vinnie," you admit, tears welling up in your own eyes. "I don't know what the future holds. I know because of this movie role, I'm going to be away for a long time."

Vinnie stops pacing when he hears the tears in your voice. His heart aches, and he wants nothing more than to hold you in his arms, to tell you that things will work out, but the truth is, he doesn't know either.

He looks at you, his own eyes damp with unshed tears. "It's not just about you being away," he says quietly. "It's about us being so detached from each other lately. We barely spend time together, and when we do, it just doesn't feel the same."

You say nothing, unsure how to respond, biting on your nails.

The silence that hangs in the air is deafening. Vinnie doesn't say anything either, watching you as you bite your nails, a nervous habit you've always had. It breaks his heart even more to see the uncertainty on your face.

He takes a step closer to you, his voice softer than before. "You see it too, right? That something is wrong with us?" he asks, hope and despair mixing in his voice.

"Yeah..." you hesitate.

The confirmation that you agree hits Vinnie like another blow. Even though he knew deep down, hearing you say it out loud somehow makes it more real.

He reaches out to touch your arm gently, his fingers tracing a small circle on your skin.

"I never wanted this, you know that, right?" he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and anger. "I never wanted us to grow apart like this."

"I mean I understand why we've just been doing our own thing for a while, for so long. I mean we met in high school and never expected the fame we have to grow."

Vinnie nods silently, his gaze dropping to the floor. He knows exactly what you're saying. The fame and success you've both achieved were beyond anything either of you could have imagined.

He lifts his head back up and looks at you, his expression a mix of pain and resignation. "It's like we've been so focused on chasing our dreams, we forgot to keep dreaming together," he says softly.

Those words hang heavy in the air. Vinnie feels a pang of guilt wash over him. You both chased after your dreams, but somehow you lost sight of the one dream you had together.

He takes a small step forward, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch yours. "We can't change the past," he murmurs, "but is there no way we can salvage our future?"

"If I come back and we both have the same feelings for one another, maybe we could be... maybe," you suggest tentatively.

Vinnie's heart skips a beat at your words. A glimmer of hope sparks within him, a tiny flicker of possibility.

He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping yours tighter. "Maybe..." he repeats softly, as if the word would vanish if he spoke it too loud.

He steps forward again, closing the distance between you. His other hand reaches up to cup your face gently. "But you're going to be gone for so long..." he whispers, the words catching in his throat.

"How about a hug? A kiss would feel too intimate, don't you think?" you suggest.

Vinnie nods, understanding the sentiment. He'd love nothing more than to pull you into a tight embrace, to hold you close and whisper reassurances in your ear. But you're right, a kiss would feel too intimate, too final.

He pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, tears streaming down your face.

Vinnie feels you shivering in his arms, the sound of your muffled sobs breaking his heart. His own chest tightens, his own tears threatening to fall.

He leans his head against yours, his arms holding you even tighter. "It's okay, love," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry too."

"I loved you so much, and I hope you find everything you're looking for too."

Vinnie's grip on you becomes even tighter, his body trembling from the weight of your words. Hearing you speak in the past tense about how you love him is like a dagger to his heart.

He pulls back slightly so he can look into your tear-filled eyes. "I loved you too," he replies, his voice cracking slightly, "And I always will. I wish... I wish we could have found everything together."

"I wish we could've too, but I don't think we can."

With those words, something in Vinnie shatters. He's holding onto you, but he feels like he's falling apart.

He swallows the lump in his throat, desperately trying to keep his emotions in check, but a tear escapes, rolling down his cheek. "We had so many dreams together," he murmurs, his voice breaking. "And now... now we're just letting them all go?"

Eventually, you release him, your expression a mix of sadness and acceptance.

Vinnie feels the moment your arms loosen around him, the moment you let go. It feels like you're slipping away, and he knows he can't stop it.

His hands drop to his sides, empty now that they're not holding you. He looks at you, taking in the mix of sadness and acceptance on your face. It's in that moment that he finally understands it's really happening.

"This is goodbye, isn't it?" he asks quietly, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

"I guess it is, Vincent."

Those words feel like a punch to the gut. Hearing you say his name, but in a way that feels so distant, so final, is almost unbearable.

He nods slightly, his eyes falling to the ground. The lump in his throat grows larger, threatening to choke him.

"Goodbye..." he whispers, the word tasting like bile on his tongue.

"Goodbye, Vin," you say softly.

He nods again, unable to form any words. Saying goodbye to you feels like the hardest thing he's ever done. His heart is heavy, a mixture of sorrow, regret, and disbelief washing over him.

As you start to walk away, Vinnie's hand twitches, instinct telling him to reach out and pull you back. But he doesn't. Instead, he stands there, rooted to the spot, watching you walk out of his life.

You slowly walk towards the door and open it, pausing for a moment to look back at him one final time. Your tear-filled eyes meet his for a few seconds before you step out the door, disappearing into the unknown.

After you leave, the apartment falls eerily silent. The absence of your voice, your footsteps, your presence is deafening.

Vinnie stands in the middle of the living room, his gaze fixed on the empty space you left behind. It feels surreal, like he's in a nightmare from which he can't wake up.

Then the realization of your absence hits him like a ton of bricks. You're gone, and he's alone. A strangled noise escapes his throat, somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

Days turn into weeks, and the silence in the apartment only grows louder. Vinnie feels like he's living on autopilot, going through the motions of his daily routine but with a huge part of him missing.

His nights are filled with sleeplessness as he stares at the empty space beside him in the bed. The pillow still holds the faint scent of your hair, and it both comforts and tortures him.

He tries to distract himself with work, with the band, with anything he can think of. But nothing seems to fill the void left by your absence. The silence in the apartment is maddening, the space feels empty and cold without you.

Vinnie's thoughts are constantly haunted by memories of you, the way you used to laugh, the way you used to smile, the way you used to make him feel. It's as if you're everywhere and nowhere at once, a constant reminder of what he's lost.

The apartment, once a warm and lively space filled with love and laughter, now feels like a hollow shell. The photos on the walls, the little mementos of your time together, they all feel like ghosts of a past he can't seem to let go of.

Vinnie spends countless hours staring at his phone, hoping to see a message from you, a sign that maybe you're thinking about him too. But the screen remains stubbornly blank, a silent testament to the distance growing between you.

Every day feels like a struggle, a battle against the gnawing emptiness that threatens to consume him. He pours himself into his work, hoping to drown out the pain with music and the camaraderie of his bandmates. But even the thrill of performing, something that used to bring him so much joy, now feels hollow without you by his side.

As the weeks turn into months, Vinnie begins to accept the reality of your absence. The pain doesn't lessen, but it becomes a part of him, a constant ache that he learns to live with. He knows he can't hold onto the past forever, but letting go of you feels like letting go of a part of himself.

The dreams you shared, the future you once envisioned together, they all feel like distant memories now. But despite the pain, Vinnie holds onto the hope that maybe, someday, your paths will cross again. Maybe you'll find your way back to each other, and maybe, just maybe, you'll find that the love you once shared is still there, waiting to be rekindled.

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲

Four years had passed since you and Vinnie had gone your separate ways, but the memories of your time together still lingered like ghosts from the past. You found yourself at a lavish Hollywood party, surrounded by the elite and celebrities, trying to navigate through the crowd with Matt Sturniolo, your new boyfriend. Matt was introducing you to various people, his hand possessively on your back as you made your way through the throng.

Amidst the glamorous chaos, you spotted a familiar face—the one you thought you'd never see again. Vinnie stood out among the Hollywood elite, his charismatic presence and undeniable good looks drawing attention wherever he went. He was surrounded by people, laughing at his jokes and eagerly listening to his stories. It was clear he was thriving in the industry.

As if sensing your gaze, Vinnie glanced up and briefly met your eyes. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as memories flooded your mind. But all too quickly, he tore his gaze away and continued chatting with his entourage, as if nothing had happened.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as your eyes met Vinnie's across the crowded party. The sight of him caught you off guard, a flood of memories and emotions surging through you.

For those few seconds, it was as if time had regressed, and you were back to all those moments you had shared together. But as quickly as the connection had been made, Vinnie looked away, leaving you bewildered and disoriented.

Matt's hand was on your waist, a subtle but possessive gesture that grounded you back in reality. However, you couldn't help but steal furtive glances at Vinnie.

You tried to focus on the conversations around you, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Vinnie. He was now fully engaged in another conversation, his laughter ringing out loudly across the room.

Matt's arm around your waist tightened slightly, as if sensing your distraction. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, "Everything okay, baby?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness.

"I'm fine," you smiled at him as he led you across the crowd, introducing you to his friends. But then Matt brought you in front of Vinnie, and you had to muster all your strength to act as if this was your first time meeting. Your eyes locked onto Vinnie's, and you could see a flicker of recognition in his gaze, but he played along.

Vinnie's heart skipped a beat as Matt guided you towards him. He was acutely aware of your presence, the scent of your perfume bringing back a flood of memories. He hoped his poker face was holding up.

Once you were standing in front of him, Vinnie plastered on a casual smile, acting as if he hadn't recognized you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he felt as if the world around them had vanished.

"Hey, nice to meet you," Vinnie said smoothly, offering a polite smile and extending his hand for a handshake.

You politely declined Vinnie's handshake, keeping your hand firmly clasped with Matt's as he introduced you as his girlfriend. Vinnie glanced at your intertwined hands, a subtle flicker of disappointment crossing his face before he quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

The sight of you rejecting his handshake stung a little, but Vinnie kept his composure. The fact that you were there with another man, holding his hand and introducing yourself as his girlfriend, was like a dagger to his heart.

He tried not to let his disappointment show, but he couldn't help the pang of jealousy that coiled in his gut as he watched you and Matt together. He forced a nonchalant smile, pretending that your presence didn't affect him.

"Ah, got yourself a nice catch, Matt," Vinnie joked, his voice casual but his eyes betraying a hint of envy. He gave Matt's hand a firm shake before turning his attention to you. "Congratulations to you both."

Matt chuckled at Vinnie's compliment, appreciating his words. But Vinnie's eyes betrayed the true feelings lurking beneath his casual demeanor. He couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as he looked at you by Matt's side.

His gaze flicked back to you as he offered his congratulations, watching the way you interacted with Matt, noting the subtle touches and exchanged smiles between you two.

The conversation continued, but Vinnie found himself stealing glances at you whenever he could. The way you smiled at Matt, the way you held his hand, it all made him ache in a way he didn't expect.

He tried to engage in the conversation, to focus on what Matt was saying, but his mind kept wandering back to you. To the time when you were his, when he was the one making you smile and holding your hand.

Every so often, he would catch you looking at him, your gaze darting away just as quickly. Those brief moments of eye contact felt both exhilarating and painful. Vinnie tried to push down the rush of memories and emotions, to act nonchalant, but the more time passed, the harder it became.

The conversations around them continued, but Vinnie's thoughts were consumed by the what-ifs and the lingering memories of your relationship.

Matt turned to Vinnie and asked, "So, have you found yourself a special someone yet, Vinnie?"

Vinnie chuckled, a bit awkwardly, as Matt brought up the topic. He knew the question was coming, but he still didn't know how to respond. He glanced at you and Matt, trying to keep his expression casual.

"Nah, not yet," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "Haven't found the right one, I guess." He tried to sound nonchalant, but deep down, he knew exactly who he was thinking about when he said that.

"Ever did?" Matt asked.

"Once," Vinnie replied, his voice a little rougher than intended. His gaze involuntarily flitted over to you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he looked back at Matt. "But it didn't work out."

He knew he was giving away a piece of himself in that moment, but he couldn't help it.

"We had something special, but life took us down different paths. Sometimes, I wonder if what we had could've been something more."

"What happened?" Matt asked, as you looked away, clenching your hand tighter around Matt's.

Vinnie's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned back to Matt. The words came out of his mouth automatically, the emotions behind them still raw.

"We were young and ambitious," he said with a shrug, trying to sound indifferent. "We wanted different things from life, from our careers. And we grew apart. It was inevitable, really."

He could feel your eyes on him, even though he couldn't bring himself to look at you directly.

But deep down, Vinnie knew it wasn't that simple. There were a million reasons why you two had grown apart, a million moments where things could have gone differently. But the reality was that you had gone your separate ways.

He clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to confess everything that was going through his mind at that moment. To pour out his heart and lay bare all the feelings he still harbored for you.

"So, did you find what you were searching for, and did you ever see her again?" Matt asked.

Vinnie let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow to his own ears. "Yeah, I found success in my career, but that's about it. As for seeing her again..."

He couldn't help but glance at you again, his heart clenching as he took in the sight of you with Matt.

"No, I haven't," he said quietly. "Life has a way of keeping people apart, I guess..."

The conversation between Matt and Vinnie continued, but Vinnie's mind was elsewhere. He couldn't focus on the words being said; all he could think about was you.

His eyes kept returning to you, drawn like a magnet. He watched the way you smiled at Matt, the way you held his hand, and a pang of jealousy shot through him each time.

"It was nice chatting with you both," Vinnie said, his tone laced with a hint of sorrow mixed with acceptance. "Enjoy the party."

Matt nodded in agreement, expressing his parting greetings as well, and gently led you away to find a quieter spot for that much-needed breather. As you walked away, Vinnie found himself lost in his thoughts, unable to shake off the bittersweet memories of what once was. He took a deep breath and pushed the past aside, plastering a smile on his face as he turned back to the party, trying to revel in the present instead.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur for Vinnie, his mind preoccupied with the unexpected encounter. Seeing you with another man stirred up a myriad of emotions within him, forcing him to confront the lingering feelings he still harbored deep down. He tried to engage in conversations and interactions, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you, the one who once loved him. As the party drew to a close, Vinnie felt a sense of relief mixed with a bittersweet tinge. He knew that seeing you tonight had only served to reopen old wounds. As he made his way out of the venue, he couldn't help but wonder if fate would ever bring the two of you together again.

Sitting on the steps in your black dress, you wondered what was taking Matt so long. He had told you to meet him outside, but he still hadn’t appeared. You contemplated whether you should go back into the party and search for him. As you waited for the boy you thought you loved, you realized this was the first time in a long while that you had some alone time.

You didn’t expect to see Vinnie today, let alone talk to him. It had been four years since you’d last seen him, and he still looked as handsome as ever. You tried to push the thought away, reminding yourself that you had a boyfriend—a good boyfriend, at least in front of everyone. But thinking about it, today marked your third fight just this week. Earlier, you had found out Matt was texting Madison Beer, a singer you were good friends with. You didn’t think Matt knew her too.

Even though you had your doubts, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had female friends in the past, and it wasn’t like you were completely honest about who your friends were either. On the surface, you and Matt appeared happy, but in reality, everything was crashing down around you. Things were going wrong in your relationship, and the passion and spark you once had for your acting career felt like they were being extinguished.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, you looked up from the steps. There he was, looking down at you—Vinnie, an old love. The sight of him sent a jolt through you, stirring up a mix of emotions you had buried long ago

"Hey," he greeted softly, his voice tinged with both warmth and hesitation. "Mind if I join you?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of that familiar voice, stirring up a mixture of emotions within you. The memories of what used to be flooded your mind as you looked up, seeing Vinnie standing there, looking down at you.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "Go ahead," you replied, a hint of bitterness in your voice. "It's not like my boyfriend is anywhere, and it's not like the spot's reserved."

Vinnie nodded, sensing the underlying resentment in your words. He took a seat next to you on the steps, keeping a polite distance as usual.

The silence between you grew heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. His gaze lingered on your face, taking in the familiar features he had once loved. "It's nice out here," he commented softly, before adding, "Not much of a party person, are you?"

"Never was, even with you," you replied, a wistful tone in your voice. "But neither were you."

Vinnie chuckled quietly, a hint of nostalgia in his expression. "Yeah, I guess you're right. We always preferred quieter company, didn't we?"

He paused, a beat of silence passing between you two. "I remember those nights we used to spend, just the two of us, talking away till sunrise."

"Yeah..." you said as forgotten memories washed all over you.

As the memories washed over him, Vinnie felt a pang of nostalgia in his chest. He missed those nights, those moments of closeness and understanding.

"I guess some things never change. Neither of us was meant for the Hollywood spotlight."

"I don't know about you, but I look great on the big screen," you said, trying to inject some lightness into the conversation.

Vinnie chuckled again, appreciating the attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah, you certainly do. You shine brighter than any star in this town. It suits you. I always knew you were destined for greatness."

His words were sincere, free of any hint of sarcasm or irony. He knew it was a compliment you deserved, even if you now belonged to someone else.

"Even if it caused our relationship to end," you said quietly, your voice tinged with regret.

Vinnie's expression softened as he heard your words. Despite everything that had happened between you two, the regret in your voice tugged at his heartstrings.

He drew in a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It wasn't just your career that caused the end, you know that, right?"

"It still took a toll on our relationship, on both of us. We had different dreams, different paths. Sometimes, I wonder what would have been if we had chosen differently. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if we had ordinary jobs, like everyone else in the world," you added, a wistful tone in your voice.

Vinnie let out a bitter laugh, his gaze fixed on the night sky above.

"Ordinary jobs, huh? Sometimes, I think about that, too," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of envy for that simpler life.

He turned to look at you, the light from the party casting a soft glow over your face.

"But we were never ordinary, were we?"

"I guess. But just imagine the two of us, living life without the fame and the busy schedules, it would've been simpler, but who knows, maybe things happen for a reason."

Vinnie sighed, the reality of your words sinking in.

"Maybe," he mumbled, his gaze drifting back up to the night sky. "Maybe life had a different plan for us."

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, lost in your thoughts. Then Vinnie spoke up again, breaking the quiet.

"Do you ever think about... us?"

"You mean what we would be doing instead of attending this party right now, like if we were to go back before the fame, like four years ago? Fighting over either Attack on Titan or Sailor Moon?" you mused.

Vinnie chuckled, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The mention of your old arguments brought back memories of lighter times, when the biggest fights you had were over anime preferences.

"Yeah, something like that," he responded, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. A beat of silence passed between you two before he spoke up again.

"Do... Do you ever wonder if being apart was the right decision? If things could have worked out differently if we had..." He trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

"Sometimes," you said softly, not entirely convinced. "Though I'm surprised there's no lovely woman by your side tonight."

Vinnie chuckled awkwardly, a hint of embarrassment crossing his features. "Ah, yeah... about that."

He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze.

"Dating scene's not exactly my thing," he admitted, a tinge of sheepishness in his voice. "I'm too focused on my career, I suppose."

He glanced at you, a trace of vulnerability in his eyes. "Not like you, with your Matt."

"You could have any woman you want, Vin," you joked, feigning confidence. "But I guess you're always just waiting for the right one to come along. Someone who appreciates the real you, not just the celebrity persona."

Vinnie's expression softened as he observed you, the playful tone in your voice hinting at insecurity beneath.

"That's what everyone says," he replied, a sad smile on his face. "But finding someone who really gets you, it's not as easy as it sounds."

He paused for a moment, his eyes searching your face. "You... you seem happy with him."

The words were a statement rather than a question, as if the truth was evident in the way you spoke about Matt.

"You mean the anime nerd behind all that mystery," you teased, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

A genuine smile spread across his face at your words. He couldn't help but be charmed by your ability to bring out the lighter side of him, even in moments like this.

"Yeah, that anime nerd," he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "The one who could argue for hours about which anime character could beat up the other."

Vinnie grinned wider, his eyes lighting up as the nostalgia washed over him. "Yeah, those endless debates over which anime is the best," he mused. "You and your love for Sailor Moon, and me passionately defending Attack on Titan. It was always a tie between us, wasn't it?"

"I don’t know, I feel like I won most of those rounds," you said with a playful challenge.

Vinnie chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Ah, so you're still claiming victory, huh? Typical," he teased, raising an eyebrow at your declaration. "I seem to recall a few decisive wins on my end, but I guess our memory is selective when it benefits us."

Vinnie chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. "Maybe you won a few, but I still hold my ground that Attack on Titan is the superior anime," he quipped, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "I mean, come on, the story, the characters, the action – it's just unbeatable!"

"Come on, like you didn't drool over Captain Levi every time he was on the screen," Vinnie teased.

"Levi Ackerman, huh? Can't blame me there," you admitted, a playful shrug. "He's a hot badass, for sure. But let's be real, even he couldn't steal me away from you."

Vinnie's heart skipped a beat when you mentioned Levi. He couldn't deny the attractiveness of the character, but there was something about the way you talked about Levi that made a pang of jealousy flare up within him.

He chuckled, trying to brush off the feeling with a light-hearted remark. "Ah yes, the infamous Levi Ackerman. The heartthrob of the anime world. But let's not forget who gave you those endless debates and sleepless nights, arguing about the pros and cons of Titan shifting versus magical girl transformations."

"You still jealous?"

Vinnie's eyes widened slightly at your comment. Caught off guard, he attempted to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Jealous? Pfft, me? Come on, who do you think I am?" he replied, trying to mask the truth with a casual laugh.

But deep down, he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that tugged at his heart when you spoke so affectionately about Levi.

The light-hearted mood shifted suddenly as Matt's voice interjected, "Steal who from who?" cutting through the conversation like a gust of cold wind. Vinnie turned to face Matt, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

"Baby, what took you so long?" you asked Matt, kissing him on the cheek as he pulled you closer to him.

Matt's presence was an unwelcome intrusion on the conversation between you and Vinnie. Vinnie's gaze shifted to Matt, taking in the sight of him holding you close. The pang of jealousy he felt earlier intensified, but he tried to mask it with a polite smile.

"Ah, you know how it is," Matt replied, wrapping an arm possessively around your waist. "Just got caught up in some party chit-chat. But I'm here now."

Vinnie watched as you kissed Matt, a whirlwind of emotions stirring within him. He forced a strained smile, his eyes betraying a hint of jealousy and longing hidden beneath the surface.

"So, what were you talking about?" Matt asked.

Vinnie tried to collect himself, composing his expression as best as possible. "Oh, we were just reminiscing about the old days," he said, his voice strained. "Back when we used to have those arguments about anime."

He couldn't help but steal a glance in your direction, taking in the sight of you wrapped in Matt's embrace. The pang of jealousy flared up inside him once more, making his heart ache.

"Reminiscing about the old days," Matt said. "Didn't know you knew my girlfriend so well, hacker."

Vinnie's irritation flared up at Matt's casual comment. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool, but the jealousy was eating away at him.

"Ah, well, we go way back," he retorted, a forced smile on his face. "Used to be pretty close, her and I. Before..." he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

"Before?" Matt asked, his tone more curious than confrontational.

"Before we graduated high school," you interjected, looking at Vinnie in a pleading way. He could see you hadn't gotten to tell Matt about your relationship.

Matt looked confused, still remembering that you went to a girls-only school. He didn't say a thing, but his confused and we-will-talk-about-it-later look, even though brief, was noticeable to you.

Vinnie caught the pleading look in your eyes, realizing the unspoken plea to keep quiet about your past relationship. He clenched his jaw, biting back the words that almost slipped out.

"Yeah, before high school," he repeated, his voice strained. "Just lost touch after graduation, y'know how it is."

"So, how's the industry treating you, Matt? Any exciting projects coming up?" Vinnie asked, changing the subject.

Matt launched into a detailed explanation about his YouTube channel and the one he shared with his triplet brothers, Nick and Chris, who appeared behind him. Chris gave you a pat on the shoulder, commenting on how lit the party was, joking that you'd be his sister-in-law soon if you kept up your relationship with his brother.

Vinnie's smile grew more strained as Chris appeared out of nowhere, adding to the tension in the air. He watched as he joked about your future with Matt, and it took every ounce of self-control not to react.

He politely feigned interest in Matt's YouTube projects, desperately trying to keep his composure as the conversation continued.

"Ah, the YouTube scene can be hectic," Matt chuckled, launching into a detailed explanation about the projects he had in mind. But Vinnie's mind was elsewhere, his focus drifting toward your side of the conversation.

He could see the discomfort on your face when Chris joked about your future with Matt. It was subtle, but he knew you well enough to pick up on it.

Matt turned his head to you and Chris as he heard his comment and whispered, "Maybe one day, my love," kissing your cheek. But all you could think of at that moment was Vinnie as he stared at you. Matt's comment brought back memories for both of you, as "my love" was Vinnie's favorite nickname for you.

You remembered the first time he called you that name, back in high school. The wind was blowing hard, and the flowers had bloomed even though it was the first day of spring. You were supposed to meet at the botanical gardens for your first official date. As you tried to find where he was, a soft, comforting voice said, "Hi," tapping your shoulder and causing you to turn around. Before any word could come out of your mouth, he picked a leaf that had gotten stuck in your hair and spoke gently, "I think something got stuck in your hair, love." That was the first time anyone had called you that, and at that time, you really believed he would be the only one calling you it. Snapping out of your thoughts, you smiled softly at Matt to reassure him. Vinnie interrupted the moment, reminding Matt they were in the middle of a conversation.

As Matt called you "my love," Vinnie couldn't help but feel a mixture of jealousy and wistfulness. The memories of the past flooded back into his mind, reminding him of the nickname he used to use for you.

He watched as you smiled softly at Matt, and it took all his willpower to keep his expression neutral. Sensing his discomfort, Vinnie decided to interrupt the moment, clearing his throat and refocusing the conversation on Matt's projects.

"Back to your YouTube plans," Vinnie said, his voice steady. "You mentioned some exciting projects. Care to share more details?"

Matt proceeded to give a detailed explanation of the projects he had in mind, but Vinnie's attention was divided. He listened intently, trying to focus on Matt's words, but his eyes kept straying towards you, watching your every expression.

Matt's words seemed to drone on in the background as Vinnie's mind wandered. His thoughts were consumed by you and the memories he shared with you. But he knew he had to keep up the facade of polite interest for the sake of the conversation.

He nodded and mumbled occasional words of agreement, trying to look invested in Matt's projects, but his heart wasn't in it.

"That's great to hear, man. I hope your channel keeps growing. You've got a long road ahead of you," Vinnie responded, his voice neutral despite the emotional turmoil roiling inside him. He tried to focus on the conversation, asking questions and engaging in small talk, but his thoughts kept circling back to you, the one who once loved him. As the conversation continued, Vinnie began to feel increasingly out of place, his presence becoming more of a hindrance than anything.

His mind raced, weighing the options for escape. Glancing around, he subtly scanned for a way out. Seeing an opportunity, Vinnie excused himself abruptly, offering a hasty excuse about finding the restroom or chatting with his manager—anything to leave this awkwardly tense situation.

"Excuse me for a moment, I need to freshen up," he stated, his voice as neutral as possible. Before anyone could protest, he turned and briskly made his way through the crowd, his mind focused on finding a quiet spot outside to regroup.

"Take care, Vin," you said as Vinnie passed by you once again.

Vinnie froze for a moment as you called out his name. The sound of your voice sent a jolt through him, making his heart ache with nostalgia and regret. He forced a half-genuine smile, turning to look at you, as it was the second time you had said goodbye to him.

"Yeah, you too," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

With that, he forced himself to walk away, pushing through the crowd of party-goers to find a quiet refuge outside.

[itacats]

Operation 141: The Family Business

FT: TF141 x gn!reader - Mafia AU

Warnings: mafia themes, kidnapping/abduction, obsessive behaviors, beat down, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: In the depths of your captivity, the team crept closer to the man who’d taken everything from them. The air crackled with tension; each silent step brought them nearer to a final reckoning. This was more than a rescue—it was payback. And tonight, Ghost would make sure he felt every second of it.

Read Part 1 Read Part 2 Read Part 3 Read Part 4 Read Part 5 Read Part 7 Read Part 8 Read Part 9 Read Part 10

Part 6: Showdown

The night was suffocatingly still, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for what was about to unfold. The outskirts were desolate, a wasteland of forgotten industrial buildings and crumbling warehouses, cast in the eerie glow of distant streetlights. Ghost led the team through the shadows, every step precise, silent, as they closed in on their target: the man who had taken you.

The warehouse loomed ahead, a massive structure of rusting metal and shattered windows. It was a tomb of memories—abandoned, decayed, yet now the epicenter of a tension so thick it felt like the air itself might shatter. Ghost's voice cut through the silence like a blade, his whisper low and controlled. "Stay sharp. This guy might be desperate enough to do anything. We move in silently."

Soap, Gaz, and Price exchanged tense nods. There was no room for error. Desperation made people dangerous, and this man—Devon—had proven just how far he was willing to go. But Ghost’s focus was unbreakable. This mission wasn’t just tactical; it was personal. He had failed to see the threat before, and now, standing on the precipice of this showdown, he wasn’t about to let you slip away again.

With each step, the tension climbed. The warehouse’s rotting metal door creaked as it swung open, but inside, the silence was almost unbearable. The team moved like shadows, their training kicking in as they fanned out and took their positions. Every corner, every potential line of sight was calculated. Soap crouched low, inching toward the center while Gaz held to the right, eyes scanning for movement. Price hung back, his weapon ready, overseeing the operation with the steady calm that had seen them through a thousand dangerous missions.

In the middle of the room, Devon stood with his back to them, staring at the cracked wall as if it held the answers to the madness that had consumed him. His mind was scattered, and his movements erratic as he paced from the wall to you and back. His body language was rigid, tense, like a spring coiled too tight, ready to snap. He hadn’t heard them yet—hadn’t sensed the wolves closing in on him.

But you had. 

Curled up in the corner of the room, battered by fear and exhaustion, you saw them first—your saving grace. For the briefest moment, a flicker of hope ignited in your chest, but then the terror clawed its way back, fierce and unrelenting. The sight of them was too much, and the cry that erupted from your lips shattered the tense stillness like a gunshot.

"Get away from me!" you screamed, your voice raw, filled with the anguish of days almost weeks spent in captivity, the fear of never being found.

Devon spun around, eyes wild with rage and panic. The mask of control he’d worn for so long crumbled in an instant as he realized what was happening. But it was too late.

Before he could react, Ghost was already in motion. The world around him blurred, reduced to the singular focus of stopping the man who had caused you so much pain. His boots pounded against the concrete floor as he charged forward, eyes blazing with an icy fury. In one swift, brutal motion, Ghost tackled Devon to the ground, their bodies crashing onto the cold, hard floor with a sickening thud.

“You’ve touched them one too many times,” Ghost growled, his voice low and lethal, barely human beneath the mask of rage. His fists were already flying, driven by a cold fury that had been simmering for days. This wasn’t just another mission—it was retribution.

The warehouse exploded into chaos. The sounds of struggle filled the air—grunts, the dull thud of fists connecting with flesh, the scuffle of boots against concrete. Devon fought back with the desperation of a man cornered, but he was no match for Ghost, whose anger was pure, unrelenting. Each punch landed with precision, fueled by the knowledge of what you had endured, by the guilt of not stopping it sooner.

Nearby, Price and Gaz moved quickly, their focus shifting to you. They flanked Soap as he reached your side, blocking out the violence that played out in the background. Soap’s hands were gentle, but his voice was firm, steady—reassuring. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.” He crouched down, pulling you to your feet, his presence a solid anchor against the storm still raging only feet away from you.

Gaz positioned himself between you and the fight, his eyes constantly scanning the room for any further threats. He could hear Ghost’s fists connecting with Devon’s body, and could feel the weight of Ghost’s fury in every blow. But his focus remained on you, shielding you from the brutal reality unfolding behind him.

Price stood nearby, his eyes flicking between the chaos and the door. He knew Ghost needed to finish this. He also knew there was no going back once this line was crossed. But Ghost had earned this—had earned the right to deliver the justice Devon deserved. And Price would make sure nothing stopped him.

Ghost, now fully immersed in his fury, tightened his grip around Devon’s collar, hauling him up from the floor before slamming him back down with a force that echoed through the empty warehouse. Devon’s gasps for breath were ragged, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and confusion. Ghost leaned in close, his breath hot against Devon’s ear, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You think you can take one of our people and get away with it? Not in this lifetime.”

With one final, savage punch, Ghost knocked Devon out cold, leaving him sprawled on the floor, unconscious and broken. The warehouse fell silent again, the sounds of battle fading into the void.

Ghost stood over Devon’s crumpled form, his chest heaving with adrenaline and rage, but his eyes slowly softened as he looked toward you. His team had you now. You were safe.

Soap helped you steady yourself as you stumbled forward, your body weak from days of fear and captivity. Being subjected to Devon’s madness drained everything in you from the moment he ripped you away from the world. Your eyes met Ghost’s through the haze of tears and exhaustion, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe it was over. 

The nightmare had ended. You had been found.

Read Part 7

The quiet settled like dust in the warehouse, thick and heavy after the storm of violence and fear. Shadows loomed around you, and yet, in their midst, familiar figures emerged, steady and unwavering. Stay tuned for the next part of the series, you won't want to miss it!

Tag List:

@strawberryrnilk

@rafaelacallinybbay

Let me know if you would like to be added to the list lovely!

[icyminghao]

if you call on me forever, i will come (preview)

pairing: popstar!soonyoung x fem!reader ft. childhood bestfriend!joshua genre: angst, fluff (not in preview), arranged marriage!au warning(s) (for the preview): cursing, mentions of food word count (for the preview): 1.9k

summary: as a result of his entertainment label teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, soonyoung is given an ultimatum: marry the heir of the largest entertainment label in korea and save his career, or risk losing everything he’s built over the last five years.

a/n: just a little something i’ve been working on to make up for the inactivity~~ not sure when this would be uploaded since i haven’t finished it yet ><

Having been in the entertainment industry since he was eighteen, Soonyoung has quite literally been through it all. From the doubtful eyes of the public when he just debuted to the current, decent fanbase he has garnered through all his years of hardwork and determination, Soonyoung has seen it all.

At least, he thought he had.

“What the hell did you just say?” Soonyoung snaps his head to send the CEO of his music label a chill-inducing glare, and Mr. Kang gulps for a split second before returning to his stoic expression.

“I said,” Mr. Kang clears his throat, “you’re to marry the heir of VIBE Entertainment, as per the conditions set by her father.”

The words hit Soonyoung hard, like he’d just downed a bottle of vodka in one go. He resists the urge to launch himself at Mr. Kang. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because,” Mr. Kang sighs, exasperated, “you have to. It’s the only way for our label to survive. You know what our situation’s like, Soonyoung. The CEO of VIBE Entertainment is doing us a mercy here. Just marry the girl, and VIBE will take us under their wing, and-”

“And then what?” Soonyoung snaps, “We’ll just be one of the many companies monopolised by that farce of an entertainment label. You’ll be just another one of his subordinates, another one of his pawns. Is this the path you want?”

“I mean, just look at what the fuck you’re doing here.” Soonyoung runs his hand through his blonde locks in pure frustration. “I have a fucking girlfriend. You’re just going to upend my life to live out a shitty future? This is the twenty-first century, man. You’d think we’d have gotten over the stupid ‘arranged marriage’ cliche, huh?”

“What do you want me to do, then?” Mr. Kang raises his voice, his gaze hardening. “Do you think I haven’t considered the consequences of this for you? For the label? For me? I’m doing this because we have no other choice-”

“I have my fans. I could work something out,” Soonyoung reasons, pacing about Mr. Kang’s tiny, cramped office.

Mr. Kang laughs with no emotions behind his eyes, and Soonyoung is just now noticing the pure exhaustion manifested in his horrid dark eye circles. “Your fans can’t do jack shit, and you know it.”

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything in reply, because Mr. Kang is right. His record label had been struggling when Soonyoung first debuted, and silly, naive, eighteen-year-old him thought he could change that. Thought he could be Mr. Kang’s hero, thought he could save the label with his immaculate talent.

Fast forward to five years later, and the label is doing so much worse after suffering the effects of supporting an average pop star for half a decade. Hell, he can’t even bear to call himself a pop star. Five years down the rocky road to stardom, and he’s barely produced enough hits to even be considered a household name in the country, let alone the world. He knows Mr. Kang is right. They’ve been backed against the wall, and there’s only one way out.

Breaths evening out as he calms down, Soonyoung shuts his eyes so tight it feels like his sockets might pop out. Letting out a sigh in surrender, he slowly opens them and inhales deeply.

“How long do I have till it happens?”

You think you might just be Soonyoung’s biggest fan.

You’ve been with him on his journey to stardom since he debuted, and you’ve been a loyal fan since. You’d even talked to him once, when your father’s secretary brought you to the set where Soonyoung was filming an interview with a magazine.

Which is why your mind is reeling right now. Your father’s secretary, Joshua, had just informed you of your impending marriage to Soonyoung, and you’re both happy and taken by surprise.

“He… agreed to this? Willingly?” you ask, doubt lacing your voice. Joshua simply nods in response, before letting out a huge smile and stepping closer to you.

“This is really big, y/n,” Joshua grins toothily. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and launch yourself into your childhood best friend’s arms, squealing.

“I know, Shua! I’m just, really surprised he agreed to this willingly. I mean, I feel really bad since this is, like, being forced upon us and all, but maybe he remembers me from the time we met at the N Magazine shoot?” you ramble in complete disbelief. “God, Joshua. What if he doesn’t like me? Or I don’t like him as a person? We’d be so miserable, maybe it’s not too late-”

“You know you can’t change his mind once he’s set on it, y/n.” Joshua sighs, gently grabbing you by your shoulders to ground you. “Besides, what’s not to like about you? The only thing you should be worried about is whether or not you’ll like him.”

You break out into a dopey smile, touched by Joshua’s kind words. “Aw, Joshie, are you flirting with me now?”

You see a hint of panic flash through Joshua’s widened eyes, but his phone beeps with a notification before you can call him out on it.

“Oh my god, I almost forgot,” Joshua says after pocketing his phone. “You have a dinner with him tonight.”

You’re late to the dinner.

Which clearly would not give Soonyoung a good impression of you, you realise, as you silently pray for Joshua to drive faster.

In your defence, Joshua had only informed you about the scheduled dinner barely an hour before it was supposed to happen, and you were at your office in your father’s company building sorting out some PR stuff for a newly-debuted boygroup, so you had a grand total of about forty minutes to prepare yourself for the dinner. Which, after reducing the travel time to your apartment to get ready and to the restaurant, left you a whopping ten minutes to spare.

Which is how you ended up in this predicament, at least ten minutes late to your first official meeting as a soon-to-be married couple.

You don’t even realise when Joshua finally pulls up in front of the restaurant, and he has to gently nudge you to snap you out of your stupor.

“I’ll be waiting out here when you’re done, okay? Everything’s going to be fine,” Joshua smiles softly, reassuring you with honey laced in his words. You shoot him a nervous smile, bidding him goodbye as you scramble out of his car and into the restaurant.

The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You guess you’re considered a child of nepotism (a “nepo-baby”, as Joshua calls it), yes, but you’d stopped relying on your father’s black card to get by, instead depending on the pay you earn from your job (which technically comes from him since you work at his company as the PR team leader of a newly-debuted boygroup, but it’s still your money nonetheless) that honestly isn’t much, but you get by, so you couldn’t ask for more, really. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t really do fancy restaurants, hence your surprise.

Your first thought is that this restaurant is overwhelmingly bright. The place is decked out with so many chandeliers, and there are so many utensils laid out on an empty table for two you’d think there were at least five people having a meal there. You briefly glance at an occupied table and wince upon seeing the measly portion of the food, knowing you’ll probably have to get takeout later.

Your second thought is holy shit, Soonyoung’s right there, and he is ethereal the moment you spot him a few tables in front of you, seemingly lost in thought in a booth in the corner of the restaurant. He’s dressed to the nines in a crisp navy blue button down with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of black slacks, and his hair is nicely slicked back with a few strands framing his face, your heart nearly stopping at the sight. He makes eye contact with you as you stand there like a total idiot and looks away before you beam at him, like he didn’t recognise you.

Right, you think, he probably doesn’t recognise you considering the last time the both of you interacted had been four years ago. You take a deep breath and mentally psych yourself up as you walk over to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung looks visibly confused when you stand in front of him, and you don’t know if you should be amused or offended.

“Hi,” you begin, “I’m y/n.”

As if a switch was turned on the moment you introduced yourself, Soonyoung’s gaze hardens, and you feel yourself shrink a little under his piercing eyes.

“You’re late,” he practically spits, venom lacing the two simple words.

“I’m sorry, I got here on short notice, I only knew about this like two hours-”

“Save it, I don’t really care. Let’s just get this over with.” Soonyoung grumbles, not even bothering to hide his eye roll. Hurt flares in your chest, and you timidly take the seat across from him.

“Um, so, I think we’ve met b-”

You’re cut off once again as Soonyoung closes his eyes and sighs in visible frustration, his breaths becoming quicker. “Look, uh, y/n, I have no intention of being, like, friends with you or whatever, okay? You folks sprung this up on me like I’m some kind of object, so you can’t expect me to act like all of this is fine when it’s really not. Let’s just get this dinner over and done with and go back to our expiring freedom, yeah?”

“Soonyoung, but you… agreed to this. Willingly,” you protest, confused at the rude tone he’s taking on.

Soonyoung scoffs, cocking an eyebrow at you. “I have a girlfriend, y/n. Why would I accept this willingly?”

You don’t talk after that, and just like that, there’s an unspoken agreement that that was the end of the conversation for possibly the entire dinner.

Your food arrives, in portions made for children just like you expected, and you eat in silence, willing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just having a bad day, you try to reason, blinking back tears.

Or maybe, the voice deep inside of your head pops up, you’re doomed to be in this loveless marriage forever.

You jolt out of your trance as your fork clatters to the floor with an ear-piercing sound, and you smile sheepishly at the neighbouring diners who had turned to see what the commotion was. Picking up your fork and laying it on the table, you decide that you’ve probably had enough for the day.

“It was nice, uh, meeting you. I should go now,” you purse your lips together and try your hardest to not burst into tears in front of Soonyoung, though if he notices, he gives no indication. You stand up and leave after a few seconds of silence, feeling increasingly suffocated.

As soon as you step out of the restaurant, you let out a huge breath, the first tear slipping out of your left eye. Through your blurred vision, you see Joshua stepping out of his car, hurrying over to you.

“Oh my god, y/n,” he frets over you, swiping your tears away with his thumbs. “What did he say to you?”

You continue sobbing as Joshua wraps his arms around you, leaning your head on his shoulder as you shake uncontrollably. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s get you home, hm?”

You nod in between sobs, letting your body go limp as Joshua walks you to his car.

The ride home is silent, your mind clear of all thoughts but one.

You’re doomed to live out the rest of your miserable life with a man who cannot and will not love you. Not now, and not ever.

a/n 2: i hope this was okay!

taglist: @slytherinshua @xomingyu @belladaises @pepperonidk @tastymintchocolate @smilehui @dahliatopia

masterlist

[romchat]

Cinematography of Falling in Love: Fake It Till You Make It (Ep. 6)

How do you film the complicated process of two characters falling in love?

When we talk about our favorite romantic scenes, we often point to the role of great acting or writing in creating that magical feeling all romance fans crave. But cinematography, the art of visually capturing stories through a camera, can also be a powerful tool in conveying that heady but scary feeling of falling in love.

I think a great example of this is the Chinese drama Fake It Till You Make It (FITYMI).

Set against the cutthroat world of Beijing's Central Business District, FITYMI is a story about finding authenticity and connection in an otherwise pretentious world. The show follows two professionals, Tang Ying, an ambitious attorney, and Xu Ziquan, a successful investment banker, as they navigate the social challenges of their high-pressure jobs. Ying and Ziquan constantly pretend to be more sophisticated and carefree than they truly are, and the show uses their characters to offer incisive commentary about the ways modern life forces us to compromise our sense of self in order to "make it."

It's this context that makes FITYMI such a compelling romance: despite the masks Ying and Ziquan wear in their professional and personal lives, they ultimately learn to show their true selves to one another and fall in love. And it's through the show's subtle use of composition, shot size, and camera movement that we not only see but feel the tentativeness with which Ying and Ziquan cultivate this connection. It's a messy mix of one step forward and two steps back, and the show’s cinematography beautifully matches the characters’ gradual shift from a flirtatious and tender yet largely undefined relationship to one of committed love.

I don't think any episode demonstrates this dynamic more clearly than Episode 6.

Scene 1: "When I Felt Tempted By You"

Something that I appreciate about the show's cinematography is how it treats Beijing as a secondary character. Even when focusing on our two main characters, FITYMI often uses wide shots with deep depth of field, allowing us to clearly see the hustle and bustle of city life in the background. These shots help communicate the loneliness and societal pressure always present in our characters' fast-paced lives.

Because of this, let's pay attention to how this urban background appears or disappears when Ying and Ziquan are shown spending time together.

In this scene, we see Ziquan impulsively call Ying after a difficult day at work. He's leaning against the wall in exhausted defeat, the cityscape in the background dominating the other two-thirds of the frame. He's at a low point in his career and feels isolated by his industry colleagues.

Ying knows him well enough to recognize his mood so she offers to meet and commiserate.

We can see their closeness by the immediate cut to a close-up shot with both characters similarly aligned on the left side of the frame.

So when he rejects her offer, the camera quickly reframes and pans around Ying to the other side, signaling her shift in mood.

When Ziquan gently asks why she stopped talking, there's another cut to a medium shot of Ying against a busy street backdrop. They've stumbled upon a sore spot in their more-than-just-friends relationship.

In describing the dating landscape of FITYMI, Director Li Mo has noted that in this world there is:

"An unspoken self-preservation, the fear of being seen truly, the fear of kindness being mistaken for weakness, and sincerity being seen as foolish. Within these layers is the lonely soul of the city, bearing weariness and fatigue with nowhere to vent, craving sincere relationships yet unwilling to open up due to the fear of being hurt." (translation via /u/lollipopdeath)

Ying obviously wants to be an emotional support for Ziquan and yet she's wary about being seen as the weaker one who fell in love first. She begins to retreat as an act of self-preservation and the camera language loses the intimacy of those initial shots.

Ziquan hears the disappointment in her voice and steps into the center of the frame as if sensing this is a critical juncture in their relationship that he must be fully present for. Note how the blurriness of the cityscape background creates a lot of negative space around him. He no longer cares about the outside world; all that matters at this moment is Ying.

Slightly teary-eyed but unable to fully articulate his feelings, he reiterates that he just wants to hear her voice for a bit.

But tired of the games, Ying takes a deep breath and then drops a bomb:

"Forget about that. Let's talk about us. Do you want to know when I felt tempted by you?"

What I love about this moment is that it's a moment of extreme vulnerability but shot from a slightly low angle, giving Ying a sense of empowerment. Low-angle shots can alter the power dynamics within a scene because the upward perspective highlights the importance or magnitude of a character's actions. Asking this question is incredibly brave of her, confirmed by Ziquan's shocked and overwhelmed face.

But when Ziquan doesn't immediately follow her confession with one of his own, Ying once again retreats. Hurt, she claims she was just joking to entertain him and that they can continue being friends. The camera pans and her bitterly smiling face fills the frame as if to build herself up after that blow to her confidence and pride.

The scene eventually ends with a devastating wide shot, Ying but a small figure on an empty bridge. She is still a lonely soul of the city.

Despite the numerous tender and romantic moments they had shared in previous episodes, Ying and Ziquan have firmly placed their masks back on.

Scene 2: "You're Waiting For A Worthy Rival"

Later that episode, Ziquan asks Ying out for dinner and she reluctantly agrees.

As usual, they effortlessly banter about life and love, the scene cutting back and forth between the two as they trade verbal volleys over the hotpot. Their chemistry is undeniable and you can see both reveling in the fact that they've found their intellectual match.

At one point, Ziquan begins talking about the importance of rationality in love, and Ying fires back:

"No matter how time changes, there's one thing that makes women really thrilled. If there's a man who loves her with full passion until he loses himself, until he'd die for her, until he becomes a fool, then that woman would be thrilled, you know?"

Eventually, they settle on the topic of Ying's failed first love.

Like in the previous scene, the show uses increasingly intimate close-up shots to convey the quiet vulnerability of the moment. But this time, there's a dream-like quality to the conversation: the background actors suddenly disappear and the shallow depth of field and spotlight lighting remove any remaining worldly distractions.

Unlike their previous dates that happened against the backdrop of Beijing's busy nightlife, here it's like they're in a world of their own.

As if thinking of Ziquan's earlier rejection, Ying ruefully describes how her first love taught her an important lesson:

"I swore to myself that I'd never enter an uncontrollable relationship nor become the fool who overestimated her charm in love....I should find a rich and cool old man so I won't really be in love. I'll get by with him. When he passes away, I'll inherit all his fortune and enjoy my life in his villa."

Placed in the center of the frame, she speaks directly into the camera and we see a series of emotions play across her face. It's the most revealing she's been about herself with Ziquan.

When he pushes back on the idea of her marrying without love, Ying jokingly asks "Are you jealous?"

Ziquan reluctantly shakes his head but admits:

I've never been so deeply loved by a girl. I'm not jealous--I'm super jealous. Tang Ying, you're not looking for someone out of your league. You're waiting for...a worthy rival."

His close-up matches hers in its composition.

This time, he also took off his mask.

BONUS: shout out to the funniest zoom-in of this entire show.

Seems like Ziquan is well on his way to acting like a fool in front of Ying.

[fxirybun]

please can u do what ateez think of the kpop dating scene or if its something they seek out or do they prefer fans or whoever elsewhere?

knight of pentacles 𖦹 nine of wands rx 𖦹 knight of cups 𖦹 tower 𖦹 nine of wands

the first thing that came to my mind was how they did receive some romantic offers when it comes to the dating world in the kpop industry. ateez views the dating culture as something that requires to be cautious and even needs a calculated approach if they ever think of dating someone within the industry. "it's too risky" no , this isn't something that men seek. they felt constrained by obligations to their fans , their agencies , and especially their public image.

ateez views it as challenging or even exhausting too. the reason behind it was due to how idols are facing a constant battle to protect their personal lives from public scrutiny. they may believe that the pressure of maintaining a perfect image can leave them feeling overwhelmed.

i sensed that at the back of their minds , they do desire a romantic connection among idols and how it would bring them a some kind of contentment within themselves. the problem here is they need to keep their walls up even if they desire to because they are unable to do so.

do they prefer fans or whoever elsewhere ? i got the tower and the nine of wands again so that's a big no. they think that it's too messy for them and would cause them to weigh down their responsibilities as idols.

[ghostat7am]

Meet Flipped! Orbulon, who swaps with Dribble & Spitz!

I made Orbulon a human in this au to reflect how he uses his human disguise around D&S! Tried to make the exhaust pipe headband on Orby's head look like bunny ears, to match with their sibling!

Swift (any pronouns)

Swift is a Taxi Driver & mechanic, along as a programmer & artist at Waluigi's company. Swift was orphaned at a young age, and raised by a family of alien bunnies, which is where they met their big sibling & coworker Zip! Swift has always been a massive fan of drag racing & karting, and dreams of being a celebrity in the racing industry - but for now, they work as a humble cabbie.

Swift is very much a go-getter, impulsive and a bit scatterbrained- but a phenomenonal driver. They go into things with everything they have, being hard to reel in at times. But he is very compassionate and intelligent too! He can be rather estranged & awkward at first, but past that stage- they're a loving, passionate and exhilarating person to be around.

English is his second language and he struggles with it a bit, but he's gotten much better throughout his years of running a taxi business. He's good friends with the Cadenza family, and they often cross each other's paths- whether that be from Swift crashing his car through the wall of the lab, or them chatting during lunch break.

Zip (they/them)

Zip is a former driving instructor, now support cabbie driver to Swift & head mechanic at their business! Zip grew up in a large, bustling household with many siblings- most being younger than them. Due to this, Zip is used to being in a leadership role and has no problem with instructing Swift while driving. They're rather worried over the idea of their little brother getting into drag racing due to the danger of it, is glad Swift has taken up a more safe job for now.

Zip is more reserved, calculated and observant. Very laid back, until any sort of danger arises and they become an anxious, protective mess over Swift. Despite their anxiety, they're not opposed to confrontation in any way and will destroy anything that poses as a threat to them, their family or their business. With their trusty bazooka in hand, nothing stands a chance in their path.

They're very quiet, typically speaking around their brother or to customers. They prefer to stick to themselves and not make a fuss if it isn't necessary. They're acquainted with the Cadenza family, but not particularly close with any of them.

[septembersghost]

It must be so exhausting to be a celebrity and have to calculate your outings and plan your relationships and fake your emotional reactions all the time just to keep yourself popular and consumable because it's tiring to watch it

social media has, almost counterintuitively, made it harder and harder for famous people to interact in any sort of meaningful or genuine way too. especially over the past few years, everything has gotten increasingly curated, polished, controlled, and a lot of their management was already fairly stringent. or the fanbases are so scarily off the wall and toxic that they have to delete their online presences altogether due to invasive behavior. this isn't to say everything is fake, it's certainly not, but it's gotten easier for savvy audiences to recognize the game for what it is, and i think there's a lot of dislike/resentment towards that, but it's not really an opt-out situation. turning art into content and artists into consumable products rather than living, breathing human beings...

i can tell you this much, i would NOT be built for it and would not survive it. i am too sensitive and fragile and too easy to read and too unwilling to play along, i wouldn't be able to handle all that, and sadly it's not shocking that it breaks a lot of people.

i keep thinking about what jenna ortega said to elle fanning a few months ago:

"I want people to be able to get to know the people behind the camera and realize that people should never be put on a pedestal. And the more I’ve been exposed to the world, people prey on that and take advantage of that. They see your vulnerability and twist it in a way that you don’t always expect. [Starts to cry] It’s so strange...It’s such a hard thing to balance. Because how do you be honest without jeopardizing your own health and safety? It’s very easy to feel almost out of control...I still have this really intense urge to be human and honest and authentic. Another thing about this industry is you get in front of a camera and people want you to be something else — where it’s “Have more energy” or “Could you smile?” and it just feels gross. And I don’t want to feel gross. I would rather people see me cry and do whatever than be something I’m not."

we demand they be human, but not too flawed, entertaining, but not too emotional, vulnerable, but not embarrassing, and the slightest weakness or misstep is pounced upon or twisted to mock people and tear them apart. someone shares a struggle and is often now met with, "who cares? you're (rich, successful, beautiful, privileged), shut up," as if those conditions of life - while surely exceedingly helpful - preclude people from hurt or humanity. and so they retreat, share less, manufacture more to just appease the brand. it's such a sad cycle and so antithetical to the connections we find in art.