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motorsportbarbie13 · 9 days ago

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The Yapping Hour is Upon Us

In which Max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing.

Warnings: jos verstappen mention ew Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.5k plus social media posts

TheYappingHour posted:

349,219 likes liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others TheYappingHour Back at it this week with a very super top secret special guest. I simply can't wait to reveal who's on this weeks pod, you guys! You're going to DIE. (peep the clue in the second picture!) user928 her podcast set up is so aesthetic i can't user0928 RED BULL??? what does this meeeeeean??? >>>user1211 she hasn't done a ton of athletes in the past, maybe she got one of the Red Bull athletes!! user00291 DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN. (shhh let me be delulu for a minute) >>>user221 as much as i'd love that, we all know how much Max hates interviews.

There was absolutely no reason why having Max Verstappen on your podcast should be making you this nervous. You’ve interviewed actual heads of state, a former president, and royalty for crying out loud and you’re losing your mind over Max fucking Verstappen? You supposed it came from the fact that you had spent most of your childhood traveling from track to track to watch your dad race in NASCAR, racing was in your blood and you knew how revered and idolized Max was. And how rabid his fans could get. You wanted to get this interview right. Needed to get this interview right. Motorsport were still a huge part of your life, even if you weren’t really outwardly an active fan. You never missed a NASCAR or F1 race and while you considered yourself a Ferrari girlie, Red Bull was most certainly your second team.

“Everything ready?” Your assistant Shannon pokes her head in as you fluff the last throw pillow on the cream colored lounge chair. Scanning the room, everything looks to be in order. The two overstuffed chairs dominate the center of the small recording studio, each with a microphone set up on a small side table next to each chair. Instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs floated out of small speakers tucked away and a few candles burned in the low light of the studio, creating the exact ambiance you were famous for.

You’d been doing your podcast, The Yapping Hour, for nearly five years now and it was now one of the most popular podcasts being produced. You specialized in relaxed interviews of people that the general public don’t get to see relaxed very often. Your big break had come about 3 years ago when you had somehow managed to land an interview with Michelle Obama, her episode was still the most streamed episode of yours to date. Everyone had fallen in love with your interview style, how you got these normally highly media trained individuals to drop their guard down a little and be real for even just an hour. It gave people such a unique glimpse behind the curtain of fame and your fans ate up every bit of it.

“I think so!” You nod, smoothing down the front of your boyfriend cut jeans even though the denim is perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle.

“Good, because he just pulled in the parking lot.” Shannon smirks. She knows how nervous you are for this interview and is insisting it’s because you have a crush on the driver. Which would utterly unprofessional if it were true. But it wasn’t true. At all. “And he’s driving this matte black Aston Martin.” She closes her eyes as she bites her lip, smirk growing even wider.

“Okay, let’s cool it on the hero worship.” You warn, following Shannon out into the lobby of the building.

Outside, it’s a dreary late April morning in the heart of downtown London. You had traveled from your home base in New York City just for this interview but had been surprised at how much you liked the ambiance and energy in the city. So much so that you had extended your stay a few extra weeks. The good thing about being your own boss of a podcast was that you could literally work from anywhere you had your laptop.

Peering out into the parking lot, you’re surprised to see a lone figure in jeans and what looked to be a Red Bull windbreaker, hustling across the pavement towards the door. When he approaches the door, Shannons steps forward to open the door, a gust of wind whipping at your hair when Max comes bustling in through the doors.

“Hello!” Max’s voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, a feeling you fight hard to shove down. This is not the time to be a fan girl, you remind yourself.

“Hi Max, thank you so much for joining us today! Can I get you some water or maybe some tea?” Shannons steps forward first, extending her hand.

Max takes it and gives her a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Water is fine, thanks.”

“Max, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” You step forward then, the heels of your black Louboutain’s clicking on the hardwood floor as you approach him. It takes every ounce of focus you have not to react at what feels like a white hot spark flickering over your skin when his hand touches yours for the first time.

“Pleasure is mine.” He murmurs, cat like smirk replacing the warm smile that had greeted Shannon. Your social media did you absolutely no justice and Max was finding it hard to keep his composure you were so pretty.

“Are we waiting on anyone else or is it just you today?” You ask, eyes darting above his shoulder to see if there was anyone still in the parking lot.

“Why? Will I be needing my body guard today?” He quips as he follows you towards the recording studio.

You pray the dim lights in the studio hide the way you’ve gone pink. “Of course not! It’s just that normally the people I have on the show travel with an…entourage.”

“I don’t like people.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “I prefer to travel solo. Besides, I’m no Queen of the Netherlands or Justin Trudeau, I don’t really need an entourage.”

He casually drops two of your biggest interviews like it’s nothing and you feel the pink tinge of your cheeks heat to a crimson red. “You’ve listened to the show then?”

He nods, taking the seat you offer him as Shannon and your AV guy Steve bustle around getting things set up. A bottle of water appears for each of you and you take out the pages of notes you’ve made even though you’ve got all the questions memorized. You like to be prepared and prefer your interviews to be more conversational, less question and answer.

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” His eyes hold this glint of mischief that if you were less of a professional, would have you biting your lip and kicking your feet. Truth was, Max had spent an ungodly amount of time on your socials and wikipedia page, obsessing over you and your career.

“And yet you still came.” You tease.

“I did.” He says simply and you can’t help but notice how his gaze briefly drops from your eyes down to your lips and quickly back up. It’s so quick that if you weren’t in the business of watching and observing people, you probably would have missed it. But those baby blue eyes of Max’s are so easy to read, all you can do is grin back at him.

“Well, thank you for making the trek into London today. I do appreciate it.”

You briefly explain how the interview is going to work, how Steve is going to make sure everything is set up and recording, how you’ll post audio and video versions and that he can have final say in anything that goes in or stays out of the interview. You’ve found that a lot of your guests appreciate that little clause and in the five years you’ve been doing the show only a handful of bits have been kept out. You like to think it’s because you’re good at what you do and get people to open up on a level that they feel comfortable with.

Steve finally gives you the okay and you settle into the cozy lounge chair, Max sitting comfortably in the one opposite you.

“Thank you again for joining me today, Max. I’ve got to admit, I was a little surprised when your manager said you’d agreed to come on the show. You don’t do a lot of lengthy interviews and I could only find a handful of podcast appearances over the years. So, why The Yapping Hour? Why now?”

Max takes a sip of water before placing it on the table beside him. His shoulders are relaxed, his ankle sitting on his knee is a causal pose. You’ve become a veritable body language expert since starting the show and you can already tell this is going to be a good interview.

“I like your style.” His blunt answer throws you off for a moment and your cheeks heat. Again. You make a mental note to make sure they edit your complexion in post production to take the blush out. “GP sent me the one you did with Dale Earnhardt Jr a few months ago and I was impressed at how authentic you were. Dale is a character but you got a lot of depth out of him. Your questions went beyond the typical ‘what’s your favorite race track.’”

“Well, thank you. That is quite the compliment coming from you.” For the third time in a short time, you blush at the compliments this man is handing out left and right.

Your eyes flicker above Max’s shoulder to where Shannon and Steve sit, their smug faces tell you that you’re not imagining him flirting with you.

“I have to tell you, I went karting with a few friends in prep for this interview and oh my God, I’ve been sore ever since! I can't imagine how hard an F1 car is on your body. Talk to me a little bit about your training sch-…”

“You went karting as research?” He interrupts you, face a mask of disbelief.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Of course, I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You toss him a wink and enjoy the way your stomach flips when his ears go a bit pink. “My dad beat me by almost 20 seconds and I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, but it was worth it. I can see why so many people get hooked, it was so fun.”

“Karting with a NASCAR legend had to make it a little better though, yeah?”

“You know my dad?” Your brows nearly hit your hairline, you’re so surprised at this. Your dad had been long retired before Max had come onto the racing scene and there wasn’t a huge overlap in fan bases between F1 and NASCAR.

Max nods, “He was racing around the time Jos was in F1. I still remember that one Daytona 500 where he stole the win from Earnhardt Jr on the last lap after he’d led for the entire race.”

You tilt your head back laughing and Max thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, fully entranced by the long column of your neck that’s suddenly exposed. “Oh God, dad is going to die when he hears you know about that race.”

“Have either of you been to an F1 race yet?” A plan begins to form in Max’s head.

“No!" You lean forward to swat at his arm playfullt. I’ve tried a few times but it’s always fallen through. I do watch most of the races though, as long as my schedule permits. Sometimes it’s easier when you guys are in Europe because the races are so early in New York, it’s easy to watch them from bed on Sunday mornings.”

The image of you wrapped up in a fluffy duvet wearing nothing but his t-shirt as you watch him race nearly sends Max into orbit. He blinks furiously, trying to get that vision out of his mind so he can pay attention to you.

“Tell me this then, if you could pick any garage to watch the race which one would it be and why would it be Red Bull?"

You can’t help that laugh that explodes from you then and Max preens under your attention, smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “You know, I could have sworn it was my name on the podcast Instagram page.” You tease, giving him a wink. “You keep asking me questions, I’m going to be out of a job, Verstappen.”

“I can’t help it when the interviewer is much more interesting than I am.” He murmurs, taking another sip of water without taking his eyes off of you.

The rest of the interview continues on for the next two hours and you get so much content you feel a little dizzy at the thought of having to cut over half of the episode. For the first time in the podcast’s history, you may have to split this into two episodes. Max doesn’t mind one bit, finding that he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be with how easy he finds it talking to you.

You wrap up the interview over an hour past the time you had told Max’s press officer it would last but neither of you make any movement to get up, despite both Shannon and Steve beginning to wrap things up.

“I’m so sorry I kept you this long, Max. I know you’re not a huge fan of lengthy interviews.”

Max just shrugs, “If all interviews were like this, I probably would say yes to a lot more of them.”

You grin over at him as you rise, realizing the sun is setting outside and your stomach is aching for food. Max follows suit, although he feels a clench in his stomach realizing that his time with you is coming to an end.

“Can I ask you something?” He says when Shannon and Steve walk out of the studio, leaving the two of you alone.

You look up at him and nod earnestly, “Of course!”

“Why didn’t you ask me about my childhood? Usually it’s one of the first things people ask me, especially in these kinds of interviews.”

You shrug, face heating at being found out. “Like you, I do my research and I figured you might not want to talk about that part of your life. I want my guests to feel comfortable when they come on the show, not immediately put on the defensive. I guess I thought there were other more important topics…”

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you two. Something in Max’s chest aches at the simple kindness you’ve extended him. It’s true, he doesn’t like revisiting his childhood very often, especially when it’s recorded and will be put on the internet. His dad was very much still in his life, obviously, and while he had done a lot of work to move past his childhood, it was still painful to talk about.

“Thats…wow. Thank you.” Is all he can manage, voice thick with emotion.

“Of course.” You murmur, reaching out to touch his elbow in what you hope comes across as a comforting gesture.

Max’s eyes drop to where your slender fingers rest on his bare arm before a smile stretches back across his face. “I know it’s kind of last minute but you were saying earlier you’d never been to a race. We’re in Miami next weekend and I’d love it if you were my guest…”

You can’t help the flutter in your chest at how nervous he appears standing before you. Your eyes dart over to Shannon, the official keeper of your schedule and are delighted when she nods vigorously, phone in hand with your calendar already pulled up. You made a mental note to give that girl a raise ASAP. “I would love to, Max.”

“Yeah?” He sounds almost shocked that you had agreed so quickly.

“Yeah.” You say, a hint of a giggle at the edge of your voice.

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight and we can work out the details.”

“Why Max Verstappen, I had no idea you were this smooth.”

TheYappingHour posted

987,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, susiewolff, and others TheYappingHour SURPRISE! Part one of my interview with none other than 3 time F1 world champion Max Verstappen is live on all socials RIGHT NOW. (yeah, I said part 1! We both yapped so much you're getting a part two next week!) user9382 the chemistry between these two was OFF THE CHARTS >>>user111 ikr? i felt like i was interrupting something the entire hour. MaxVerstappen1 it was a pleasure meeting you! can't wait to see you in Miami this weekend! >>>user2999 MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HER IN MIAMI. >>>user999 stfu she is so coming to the Miami race?? MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN. user3210 has she ever done a two parter before??? not even the Queen of the Netherlands got a two parter!! user9928 i don't think i've ever seen Max this relaxed during an interview EVER. >>>user222 seriously! He was like a little boy with a crush then entire time.

yourpersonalinsta posted

234,100 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, michelle obama, and others yourpersonalinsta we yapped some more and stuffed our faces. til next time, maxie! (tagged: maxverstappen1) user999 not michelle obama herself in the likes maxverstappen1 you're going to be trouble in miami, aren't you? >>>yourpersonalinsta what do you think? ;) >>>user9932 oh my godddddd user028 this is the couple i didn't know i needed

tag list (some of you only requested to be on a series tag list but i am not organized enough for that. lmk if you want to be removed!! also fingers crossed this tag list works this time ffs. sorry!)

@anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @powerfulmess @technicallypleasanttree @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @unknownmystery22 @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff

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tasteracha · 1 year ago

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kinktober - day thirteen

kink: camcorder with minho ft. chan

warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. threesome (kind of), chan is a perv, afab!reader, teensy bit of manipulation

chan didn’t think this would happen when he asked minho to borrow his camcorder a couple days ago - all he wanted was to record some practice videos to upload to youtube. he didn’t think before he took it, didn’t think before he looked through minho’s old footage of his dancing that he keeps for memories, didn’t think before watching what he watched.

it was a video of you. and minho.

in his defense, the storage on the memory card was almost full and chan was just looking for something that could be deleted to free up space - and wouldn’t minho check the storage to see if there was anything he didn’t want chan seeing first? if anything, this is minho’s fault.

sure, it’s minho’s fault that chan is one second away from jerking off to the sight of you getting fucked into oblivion by his best friend, the grainy pixels leaving little to nothing to his imagination. your moans sound tinny from the low quality speakers, minho’s grunts accenting the sounds coming from your mouth as he fucks you up against the studio mirrors. your breath is fogging up from where your face is pressed against the glass, sweaty handprints from the both of you staining the surface. minho better have cleaned those mirrors after that, chan’s delirious mind supplies as he continues watching the footage he should have turned off minutes ago.

the video is from the same angle as their dance practices, the same walls on display and oh fuck chan doesn’t think he’s been this hard in his entire life. that’s the room that he dances in, he’s leaned up against that exact mirror, panting and overexerted, he’s been yelled at by minho for messing up the choreography in that exact place.

he tries. he tries so hard to forget what he saw, to get the image of you shaking apart when you came out of his head. to stop thinking about the way your skin went white from where minho was gripping it. to restrain from gripping his cock in his hand under his blanket with his eyes screwed shut and the symphony of your combined noises playing in his head like a song he couldn’t get off of repeat.

but how could he when he had to go back into that rehearsal room just a few days later to practice? what excuse could he possibly give his members about why he wanted to switch rooms from this one? the room that’s full of their most precious memories, full of laughter and tears and piles of sweaty cuddles on the floor? no, he couldn’t. what he could do was avoid that spot like it was poisonous, standing on the farthest edge of the room after practice was over, chugging water and thinking about how you both have probably fucked on the floor there, or those couches, or by the closet door.

he doesn’t notice you at first, sliding into the room to hand minho a cold water bottle and press a kiss to his cheek. the other members were slowly trickling out, passing tired greetings to you as they shuffled past, eager to go home and shower. when only minho and him were left, you went to approach him only to find his eyes already on you, glazed over at you but not really seeing.

he looks at you and all he can see is the way you were pressed up against the glass, your tits squished but somehow still bouncing, the screwed up features of your face when you were overwhelmed in pleasure. all he can hear are those metallic sounding moans, all he can feel is the urge to fall at your feet-

“bang chan,” minho snaps, jerking chan out of his fantasy. “where is my camera? you’ve had it for a while, i wanted to record the new choreography.”

“oh!” chan is starting to panic, he didn’t think that minho would ask after the camcorder so soon. he didn’t have time to prepare, didn’t have the energy to create an excuse. “there was too much storage on it, so i didn’t get to record what i wanted and i forgot to ask you about it.”

he’s biting his tongue now, cursing himself for saying too much. couldn’t he just have said he would give it back tomorrow?

“i didn’t think about the storage,” minho starts, not sounding like he had anything to hide. did he truly not know about what he had left on that camera for chan to find? “did you see anything interesting?”

he knows. he knows. chan is beginning to sweat, he can feel it in his hair and under his arms and he wants to bury a hole by his feet so he can jump into it and never climb out.

“haha, no,” he says, packing up the rest of his bag so that he didn’t have to look at minho. or you, who’s been silent since you walked in, watching him carefully. for all he wasn’t scared of minho and his adorably empty threats, he was terrified of you. “i didn’t even look. just saw that the storage was full, you know?”

he sounds awkward. he is awkward, right now.

“chan,” you trail a finger down his arm, speaking for the first time since you arrived and he’s gone, your touch leaving raised hairs in your wake. you should be angry, you should be livid, why are you touching him like that- “come over tonight to mine would you? we wanted to have you over for a while, minho wanted to cook for you. and you can give him the camera back then.”

“oh,” chan is sure that his face is flushed completely red by now, but he nods anyways. “sure! i’m free tonight. i’ll be there at seven? or whenever is good for you, i’m free. wait, i said that already-”

“perfect,” minho purrs, taking one of your hands in his and laying the other on chan’s shoulder. “seven is perfect. see you then, chan.”

he gets to your place early and sits in his car for 30 minutes, chewing at his fingernails and tapping his leg at an alarming pace. the more he thinks about it the more he overthinks - did they just want to yell at you in private instead of at the company building? did they really not know? what if he confessed and they didn’t know? what if they never speak to you again?

he has to take several deep breaths before leaving his car, and again before he knocks on your door. he’s ushered in by you, bright smiles on yours and minho’s faces as you take the camera out of his hands, and by the time he has a glass of wine in his hand and he’s sitting on the couch while minho puts the finishing touches on dinner he’s almost fully relaxed. he’s been here so many times, your apartment being a refuge to all the boys when they wanted to get away from the dorms for a bit. this is normal.

“let me put something on for us to watch,” you say at the same time minho asks chan if he wanted more wine, and you sneak the camcorder towards the tv while chan was distracted, sniping at minho that no he doesn’t want a second glass he’s not even halfway through the first one. you plug it in, smiling when it connected to the right input immediately. you scroll through the files, fingers calm on the remote even though you were shaking in anticipation inside. when you get to the right file you click on it, turning up the volume.

the image of you and minho takes over the tv, sounds coming out of the tv in a much better quality than what chan had been used to. his head whips towards the tv, wine forgotten and eyes wide as he takes in the video that you put on.

“what?” he asks, almost in a gasp as his eyes flicker back and forth between the tv, you, and minho, who had finally exited the kitchen and joined you in the living room.

“we thought since you loved it so much, we would watch it together,” minho explains, much more casually than one should be when playing a video of them fucking their girlfriend in front of their best friend. “why, is something wrong?”

“i-”, chan cuts himself off, panic choking his voice. “i’m so sorry-”

“hey,” you move towards him, sitting against his side and taking one of his hands in both of yours. “that isn’t what this is about. we don’t mind, okay?”

“we couldn’t let him sputter on for a bit more?” minho pouts, crossing his arms at you. “it was funny.”

“min, be nice,” you scold, smiling at chan.

“channie, i would have beat you up when i found out if i wanted to,” minho relents, siting on chan’s other side, sandwiching him between you both. “she likes that you watched it. i like it. okay? just relax and be good for us.”

minho’s words wash over chan, leaving him in a sort of daze. be good for us, minho had said. he could do that, chan was so good at being good. he melts against the couch, the heat from both of your bodies enveloping him as he takes in the video he’s seen over and over already.

“you planned this?” he asks, breathless and mesmerized.

“of course i did,” minho scoffs, squeezing one of chan’s thighs in his warm hand. “you think i would just let you watch that without planning it? i’m not that stupid.”

you’re not, but maybe i am, chan thinks, and he only realizes that he said it out loud when you start giggling and lean your head into his shoulder to hide your laughter.

he wants to retort, to somehow defend himself, but then video-minho changes his angle and starts fucking video-you even harder than before and whatever words were in his throat stayed behind the lump there.

“do you want to do that to her?” minho asks, hand trailing up chan’s thigh, leaving behind phantom pinpricks of sensation. he lets his blunt nails rake over chan’s leg, the delicate material of his workout pants providing no protection.

“can i?” chan breathes out, looking at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“please,” you wiggle your legs open a bit, a clear invitation. his hand comes to rest on your thigh and it’s so big, so much bigger than minho’s. he slides it up, to the hem of your oversized shorts, dipping his fingers closer to your panties and -

he stops.

“but, i also want…” he ducks his head down, trying to hide his flush before glancing at minho through his lashes. minho’s brow furrows, confusion clear on his face before he puts it together.

“oh, my channie,” he coos, running a hand through chan’s hair. “we can do that too, i promise. but my girl has been waiting so long for you, you don’t want to make her wait even longer, do you?”

chan shakes his head, entire body swaying with the force of it, reenergized by minho’s promise of more. he turns towards you and you feel your breath leave your body as you turn weighless for a moment, landing back on earth to find yourself straddling chan’s lap.

“you’re strong,” you praise, feeling up his biceps as you get comfy in his lap, ignoring minho’s indignant yelp next to you. chan beams up at you, both of his hands cupping your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer into him. his dick is hard in his pants, poking against your crotch, and you both let out lewd moans when you grind into him a bit. he glances at minho, a little insecure and still kind of uncomfortable, but minho just pulls him in and kisses him deeply. it’s a sight to see, like a movie playing out right in front of your eyes, the love of your life and his best friend making out right in front of you. chan tenses a bit but melts into the couch even faster, letting minho lead him into blissful submission as he cups his face and moves it right how he wants it.

when they part, chan’s lips are cherry red and so wet, glistening in the light from the lamps decorating the room. you can’t help but kiss him too, licking minho’s essence off of him and reveling in the way he bucks up into you like he can’t help it.

chan slides his lips to the right, peppering kisses to the corner of your lips, across your jaw and down your neck. he sucks at the spot right under your ear that makes you see stars, heat bursting in your lower belly. he was utterly intoxicated by your scent, your clean, floral body wash taking over his senses until he was all but panting into your neck.

it almost hurts to pull back from him, it’s like a stab right to your heart when he makes a wounded noise at the loss of contact, but you need more from him. any thoughts that you might have had of seducing him, of wining and dining him and showing him how much you really wanted him, died out once you felt his hands on you. you’ve been crushing on this man for almost as long as you’ve been crushing on minho, and you weren��t going to give this opportunity any time to ruin itself; you knew chan, knew how his self-consciousness and second-guessing worked, and if you wanted him you needed to take him now before he changed his mind.

you reach for the drawstring on his pants, pulling it open and sticking your hand in, rubbing him through his boxers. next time you’d have more decorum, you’d suck him off until he was right on the edge and make him sob when you refuse to let him come, you’d let him fuck you into the mattress and let him pin you down, but not right now.

“on the couch?” chan asks, eyes wide as they flicker back and forth between you and minho.

“you know we’ve done it in worse places,” minho says, humor lining his words as the lust takes over his eyes at the thought of what was about to happen. a burst of affection takes over you as you look at him, your perfect soulmate who understood you and your desires and shared them with you like you shared everything else.

“never knew you were such an exhibitionist,” chan snipes back at him, gasping when you tug him out of his pants and boxers, the stretch of his waistband making it easy. you only have to stroke him a few times until he’s fully hard, his cock red and leaking where it curves into his lower belly.

“minho, help me,” you ask, blinking at minho through your eyelashes, and he knows what you want immediately; he hooks his fingers through your shorts and panties at once, pulling them down to your knees, just far down enough for you to be able to rub your bare pussy against chan’s cock.

“god, you’re so wet,” he curses, throwing his head back and sighing in time with the movement of your hips.

“for you, channie,” your voice cracks when his cock catches on your clit, and both of them are smart enough not to say anything about it. minho moves though, ever impatient, and lines chan’s cock up against your hole with practiced ease.

“thought about this a lot, did you?” you tease, knowing very well that both of you thought about this a little too much, sharing fantasies in hushes whispers when you were supposed to be asleep. .

minho clicks his tongue and presses himself up behind you, still fully clothed even though his dick was rock hard in his jeans. he places his hands on your hips and pushes you into chan, driving his cock deep into you. you collapse against chan’s chest, a surprised yelp leaving you at the unexpected fullness. chan echoes you, burying his face into your neck with a shudder.

“tease me again and see what i’ll do,” he says darkly, hands still in a death grip on your waist. you take his threat for what it is, knowing that he would follow through with his words, and you start grinding into chan in slow circles. his hands circle your waist, fingers tangled with minho as they let you set the pace.

“please,” chan whimpers, his breath tickling your neck. you want to tease him so badly, but how could you when he asked so politely? you shift your knees further onto the couch, gaining leverage so you could lift your hips higher up. you drop back down onto him and you both moan in unison.

you lift back up and drop down, again and again and again, finding a rhythm that fits both of you perfectly. it’s like a dance, moves that feel practiced and eased, spurred on by minho’s soft whispered praises towards the both of you. the video playing on the tv had reached its end, and every sound coming from you was heightened.

“what a pretty show, all for me,” minho moves away and finally takes his cock out of his jeans, fisting it and immediately starting to stroke himself off at a fast pace. you can’t see him, you miss the warmth of him against your back, but chan can’t take his eyes off of him, transfixed by the sight of his best friend jerking himself off to him and you as you’re bouncing on top of him.

you’re shaking apart on top of chan before you realize it, orgasm taking over you as you continue to ride him. you clench around him hard, and he’s spilling into you a second later, jerky little thrusts shaking your body on top of his. minho curses as he comes a moment later, too keyed up to extend his pleasure for long. this wasn’t about him anyways; at least, not this time.

you lift off of chan with a hiss, sending him a look of sympathy when he shivers in overstimulation. you don’t make it far, pulling him down to lay against you, your back pressed up against his front. both of your pants are still halfway off, but you can’t be bothered to care right now - you’re utterly exhausted, even from just one orgasm.

the both of you barely register minho draping a blanket over you before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning his head on the couch right by where chan’s hands were around your stomach. it’s so domestic, the three of you drifting towards one another so naturally that it just feels right. later, you’d get up and eat the now-cold dinner minho had painstakingly prepared, but for now you were content to lay in comfortable quiet.

“wait,” chan breaks the silence, and you have to resist the urge to groan at him. “how did you know that i watched it? what if the storage really was just full?”

“please, you’re too obvious,” minho teases, voice soft and drowsy, and you can hear the smile in it. “plus, you were watching it in the dorms, idiot. you’re lucky it wasn’t jeongin that caught you.”

kinktober masterlist

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #lee know smut #lee minho smut #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #minchan #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader

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yourmoonie · 10 months ago

Text

How to live in the end

Are you feeling anxious about your upcoming photoshoot? Your exams? Sp? Or maybe an event that hasn't occurred yet?

I have got your back

1. Focus on your end goal and not on the "lack/circumstances"

Our fave stickman wants to go to Barbados, but instead of focusing on Barbados (aka the end goal) he starts focusing on not having the tickets or not having the money to buy the tickets (circumstances)

His entire attention is on the circumstance and not on the end goal

“Because of your belief in external things you think power into them by transferring the power that you are to the external thing. Realize you yourself are the power you have mistakenly given to outer conditions.” ― Neville Goddard, Your Faith is Your Fortune

2. Thinking from THE end

This is based on the timeline jumping method ( the thread, ♡ the visual thread )

So what do we do here?

Tickets are just the bridge of events for your end goal

We mentally go to Barbados and think FROM Barbados and not OF it

(That's how Neville manifested his trip, btw)

"Thinking from the end is the beginning of all miracles" - Neville Goddard

The art of thinking from the end is about internally seeing the world as you would see it if your desire has already been achieved, even if it hasn't physically manifested yet.

3. Not seeing any movement?

The stickman has got a photoshoot at MoonMoon studio in 2 weeks

On top of that the stickman is manifesting their desired body

> Out of the blue, the stickman gets anxious about their desired body and how they would look during the photoshoot because they "can't" see the results in the 3D

"The journey is in yourself. You travel along the highways of the inner world. Without inner movement, it is impossible to bring forth anything." - Neville Goddard

4. Think FROM & AFTER your desire

They become anxious about the photoshoot BUT

How can the stickman get out of that anxious state?

Instead of thinking OF the photoshoot, they will think FROM and AFTER the photoshoot

They will mentally imagine that the event has already occurred

5. How to get into the state

And they ask themselves this question

"How do I feel now when the photoshoot is done?"

"Wow, I like how the photos have turned out. I look so hot,"

They mentally prepare themselves for the best outcome and it helps them to get out of the anxious state

Inner action is an introverted sensation. If you will construct mentally a drama which implies that you have realised your objective, then close your eyes and drop your thoughts inward, centering your imagination all the while in the predetermined action and partake in that action, you will become a self-determined being.

6. You are THE observer

The Timeline jumping method in nutshell:

This is how you think FROM + After your desire

The observer effect in quantum physics states that where you direct your attention is where you place your energy. As a consequence, you affect the material world. - Joe Dispenza

“Imagination is the act of creation. Imagination creates reality." - Neville Goddard

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cutieeva · 4 months ago

Text

God Of The Chisel

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 Female Reader

Warnings : Manipulation. Detail Sex. Rape.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

❛ 見る人目の ❜

Sculpture. Molding soul into a form, where art meets emotions. That's the definition for (Y/N), the reason of her learning it, the motivation of her creating such art because she can release her emotions through it yet what happens if she has to create the most beautiful sculpture in the entire world, a sculpture who fell for his own sculpturor.

"So, (Y/N) senpai what sculpture are you going to do this time ?" Itadori Yūji asked clearly excited for his senior's new otherworldly addition to arrive.

"I have no idea this time". She answered, a deep sigh slip her lips as her (E/C) eyes continue to stare at the thin poster of competition.

"Why though ? You are a genius in our major or should I say in Cutieeva university". Kugisaki Nobara replied, chewing the thin end of her paintbrush. "Right Megu-chan ?" The said boy, Fushiguro Megumi nod senselessly busy creating his own carving.

"Look, the competition has clearly said the participators has to sculpture the most beautiful creation the world has yet to seen out of their perspective imaginations and the winner would only be who's sculpture is most well loved by the audience not even judges or critics !!" (Y/N) explained re-reading the poster. "If my art didn't seem beautiful enough to normal eyes than it will be pure humiliation ! Not only for me but for other participators too ! Because it indirectly suggest that us all elite students of art isn't yet good enough to be approved by daily to daily audience only capable to approve to the mediocre judges who stuck by rules and that we are worthlessly wasting money". She expressed her further worries.

"Oh ! I didn't knew it was that deep". Yuji glib laughed.

"Shut up !" Nobora nudged the boy seeing (Y/N) dug fingers on her scale as if she desire to rip hair from the roots.

"(Y/N)-san do not worry. Art is a way to release your emotions not for others to ridicule". Getō Suguru smiled, walking into the art studio earning all four student's attention. "No pressure should be felt or else the art won't be as nearly beautiful as it could be if you do it like you did in the past".

"But Suguru sensei I can't stand the humiliation of losing in front of others so bluntly". Shamefully she down her head.

"Then mold it". (Y/N) tilted her head.

"What do you mean ?" Geto smiled wider.

"Mold your frustration, anger, disappointed, fear on the clay. Use your vivid imagination of horrors and your version of beauty on the sculpture. Use this gift of sculpting to release your emotions so you can at least create something because without creating how can you refine it in the first place ?" The art teacher thoroughly described his most talented student who nod feeling a bit light yet uncertain.

"Also those monkeys are called monkeys for a reason if they don't understand your brilliant art". He added causing Yuji to chuckle.

"They are humans as you, sensei". Megumi mutter loud enough for each to hear.

"Also Fushiguro-San not forget I will be there to inspect your sculpture".

"I know".

"I am reminding it. Just in case". Geto merely smiled at the black head boy glaring at him making other three laugh.

"Ha ! Thank you Suguru sensei and megumi-Chan ! I will do my best". She raised her closed fist in the air.

"Thank us too !" Yuji yelled.

"Thank you Yuji-chan and nobara-chan too". She added giggling at their childish antics finding a new spirit to work with even though in the back of her mind she wonder what will be the result of her emotions molding the clay will be.

In a quiet, isolated white room (Y/N)'s fingers wrapped around the cool, damp clay, she felt an surge of creative energy coursing through her veins. With unwavering focus, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the depths of her imagination. In the darkness, a vision began to take shape— the most breathtakingly beautiful form her mind could conjure. With each gentle touch, the clay yielded to her will, as if alive and responding to her every thought. Her hands moved deftly, sculpting the body, hands, arms, and every delicate detail, just as she envisioned. Time stood still as she became one with the creative process, lost in the pool of her imagination.

Hours passed, or perhaps only moments – (Y/N) was oblivious to the world around her. Her entire being was consumed by the artistic expression unfolding beneath her fingers. Finally, she opened her eyes, and her gaze fell upon the emerging masterpiece. Almost half of the body had taken form, and she gasped in wonder, grasping the clay as if to ensure it was real. A soft smile spread across her face as she realized that whatever she was creating was going to be breathtakingly beautiful – a true reflection of the vision that had possessed her. The clay seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if infused with the essence of her imagination. (Y/N)'s heart swelled with excitement, knowing that she was crafting something extraordinary, a testament to the transformative power of art.

As the day succumbed to the allure of twilight, (Y/N) remained entranced, her fingers moving with a life of their own. The setting sun cast a warm orange glow upon her workspace, but she didn't notice. The stars began to twinkle like diamonds in the night sky, and the moon rose high, bathing the world in a soft, ethereal light. Yet, she continued to create, oblivious to the passage of time. Hours melted away, and the night deepened, however (Y/N)'s focus never wavered. Her body seemed to forget its needs – hunger, fatigue, and thirst became distant memories. Her sole purpose was to bring forth the masterpiece unfolding before her. The clay appeared to respond to her every touch, as if a divine force had taken residence within her.

With each delicate stroke, the sculpture evolved, gaining refinement and nuance. (Y/N)'s hands moved with a precision that bordered on reverence, as if she were channeling the essence of the divine. The air around her seemed to vibrate with creative energy, and the clay itself appeared to pulse with an otherworldly life. In this state of flow, (Y/N) became one with her art, transcending mortality. Her soul merged with the sculpture, infusing it with a spark of the divine. The boundaries between creator and creation blurred, and she became the deity, shaping the clay with an omnipotent touch. Time lost all meaning as she worked tirelessly, sleepless and unrelenting, driven by an insatiable passion to bring forth perfection.

As the next day dawned, her fingers moved with a newfound sense of purpose, her fingers deftly shaping the final details of her masterpiece. The sculpture stood before her, a magnificent form born from her unwavering dedication. Yet, one crucial element remained— the face, the window to the soul, where expression and emotion would breathe life into her creation. Thus, she was about to move to add details when the sun's warm, golden light danced across her art, her (E/C) eyes gaze locked onto her creation, and she felt the weight of reality settle upon her. The world around her snapped into focus, and she beheld her masterpiece in awe.

Transfixed, she reached out a trembling hand to touch the sculpture, as if to ensure it was truly real. However her body finally acknowledged its limits, her legs buckled, and she sank to the ground, exhausted. A soft cry escaped her lips as she left a voice message "Nobara... food... water..." she whispered, voice barely audible.

Despite her physical collapse, an overwhelming sense of joy and pride swelled within her chest, threatening to burst forth. Tears of happiness pricked at the corners of her eyes as she gazed upon her creation, now radiant in the warm sunlight. The sculpture seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if infused with the essence of her being. (Y/N)'s heart overflowed with a sense of accomplishment, knowing she had poured her very soul into this masterpiece that is yet to be finished.

Moments later Nobara approached Y/N with a gentle smile, carrying a tray laden with food and water, the aroma of nourishment wafted through the air, enticing Y/N's senses. Nobara's eyes sparkled with warmth as she helped Y/N sit up, cradling her head as she offered a refreshing sip of water.

Meanwhile, Yuji's excitement burst forth like a pent-up torrent, his words tumbling out in an effusive stream: "Wow, (Y/N) senpai this is... this is... incredible! The detail, the emotion, the sheer beauty of it! It's like nothing I've ever seen before!" His gaze darted between his senior and the sculpture, his eyes aglow with wonder.

Geto, beaming with pride, nodded his head in approval, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "(Y/N)-san, my student, you have truly outdone yourself. I've never seen such imagination, such skill, such... life breathed into a creation. You've surpassed even my expectations!"

Megumi, usually a silent observer, stood transfixed, his dark blue eyes fixed upon the sculpture as if mesmerized. His gaze seemed to hold a deep reverence, as if the artwork had awakened a part of him long dormant. For once, his quiet nature was not a result of reserve, but rather, utter captivation.

(Y/N) sipped the water and nibbled on the food, her strength slowly returning, she smiled weakly, basking in the praise and admiration of her friends and teacher. The warmth of their words enveloped her, filling her with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

"I know. This year's grand prize will also be rewarded to our university, won by none other than you, (Y/N) !" Geto's eyes shone with warm and paternal pride. His smile radiated deep satisfaction like his heart had been poured into the sculpture. Unspoken awe. Golden pride.

(Y/N) blush from all the showers of compliment yet she remained a little doubtful as the expression of the face is yet to be crafted dwelling whether the window of the model's will ruin her almost masterpiece.

"Hopefully I can create his expression. I still do not know how or what to shape his expression, hair". Nobora chuckle, sitting near her.

"Do not worry ! We all believe in you. Do your best !" She raised her fist in the air, trying to cheer her friend which she succeed because (Y/N)'s tension dissolved, chewing the food.

"But ! Do not forget to take food because forget award you can't even move your hands if this is how it goes on". Megumi calmly advised.

"Right ! (Y/N) senpai ! Please rest your body". Yuji cheerfully agreed, still captivated by the art with his eyes.

"Thank you. I will". And she did heed to their advise taking full three hours break while laying on her bed with jumble of confusion, thoughts tangled in a web of uncertainty inside her mind. She stared blankly at the clay, her fingers poised in mid-air, as if waiting for the familiar spark of inspiration to strike.

However it didn't come.

For the first time, her natural gift seemed to be faltering. She felt like a novice again, fumbling in the dark, unsure of how to mold his expression. The ease with which she usually shaped clay into breathtaking works of art had deserted her. Her eyes, once closed in confident intuition, now snapped open in frustration. Reaching for a sketchbook, (Y/N) began to scribble down ideas, trying to coax her elusive creativity back to the surface. The pencil scratched across the paper, a staccato rhythm that echoed her racing thoughts. She was forced to confront the possibility that her imagination, once a boundless ocean, might have limits after all.

This unfamiliar struggle was like reminiscing her beginning stage again, rediscovering the basics of her craft. The discomfort was palpable, like trying to relearn a forgotten language. Fingers moved hesitantly, as if seeking permission to create, her mind clouded by self-doubt. The sketchbook became a lifeline, a tangible connection to her artistic voice, which seemed to be whispering in a language she could no longer understand.

"I think I should sleep". Trying for hours with no avails she shut her notebook harshly, closing her eyes to drift into the land of dream in hopes of re-freshing her mind and back to her usual gifted self.

(Y/N) unusually found herself standing in a familiar sun-drenched studio, surrounded by half-finished sculptures and scattered tools. Her late mother stood before a work-in-progress, chisel in hand and for odd reasons she approached, curiosity etched on her face, and asked "Mother, what are you doing?"

"I am creating a sculpture, sweet one. I'm bringing this clay to life." A smile curve upon her frown look

(Y/N)'s gaze wandered to a nearby model, posed with elegance, yet lacking an upper torso. "Mother, why is she like that?" she asked, her voice tinged with innocence.

"Oh, my child, I couldn't complete her". Her mother burst into laughter

"Then will it always be like this?" Her younger self tilted her head.

Her mother's expression turned gentle, "No, my dear. Creating art means being patient. When I feel stuck, I pause, enjoy life, and give time for creativity to return to me. It's like a river, flowing and ebbing. I must learn to wait for the tide to come back."

And suddenly the image turn distant and faded into burl letting (Y/N) open her eyes with tears gliding her sides and reality welcome her, a world without her mother.

The memory of her mother's words lingering like a whispered secret with other bitter memories of her coffin flood too spreading a bittersweet taste on her lips. "Mother you never left me. Did you ?" Smiling to her herself she understood the truth : patience was the key. She needed to wait, to let her imagination recharge, and trust that the muse would return to her when the time was right rather than forcing the art to flow.

From the moment on she let go the weight that had been pressing upon her by abandoning the almost-finished sculpture, leaving it to stand silently, a testament to her temporary surrender.

With a newfound sense of freedom, she wandered into the garden, her fingers trailing across the soft petals of blooming flowers. The gentle rustle of leaves and sweet songs of birds enveloped her, calming her mind. Next, she found herself lounging on her bed, surrounded by pillows, lost in the world of games on her console. The vibrant colors and soothing music transported her to a realm where worries didn't exist.

As the day wore on, (Y/N) continued to indulge in the joy of doing nothing. She lazily flipped through the pages of a book, savoring the feel of the paper between her fingers. The words blurred together, but she didn't care – she was too busy basking in the serenity of the moment. Time lost all meaning as she drifted from one leisurely activity to the next. The competition, the sculpture, and her doubts all faded into the background, replaced by a sense of tranquility and release.

Until the creativity flowed back to her motivating her emotions to meet her clay giving birth to the sculpture's expression she always think is the true definition. With renewed inspiration, (Y/N) approached her sculpture, her hands moving with deliberate purpose. She carefully crafted the expression, etching a window to the soul onto the cold, clay body. The eyes, once blank, now sparkled with a deep, inner light, as if the very essence of life had been breathed into them.

The subtle curve of his lips, the gentle tilt of the head, all conspired to reveal the depths of the subject's being. The clay, once mere material, had transformed into a vessel for the human experience and the sculptor stepped back, her gaze swept across the masterpiece, drinking in the nuances of her creation. The world, with all its complexities and emotions, seemed to emanate from this single, silent form.

With a final, gentle touch, she completed the sculpture, infusing it with a sense of vulnerability and strength. The cold body now pulsed with a quiet, inner radiance, as if the very soul of the subject had been laid bare for all to see. In this moment, (Y/N) knew she had created something extraordinary—a window to the human experience, crafted with precision, passion, and patience. The world would soon behold her masterpiece and she was ready to be crowned as the winner of all, surrounded by claps of people.

"But what the name of this model will be ?" Deep in thought she grab her notebook looking at her male utter beautiful sculpture posed in the very same pose she choose before a name pop in her mind and she bestow the name sought to capture the harmony of opposing forces that her sculpture embodied. "Gojo" represented the balance of the five elements or more like five attributes of the human body such as head, body, arm, torse while "Satoru" symbolized the enlightenment and comprehend of his unworldly creation.

"Good". Smiling, she name her creation, granted him an identity, a sense of self that transcended the mere clay and stone even creating a inexplicable connection to herself with the art. "Is this how mother felt granting her pieces names ?" A chuckle escape her lips remembering how the old woman usually call her pieces her children along her own breathing child, (Y/N).

The competition host's voice boomed, "Welcome to the Grand People's Award Choice! Today, you will decide which sculpture reigns supreme!" The crowd murmured in excitement as they began their journey through the exhibition hall.

Sculptures of varying shapes, sizes, and materials dotted the landscape, each one unique and breathtaking in its own right. The host deliberately omitted the artists' names, allowing the art to speak for itself. Amidst the sea of onlookers, the creators themselves blended in, anonymous and eager.

(Y/N) fidgeted, her mind racing with doubts despite her teacher's encouraging words and her friends' reassurances and the crowd flowed around her, something remarkable happened. People would pause, glance at her sculpture, the Gojo Sataru, and then stop dead in their tracks. They couldn't help but be drawn back to the majestic male form, as if an otherworldly deity had been captured in clay.

Whispers spread like wildfire: "This one...this one is something special." Strangers would nod in agreement, their eyes locked on the sculpture's serene face. Even those who attempted to move on to other pieces found themselves inexplicably returning, transfixed by the beauty before them.

As the hours ticked by, a sense of certainty settled over the crowd. It was as if the winner had already been chosen, not by the judges, but by the people themselves. (Y/N)'s anxiety began to dissipate, replaced by a cautious optimism. She crossed her fingers, hoping against hope that the next hours would fly by, bringing the voting to a close and confirming what the crowd had already decided in their hearts.

The countdown clock struck its final moment, and the host's face ignited with a triumphant smile. "The moment of truth has arrived!" he declared, his voice electric with excitement. "The votes are in, and the winner of this Supreme competition will be revealed!"

(Y/N) held her breath, her heart racing like a wild stallion. Her friends offered reassuring pats on the shoulder, but she was too entranced by the host's dramatic pause to notice.

The room hung in suspended animation, the only sound the soft hum of bated breath. And then, a sly smile crept onto the host's lips, like a whispered secret. He parted his lips, and (Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat.

"(L/N) (Y/N) from Cutieeva University... Congratulations! You are the champion!" he announced, his voice thundering through the hall like a victorious fanfare.

Pandemonium erupted as (Y/N) stood frozen, her eyes wide with wonder. Her friends screamed with joy, hugging her tightly as tears of elation streamed down her face. The host approached her, a congratulatory envelope in hand, and (Y/N) felt like she was soaring on the wings of triumph, her dream finally within grasp. She still can't believe out of all the brilliant universities around the globe did her sculpture won, granting her the award. (Y/N) felt like she was living in a dream, where time blurred and moments merged into a kaleidoscope of emotions. One instant, she was standing frozen, her heart racing with excitement; the next, she was beside the host, basking in the glory of her triumph.

The award felt heavy in her hands, a tangible symbol of her achievement. Thunderous applause enveloped her, a deafening roar that threatened to consume her. She opened her mouth to speak the speech, but her words were lost in the chaos, barely audible even to herself.

Before she knew it, she was swept away by a tide of well-wishers —friends, classmates, teachers, and even her principal — all beaming with pride, cheering her as the pride of their school. The celebration was a whirlwind, a colorful blur of laughter, tears, and congratulations.

And then, suddenly, she found herself alone, sitting on her bed, surrounded by the quiet of the night. The moon cast an ethereal glow, illuminating her room with an otherworldly light. She breathed in deeply, the stillness a balm to her frazzled nerves and she gazed out the window, a slow smile spread across her face. It had happened. She had won. The realization dawned on her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Mother ! I have achieved what I wanted". She said gazing fondly at the frame of her mother, settling the golden award beside it. Everything is perfect and will be. Right ? Because little did she know, this moment of triumph was only the beginning of a dark and twisted journey.

From that moment on, (Y/N)'s sculpture became a global sensation, drawing thousands of tourists to the university gallery. At first, she was ecstatic, basking in the glory of her creation's viral fame. She had won awards before, yet never had her work resonated with so many people worldwide. With pride, she showcased her masterpiece to art enthusiasts, critics, and curious onlookers. She reveled in their admiration, laughing and joking about being a "deity" who had created such a stunning work. However as time passed, a creeping sense of unease began to shadow her joy.

The whispers started innocently enough of

"How handsome he is!"

"I wish he was real!"

"Oh god, why couldn't I meet such a man?"

"Why the god didn't create such wonderful man ?"

"Hopefully he come to life".

"If I could then I would sacrifice my everything to see this man alive".

"Ah ! Why can't he come alive".

Hoever soon, the comments took on a life of their own, echoing in her mind like a mantra. She began to feel like she was losing control, as if her own creation had taken on a persona of its own. The praise, once music to her ears, now felt like a dark omen. She started to wonder if she had unleashed something sinister into the world. The constant attention, the endless scrutiny, and the obsessive admiration began to suffocate her. The deity joke wasn't funny anymore. It felt like a haunting prophecy.

A desolate realm of darkness she could see along the suffocating void that crushed her beneath its oppressive weight. The air was heavy with the stench of malevolent presence, and she sense of eyes upon her, boring into her very soul. In mist of that a voce came, first the voice was a distant whisper, a faint rustling of dry leaves that seemed to carry on the wind however it grew louder, more urgent, until turning a maddening chant that echoed through her mind. A single, raspy voice, repeating a phrase that seemed to draw closer with each iteration, its words indistinguishable but its sinister intent clear.

The voice was a cold breeze on the back of her neck. (Y/N) tried to flee, but her legs were leaden, her body trapped in a living nightmare. And then, the voice whispered a single, chilling phrase, its tone a masterful blend of malice and seduction "Gojo Sataru."

The name exploded in her mind like a firework of terror, shattering the fragile remnants of her sanity. (Y/N) jolted awake, her eyes wide with horror, her lips frozen in a silent scream. Sweat dripped from her brow like blood from a wound, her heart racing with a fear that threatened to consume her whole. For a moment, she lay there, paralyzed with terror, the darkness of her dream still clinging to her like a shroud. Then, she sat up with a gasp, her eyes scanning the room frantically, as if searching for an escape from the terror that still lingered in her mind, waiting to pounce.

"What is going on ?" (Y/N) ask feeling alike an mad woman slowly descending into madness. In fear she didn't closed her eyes for moment, staring blankly at the ceiling or sometimes sketching a new art mindlessly to distract her disturbed mind.

In no time sun made it's presence known, offering bit of warmth to all and each even to (Y/N) who felt comfort to the golden rays before her ringtone took her attention. Answering the phone she greeted. "Good morning, Geto sensei".

"Good morning, (Y/N)-San, but could you please come to the university gallery ?" Hearing this a frown knitted her brows and she check her wrist watch. 5:00 am.

"So early if I may ask ?"

"Actually". He paused as if unsure what to speak "Please it's urgent". Understanding the hastily tone she agreed, doing a brief wash and clothes change she went to the location asked and oh dear, (Y/N) wasn't expecting the overwhelming amount of crowd standing outside her art gallery. Spotting her teacher she stood nearby.

"Sir, what's going on ?" Her (E/C) eyes dart from the crowd to her teacher.

"Well". Sheepishly the teacher tilted his head. "They came to see your sculpture". Earning a loud grasp from her.

"T-They ? You mean all ?" She stutter.

"All". Geto smiled nervously as if he finding his own words strange.

"So early in the morning and so many ?" Geto nod again.

"What in the world..." (Y/N) tailed off unable to comprehend the situation of what's going on, yes, she admits herself this particular art is special, a living masterpiece basically yet the amount of spotlight seems unnecessary, uncomfortable and— her thoughts went back to the nightmare she woke up— and strange.

"So, (Y/N) please guide the people. I have no choice but to let them in, you know". His smile strained and the girl knew there was not much say she has so she nod wordlessly standing in front of the glass door, a wall between the people and her. The glass door slid open with a soft whoosh, unleashing a torrent of humanity into the gallery. Hundreds of people poured in, their faces alight with excitement, smiles, and eagerness. The air was electric with anticipation, a palpable sense of wonder that was almost tangible.

(Y/N) stood at the forefront, a forced smile plastered on her face as she greeted the throngs of visitors. She waved her hand graciously, guiding them towards her sculpture, the centerpiece of the exhibition. Her eyes darted back and forth, her mind racing with a growing sense of unease and she stood before her creation, a strange, unsettling feeling washed over her. She couldn't bring herself to look at her own creation, her gaze skittering away like a frightened animal. The sculpture, once her pride and joy, now seemed to loom over her, its presence oppressive and menacing.

(Y/N)'s smile faltered, her lips trembling ever so slightly. She felt like a puppeteer whose strings had been cut, her control over the situation slipping away. The crowd's excitement and admiration only added to her growing sense of discomfort, their eagerness to behold her creation now feeling like a suffocating weight. With a Herculean effort, (Y/N) raised her eyes, her gaze finally meeting the sculpture's serene, enigmatic face. Rather of pride, she felt a shiver run down her spine, as if she was staring into the abyss itself despite his face turned to the other side.

"Miss (L/N), with what thought you created this masterpiece ?" A young woman asked within the mist of people.

"Masterpiece ?" (Y/N) mutter under her breath tasting a bitterness. "Well, it came naturally". She replied smiling and staring at the woman's eyes.

"Amazing !" One of them compliment.

"Then Miss (L/N), had you thought the model will be this viral ?" A young man this time asked.

"Never". She answered holding her tremble.

"Then, what motivate you to create such man ? Is he a real man or a part of your imagination ?" Another asked who's face (Y/N) unable to see.

"As the rules of competition. All of the participators had to bring their imagination out into the clay so did I". Calm her voice and confident her (E/C) eyes.

"So Miss (L/N) how long did it take to make you ?"

"Miss (L/N) were you always inspired to make someone of it ?"

"Miss (L/N) are you aware of the name we call you ? The deity ?"

"Miss (L/N), any hint of inspiration in process of making him ?"

One after another the questions jumped from one man to another to another that (Y/N) lips didn't had the time to even open eventually the cacophony of voices and laughter merging into a distant, muffled din. The room began to spin, and she felt herself becoming detached, as if floating above the chaos. The excitement and admiration of the crowd now seemed like a distant hum, a buzzing in her ears that threatened to consume her. With a sense of morbid curiosity, (Y/N) dared to glance at her sculpture, the root of all the chaos. Her heart raced and from the tail of her eyes locking onto its serene, enigmatic face.

And then, she saw it. Or thought she saw it. His eyes, once mere clay and stone, seemed to flicker with life. They moved, ever so slightly, as if connecting with hers. The room froze, time standing still as (Y/N)'s heart sank like a stone.

She felt a chill run down her spine, her mind reeling in horror. It was impossible, yet she swore she saw it. The eyes, once lifeless, now seemed to hold a spark of consciousness, a glimmer of awareness that was not of this world.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat, her voice trapped in a silent scream. She stumbled backward, her eyes fixed on the sculpture, her mind racing with the implications. The crowd's din returned, but she didn't hear it. She was lost in the abyss of her own terror, staring into the eyes of her creation, which now seemed to stare back.

"Miss (L/N) ?"

"(Y/N) senpai ?" Snap ! (Y/N) looked at the familiar call of her best friend Yuji running towards her, holding her hand worried. "Are you alright ?" His voice ringed yet her care is about the sculpture, about the man !

Slowly she turn her head, finger point to his face only to blink twice and find the lifeless eyes as it belonged unlike the glimpse of terror she saw.

Confusion.

Betrayed.

Madness.

Alone.

Did no one saw that ? Did even she saw that ? But it's liveless right ? It's a mold of clay, a non-living thing yet why ? How ? What is going on ? (Y/N) mind spin threatening to burst any moment.

"Yuji, I-I am not okay". Her words stutter and she lean on his strength.

"Understood". Yuji sprang into action, bellowing at the crowd to part and make way unlike (Y/N) who couldn't process the commotion, her mind reeling like a maelstrom. She felt her grip on reality begin to slip, her thoughts spiraling into a vortex of doubt and terror. Was she truly seeing things, or was her own sanity unraveling? The world around her became a blur, as if she was trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Yuji's voice grew distant, a fading echo as (Y/N)'s consciousness teetered on the edge of collapse.

"High blood pressure, high stress level and sleep deprivation". Ieiri Shōko said, with a sigh looking at the chat. "It's a dangerous combination, (Y/N)-san that's why rest your body". Before glaring at her teacher Geto. "And you ! who even gave you the permission to be a teacher huh ? If you can't act like one ?" Her raspy voice and judgmental eyes send daggers in his way.

"I am sorry, (Y/N)-San, I didn't know I was creating pressure for you". Guilty written over his face as he ease his frown.

Megumi commented "Well, you as a teacher should know yourself". Right away avert his gaze to not meet his glare.

"It's alright. My fault. I should have voiced out my problem but I really think I need rest". Indeed (Y/N) felt the need to relax after seeing the movement never will she ever recover the horror her heart felt.

Nothingness. No hint of light, nothing at all. A silent void of nullity only suddenly, two glints of light materialized, like sapphires bursting forth from the shadows. The brightest blue she had ever seen, piercing and vivid, locked onto her. Eyes, hidden until now, stared directly into her soul. A whisper, a murmur, a voice she couldn't decipher, grew in intensity, swelling to a deafening crescendo. The words remained elusive, but the urgency was unmistakable. She strained to comprehend, her heart racing, until the sound shattered the darkness, jolting her awake with a silent scream, as if her own soul was being torn from her throat, leaving her gasping in terror, her breaths coming in ragged, desperate gulps, like a dying thing clawing its way back from the abyss.

"What was that ? I never saw those eyes—" She pause recalling the vivid eyes. "I didn't or did I ?" Oddly enough her mind went to her own sculpture. "His eyes, his lifeless eyes". Repeating the thought in her mind, She threw off the covers and got out of bed, her bare feet making barely a sound on the cold floor.

"It can't be". She hoped. "It shouldn't be, it must not be". Like a protection mantra she chanted it sprinting to the exhibition where her once masterpiece to nightmare stand on and she somehow unlock the door and run to stand in front of her model, Gojo Sataru in the darkness she was begin to spiral and to her denial the moon cast an eerie glow through the window, illuminating the sculpture's face. (Y/N) felt a shiver run down her spine as her (E/C) eyes bore into its eyes and saw nothing. No color, no sparkle, just emptiness like it should be. "Ha ! I knew it. It was another my imagination working too much". With a scoff she breath properly ignoring her intitution of feeling not being alone in this room so she walk away quietly yet quickly escaping from the burning empty eyes of the sculptures.

The night wore on, a sleepless vigil, as her fingers held the pencil scratched across the paper, trying to capture the haunting blue eyes that lingered in her mind. The memory of their piercing gaze refused to fade, fueling her creativity as she sketched into the wee hours. Just as the first light of dawn crept in, her friend arrived, bearing the missed class lessons and a gentle smile.

"Here, I am giving you all you need". Nobara pat her head, able to point out dark circles in her friend's eyes.

"Thank you a lot". Gratitude mingled with exhaustion and her hands accepted the offering, placing it in the wooden desk where her eyes caught the shining golden award she forget to keep somewhere else due to the chaos happening.

"By the way (Y/N) I also wanted you to know today your sculpture would be the model for beginner students to learn how to create the perfect body, arms and you know basics". Her hands move with the notion earning a smile over (Y/N)'s lips.

"Understood". She didn't, she didn't understood the meaning behind seeing the same art so many times anymore. Why can't people move on, go, see some other new, fresh and normal art unlike her strange, hauntingly beautiful one. That's when the curiosity to see the art awaken, for unknown reason she desperately wants to see or perhaps it was the promise of safety in numbers she asked to go along with her.

(Y/N) strolled hand in hand with Nobara towards the exhibition, the warm light danced across her skin, a comforting sensation she savored. "Let's go in". Reached the glass door Nobara said touch the doorhandle and about to open breaking the space between them when her (E/C) eyes dare peek through her lashes to the glass exterior and her her serenity, sanity shattered because for a fleeting instant, the hands of the stone seemed to twitch, fingers trembling, arms stiffening, like a macabre puppet springing to life. The horror of her nightmare resurfaced, threatening to consume her. Madness lurked, its dark tendrils creeping closer.

Averting her gaze, she felt her grip on reality falter once again. With shaking hands and a voice barely above a whisper, she stammered "I am sorry...I suddenly feel sick. I need to rest".

Without awaiting Nobara's response, she turned and fled, leaving the girl worried and tense, her eyes wide with concern as she called out however (Y/N) was already gone, vanished into the crowd, pursued by the demons of her own mind.

"This is happening again. It moved right in front of my eyes, in front of Nabora and others too !" Claps her palm to her mouth she tightly close her eyes, sitting on her bed and without a second thought opened the wooden drawer taking few pills of sleeping pills and drank in rapid speed.

"I need a dreamless sleep, I need a dreamless sleep". Repeating she lay on the cold fabric of bed and close her eyes.

Darkness enveloped her sight, a suffocating shroud that obscured all else And then, like specters emerging from the void, a pair of pale hands materialized before her. They glowed with an ethereal light, as if the darkness itself had taken on a life of its own. The hands, unmistakably male, reached out with an unsettling gentleness, his fingers tracing the contours of her body. (Y/N) felt a shiver run down her spine as the hands caressed her, his touch leaving her skin crawling with unease. She tried to recoil yet the palm tightly held her waist in it's root however she tried to move again that's when a low, velvety voice unfolded like a dark flower, its laughter echoing through the shadows like a predator's taunt along the blue eyes snapped open, blazing with an otherworldly intensity. Those cerulean orbs incinerated her defenses, laying bare her soul like a ravaged landscape despite clothes attached to her body.

"How cute you are trying to run away ?" His sinister voice carried like wind coming from behind to front or from nothing to assume.

Slowly his hands caress her visible neck, lacing with curiosity and desire. Tracing the curve of her side to the front from her chin to pausing at the collarbone unleashing a chill that seeped into her bones. Disgust and fear entwined, a toxic embrace that left her paralyzed, her heart a wild animal racing against her ribs and almost as if he could smell the fear those gleaming eyes smile into crescent moon and frosty fingers unbutton her night shirt one by one swelling tears in her eyes.

"No. Please. No. Please". She preyed to each and every god she knew the existence of, hoping to be saved by the creation she created by her own hands. Spared by the humiliation she might face by the monster and—Snap ! Her eyes jolt open to a world that is too bright, too loud. The screeching alarm pierced her eardrums, a forgotten relic of a previous night's routine. As she struggled to sit up, the harsh light overhead stabbed at her eyes, making her squint and shield her face with a groggy hand.

Tear drops silently land on her lap, soaking the fabric with her sorrows she experienced and unconsciously her hand went to her chest making her breath hitched because the two first buttons of her shirt is separated leaving her to wonder the line between her reality and nightmare erasing. "What is happening ? Why is this happening ?" Fingers dug inside her hair to the roots, only helpless questions is jumbled on her mind with unanswered and those question will remain more unanswered when increasingly she unmistakenly gets glimpse of the model and her blood run cold witnessing the torso seemed to twist, ever so slightly, like a snake slithering through grass and that very same night she is laying on her bed, inside her nothing of dream joined by the pair of hands, alive eyes, cold hard torse crawling above her warmth of skin exporling her body as if she belonged to him, violently the privacy (Y/N) wants to keep and when she teetered on the brink of death. The alarm clock screamed, shattering the spell, saving her at the same time lingering the terror.

The next time she didn't gave the chance her eyes could to see her sculpture anywhere from her phone, to her poster, she even avoiding going out frighten by the fact to see him coming alive however fate speaks otherwise accidentally letting her eyes meet the flicker of the monster named Gojo Sataru and finally along his legs twitched, its entire body began to stir, like a creature awakening from a centuries-long slumber. (Y/N) watched in pure horror, her mind reeling, as the once-inanimate object now moved with a sinister purpose. Feeling her own life force ebbing away, as if the sculpture's newfound vitality was draining her very existence and known echoed in her mind "This is the end. I'm staring death in the face."

Desperate to escape the terror from going to sleep, (Y/N) tried to distract herself. Fingers grabbed her sketchbook, but her pencils trembled in her hand, unable to capture the beauty of art amidst such evil however eyes moved to watched entertainment shows only to feel the laughter and music seemed hollow, a cruel mockery of her fear. Even old videos of her parents, once a source of comfort, now seemed distant, unable to shield her from the encroaching darkness waiting to pounch.

No matter what she did, her eyelids grew heavy, threatening to surrender to sleep despite the knowledge that if she succumbed to sleep, the sculpture would claim her. So she fought, hard and limit past her strength. She'd rather die awake, than let the darkness consume her.

Despite her valiant efforts, (Y/N)'s eyelids finally betrayed her, succumbing to the relentless pull of exhaustion and the last thing she saw was her mother smiling face holding her younger self's hand in the video.

This time when she faced the void of nothingness, she has complex layers of emotions piling one after another. Fear of what might bound to happen, confusion of why or how's this situation is even occurring to her so many times, regret of creating a monster she mistakenly did and little calm of at least knowing what's about to come in front yet she wasn't ready to face the tide like all ship captains are no matter how much they nagivate above the ocean, they fear bear fear and the darkness coalesced, swirling around itself like a vortex of ink, deepening into an abyssal void. It churned and eddied, alike creating a pathway for the entity that lurked beyond the shadows. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with anticipation, as the darkness parted like a curtain, revealing a glimpse of what lay beyond. Slowly, the entity began to take form, its presence unfolding, no longer just fragments of limbs or eyes, but its entire self, a being of unutterable horror, emerged from the shadows. The darkness swirled around it, a mad dance of tendrils, as if worshiping the monstrosity that now stood before (Y/N).

Gojo Saturu, her sculpture moving in flesh and form of an living human. A vision of devastating beauty that the viewers oh so desired. His lips in a perpetual smirk while his sapphire eyes look straight into his creator's soul.

"Hello, my creator". He mockingly greet, voice smooth flowing to (Y/N)'s ears. "Nice to meet ya". He giggle at the end as his own comment was funny. "I was oh so waiting to meet. Took so long". His long legs march forward to (Y/N) who is frozen, breathing hard to have her creation talk to her.

His face lean forward inching almost few inches apart to where her (E/C) could see his unblemished and smooth skin like she curved out of her fingers, well she bestowed him everything but flaw, a mistake on her part and a power to his. Deliberately his slender pale finger tips touch her cheek—her imperfect skin. She fully embraced to shiver by his coldness yet it was oddly warm causing her eyes wide filling questions in them.

He wordlessly smiled further, cupping her entire face on his both palm like one would to their deity. Thumps ever so slightly stroke her skin. "You must be dying to know the truth ? How I created ? Breath to live ?" His eyes flicker to hers. She choose to not say.

"Well, it's cause you, all because of you and those humans. Their hopes, admiration, wishes and your believe of me springing to live manifest into a unseen force, a force of blending your believes turning and fueling my life from mere stones. The moment you believed my eyes moved, my eyes spring into live, you believed my hands twitch it gave me life and slowly little by little you were all along bringing me life. My creator, my love. My eve of life". Stretching his lips ear to ear he close their distance, enveloping her lips.

Astonishing her and letting her limbs finally protest against the unwanted touch yet his hands larger, faster, stronger that held her both wrist in one palm, focusing solely on devouring her lips and wrapping tongue above one another, swirling like the taste of saliva and sucking breath out of her leaving her utterly surrender and vulnerable. (Y/N) suffocated by the soul draining kiss she kicked his any part only for him to remain unyielding and finally when he deem to be satisfied he seprated their lips with a glistening string of saliva linked and heavy breathing followed.

"Is this how it feels to need air ?" A husky laugh bubble out of his throat. "Then it's addicting". The sly smile stayed as he branded her skin with tender kisses, tracing a path of desire. The soft curve of her cheek, the tantalizing corner of her lips, the delicate slope of her chin, the whisper-soft lids of her eyes, and the gentle expanse of her forehead like marking her his.

"Stop. Stop all of this madness. Why are you doing this ? If you want to kill me then kill me already why torture me ?" Desperate her breath brush aganist his skin, fearful written on her eyes.

"Aww, there is a misunderstanding between us love, a grave one". He dramatically chuckle. "Why would I want to kill my own creator when you are the reason I even form an shape ? And torture ? Is this torture when I am soaking you in love. This is my passion for you. My burning desire for you". Yearning his brightest shade of eyes hold and rather of feeling moved all she felt was forced.

"But I do not want". Tears prickly down her eyes, watering her vision. "I really do not want this". She threw her head back, moving as her physical self can.

"It's okay. You do love me because if you don't then you wouldn't have created me so love me. Like you are suppose to. Bear the consequences of your actions, darling". Shushing her lips with his finger, he gently kiss the vulnerable curve of her neck and descend in downwards ignoring all of her pleads, protest and fight. Eventually his lips brush against her collarbone and ever so gently he suck the skin purple and red moving to the valley of her chest.

His free hand cup the breast through her dress ignited an fire and blood rush to his pants. Tearing her shirt scattering her buttons he came to face with her lovely bra, the only shield protecting against being bare yet he with ease snatch that away. Laying her upper body to feast by those eyes.

"Hmm" A groan slip past his lips from merely stare at those breast and the outline of her body with the way her blush expression, tears streaming, hands tied by his palm, hair spread beneath her was a divine sight than himself. Oh how he recall watching her from his stone form and yearn to touch those skin which he is now relishing.

Shamelessly his large palm cup her breast earning a sweet whimper and dive to taste if it's sweet as her lips and he was beyond ecstatic, twisting the bud as he please and sucking whole even biting with his canines enjoying the melody of her sobbing and her warmth skin. Before jumping to the another untouched one claiming his like it belonged and butterflies kisses on the entire breasts.

To lacing his tongue on her center of skin, tailing down and stopping at her stomach pecking each imperfect and perfect spots covering her whole. How couldn't he ? If he was served with a human like her, (Y/N) who is in his eyes the prettiest girl to even laid eyes on.

While she is on other end of hell, despising the kisses like an lava drops, burning with a fiery hatred that left her scarred. Every touch was a toxic assault, poisoning her senses and corroding her soul. His lips were venomous serpents, injecting deadly venom into her veins with each caress. His hands are acid, dripping with malice as they crawled across her skin. She couldn't and didn't felt a loving sense from him let alone love he was confessing about. Nightmare his life is.

And he knew about. Knew perfectly of her hatred, pain and still choose to love her because she does love him. She just doesn't know herself or he will make her. That's why he is mastering the very skill to pleasure her in ways a woman could be by ripping her only thread of cloth wrapped around her hip and fully nude her.

Viewing her lay bare, all nude couldn't conceal the heart crafting on Gojo's eyes and the madness smile heating his pale skin. Swiftly he dug his head in between of her legs, inside the clit his cum will enter. Well, for later because now his mouth was engulfed inside, tongue forcefully rip inside to taste the creamy fluids his love made of making her grasp and thrash around more harder than she could.

Even squirming underneath him only to prove fruitless while he continue to taste her juices, eating as if it's a delicacy itself, swallowing down and circling his tongue inside her tight walls, loving every bit of it however his patience comes to end making him pull out his flesh with dripping saliva and ran his fingers past his hair.

"P-Please. Please spare me. Please..." Her voices somewhere blended with her sobbed sorrows and her grasp when he impatiently without preparation unbuckle his restrictions, pulling out his shaft and pierce straight inside her walls.

Arching her back and cry out a scream she felt utter hopeless and pain coursing through her limbs. "It hurts ! I-it hurts". Dragging her air she wail. "It hurts please Gojo. It hurts". pricked at his name Gojo shush her more, whispering sweet nothings like an lover not a rapist he is and claim her lips once more. Even stealing her right to speak.

Heartlessly he slam his throbbing shaft again and again, groaning within the kiss and savouring the feeling. "Ah ! Is this what feels to have sex ? Because if it is then I would do it again and again". Tilting his head, Gojo separated his lips and eventually his hips came to stuttering as he cum inside without a care of world unlike (Y/N) who's heart rattled under her ribcage.

"No ! No ! No ! No ! No ! You monster ! What did you do ?" In disbelief she kicked her tireless legs and dug her nails on his soft skin. Anger filling her mind. "I can be pregnant !" She cried out.

"Really ?" Honestly he asked, laughing. "Then I should do it properly". With that the horrors repeated with his hips penetrate her clit deeper.

Her lips parted echoing her scream along her eyes snap open. Her body jolt up from her bed and gasping for air as if she'd been underwater for too long. Her chest heaved, and her eyes frantically scanned the familiar surroundings of her room. Her clothes clung to her damp skin, a testament to the terror she had endured. "Wai—I am wearing my clothes. Does that mean ?" As reality set in, a wave of relief washed over her—it was just a nightmare, a twisted episode of her own madness, nothing more. Smiling to herself she craved the comfort of her friends so with a sense of urgency, she rushed to their room, catching a glimpse of them at the exhibition hall. She burst in, smiling wider and navigated through the crowd. Her eyes locked onto Nabora, and she grasped her best friend's hand like a lifeline.

"Good morning (Y/N)". Cheerfully she greeted.

"Good morning to you too". She breathed. "I had a nightmare". Her voice confessed. "Believe me or not the worst one".

"What do you mean". Concern fill the girl's face and (Y/N)'s lips about to elaborate when a pair of hands— disgustingly familiar and unsettling— wrapped around her shoulders from behind. A low, husky voice whispered in her ear.

"A nightmare huh ?" Gojo's words dripped with an unsettling intimacy, his tone implying secrets shared and terrors unspoken washing cold bucket of water over her head.

How ?

What ?

Impossible ?

"Right ! Gojo senpai, help your girlfriend ! She is in need of your help". Nobara spoke in an familiar tone to which he replied "of course".

"B-Boyfriend ?" Her words stutter.

"Oh ! Sorry not boyfriend. Fiancé !" She facepalmed herself laughing. Alone. Not with (Y/N) who's questions and terrors trapped in the vice of his embrace.

Leaning closely Gojo tucked her shirt a little making her aware of the intimacy marks she was blind to miss and whispered the bitter truth. "I have become the god of the chisel".

FIN

636 notes · View notes

ginxyy · 1 month ago

Text

The Maid

Being Mingyus Maid really was full of perks like being fucked in a practice room.

Mingyu, with his disarming smile and gentle nature, made it easy to forget the boundaries of our roles. He would often drop playful comments that made my cheeks heat up, his laughter filling the space around us, creating a warmth that felt like the sun's rays creeping in through the window.

As the weeks turned into months, the initial awkwardness faded away like mist on a warm morning. I began to accompany him and the other members of Seventeen during their practices. Each session felt electric in a way I had never anticipated. The sound of their laughter mingled with the rhythmic beats of their choreography, and I found myself captivated not just by the art of their performance but by the way Mingyu moved.

He glided across the floor with a grace that belied his towering figure, his every movement telling a story. Among the encouragement he received from the other members, my heart swelled with pride, a response I never knew I could feel.

One particular evening stood out like a beacon. The studio was expansive, mirrors lining the walls and amplifying the energy in the air. I'd stayed late to watch them practice, caught up in the breathtaking synchronization of their movements. As the music played on, the rest of the guys began to filter out, one by one, leaving Mingyu and me in this confessional space where everything felt possible.

He approached me slowly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, the sheen of exertion glistening on his skin. I could feel my heart rate quickening as he stood closer, the air thick with an unspoken tension. The world outside faded—the sounds of laughter and chatter from the rest of the team muffled as Mingyu raised his brow, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Mingyu, aren't you tired?” I asked, attempting to bring levity to this charged atmosphere, though my voice faltered.

“Tired of what?” He stepped nearer, the gap between us closing to a mere whisper, the faint warmth of his breath sending shivers down my spine.

I swallowed, my pulse thrumming loudly in my ears as time seemed to slow. “Of dancing,” I prompted, though I could feel my heart daring him to say something more.

Instead of responding, he slid behind me, the cool glass of the mirror meeting my back. I could see his reflection, the way his hair fell into his eyes, and the way he leaned closer, almost grazing the skin of my arm, igniting a spark that held us in that moment one suspended between friendship and something far deeper.

“Mingyu…” My voice trailed off, uncertainty fighting with yearning as I felt his phantom touch lingering in the air. Those moments stretched, and I could see the flicker of desire in his gaze deepen. The tension escalated, thumping against my chest like the staccato of a drum.

Then, in an unexpected yet sweet motion, he turned me around, cupping my face with those gentle hands that had once gripped the fabric of my heart through laughter and playful banter. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl that sent a rush of heat flooding through me.

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine tentative, testing the waters of this intoxicating connection that had grown between us. Fire ignited where our lips met, a swell of passion in what was meant to be a simple kiss. My instinct was to melt into him, to lose myself in the luxury of his presence that made everything else disappear. His kiss deepened, encouraging me to wrap my arms around his neck as I pulled him closer, the mirror behind us reflecting a world where only we existed.

The urgency washed over us like a tidal wave. Suddenly, I felt my body press against the cool glass, the juxtaposition igniting a wild need within me.

I could see our breaths mingling, the delicate fog forming on the surface, a clear reminder of the heat between us even as the world outside faded to nothing. His hands roamed gently, exploring uncharted territories of my waist, pulling me closer, igniting every nerve ending in my body.

“Mingyu, I—” I tried to speak, but words slipped away as he kissed me again, deeper this time, like he was claiming me as his own. There was a rawness in the way our mouths moved against each other, a synchronicity that felt both new and familiar, a delicate dance I was thrilled to partake in.

We pulled apart for a brief moment, both of us panting, our foreheads resting against one another.

The warmth of his body enveloped me, and the pulse of his heartbeat was a steady rhythm that mirrored my own. “I want you,” he confessed, his voice laced with urgency. The sincerity in his gaze fractured the remnants of hesitation between us, and I realized I wanted him too not just as a fleeting desire but as something tangible, genuine.

“Mingyu, I…” I hesitated, unsure how to express the torrent of emotions flooding through me. My mind raced with thoughts of what this moment meant in the grand scheme, but as he captured my lips again, all I could think about was how right it felt. Mingyu pulled me closer, our bodies fitting perfectly together in a warming embrace

Mingyu’s embrace was intoxicating, his warmth wrapping around me, melting any reservations I had left. His body pressed against mine, strong and sure, a tangible manifestation of the tension that had been building between us for months. My fingers traced the curve of his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt as his lips claimed mine again, more insistent this time, as if he had been holding back for far too long.

His hands explored my body with a deliberate slowness, moving from my waist to the curve of my back, sending shivers down my spine with every touch. I felt the coolness of the glass behind me, but it did little to temper the heat that was blooming inside me, a fire stoked by every kiss, every caress. My heart was racing, my breath coming in shallow gasps as the desire between us deepened, becoming something tangible, something undeniable.

“Mingyu…” I whispered against his lips, my voice trembling with the weight of the emotions swirling inside me. My hands slid up to his neck, pulling him closer, needing more of him, wanting to lose myself in the intensity of this moment. I had never felt this way before, as if I was teetering on the edge of something vast and unknown, but it didn’t scare me. Mingyu didn’t scare me. He made me feel safe, even in the midst of this overwhelming desire.

He groaned softly as my nails grazed the back of his neck, his lips moving from my mouth to my jaw, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin there. I tilted my head back, giving him full access as his lips trailed down my neck, lingering on the pulse point that was thrumming wildly under his touch. Each kiss sent sparks through my body, igniting a need that was growing more urgent by the second.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and ragged. “I’ve wanted you… for so long.”

His words sent a thrill through me, a confirmation of the unspoken connection we had been nurturing for months. I hadn’t allowed myself to fully acknowledge it before, the way he looked at me, the way his touch lingered just a little too long when we were alone, the playful comments that held a deeper meaning beneath the surface. But now, here in this moment, there was no denying it. He wanted me, and I wanted him too more than I had ever allowed myself to admit.

My hands slid down to the hem of his shirt, my fingers trembling slightly as I tugged it upward. He pulled back just enough to allow me to slip the fabric over his head, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and arms. The sight of him his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the earlier practice, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed heavily sent a wave of heat rushing through me. I reached out, my fingers tracing the lines of his abs, marveling at the way his body responded to my touch.

He watched me with dark, hooded eyes, his desire evident in the way he moved, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, and the sincerity in his words made my heart skip a beat.

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, but there was no time for modesty now. I reached for him, pulling him back to me, needing the feel of his skin against mine. Our lips met again, more urgently this time, as the desire between us reached a fever pitch. His hands found the hem of my shirt, lifting it over my head with a swift, practiced motion. The cool air hit my skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of Mingyu’s hands as they slid up my sides, his touch gentle but insistent.

His lips trailed down my neck, over my collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. I could feel his breath against my skin, the soft exhale sending shivers down my spine as his hands explored every inch of me. I gasped as his lips found the swell of my breast, his mouth hot and wet as he kissed me there, his tongue flicking out to tease me. My body arched against him, my fingers tangling in his hair as he continued his slow, torturous exploration.

“Mingyu,” I breathed, my voice trembling with need. “I can’t… I need…”

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark with desire but filled with something deeper something that made my heart ache with the force of it. “I know,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “I need you too.”

In one fluid motion, he lifted me, his hands strong and sure as he carried me away from the mirror, moving us toward the soft expanse of the couch that had become so familiar to me over the months I had spent in his home. He laid me down gently, his body hovering over mine, and for a moment, he just looked at me, his eyes filled with so much emotion it made my breath catch in my throat.

“I want to take my time with you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to remember every moment.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, and I reached for him, pulling him down so our bodies were flush against each other. His skin was warm, his muscles taut beneath my touch as I wrapped my arms around him, needing to feel every inch of him. He groaned softly as our hips met, the thin barrier of clothing between us only heightening the intensity of the moment.

His lips found mine again, slow and sensual, his tongue teasing the seam of my mouth before slipping inside, deepening the kiss. His hands roamed over my body, exploring, caressing, driving me wild with need. I could feel the heat pooling low in my belly, the anticipation building with every touch, every kiss, until it felt like I might explode from the intensity of it.

Mingyu’s hands slid lower, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my pants, and I gasped at the sensation, my body arching against his touch. He kissed me again, more urgently this time, as his fingers worked their way lower, exploring me with a tenderness that made my heart ache. I could feel the tension building, the pleasure mounting with every stroke, every kiss, until I was trembling beneath him, my body strung tight with need.

“Mingyu,” I gasped, my voice breathless. “Please…”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes filled with the same urgent desire that I felt. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and rough, as if it was taking all his control to hold back.

I nodded, unable to form the words, my body already responding to him in ways that left no room for doubt. I wanted this wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything before.

With a low groan, Mingyu captured my lips again, his hands moving with a newfound urgency as he rid us both of the last barriers between us. The sensation of his skin against mine, the heat of his body pressed so intimately against me, sent a shockwave of pleasure through me, and I gasped at the intensity of it. Every touch, every kiss was a promise, a declaration of the feelings we had been holding back for so long.

Mingyu’s movements were slow and deliberate, his touch gentle but insistent as he explored every inch of me. His lips found mine again, and I could taste the desire on him, the need that matched my own in intensity. He kissed me deeply, his tongue teasing mine in a dance that mirrored the slow, sensual rhythm of his hands as they roamed over my body.

The world around us faded away, leaving only the two of us, locked in this moment of pure, unfiltered emotion. It wasn’t just about the physical though the pleasure that coursed through me was unlike anything I had ever experienced it was about something deeper. This was the culmination of months of stolen glances, lingering touches, and unspoken words. This was the moment where everything changed.

And as Mingyu’s body moved against mine, as our breaths mingled and our hearts raced in sync, I knew that there was no going back from this. We had crossed a line, one that had been waiting for us all along, and there was no turning back.

I didn’t want to.

(Ok might be my first time doing sexy time in this much detail but i kinda liked it haha. Let me know if you did too)

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 5 months ago

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Family

Benedict Bridgerton x wife fem reader

The Bridgerton household was unusually calm that morning, a rarity in a home filled with the lively energy of four young children. Benedict Bridgerton, known for his creative spirit and easygoing demeanor, had decided that today would be a day for family, free from the usual hustle and bustle of their social obligations. His wife, Y/N, welcomed the idea of a relaxing day at home with a delighted smile, eager to spend quality time with their children.

The sun streamed through the large windows of their elegant country estate, casting a warm glow across the rooms. Benedict and Y/N had designed their home to be a sanctuary of comfort and beauty, a place where their children could grow and thrive surrounded by love and creativity.

In the spacious kitchen, Y/N was preparing a hearty breakfast. The delicious aroma of freshly baked scones and crispy bacon filled the air, mingling with the scent of brewing coffee. Benedict, ever the doting husband, moved about the kitchen with an easy grace, assisting Y/N with setting the table and entertaining their youngest daughter, Emily, who was tugging at his trousers, giggling.

“Papa, lift me!” Emily demanded with a bright, toothy grin.

Benedict scooped her up effortlessly, spinning her around in a playful dance. Her laughter echoed through the room, drawing the attention of her siblings. Alexander, the eldest at ten, walked in with a book in his hand, followed closely by the twins, Charlotte and Henry, both eight, who were in the midst of a playful argument.

“Papa, tell Charlotte that it’s my turn to choose the game today!” Henry protested, his expression a mix of frustration and determination.

Before Benedict could respond, Y/N intervened with a calm, soothing voice. “Why don’t we all decide together what we’d like to do today? It’s a family day, after all.”

Charlotte and Henry paused, considering their mother’s suggestion. Alexander, wise beyond his years, nodded in agreement. “That sounds fair. What do you think, Papa?”

Benedict smiled, setting Emily down gently. “I think your mother is right. Let’s finish our breakfast, and then we’ll sit down and make a plan for the day.”

As they gathered around the large wooden table, the children’s chatter filled the room with a lively warmth. They discussed their options, ranging from a picnic in the garden to an afternoon of painting and crafts in Benedict’s art studio. After much deliberation, they decided on a bit of everything a picnic, followed by a painting session, and ending the day with a family movie night.

With breakfast finished, they set about preparing for their picnic. Y/N packed a basket with sandwiches, fruits, and a selection of pastries, while Benedict and the children gathered blankets and games to take outside. They chose a spot under a large oak tree in the garden, its branches providing ample shade.

Just as they were about to head out, the front door burst open, and in streamed the entire Bridgerton clan. Anthony, the eldest of Benedict's siblings, led the charge with his wife, Kate, and their children close behind. They were followed by the rest of the Bridgerton siblings: Daphne and her husband, Simon, with their children; Colin and his wife, Penelope; Eloise and Francesca, each with their own families; Gregory and Hyacinth, the youngest siblings, rounding out the lively group.

"Benedict, Y/N!" Anthony called out, a broad smile on his face. "We thought we'd join you for a day of family fun!"

Benedict's face lit up with surprise and joy. "This is a wonderful surprise! The more, the merrier!"

The garden quickly transformed into a vibrant hub of activity. The children ran around, playing games and exploring the vast grounds, while the adults spread out blankets and set up a buffet style picnic. Laughter and conversations filled the air, creating an atmosphere of warmth and happiness.

After lunch, Benedict suggested they all play a game of charades, a favorite Bridgerton family pastime. The idea was met with enthusiastic cheers, and they quickly gathered in the large living room, rearranging furniture to create an open space for the game.

Anthony took charge of organizing the teams, dividing everyone into two groups. Benedict, ever the performer, was up first. He drew a card from the pile and glanced at it, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Alright, let's see what you've got," Colin teased from the opposing team.

Benedict began his act, first miming the shape of a rectangle with his hands and then pretending to hold something heavy. He staggered around the room, his exaggerated movements eliciting giggles from the children and knowing smiles from the adults.

"He's lifting something! A box?" Daphne guessed.

Benedict shook his head vigorously, moving on to the next part of his act. He began to flail his arms wildly, pretending to be caught in a storm. The children burst into laughter, their infectious giggles spreading to the adults.

"A boat! No, a shipwreck!" Y/N called out, trying to contain her laughter.

Benedict nodded eagerly, then dropped to the floor, pretending to swim through turbulent waters. He finally mimed pulling something large and round from the water, holding it triumphantly over his head.

"A giant pearl! A treasure!" Alexander shouted, his eyes wide with excitement.

Benedict pointed at Alexander, nodding with satisfaction. The room erupted in applause and laughter, the children jumping up and down with glee.

"You really outdid yourself this time, brother," Anthony said, clapping Benedict on the back.

The game continued with everyone taking turns, each performance more hilarious than the last. Penelope's impression of a horse had everyone in stitches, while Hyacinth's attempt at miming a famous opera singer brought the house down.

As the afternoon sun began to wane, the family gathered in Benedict’s art studio for a collective painting session. The room, filled with canvases and art supplies, was a haven of creativity. Benedict, with his usual charm, encouraged everyone to express their creativity, handing out brushes and paints. Even the most reluctant participants found themselves caught up in the spirit of the activity, creating a large collaborative mural that would serve as a lasting memory of the day.

When evening came, they moved to the living room for the grand finale: a family movie night. Pillows and blankets were spread out across the floor, and the children nestled in with their cousins, eyes wide with anticipation. The chosen movie was a family favorite, a whimsical adventure that captivated everyone from the youngest to the oldest.

As the credits rolled and the children began to drift off to sleep, Benedict and Y/N, along with the rest of the Bridgertons, carried them to their rooms, tucking them into bed with gentle kisses and whispered goodnights. The house gradually fell silent, the peace of the evening settling over them.

Back in their bedroom, Benedict and Y/N reflected on the day, their hearts brimming with gratitude. Benedict pulled Y/N into a tender embrace, his voice soft with emotion. “Days like this remind me of how lucky we are, my love.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his chest. “Indeed, Benedict. Our family is our greatest masterpiece.”

With that, they climbed into bed, the gentle rhythm of their children’s breaths a comforting lullaby. They drifted off to sleep, knowing that while life was often filled with chaos and demands, it was moments like these that truly defined their happiness.

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gyorouis · 4 months ago

Text

𐙚 HEARTSTRINGS.

— "you are mine i am yours, isn't it obvious that there's something one of us wants to admit?"

genre: angst, fluff, bandmates to friends to lovers :>>

pairing: bandmate!beomgyu x afab!reader

warning: swearing, kiss (?), let me know if i forgot anything!

wordcount: 11.8k :>>

now playing: one click straight — mrt ୨ৎ , zild — lia ୨ৎ

if it wasn’t your friend crying to you to join the band, you might have ignored the opportunity altogether. you had heard of the band through chaeyoung, your friend who had harbored a not-so-secret crush on beomgyu for as long as you could remember. she spoke of him with a dreamy look in her eyes, often mentioning his talent and the way he seemed to pour his soul into every note he played.

“he's amazing,” chaeyoung would say, her cheeks flushing slightly. “and so kind. you should see how he treats everyone in the band.”

you nodded along, though your thoughts were often elsewhere, lost in the chords and melodies you created in your room. music had always been your escape, a place where you could express the things words often failed to capture.

one evening, as you sat with chaeyoung at your usual coffee shop, she burst into the room with an excitement you rarely saw in her. she practically bounced over to your table, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and nervous energy. “guess what?” she said, barely able to contain herself. “the band is looking for a new guitarist and vocalist!”

you raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious. “and?”

“and you should totally try out!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “you’re perfect for it. plus, it would be a great way for me to get closer to beomgyu.”

you chuckled at her transparency. “so this is your grand plan? get me into the band so you can make your move on beomgyu?”

she grinned, unashamed. “exactly. come on, it’ll be fun. and you love playing music. it’s a win-win.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of her request. joining a band was a big commitment, and the thought of performing in front of people made your stomach churn. “i don’t know, chaeyoung. i’m not really a performer. i like playing in my room, where no one can judge me.”

her face fell, and you could see the disappointment in her eyes. “but you’re so talented. it’s a waste to keep all that to yourself. please, just give it a shot. for me?”

you shook your head, standing firm. “i can’t. it’s just too much.”

chaeyoung’s shoulders slumped, and she stared at her coffee cup, her fingers tracing the rim. “i really thought you’d say yes,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “this means a lot to me.”

you felt a pang of guilt, but your mind was made up. “i’m sorry, chaeyoung. i just can’t.”

the next day, chaeyoung showed up at your door, her eyes red and puffy from crying. she looked at you with such desperation that it broke your heart. “please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “i need this. i need you to help me.”

you were taken aback by her raw emotion. chaeyoung was always so composed, so put-together. seeing her like this, so vulnerable, made you reconsider. “chaeyoung, i… i don’t know if i can do this.”

she grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly. “you can. i know you can. you’re amazing, and this could be such a great opportunity for you. and for us.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of her request. joining a band was a big commitment, but the idea of playing music with others, of sharing that connection, was tempting. besides, you couldn't deny chaeyoung anything when she looked at you with those pleading eyes.

“alright,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i’ll do it.”chaeyoung practically squealed with delight, hugging you tightly. “thank you, thank you, thank you! you won’t regret it, i promise.”

your first encounter with the band took place in their practice studio, a space filled with the rich scent of old instruments and the echo of past performances. when you arrived, beomgyu, yeonjun, taehyun, and kai were already there, their presence creating a lively buzz in the room. the setup was intimate—four chairs arranged in a semi-circle with instruments strewn about, evidence of countless hours spent together.

beomgyu greeted you first, his gaze warm yet scrutinizing. “hey, you must be the new applicant. i’m beomgyu, the bassist.”

you nodded, trying to steady your nerves. “yeah, that’s me. nice to meet you.”

yeonjun, with his easygoing demeanor, flashed a reassuring smile. “i’m yeonjun, the drummer. welcome to the band.”

taehyun, the lead guitarist with an intense focus, gave a nod of acknowledgment. “taehyun. let’s see what you’ve got.”

kai, the youngest and the most energetic of the group, leaned in with a grin. “i’m kai. excited to hear you play!”

as you set up your guitar and adjusted the microphone, the room filled with a quiet anticipation. your heart pounded in your chest as you prepared for your audition. chaeyoung stood by the side, her supportive presence a small comfort amidst your growing anxiety.

you started with a familiar song, one you’d practiced tirelessly in your room. your fingers trembled slightly as you strummed the first chords, your voice wavering but determined. the band members listened intently, their expressions ranging from casual interest to focused concentration.

when you finished, there was a moment of silence. beomgyu broke it with a thoughtful nod. “not bad. your style is different from what we’re used to, but that’s not a bad thing.”

yeonjun added, “i agree. you’ve got potential. it’ll take some time to get used to playing with us, but i think you could fit in.”

taehyun’s gaze was piercing, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes. “we’re looking for someone who can bring something fresh to the table. if you’re up for the challenge, we’d be happy to have you.”

kai, always the enthusiast, clapped his hands. “great job! when can we start practicing together?”

chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with relief and joy as she hugged you tightly. “see? i told you you’d do great!”

the initial excitement quickly gave way to the reality of integrating into the band. you quickly learned that fitting into their established rhythm was more challenging than you’d anticipated. during the first few practice sessions, you struggled to synchronize with yeonjun’s drumming and taehyun’s lead guitar riffs. your attempts to harmonize with kai’s backing vocals often felt awkward, and you could sense the band’s growing frustration.

one particular practice, as you flubbed a crucial part of a song, yeonjun let out a sigh of frustration. “let’s take that from the top. we need to tighten up.”

beomgyu, sensing your growing frustration, pulled you aside during a break. “hey, don’t worry. it takes time to adjust. let’s work through this together.”

you nodded, grateful for his support. “thanks, beomgyu. i appreciate it.”

over the next few weeks, you and beomgyu spent extra time practicing together. he was patient and encouraging, helping you work through the rough patches. you started to notice a rhythm in your interactions, both musically and personally. he would often tease you about your tendency to overthink and offer playful suggestions to ease your nerves.

one evening, after a particularly successful practice session, you and beomgyu sat on the worn-out couch in the studio, sharing a moment of respite. “so, what made you stick with the band?” you asked, genuinely curious.

beomgyu shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. “i guess i just enjoy making music with people who challenge me. and you’ve definitely brought a new dynamic to our sound.”

you smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “i’m glad to hear that. it’s been tough, but i’m starting to feel like i’m finding my place.”

beomgyu’s gaze softened. “you are. and you’re doing great. it’s all about finding the right groove and getting to know each other.”

with each practice session and performance, the bond between you and the band grew stronger. you started to feel more comfortable, both on stage and off. the initial awkwardness of your role began to fade as you settled into the rhythm of the group. the chemistry between you and beomgyu began to blossom, marked by shared laughter, spontaneous jams, and heartfelt conversations.

one evening, after a particularly grueling rehearsal, you all gathered in the studio’s lounge area. the dim lighting cast a warm glow over the room as the band members slumped into the worn-out couches, still buzzing from the energy of the session.

“hey, that last song was fire,” kai said, stretching out his arms. “we really nailed it.”

beomgyu, his bass still resting on his lap, looked over at you with a grin. “yeah, you were killing it tonight. i think we’ve finally hit our stride.”

you felt a flush of pride at his compliment. “thanks. it felt great playing with you guys.”

“i can tell,” beomgyu replied, his smile widening. “you’ve really found your groove. how’s everything been going for you outside the band?”

“busy,” you said with a laugh. “but it’s all good. i’m actually starting to enjoy the chaos.”

“chaos?” beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “sounds like a good story.”

you shrugged. “nothing too exciting. just balancing school and shits, you know how it is.”

the conversation drifted into lighter topics, with beomgyu and you trading jokes and anecdotes. it was moments like these, away from the pressures of practice, that made you realize how much you valued the connection you were building with him and the rest of the band.

chaeyoung’s efforts to get closer to beomgyu became increasingly noticeable. she would often linger after practice, her laughter ringing out in the studio as she shared stories and asked questions about his music. she seemed to be making every effort to draw his attention, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

one evening, chaeyoung caught you off guard as she approached you with a conspiratorial smile. “hey, so, did you notice how beomgyu was totally into that last song we played?”

you chuckled. “yeah, he seemed pretty pumped about it.”

chaeyoung leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “i’m thinking of asking him to grab coffee sometime. you know, just to talk more about his music. what do you think?”

“sounds like a good idea,” you replied, trying to sound supportive even though you felt a pang of discomfort. “i’m sure he’d love to chat more about it.”

“great!” chaeyoung said, her eyes lighting up. “i was hoping you’d help me figure out a good way to ask him. maybe during our next session?”

“sure,” you said with a nod, masking your unease. “i can help.”

despite your efforts to support chaeyoung, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being caught in an awkward middle ground. you found yourself often standing back while chaeyoung and beomgyu engaged in deep conversations, your role feeling secondary. yet, even with this small discomfort, you still cherished the moments when you could connect with beomgyu and the rest of the band.

one evening, as the band wrapped up a particularly intense practice session, chaeyoung seized the opportunity to suggest they all grab dinner together. her tone was casual, but you could sense her underlying intent to include beomgyu in the plans.

“hey, we should all go out for dinner after practice,” she said with a bright, almost conspiratorial smile. “there’s this great new place i’ve been wanting to try. what do you think, beomgyu?”

beomgyu, who was adjusting the strap on his bass guitar, looked up with a thoughtful expression. “sure, that sounds good. i’m always up for trying new places.”

chaeyoung’s eyes lit up with excitement. “awesome! it’ll be fun to hang out outside of practice.”

you hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. “sounds great. i’d love to join.”

the group made their way to the restaurant, and you found yourself feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity. the place chaeyoung had picked was cozy, with dim lighting and a menu full of intriguing options. as everyone settled into their seats, chaeyoung made a point to sit next to beomgyu, her body angled towards him as she began chatting animatedly about the restaurant’s unique dishes.

“so, have you tried the truffle fries here?” chaeyoung asked, leaning slightly closer. “i’ve heard they’re amazing.”

beomgyu, who was studying the menu, looked up with a smile. “no, but they sound great. i’m definitely down to try them.”

chaeyoung’s excitement was palpable. “perfect! we’ll get a bunch of appetizers to share. oh, and what about your favorite bands, beomgyu? i’m curious to know what kind of music you’re into.”

beomgyu chuckled, clearly enjoying the attention. “i’m into a mix of stuff—rock, jazz, a bit of indie. it really depends on my mood.”

as the evening unfolded, you couldn’t help but notice how chaeyoung maintained close proximity to beomgyu. she’d casually brush against him when reaching for the shared dishes or laugh a little too loudly at his jokes. each time she did, you could see the subtle pleasure in her eyes, and it was clear she was trying to catch his attention.

your own attempts at conversation felt stilted in comparison. you chatted with kai and the others, but whenever you tried to join in the conversation with beomgyu and chaeyoung, it felt like you were intruding. you awkwardly sipped your drink, trying to find a way to fit into the lively exchange.

as the evening progressed, you ended up sitting across from beomgyu. you watched him more closely now, observing the comfortable ease in his demeanor. he seemed genuinely engaged with chaeyoung, listening attentively and responding with thoughtful comments. his laughter was warm, and his eyes sparkled with a genuine interest that made you feel both envious and intrigued.

chaeyoung’s laughter was infectious, and it seemed to draw beomgyu in even more. “so, beomgyu,” she asked, her voice bright, “what inspired you to pick up the bass in the first place?”

beomgyu leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “i’ve always loved the rhythm and the groove. my older brother used to play, and i guess i just wanted to follow in his footsteps. plus, there’s something about the bass that just feels... essential to the music.”

“that’s really cool,” chaeyoung said, her eyes wide with admiration. “i love how passionate you are about it.”

you watched the exchange, feeling a pang of discomfort as you saw how effortlessly chaeyoung connected with beomgyu. you admired his passion, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit sidelined in the conversation.

the evening ended with everyone feeling satisfied and relaxed, the conversations flowing easily. as you all walked back to your respective homes, chaeyoung was buzzing with excitement, clearly thrilled with how the night had gone. you, on the other hand, found yourself lost in thought, as to why you are feeling a sudden thug on your chest upon remembering how close chaeyoung was with beomgyu earlier, and it felt wrong, you should’ve feel this way, not when your bestfriend if finally having more time with her crush.

another day, during a band rehearsal, chaeyoung suggested you help her with a surprise project for beomgyu—a personalized guitar pick. she wanted to give it to him as a gesture of appreciation for all his hard work and dedication. you agreed, though your heart wasn’t fully in it. you couldn’t help but wonder if this was her way of marking her territory, claiming her place in beomgyu’s life.

as you worked on the project together, chaeyoung’s enthusiasm was evident. “i really think this will make him happy,” she said, her eyes shining with hope. “he’s always so dedicated to the band, and this is a small way to show our appreciation.”

you nodded, trying to share in her excitement. “yeah, it’s a nice gesture. he’ll definitely appreciate it.”

when the day finally came to present the gift, chaeyoung was practically bouncing with anticipation. you watched as she handed the guitar pick to beomgyu, her smile radiant with pride. he accepted it with a surprised look, clearly touched by the thoughtful gesture.

“thanks, chaeyoung,” he said, his voice warm. “this is really cool. you didn’t have to, but i appreciate it.”

you could see the way chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with happiness, but you also noticed the way beomgyu’s gaze lingered on her, a soft smile playing on his lips, and it made your heart twist with a confusing mix of emotions.

despite your efforts to help chaeyoung, you began to notice subtle changes in beomgyu’s behavior towards you. at band practices, his interactions with you became more frequent and personal. what had once been brief exchanges about setlists and practice schedules now turned into longer conversations that delved into more personal territory.

one afternoon, as you were setting up your gear, beomgyu approached you with a thoughtful expression. “hey, i’ve been meaning to ask,” he started, casually leaning against the wall, “what’s your favorite song to play?”

you looked up, a bit surprised by the question. “oh, um, that’s a tough one. i really like ‘wonderwall’ by oasis. it’s got a great vibe.”

beomgyu nodded, his eyes lighting up with interest. “nice choice. i love that song too. the melody is just... it’s so catchy, you know?”

“yeah, exactly,” you replied, feeling a bit more at ease. “what about you? what’s your favorite?”

beomgyu thought for a moment. “i’d have to say ‘under the bridge’ by the red hot chili peppers. there’s something about the way the bass line carries the song that just resonates with me, but if i have to brag to someone, i’d choose any arctic monkey’s song.” he chuckles.

as he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered on you, a soft intensity in his eyes that made your heart race. there was a warmth in his expression that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

the change in his behavior wasn’t limited to just band practice. during breaks, he would often find reasons to sit near you, casually mentioning his latest musical experiments or asking for your opinions on new tracks he was working on. his conversations with you were filled with personal anecdotes and stories from his life, and he seemed genuinely interested in hearing about yours.

one evening after practice, as the band packed up, beomgyu casually walked over to where you were putting away your equipment. “so, you mentioned you’re studying music theory. how’s that going?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

you glanced up, surprised by his interest. “it’s going well. it’s a lot of theory and practice, but i’m getting the hang of it. why do you ask?”

“just curious,” he said with a grin. “i’ve always thought about diving deeper into theory myself. it’s fascinating how it all connects.”

you smiled, feeling a sense of connection. “yeah, it is. it’s like uncovering the secrets behind the music.”

“exactly,” beomgyu said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “hey, i’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to come to a jam session this weekend. just a few of us hanging out and playing some music. it could be fun.”

your heart skipped a beat. “that sounds awesome. i’d love to.”

“great,” beomgyu said, his smile widening. “i’ll text you the details.”

as the week went on, you found yourself looking forward to the jam session with increasing anticipation. the way beomgyu interacted with you made you feel special, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind his actions.

the jam session arrived, and it was as laid-back and enjoyable as you had hoped. you found yourself immersed in the music, with beomgyu often glancing over at you with a smile that made your heart flutter. during a break, as you all sat around with drinks and snacks, beomgyu casually asked, “so, what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to try musically but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

you thought for a moment. “i’ve always wanted to experiment with producing my own tracks. it seems like a fun way to explore different sounds and styles.”

“that’s cool,” beomgyu said, nodding thoughtfully. “i’ve done a bit of that myself. if you ever want to collaborate or need any tips, just let me know. i’d be happy to help.”

“thanks,” you said, feeling a rush of excitement. “i might take you up on that.”

the evening ended on a high note, with everyone in good spirits and the music flowing effortlessly. as you said your goodbyes, beomgyu lingered a bit longer, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart race.

“it was really great having you there tonight,” he said, his voice soft. “i hope we can do it again soon.”

“me too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “i had a lot of fun.”

“awesome,” beomgyu said with a smile. “i’ll see you at practice.”

as you walked home, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting between you and beomgyu. his attention and the personal nature of your conversations left you both exhilarated and curious about where things might lead.

one afternoon, after a particularly intense practice, beomgyu approached you with a small, hesitant smile. “hey, do you have a minute?”

you nodded, feeling a flutter of anticipation. “sure, what’s up?”

he led you to a quieter corner of the studio, away from the others. “i was thinking,” he began, his voice slightly uncertain, “that maybe we could work on a new song together. just the two of us.”

you felt a rush of excitement mixed with apprehension. “m-me? i mean, yeah, w-we could!”

as you worked on the song together, the atmosphere between you shifted. there were moments when your hands brushed, your eyes meeting in shared understanding. beomgyu’s smiles became more frequent, and his laughter seemed to come more easily around you. it was clear that he enjoyed your company and valued your input, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more behind his gestures.

one evening, as you and beomgyu took a break from working on the song, he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “you know,” he said softly, “i’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. you’ve got this way of making everything seem... better.”

you were taken aback, your breath catching in your throat. “thanks, beomgyu. i’ve enjoyed working with you too.”

his gaze lingered, and you could feel the tension in the air. there was a moment of silence before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m glad you’re here.”

your internal conflict grew more pronounced as these interactions continued. you started to realize that your feelings for beomgyu were deepening, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore them. you found yourself torn between your desire to support chaeyoung and your own growing affection for him.

one evening, as you and chaeyoung were leaving the studio, she turned to you with a hopeful smile. “so, how do you think things are going with beomgyu?”

you hesitated, unsure how to answer. “he’s been really great. we’ve been working on some new music together, and it’s been... good.”

chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “i knew you’d get along! i’m so glad. do you think he likes me?”

you swallowed hard, the weight of your promise to chaeyoung heavy on your shoulders. “i’m sure he does. he seems to appreciate everything you’ve done for him.”

as you walked away, you felt a deep sense of conflict. the more time you spent with beomgyu, the more your own feelings grew. but you had made a promise to chaeyoung, and the thought of betraying that promise weighed heavily on you.

it was becoming increasingly clear that this situation would be more complicated than you had anticipated. your growing affection for beomgyu and your loyalty to chaeyoung were pulling you in different directions, leaving you to grapple with the tangled emotions that had become an inescapable part of your life.

the band had just wrapped up a particularly intense practice session. the studio, once alive with vibrant energy and the hum of instruments, now felt eerily still and heavy. sweat beaded on your brow as you put away your guitar, your fingers still tingling from the final, emotionally charged chords. the song you’d been working on was deeply emotional, its raw lyrics and haunting melody leaving everyone exhausted yet exhilarated. the last note seemed to linger in the air like a whisper of shared sentiment, an echo of the vulnerability and connection you all had just experienced.

as you wiped your face with a towel, you glanced around the studio and noticed beomgyu watching you from across the room. his usual playful demeanor was replaced by something more intense, almost somber. his eyes, usually bright and mischievous, were now soft and contemplative, their gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

beomgyu approached you as the band members began to pack up, their casual chatter and the clatter of equipment creating a backdrop of normalcy. “you were incredible tonight,” he said, his voice low and almost lost in the noise of the studio. the sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. his eyes held a softness you hadn’t seen before, making it hard to catch your breath.

“thanks, beomgyu,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. your voice came out softer than you intended, almost betraying the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

the air between you was thick with unspoken words, each of you caught in a delicate dance of emotion. the studio, once a lively hub of activity, now felt like a small, enclosed space where every glance and gesture seemed amplified. as the others began to leave, their conversations fading into the background, beomgyu’s eyes remained locked on yours.

“can we talk?” he asked, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken urgency.

you nodded, your heart pounding as you led him to a quieter corner of the studio. the silence that followed was almost unbearable, filled with the lingering echoes of your previous song. the room seemed to close in around you, the weight of anticipation pressing down on you both. beomgyu’s gaze was unwavering, a mix of vulnerability and resolve that made your own feelings swell.

“w-what do you wanna talk about?” you could feel the tension in the air, thick and charged, as beomgyu took a step closer. his eyes searched yours, seeking something that neither of you could quite name. suddenly, he leaned in, and his lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and probing, as if he were trying to convey everything he felt in that single, fleeting moment. it was a kiss filled with longing, confusion, and an unspoken plea for clarity. the contact was gentle yet electrifying, an exploration of something deeply felt but hard to articulate.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours, asking questions without words. you could see the hope and fear reflected in them, a mirror to your own tumultuous feelings. the silence stretched between you, each of you grappling with the weight of the moment.

“beomgyu...” you began, your voice trembling despite your attempt at calmness. “i can’t, we can’t.”

his brow furrowed in confusion and hurt. “why?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. the pain in his eyes was palpable, and it made your heart ache even more.

“we shouldn’t,” you replied, each word feeling like a weighty anchor dragging you down. the finality in your voice was almost a physical force, pushing him away. the room seemed to contract around you, intensifying the emotional distance that had suddenly opened up between you.

beomgyu’s expression shifted from confusion to hurt, and he took a step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. “i... i thought...”

without waiting for a response, you turned and fled the studio. the dim light of the corridor felt cold against the warmth of the emotions you were trying to escape. your heart pounded in your chest, each step away from him a painful reminder of the feelings you couldn’t fully confront. the echoes of your last moments with beomgyu seemed to follow you, a haunting reminder of what had just transpired.

as you reached the outside, the cool night air did little to calm the storm within you. you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of beomgyu’s hopeful eyes lingered in your mind, a painful reminder of what you had just denied.

the next few days were a blur of avoidance and reflection. you found yourself retreating from the band, your absence a noticeable gap in the group's dynamic. rehearsals felt awkward without your presence, the energy of the room slightly diminished. your decision to distance yourself from beomgyu and the band was driven by a chaotic swirl of emotions, leaving you feeling paralyzed and uncertain.

you spent long hours alone, grappling with the confusion and guilt that had taken over your thoughts. the warmth of beomgyu's kiss replayed in your mind, contrasting sharply with the clarity of your decision to pull away. every time you tried to rationalize your feelings, you found yourself trapped in a loop of doubt and self-recrimination.

your avoidance of the band was evident. when kai called you, his voice laced with concern, you made excuses. “i’m just swamped with assignments,” you said one evening, though the truth was far more complex and painful. “i need to catch up on some studying.”

kai’s voice softened, but you could hear the disappointment and worry. “you’ve been MIA for a while. we miss you. is everything okay?”

you hesitated, feeling the weight of her concern pressing down on you. “yeah, just... a lot going on. i’ll be back soon. promise.”

every encounter with beomgyu was now fraught with tension and awkwardness. when you accidentally ran into him in the hallway, you avoided eye contact, your heart racing as you mumbled a quick, “sorry, gotta run.” his puzzled expression was a sharp reminder of the unresolved feelings you were trying to escape.

one day, as you walked past the studio, you could hear the band inside, laughing and playing their instruments. the familiar sounds only served to deepen the ache in your chest. you paused for a moment, fighting the urge to open the door and join them, but the thought of facing beomgyu made your anxiety spike. instead, you turned on your heel and walked away, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

in a moment of weakness, you sought solace in a quiet coffee shop near campus. the café’s soft lighting and mellow music provided a temporary refuge from the turmoil inside you. as you sipped your coffee, you found yourself lost in thought, staring blankly at the steaming cup in front of you. the barista’s cheery greeting when he brought your order seemed to jar you from your reverie.

“everything alright?” he asked, noticing the pensive look on your face.

you forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “yeah, just... thinking things over.”

as you sat there, your phone buzzed with a message from taehyun. [hey, we’re meeting at our favorite diner tonight. we haven’t seen you in ages. please come.]

you stared at the message, your emotions a turbulent mix of guilt and longing. you knew the band was trying to reach out, and taehyun’s request made you feel even more isolated. you typed a quick reply. [i’m sorry, can’t make it tonight. maybe next time.]

later that evening, you walked aimlessly around campus, trying to clear your mind. the night air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions you were navigating. you found yourself near the band’s usual practice spot, where the faint strains of music could still be heard through the closed door. the sound was like a beacon, pulling you in, but you resisted the urge to go inside.

instead, you leaned against a nearby wall, staring at the ground, and tried to silence the conflicting thoughts racing through your mind. you missed the time where you bond, the music, and most of all, the connection you felt with beomgyu. but the guilt over your decisions and the fear of complicating things further held you back.

as you stood there, lost in thought, you heard footsteps approaching. you glanced up to see beomgyu and a couple of the other band members walking toward the practice space. beomgyu’s eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, and you saw a flicker of recognition and sadness in his gaze. you quickly averted your eyes and pushed off the wall, heading in the opposite direction. the weight of his gaze lingered on you, a painful reminder of the unresolved feelings and the barrier you had built between yourselves.

the next few days continued in this pattern of avoidance and reflection. you tried to immerse yourself in other activities—studying, hanging out with friends, and even joining a new club—to distract yourself from the growing rift between you and the band. but no matter how hard you tried, the pull of your unresolved feelings and the ache of missing the band’s presence remained ever-present.

you avoided the band’s practices, your absence becoming a topic of concern and whispers among the members. chaeyoung tried to reach out, but you deflected her inquiries with vague responses, unable to explain the complexity of what you were going through. the weight of your decisions and the growing distance between you and those you cared about only seemed to deepen with each passing day.

chaeyoung, on the other hand, continued her efforts to get closer to beomgyu. she seemed determined to pursue him, and you found yourself reluctantly setting up more opportunities for them to spend time together while you tried your best to ditch practices and avoid them, beomgyu to be exact. each one a painful reminder of your own conflicted heart.

the tension between you and chaeyoung suddenly grew, the strain becoming increasingly visible. her enthusiasm for beomgyu seemed to highlight the awkwardness between you two. one evening, after an especially intense practice, you returned to the band. the absence of your usual presence had left a noticeable void, and the atmosphere was tinged with unresolved emotions.

beomgyu, noticing your arrival, tried to catch you alone. his face was a mix of concern and frustration, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more intense. “why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken frustration. “and why are you setting me up with chaeyoung when you clearly know how i feel about you?”

his words hit you like a tidal wave, the force of his emotions crashing into your already turbulent heart. you were taken aback, stammering as you struggled to find the right response amidst the swirling chaos of your feelings. “i... i just needed some time,” you said, your voice cracking under the strain. “i don’t know what to do.”

beomgyu’s eyes softened, but his frustration remained. “what do you mean, you don’t know what to do? you’ve been avoiding me for days, and every time i try to talk to you, you shut me out. and now you’re pushing me toward chaeyoung? do you even realize how confusing this is?”

the words were like daggers, each one cutting deeper into the wound you’d been trying to hide. “it’s not that simple,” you said, your voice trembling. “i didn’t mean to lead anyone on. i’m just... i’m just trying to figure things out.”

before you could finish, chaeyoung, who had been lingering just outside the practice room, overheard the exchange. her face was a mix of hurt and anger as she stormed in, her eyes blazing with a mix of betrayal and indignation. “so this is what’s been going on?” she demanded, her voice echoing with pain. “you knew all along, didn’t you? and yet you kept pushing me toward beomgyu!”

you turned to face her, your heart breaking at the sight of her wounded expression. “chaeyoung, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

chaeyoung’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, her disappointment palpable. “you should’ve told me sooner instead of making me look like a fool! i thought we were friends. i didn’t know when it started, but now i do. you’ve put me in a horrible position.”

“i don’t even know when it started,” you admitted, your own tears spilling over. “i didn’t mean to keep it from you. i just... i didn’t know how to handle it.”

chaeyoung’s expression softened slightly, though the hurt in her eyes was still clear. “you know that i treasure you so much! i can live without him, but you... i’m disappointed.” you tried to hold her hand but she refuse it by pushing your hand away.

chaeyoung shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve. “i need some space,” she said, her voice shaking. “i can’t do this right now.”

as chaeyoung turned to leave, you felt a pang of guilt and helplessness. “please, chaeyoung, let’s talk later. i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you called after her, but she didn’t stop.

the room felt heavy with unresolved emotions as chaeyoung walked out, leaving you and beomgyu standing in the aftermath of the confrontation. you watched her leave, feeling a deep sense of regret and sorrow.

stepping out of the practice room, you almost collided with chaeyoung, who was standing just outside the door, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. your eyes met hers, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened seemed to hang between you.

“chaeyoung, wait,” you started, but she held up a hand, stopping you in your tracks.

“i need to be alone,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “just... stay away from me for now.”

you watched her walk away, your heart aching as the door closed behind her. the confrontation had left you feeling empty and lost, with the weight of your actions and their consequences pressing heavily on your shoulders. the path forward seemed unclear, and the pain of seeing both chaeyoung and beomgyu hurt by your choices was almost too much to bear.

the confrontation left you feeling bare and overwhelmed, as if the weight of your choices was pressing down on you. you were torn between listening to your mind, which urged you to stay away from the complications, and following your heart, despite the potential for more chaos. each option felt heavy with its own consequences, making the decision feel almost too much to bear.

on a painfully monday morning, thanks to your bothered sleep and blood-shot eyes from crying to sleep, yeonjun planned a meeting announcing the upcoming performance the band is going to be at, it’s for the school festival which is three weeks from now.

the days leading up to the big performance were a whirlwind of tension and emotional strain. the band’s rehearsals became increasingly fraught with unspoken conflicts. you and beomgyu found yourselves in the same space, but the atmosphere was thick with unresolved feelings. each practice felt like a tightrope walk between maintaining professionalism and confronting the personal problems between you.

you struggled to focus on the music. every note seemed to echo your inner confusion. the mere presence of beomgyu was a constant reminder of the kiss and the subsequent fallout. whenever practice ended, you would hastily pack up your things and slip out of the room before beomgyu had a chance to approach you. your heart raced as you made your way for the exit, desperate to escape the weight of the situation.

one evening, after an intense rehearsal, you were packing up your guitar when you felt beomgyu’s presence behind you. he cleared his throat, trying to get your attention. “hey, can we talk for a second?”

you stiffened, keeping your back turned. “i’m really sorry, beomgyu. i have to go.”

before he could respond, you grabbed your bag and quickly made your way to the door. you could hear his frustrated sigh as you exited the studio. you barely made it out into the hallway before you broke into a brisk walk, trying to put as much distance between you and the uncomfortable conversation.

the following day, during another practice, you could feel beomgyu’s gaze on you. his attempts to catch your eye were evident as he tried to gauge your mood. at one point, he caught up with you in the break room where you were refilling your water bottle.

“i don’t understand why you’re avoiding me,” beomgyu said, his voice filled with frustration. “we need to talk about what happened.”

you forced a tight smile, avoiding his eyes. “i know. but not right now. i really need to focus on the music.”

beomgyu’s expression hardened. “this isn’t just about the music anymore. it’s about us. you can’t keep running away.”

before he could say more, you turned and hurried back to the practice room, your heart pounding in your chest. you hoped that by diving back into the music, you could drown out the guilt and confusion that plagued you.

a few days later, after an exhausting rehearsal, you were again at the edge of the studio, packing up your gear. beomgyu approached you once more, his tone softer but still filled with a pleading urgency. “please, can we at least talk for a few minutes? it’s really important.”

you avoided his gaze, focusing intently on zipping up your bag. “i’m really tired, beomgyu. maybe another time?”

“we’ve been saying ‘another time’ for days,” he said, his voice rising slightly in frustration. “we can’t keep doing this.”

you didn’t answer, quickly slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking briskly toward the exit. you heard his footsteps behind you, but you didn’t slow down. the practice room door closed behind you with a decisive thud, leaving you alone in the hallway as you made your way out of the building, your breath coming in ragged bursts.

the tension reached a breaking point during a late-night practice session. as soon as the final chord was struck and the last note faded, you grabbed your things and tried to make another hasty exit. but beomgyu was waiting for you, his face set in a determined expression.

“this is getting ridiculous,” he said, stepping in front of the door as you tried to leave. “you can’t keep avoiding me forever.”

your pulse quickened, and you looked at him with a mix of frustration and sadness. “i don’t have the energy for this right now, beomgyu. just... let me go.”

“i can’t do that,” he said, his voice softer now. “we need to sort this out. it’s affecting the band, and it’s affecting us.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “i know. but every time we talk, it feels like it only makes things worse. is there even us?”

you saw how his emotion changed, his eyes became more soft with his eyebrows furrowed, and it almost crushed your heart into pieces. “t-then let’s just talk,” he said, stepping closer. “no pressure, just... honestly.”

you took a deep breath, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “i can’t. not yet. i’m still figuring things out.”

beomgyu’s face softened with concern. “please, don’t shut me out. i want to understand.”

with a heavy heart, you pushed past him and walked out of the studio. the cool night air hit your face as you hurried away, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. the sight of beomgyu standing alone in the doorway, his expression a mix of frustration and heartbreak, stayed with you long after you had left the building.

chaeyoung, meanwhile, had been distant and cold. the once easy trust of friendship between you had dissolved into a frosty silence. she avoided eye contact and kept conversations to a minimum, her demeanor a stark contrast to the warmth she had once shown. living together only added to the strain. each night, after band practice, you found yourself lingering on the school grounds until late, just to avoid the awkwardness of returning home to an increasingly strained atmosphere. the nights seemed endless as you waited for the right moment to return home, praying that somehow, things would resolve themselves.

one particularly chilly evening, around 9 pm, you were sitting alone on a bench near the school grounds. the practice had ended hours ago, and you were waiting for the right moment to head home, dreading the silent, uncomfortable atmosphere that awaited you. the dim streetlights cast long shadows on the deserted grounds, mirroring the isolation you felt.

you sighed deeply, your breath visible in the cold air. the empty grounds were a reflection of your emotional state—silent and still, waiting for something to change. you glanced at your watch, wishing time would move faster so you could escape the lingering anxiety.

as you sat lost in thought, yeonjun approached, his footsteps crunching on the gravel. he looked at you with a mix of concern and curiosity. “you’re still here?” he asked, taking a seat beside you without waiting for an invitation.

you shrugged, trying to mask your discomfort. “just needed some time to clear my head.”

yeonjun studied you for a moment, then spoke, his voice gentle but firm. “you know, this awkwardness between you and beomgyu is starting to affect the band. everyone can feel it, and it’s not just about the performance anymore.”

you sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “i know. i just... don’t know how to fix it.”

“maybe you should be true to yourself for once,” yeonjun suggested. “think about why you’re avoiding him. and don’t forget about chaeyoung. you two need to talk things through.”

his advice, though simple, resonated deeply. you nodded, taking his words to heart. “thanks, yeonjun. i’ll think about it.”

that night, determined to make amends, you decided to confront the situation head-on. after practice the next day, you went to a nearby store and bought two large bowls of chaeyoung’s favorite ramen. when you arrived home, the smell of the ramen filled the small apartment.

chaeyoung was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone with a detached air. you placed the ramen on the table and took a deep breath. “i thought you might like this,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“what are you doing here.” she said, not even glancing towards you.

“i figured we have to talk..” you whispered, you voice breaking through each word.

chaeyoung looked up, her expression softening slightly as she took in the gesture. “make sure that it’s worth my time,” she said coldly, but there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

you sat down across from her, trying to maintain a hopeful smile. “i know things have been rough between us. i’m sorry for not being honest with you sooner.”

chaeyoung’s eyes softened as she stirred the ramen. “you know, i can deal with a broken heart. i’ve been through it before. what i can’t handle is losing you as a friend.”

the sincerity in her voice cut through your anxiety. “i didn’t want to hurt you. i was just trying to figure things out.”

chaeyoung sighed, her eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sadness and understanding. “i think you and beomgyu actually look good together. maybe you should give each other a try. i can handle another heartbreak, but losing you would be too much.”

the conversation opened the floodgates of emotion. you realized that chaeyoung valued your friendship above all else, and her willingness to support you despite the pain spoke volumes. you reached across the table and took her hand, the gesture a silent apology and an offer of reconciliation.

“that means a lot, chaeyoung,” you said softly. “thank you for being understanding.”

chaeyoung gave you a small, relieved smile. “i’m glad we talked. just... try not to let things get so complicated next time, okay?”

“i’ll do my best,” you promised, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders.

as the night wore on, the two of you found yourselves curled up together on your shared bed. the comforting warmth of her presence was a balm to your frayed nerves. you talked and laughed, reminiscing about old times, and the tension between you dissipated with each shared memory and whispered confession. it was a moment of healing, the rekindling of a cherished friendship that had weathered the storm.

one week before the performance, you began to feel a sense of relief. the conversations with yeonjun and chaeyoung had lifted a heavy burden, and you were attending band practices with renewed focus. though the anxiety about beomgyu still lingered, you were determined to sort through your feelings and confront whatever was next.

the last evening before the big performance, the practice session went smoothly. the room was filled with the familiar hum of instruments and the rhythm of music. throughout the practice, you and beomgyu exchanged furtive glances, a mix of unspoken emotions passing between you. the atmosphere was charged, but neither of you made the first move to bridge the gap.

as practice concluded, you told everyone you’d be quick and just needed to grab some water. when you returned to the band room, it was nearly empty. only yeonjun and taehyun remained, engaged in a low-key conversation. your heart sank as you realized beomgyu was nowhere to be seen.

as you picked up your bag, a folded piece of paper fell to the floor. you bent down and retrieved it, noticing a guitar pick tucked inside. unfolding the note, you saw beomgyu’s handwriting:

“i know you won’t listen to me, but i hope you will read my letters at least. —beomgyu”

confused, you glanced around, searching for beomgyu, despite know he was already gone. taehyun, observing your puzzled expression, spoke up. “i think there’s another note in your bag. beomgyu put a notebook there too.”

curiosity and worry surged through you, prompting you to dig through your bag. you discovered a notebook, its pages filled with beomgyu’s thoughts. the first entry was raw and revealing:

“i remember the first time i really noticed you. you were playing that red guitar of yours, your hair a bit messy, like you had just rolled out of bed. heheh (i actually think it looks good on you) there was something about the way you got lost in your music, so focused, so at ease with yourself. i couldn’t stop watching. i didn’t want to admit it, but that’s when i started paying attention.”

the next few entries showed beomgyu’s growing awareness of his feelings:

“i started finding excuses to be around you more. the way you’d smile after hitting a tricky chord, or how you’d cheer me on during my solos—it all started to matter a lot. i thought it was just a phase (lol), but the more i got to know you, the more it felt like something real.”

“then we had that night—the kiss. it was a mistake, or at least that’s what i tried to convince myself. but deep down, it felt like the start of something confusing and complicated. i wanted to fix things, but every time i tried, it seemed like i only made things worse.”

“now, with the performance coming up, i’m feeling this weight. i don’t know if we’ll have another chance to sort things out. it’s been hard trying to figure out how to make things right before we all move on. i just hope we can talk before it’s too late.”

your heart raced as you flipped to the last page. there, you found a sketch of a girl holding a red guitar. it was you, drawn with such detail and tenderness that it took your breath away. next to the sketch were lyrics:

“through the band, i discovered you i’m grateful for the music you appeared so unexpectedly with your red guitar in my studio and as you sang, i was instantly captivated i’ll write a song with you as its title the lyrics may not be ready but the melody comes first you’re the one i’ve been waiting for i’m ready to be genuine opening the door, i once believed, i couldn’t bear it any longer” - fuck, is it too cheesy? i don’t know… i just miss you.

the lyrics were written multiple times, with some lines crossed out and rewritten, showing how much thought beomgyu had put into them. the repeated attempts, the crossed-out words—everything spoke of his deep desire to get it right.

your heart thumped wildly in your chest as you absorbed the significance of his words and the heartfelt sentiment behind the song. tears welled in your eyes as you closed the notebook and looked at yeonjun and taehyun.

“where is he?” you asked, your voice trembling. “beomgyu, where is he?”

“who?” taehyun asked, clearly confused.

“beomgyu! where did he go?” you repeated, your urgency growing as tears began to spill.

“i believe he went home already,” yeonjun said.

“you can try to catch him; he’s a slow walker—” taehyun began, but before he could finish, you had already shoved the notebook back into your bag, grabbed your things, and bolted out of the room.

you raced through the dimly lit corridors, your breath coming in ragged gasps. you sprinted through the campus grounds, desperately searching for beomgyu. each second felt like an eternity as you scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

you ran to the usual places you thought he might be—the old practice rooms, the quiet spots near the campus park—but he was nowhere to be found. the night air was cool against your flushed face, but the chill did little to cool the fire in your chest.

your footsteps echoed in the empty streets, the rhythmic thud a reminder of your growing desperation. you crouched on the ground, the cold seeping through your clothes as you struggled to catch your breath. the thought of not having the chance to tell him about your feelings, of him giving you the letter as a closure to move on, weighed heavily on you. tears streamed down your face as you walked home, feeling utterly defeated.

when you finally arrived home, the weight of the night’s events seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders. the house was quiet, the kind of quiet that amplified every little noise and seemed to echo your disheartened thoughts. the door creaked open, and as you stepped inside, the emptiness of the space felt almost suffocating.

chaeyoung was waiting for you. she had sensed your distress even before you had the chance to say anything. without a word, she pulled you into a warm, comforting hug. her arms wrapped around you tightly, a silent gesture of support and understanding. you felt the warmth of her body, her comforting presence dissolving the tension that had built up inside you throughout the evening.

“hey,” she whispered softly, her voice a gentle balm to your aching heart. “it’s gonna be okay.”

you buried your face in her shoulder, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking free. chaeyoung’s soothing words, combined with her embrace, were a small island of calm in the storm of emotions you were experiencing. the comfort she offered was genuine, and it helped to remind you that you didn’t have to face this alone.

chaeyoung held you for a long moment, allowing you to cry it out. her hand gently stroked your back, a rhythmic reassurance that she was there for you. “it’s alright,” she murmured, “we’ll figure it out. just breathe.”

the next morning, the day of the big performance, you woke up with a tangled mess of thoughts. the weight of the previous night pressed heavily on your mind, and the comfort of your bed felt like an irresistible temptation. you lay there, tangled in blankets, every fiber of your being urging you to stay in this cocoon of warmth and forget about everything.

but then chaeyoung’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, sharp and clear. “hey,” she said firmly, her voice breaking through the fog of indecision. “if this is the last time you’re going to see him, then fuck that and go! look at him all you can, don’t waste the chance. come on, i didn’t raise you like that.”

her words were a jolt, a wake-up call that pulled you from the comfort of denial and into the reality of the situation. chaeyoung’s unwavering resolve and concern for you pierced through your indecision, and you knew she was right. if this was the final chance to confront your feelings, you couldn’t waste it. you needed to be brave, even if it felt terrifying.

when you arrived at the venue for the final rehearsal, the atmosphere was charged with tension. the anticipation of the upcoming performance was palpable, but there was an undercurrent of unease that seemed to hover in the air. you glanced around the room, expecting to see the familiar faces of your bandmates, but there were only three of them present.

the absence of one crucial member was glaringly obvious. “where’s beomgyu?” you asked, your voice betraying your anxiety. the concern was evident in your tone, and your eyes scanned the room for any sign of him.

yeonjun looked up from where he was adjusting his equipment, his brow furrowed in frustration. “he’s not responding to our texts,” he explained. “so, we’ll have soobin as his proxy for now.”

“yeah, he’ll be late i guess,” kai added, trying to sound reassuring despite the clear concern in his voice. “we’re not sure what’s going on with him.”

you nodded, trying to push aside the worry gnawing at you. the rehearsal proceeded, but the empty space where beomgyu should have been felt like a void that you couldn’t ignore.

the rehearsal ended, and you found yourself backstage, preparing for your turn on stage. you sat on a bench, your fingers fidgeting with the edges of your clothing, the absence of beomgyu weighing heavily on your mind. the backstage area was bustling with activity, but your focus was entirely on the empty spot where he should have been.

the door to the backstage area swung open with a suddenness that made you look up. the familiar chorus of greetings and exclamations filled the space, but your attention was solely on the figure who had just entered. beomgyu stood in the doorway, his usual delicate eyes now showing a complex mix of emotions that you couldn’t quite interpret. his hair was styled the same as always, framing his face, but today it seemed as though he was carrying an invisible weight.

he was dressed in a black cardigan over a white polo, paired with a black tie, torn black shorts, and his signature chucky shoes. his guitar was slung casually over his shoulder, but it was clear that he was focused on something more than just the instrument.

the sight of him stirred a flurry of emotions inside you—hope, confusion, anxiety. the connection between you seemed visible, even though the tension in the air was almost tangible. beomgyu’s eyes locked onto yours for a moment, and it felt as though time itself had momentarily stopped.

the room seemed to hold its breath as the two of you stared at each other. for a fleeting instant, it felt as if everything else had faded away, leaving just the two of you and the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you.

beomgyu’s heart raced when he walked into the room, each step feeling heavier than the last. the sleepless night had left him utterly drained, and the weight of his apprehensions pressed down on him with every beat of his heart. he had spent hours pouring his feelings into the notebook, hoping it would be enough to bridge the gap between you. now, the fear that his words had fallen on deaf ears gnawed at him. the sight of you, barely meeting his gaze, made that fear even more tangible.

“sorry i’m late,” he said, his voice lacking its usual warmth and confidence. “i had trouble sleeping last night. i hope i didn’t mess things up too badly.”

hearing his words only made your heart ache more. was he thinking about you, too? the vulnerability in his voice made you wonder if he was struggling with his own feelings. but before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, the sound coordinator knocked on the door. “hey, you’re up next!” he called, breaking the moment.

the rush of adrenaline surged through you as you stood up, gripping your red guitar tightly. you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. this was it. you glanced over at beomgyu, who was talking to yeonjun, possibly explaining his late arrival.

“is everything okay with you?” yeonjun asked beomgyu, his tone laced with concern. “we’ve got just a bit of time before you go on.”

beomgyu nodded, though his expression was troubled. “yeah, just… needed to get my head straight. thanks for covering for me.”

you tried to push your swirling thoughts aside, focusing on the performance ahead. backstage, the crew hurriedly prepared the equipment, adjusting microphones and checking amplifiers. you spotted chaeyoung in the audience, her encouraging smile offering a small boost of confidence. you could see her giving you a thumbs-up, and it made you feel a bit more grounded.

as you took your place on stage, you could feel beomgyu’s eyes on you, even as you busied yourself with setting up your gear. his presence was almost palpable, adding to your already heightened nerves.

the introduction song started, the energetic beat filling the venue. the crowd’s applause and cheers created a vibrant atmosphere. yeonjun stepped up to the mic, his voice clear and upbeat as he began introducing the band members.

the setlist progressed smoothly, each song blending seamlessly into the next with transitions that kept the crowd energized. the band’s performance was electric, and the audience’s enthusiasm was noticeable. but as the performance reached the last few songs, yeonjun announce that there will be last two song on the list, you noticed something odd. there was a mix-up in the setlist. you were sure that only one song was left—the one you and beomgyu had written together.

but before you even get lost on your mind the drum sticks signaled the start of the final song, your thoughts snapped back to the stage. kai had stopped playing the keyboard and held the mic ready, his expression serious yet excited.

the lyrics began to flow through the venue, each word resonating deeply within you:

unnoticed, the noises around us fade away, is it obvious that there's something one of us wants to admit? as time passes, we don't realize that only we remain here. our eyes meet, yearning to say, you take my heart to the heavens, giving me a joy that feels true. there's nothing more to seek; you are mine, and i am yours, and here we lose ourselves. time has flown by, and we haven't even noticed that only we remain. our eyes meet, yearning to say, you take my heart to the heavens, giving me a joy that feels true. there's nothing more to seek; you are mine, and i am yours, and here we lose ourselves. we lose ourselves in each other. we lose ourselves in each other.

as kai sang, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from beomgyu. the spotlight cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting the familiar contours you had come to know so well. each lyric of the song seemed to resonate with memories of your time together, drawing you into a whirlpool of recollections.

you remembered those late-night practice sessions, the room filled with the soft strum of guitars and the clinking of coffee cups. you and beomgyu would lose track of time, laughing over missed notes and exchanging knowing glances. one night, as the clock ticked past midnight, beomgyu had paused his playing and looked over at you.

“why do we always end up here?” he’d asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “it’s like our own little world.” you’d grinned, nodding in agreement. “maybe it’s because we can just be ourselves here. no need to pretend.”

you thought about the meals you’d shared after exhausting rehearsals, grabbing quick bites from a local convenience store. you’d both been too tired to care about anything more than satisfying your hunger, but those moments had been filled with genuine conversation and laughter.

“remember that time we tried to make our own ramen?” beomgyu had said, chuckling as he sipped his cup noodles. “we thought it would be a culinary masterpiece.”

you had laughed, shaking your head. “more like a disaster in a cup.”

and those small, intimate moments when it was just the two of you. Like that one afternoon in the practice room when you had both been too tired to play. you’d ended up sprawled on the floor, talking about everything and nothing.

“sometime i think,” beomgyu had mused, “that we don’t need to say much to understand each other. it’s like we already know what the other is thinking.”

“yeah,” you’d replied, “sometimes silence speaks louder than words.”

now, as kai’s voice wrapped around the final lines of the song, you felt a wave of resolve wash over you. the lyrics spoke of that intangible bond, the silent connection that defied explanation.

you couldn’t ignore these feelings any longer. the song’s message, combined with your shared experiences, had made your decision clear. you were going to confess your feelings to beomgyu, no matter how terrifying it felt. you tightened your grip on your guitar, your heart pounding in your chest. it was now or never.

when the final chord resonated through the venue and the crowd erupted into cheers, the noise seemed to amplify the storm inside you. yeonjun stepped up to the mic, his voice full of energy.

“this next song was a collaboration between our very own beomgyu and y/n,” he announced, a proud smile on his face. “it’s about the things we can’t always put into words, the unspoken connection that binds two people together. it’s about finding a way to express what words alone can’t capture.”

the spotlight shifted to you and beomgyu, illuminating the space between you. in that brief moment, your eyes met, and a wave of fear and excitement washed over you. beomgyu’s gaze was intense, filled with a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite place.

you took a deep breath, your resolve hardening. this was your chance to be honest, to put everything on the line. you were going to confess your feelings to beomgyu, no matter what.

after the last song, the lights in the auditorium abruptly cut off, plunging the space into darkness. a murmur of confusion swept through the crowd as you fumbled to make out shapes in the dimness. the auditorium, being a closed area, seemed to amplify the darkness. but just as quickly as the lights had gone out, they flickered back on, casting a bright, almost blinding light over the stage.

you blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness. and there, standing in the middle of the stage, was beomgyu. he was wearing taehyun’s guitar and adjusting the standing mic with a mixture of nervousness and determination. he cleared his throat, his voice resonating through the microphone.

“hello, i’m beomgyu,” he began, his tone holding a rare softness. “the band’s bassist. i don’t sing a lot on sets,” he paused, a shy chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck. “i have a special set, uh... for a special someone.”

the words seemed to hang in the air, and you could see his eyes flicker in your direction before he turned back to the crowd. his hands began to strum the guitar, and an unfamiliar melody started to fill the auditorium. it was different from the usual songs he played, and though you’d heard him sing before, this was something deeply personal.

he kept stealing glances at you, his fingers dancing over the strings with a mix of vulnerability and hope. the room seemed to narrow down to just the two of you as he sang the first verse:

“through the band, i discovered you…”

the song's lyrics were hauntingly familiar, echoing the melody from the last page of the notebook. the realization hit you like a wave, and you felt your heart race. the notebook, the lyrics—it was all coming together in this intimate performance.

as he sang, every word seemed to cut through the chaos of your thoughts. the lyrics spoke of unspoken feelings, of discovering something precious through shared moments. the melody wove a story of connection and understanding, each note filled with emotion.

you wiped away the tears that had started cascading down your cheeks. your heart felt like it was being tugged by an invisible force, leading you to move. your feet seemed to act on their own, carrying you toward beomgyu as if guided by the sincerity in his song.

the crowd’s noise faded into the background as you approached him. beomgyu’s eyes locked onto yours as he strummed the final chords, his expression a mix of relief and nervous anticipation. you saw him begin to walk toward you, but before he could close the distance, you ran, your legs propelling you forward in a desperate bid to reach him.

you threw your arms around him in a tight embrace, and in that moment, the world felt like it had stopped. it was just the two of you, standing in the center of the stage, with your hearts speaking louder than any words could.

“it’s the same lyrics…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “the same as what you wrote on the last page…”

beomgyu’s breath was warm against your forehead. “you read it…” he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and vulnerability.

“of course i did,” you replied, your forehead resting against his. his eyes softened, and before he could say another word, you leaned in and captured his lips with yours. the kiss was a fusion of all the feelings you had kept bottled up, a silent confession that needed no words.

when you finally pulled back, breathless, beomgyu’s cheeks were flushed a deep red. “t-there are people watching…” he whispered, his voice laced with embarrassment.

the realization hit you like a splash of cold water. the crowd’s cheers and laughter had reached a crescendo, and your bandmates were all staring at you with amused expressions.

“oh, fuck it,” you said, a determined smile spreading across your face. you grabbed beomgyu’s hands tightly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. you looked at him with a mixture of mischief and resolve before starting to run.

the two of you sprinted toward the backstage exit, hand in hand, the noise of the crowd and the teasing laughter of your bandmates fading behind you. as you pulled beomgyu along, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. this was your moment, and no one could take it away from you.

gyo's note: this is by far the longest one i've written, this idea came to my mind when i rewatched the movie 20th century girl and when i tell u i had 2-3 business days of grieving over it and that's when the idea of heartstrings started. it was also heavily inspired with the song MRT and Lia, so if you guys would like to, you can check them out for yourself (it's a good song, and the exact song i used for lyrics part, i just translated it into english) ++ i love me a bassist!beomgyu actually anything that beomgyu does :<< i think i'm smitten you guys (sighs) this note is longer than i expected so i'll end this here by saying that i have a new story idea, a series actually, for yeonjun and soobin yayyy ^^ please like and reblog, it helps my works to have more engagement, and if you made it to this part, thank you so much for reading. you will be loved, xoxo!

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 months ago

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Wanna Make Purple?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After one woman takes a look into your studio, she suggests hosting a class so others may enjoy the art of finger painting. Youn thought she wanted to know about the class so she could join. No, it’s her son who walks through the door and turns your world upside down.

Square Filled: diana reid for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Your small studio in the bustling city of Quantico is insignificant but you love it. You’re an aspiring artist who wishes to be featured in museums and have galleries open all over the country. If you work hard enough, you’ll get there one day. If you’re not in your apartment, you’re spending time in your studio that’s completely filled with art supplies, half-finished paintings, sculptures that you never finished, and furniture that’s paint-covered. You’re not a sculptor but you’re taking some classes to get better at it and broaden your artistic scope.

The curtains are open allowing natural sunlight to shine through the windows, and it gives your studio a homely feel to it. Even your apartment has bigger windows than it should because you love letting in natural light. The sun is setting which means it’s time for you to pack up and head back home for the night. You’re cleaning up the supplies you used when you notice someone standing outside the floor-length windows at the front.

The woman immediately leaves when she notices you looking but you don’t think much of it. Many people walk by when you’re in here to admire what you do so you’re not fazed by the woman. However, someone knocks on your door seconds after she leaves. You wipe your hands on your apron and open the door to see the same woman now standing right in front of you.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Sorry for bothering you but I couldn’t help but notice what beautiful art you have.”

You look back at your art and smile at the compliment. You like to do a lot of things to stay relevant but you feel happiest when you fingerpaint. You love getting down and dirty with the art and using what you have instead of what you can buy to create timeless pieces. Finger painting is more than just putting paint on your finger and making lines. It’s precision and knowing when you use your pinkie instead of your thumb or when you use a knuckle or your palm. You’re in control of every little thing so in the end, you can truly say you gave it all.

“Thank you. I have a lot of fun finger painting. I think more people should do it.”

“Do you offer classes?”

“I never thought about it.”

“Well, I’m here in Virginia for a little while so if you reconsider, I know someone who would be eager to take a class.”

“Thank you. I will think about it.”

The woman leaves shortly after but her suggestion stays in your head long after she is gone. Teaching a class? Do you even have time for that? With school and your own business, you’re not sure if you have the energy to teach a dozen students. If you can, how old should they be? Children or adults? No, don’t be silly. Yeah, adults are going to be a lot easier to work with. Hosting a class whether that be once a week or a few times a week is a huge commitment, but you always said more people should be finger painting.

A few weeks go by until you’ve convinced yourself that teaching a small class would be beneficial for you. If you can put that on your resume, it shows commitment and willingness to work with a team. Thousands of people are following you on social media, so that’s how you reach out to everyone that you will be teaching a small class on a trial basis. If it works, great. If not, then you won’t lose any sleep over it.

Dozens of people around the country wish they could be in Virginia to attend your class. If all goes well, you might be able to visit other places and teach more people. One thing at a time, Y/N. The ones that are local have expressed interest but none of the people online look like the woman who met you that evening in your studio. You’re not sure how to get ahold of her or if she has social media and thankfully, you don’t need to deal with it.

The woman walks past your studio while looking at her phone, and you leave to catch up to her before she is gone forever.

“Ma’am?” She turns and stares at you as if she’s trying to remember who you are. “Hi, you stopped by my studio a few weeks ago. You asked me if I was teaching any classes.”

“I did?” Something crosses her eyes and she smiles immediately. “Of course, I did! Have you reconsidered?”

“Yeah. I’m actually putting together a class this weekend.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic!”

“It’s at my studio at two in the afternoon on Saturday.”

“Perfect. Thank you for telling me.”

“Sure. I hope to see you there.”

You two part ways shortly after that, and you go back to prepping your studio to fit at least half a dozen people. You want them to have their own space so you spread out the canvases evenly throughout with a side table for them to keep their paints. Saturday comes quicker than you think and before you know it, your studio is filled with everyone who signed up for it. The woman you met isn’t here and you’ve been trying to find something to do to stall time, however, you’re already running ten minutes past two.

It sucks but you’ll have to start without her.

“Alright, thank you all for coming. I appreciate your eagerness to finger paint. No, I promise you that this isn’t like most finger painting is.” The door opens and a very tall and lean man walks in wearing jeans, a white shirt, a sweater vest over that, and a tie tucked between them. “Hi.”

“Sorry to interrupt but my mother signed me up for this class. Are you Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Spencer Reid.”

“Well, Spencer, take a seat. There’s one in the back.”

“Thanks. Sorry for being late.”

Spencer scurries to the back of the class and takes a seat, and you continue what you are saying.

“As I was saying, finger painting is so much more than putting paint on your fingers. I’ll have another class next week to go more into it but I want you guys to get used to the feel of paint on your fingers. I want you to create lines, and connect them if you want, but for the first ten minutes or so, I want you to really get used to the idea of not using paintbrushes. Use any color you like and begin.”

Everyone chooses the color they want and squirts the paint onto the palette on the small desk next to the easels. Two girls in the front giggle like schoolgirls at getting down and dirty with the paint while two men are apprehensive about getting their fingers dirty.

“Don’t worry about getting paint everywhere. It’s washable.”

Everyone seems to be in good spirits and you give encouraging words where you can. You approach Spencer who is having a hard time keeping paint long enough on his fingers to create a straight line.

“Having trouble?”

“A little, I guess. I just…”

“Just what?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay if you don’t like finger painting. It’s not for everyone.”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t get the point of finger painting. It’s messy and unpredictable and it’s hard to control what the paint is going to do.”

“Really? You think finger painting is childish?”

“Yeah.”

“Clean your hand. Let me show you something.”

Spencer does as he’s told while you squirt green, blue, and pink paint onto the palette. You grab Spencer’s hand and barely dip two of his fingers into the blue and two into the pink. You press his fingers to the canvas lightly, creating little dots that will represent the petals on a lavender flower. Once done, you have him clean his hand so you can create the stems of the flower.

“See? Finger painting is more than just putting paint on the canvas. It’s about manipulating the art as a whole and controlling every aspect of it. Brushes are different. They might have benefits that this way doesn’t but I’ve always found it harder to control a brush than it is my own fingers.”

“Impressive,” he says, looking deep into your eyes.

Spencer is in awe of your work. He doesn’t know what to say to this. He doesn’t mind being proven wrong. In fact, he finds it very attractive when someone can outsmart him. Someone calls your name and you leave Spencer’s side to help her out, but Spencer can’t take his eyes off you.

Throughout the entire class, Spencer has a hard time focusing on painting because he can’t help but notice you. He keeps asking for help knowing he can do it but he really wants to feel you right next to him holding his hand. You don’t mind. Spencer is the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

It doesn’t hurt to play a bit.

After the hour is over, everyone clears out of your studio, eager for the next one. If all classes are like this, you might consider doing this more often. Spencer is the last one out but instead of leaving like he should, he closes the door so that it’s only you and Spencer alone.

“Good job today. With a few more classes, you’ll be an expert.”

“You’re the expert, not me.”

He gathers everyone’s paint tubes and places them in the box at the front of the class while you grab the palettes that you’ll clean later. You and Spencer meet at the last easel but neither of you pick anything up.

“You got a little something…” He gestures to his own lips. “You got red paint on your lips.”

“Like I said, it’s washable. It’ll come off with a shower. Plus, it’s non-toxic so it can get in your mouth and it won’t hurt you.”

“Good to know.”

He takes two steps closer to you and you’re suddenly aware of how tall and handsome he is. Your eyes shift down to his lips and you smirk slightly.

“You got blue on your lips.”

“Wanna make purple?”

You don’t have to answer him. Pulling him in and pressing your lips to his is a good enough answer in and of itself. Spencer pulls you closer by your hips and you wrap your arms around his neck. Damn, he’s even a good kisser. Whoever his mom is, you gotta thank her for bringing her son to your class.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic

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redroomreflections · 4 months ago

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Hotel California | Track 2 - Electric Desires

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7.2k

Chapter 2/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Each chapter is hella long because I had time to sit and wait to release this one. Weekly updates might be the wave.

R and Nat will be moving quickly so if you like slow burn this isn't the story lol.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Natasha sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch in their cluttered studio: which was just Tony’s garage. The room buzzed with creative energy and the faint scent of old leather, a familiar combination that fueled the essence of Velvet Rebellion. She strummed her guitar absentmindedly, her fingers dancing over the fretboard, creating a gentle hum in the room. She was in her element in full force.

Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Tony were huddled around a battered coffee table, scraps of lyrics, and scribbled notes strewn about like confetti after a wild party. They were her bandmates, her comrades in music, and tonight they were deep into a songwriting session. Natasha enjoyed days like this the most. She often found the songwriting process frustrating but fulfilling, which is why they’re on hour four of this session with only the first verse written. It seems she’s not the only one with writer’s block.

"Natasha, we need something here," Steve’s voice cut through the room's creative haze. He furrowed his brow, fingers dancing over the keys of a vintage synthesizer. "A melody to tie this verse together."

Natasha tore her gaze away from her guitar and glanced over at Wanda. Her fingers stopped mid-strum. She blinked; her thoughts momentarily disrupted.

"Nat, you with us?" Tony chimed in, his eyes darting between Natasha and his laptop.

A flush of embarrassment washed over Natasha. She'd been lost in thought, her mind wandering where it shouldn't have. She’d been thinking about you again. She couldn’t get you out of her head. There was a hint of exhaustion on her features as she sat her guitar next to her. She’d spent the previous night going down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos involving you. It seemed you’d understated how good of a musician you were. Natasha discovered you had a small fanbase with plenty of videos dedicated to your brief yet impactful career. Even if your resume included a lot of backup singing, she could see why there was a push for you to strive for something more. You were talented in every sense of the word.

With a sheepish smile, she nodded. "Sorry, guys. Got a bit distracted there."

She fumbled to put her phone face down on the coffee table, hoping her bandmates hadn't noticed her constant glances at the silent screen. Natasha had been replaying every moment of your brief encounter at the party in her mind, questioning if she'd made a connection or if it was just another fleeting moment.

Steve’s fingers continued their dance on the synthesizer as he tried out different melodies, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. "No worries, Nat. Happens to the best of us."

But Natasha couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration with herself. She was the lead singer and lyricist and usually held everything together. Yet today, her mind was scattered, torn between music and an unexpected, lingering hope that her phone would light up with a message from someone she'd barely known.

Natasha's fingers deftly reached for her well-worn writing book, nestled among scattered lyrics and half-finished songs. Her eyes scanned the pages, searching for something that had evaded her for far too long. Her bandmates carried on their musical discussion, oblivious to her momentary distraction.

Finally, she found it—a scribbled idea that had haunted her thoughts for weeks but had remained unreachable, refusing to take a tangible form. Natasha's heart raced as she read the words, her handwriting staring back at her, challenging her to bring them to life.

"Guys, hold on a sec," she called out, her voice trembling with excitement. Her bandmates stopped their conversation, turning their attention to her. Natasha's fingers tapped the page she'd found. "I think I've got something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What is it?"

Natasha cleared her throat and began to read the lyrics she'd unearthed, her voice carrying a hint of the sweet melody she envisioned:

"Underneath the city lights, I saw your face,

In the crowded room, you were my saving grace.

A glance, a smile, it all fell into place,

In that moment, I knew, love's tender embrace."

As Natasha recited the lyrics, Wanda's eyes widened, and she nodded appreciatively. "That's beautiful, Natasha."

Natasha couldn't help but blush at the compliment. She felt the lyrics were deeply personal, a reflection of the emotions she'd been grappling with. "Thanks, Wanda. But I think it's missing something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her fingers lightly grazing Natasha's arm as they huddled together over the writing book. "What do you have in mind?"

A spark of inspiration flickered in Natasha's eyes. "How about this? Instead of just a glance and a smile, it's about meeting someone and falling in love at first sight. The moment your heart skips a beat."

Wanda's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I like that. It adds depth to the story."

With renewed enthusiasm, Natasha began to sing the modified lyrics, her voice filled with emotion:

"In the heart of the city, I met your eyes,

In that instant, I felt my soul take flight.

Love at first sight, a sweet surprise,

Two worlds colliding, under starry skies."

The words flowed effortlessly, weaving a sweet melody that resonated with everyone in the room. Sitting behind his drum kit, Tony started tapping a rhythm, adding a pulsating beat to the song. Steve found his way back to the keyboard, his fingers searching for the chords that matched the melody.

The studio came alive with the energy of collaboration as they played off each other, improvising and experimenting. Wanda's voice dipped into low notes, adding a haunting harmony, while Tony began to find a mix to add to the music.

It wasn't the final product but the magic of creation—their music taking shape from a mere spark of inspiration. Natasha couldn't help but smile as they continued to refine the song.

Bucky sat down his guitar, a sly grin playing on his lips as the melody they'd created together hung in the air. He couldn't help but feel a shift in Natasha's usual songwriting style, one that intrigued him. "Nat, you're getting into writing love songs now?"

Natasha shot him a playful yet challenging look, her fingers still scribbling along the notebook pages. "Oh, please, Bucky. We had love songs on our first album."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Not like this. These lyrics, they're something else."

Natasha sighed, closing the tiny notebook again. She knew he was right, and she couldn't deny the shift in her lyrics and her emotions. "Alright, fine. Maybe I am writing a love song."

Bucky leaned forward, his gaze intense. "So, are you in love, Natasha?"

She met his gaze head-on. "No, Bucky. I'm not."

Bucky nodded in understanding, sensing the unspoken annoyance in her words. Natasha had always been guarded about matters of the heart, and they respected her boundaries. They returned to their instruments, each lost in their thoughts, letting the music speak the words that couldn't be said.

********************

The leotard store was an arrangement of colors, and Isabella, your spirited nine-year-old daughter, was bouncing between the racks, playing her own game of hide-and-seek with the endless collection of spandex. Her enthusiasm for picking out leotards rivaled her passion for gymnastics.

"Mama, check this one out! It's super sparkly!" Isabella shouted, triumphantly holding up a leotard adorned with sequins like a little treasure hunter.

You and Monica shared a knowing smile as you surveyed the options. "Great choice, Bella," you replied, trying to match her enthusiasm. "Let's add it to the pile."

Isabella nodded, seemingly satisfied, and skipped off in pursuit of her next leotard conquest.

As Monica and you continued your search, your mind drifted back to a conversation you’d had at Harley's party just a couple of weeks ago. There was a woman there, a stranger to you, who had engaged you in a conversation that had held your attention for longer than you’d expected.

"Hey, y/n" Monica began, her tone a mix of curiosity and amusement. She sifted through the clothes, trying to understand what she was looking for. Isabella had a very specific taste. "Are you going to finally tell me about the woman from the party? You two seemed to be hitting it off."

You glanced at Monica, feeling somewhat caught off guard. "Oh, that? It was just a casual conversation. I doubt it's anything worth dwelling on."

Monica raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your dismissal. "Just a casual conversation? You looked pretty into her. What's her name?"

You sighed, knowing Monica wouldn't let it go quickly. "Her name is Natasha Romanoff. She’s the lead singer of that band. Velvet Rebellion. We talked for a while. But honestly, I haven't reached out to her or anything." You shrugged.

Monica persisted, undeterred. "She’s cute. I’ve heard a couple of their songs in passing. Why haven’t you called her?"

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers unconsciously fussing with a leotard on the rack. "Life's been hectic lately. I've barely had a moment to breathe, let alone call someone."

Isabella, who had overheard your conversation while meticulously assessing leotards with the discerning eye of a seasoned fashion critic, joined in. "Mom, you should call her."

You couldn't help but smile at Isabella's straightforward logic. "You focus on the leotards. You only need a few for now. You’re growing like a weed."

Monica and Isabella exchanged amused glances, both united in their disbelief. "The kid is right," Monica declared, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Isabella nodded in agreement, adding her hint of authority. "I’m just saying." She held up a pink leotard and you shook your head. The cut wasn’t appropriate in your opinion. She returned the leotard to the rack with a sigh and went to a new one.

Monica's curiosity was relentless, and she wasn't about to let the topic of the woman from Harley's party go. As you continued looking through the racks with Isabella's energy bounding around you, she probed further.

"Come on, y/n, what's the big deal about calling her?" Monica inquired, a mischievous glint in her eye.

You sighed, trying to choose your words carefully. "Mon, you know their band's reputation. The tabloids haven’t been so easy on them. Especially with them being new. Trust me I’ve checked.” You shook your head. “And besides, Natasha used to date Carol Danvers. We’re not friends, but we’re not exactly enemies either. I’m not in the business of going behind her back. It was a bad breakup if it’s anything like the tabloids say and I don't want to risk the same fate."

Monica raised an eyebrow, her expression one of bemused disbelief. “You're not even dating this Natasha person yet. It could be a fun fling or something. You don't have to jump into a full-blown relationship. Also, you hate Carol Danvers."

“I don’t hate her,” You refuted her claims. “I simply enjoy spending my time in spaces that don’t have her in them.” You couldn't deny Monica's point, but the cautious side of you still hesitated. "Also, I know it doesn’t have to be more than what it is. But I've been down that road before, and it wasn't pretty. Besides, I don't want to have this conversation in front of Isabella."

You leaned down to pass a few leotards to Isabella and whispered to her, "Sweetie, can you go find some shoes that match these leotards? That would be a big help."

Isabella nodded enthusiastically, her focus shifting from the leotards to her newfound mission. As she scampered off in search of the perfect shoes, you turned your attention back to Monica.

Monica gave you an understanding look, her voice lowered. "Alright, I get it, y/n, But don't let the past hold you back from something potentially great. You deserve happiness, too. Even if that means you fuck a few times and that’s it."

“Monica,” Your eyes widened, clearly scandalized by her bluntness.

“Am I lying?” Monica held up a hand. “When’s the last time you had some? You don’t know do you?”

“I do know. It hasn’t been that long.” You considered her words. You thought back to the very brief casual sex thing you had with a woman around last year. Or was it two years ago? “You’re right I don’t know.”

“See,” Monica leaned against a rack. “Ask her out to the party tonight. It’s a group thing. I get to vet her. You get to see her. We all win.”

“Fine, fine,” You shake your head.

“Call her now,” Monica nodded.

“Um, she’s probably busy.” You furrowed your brow. Another excuse from you.

“She’ll answer,” Monica said assuredly. “Do it or I’ll dm her myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” You held up a warning finger to Monica. Sometimes your best friend’s forwardness wasn’t welcome. Even if she meant well. She raised a brow at you before pointedly looking toward your purse. “Fine.” You grumbled as you took out your phone.

You walked to a quieter corner of the store, away from the bustle and the excited chatter of Isabella and Monica, who were now hunting for beam shoes. You scrolled through your contacts until you found Natasha's name. With a deep breath, you pressed the call button.

On the first ring, Natasha's voice came through, calm and confident. "Hello?"

You couldn't help but smile, though your attempt to sound equally composed might have come off as forced. "Hey, Natasha. How's everything going?"

“Oh, it’s you,” Natasha's tone change was evident. "Everything's good. I've been wondering when you'd call."

You felt a rush of relief hearing that she'd been waiting for your call. "I'm sorry it took me a while. Life's been crazy lately, and, well, you know how it is."

Natasha's tone shifted slightly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "I do know. But you don't need to be nervous. It's just a call."

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "You're right. I've just been out of practice with this whole...courting thing."

“Courting? Is that what we’re doing?” Natasha's voice lowered, the flirtatious edge unmistakable. "Well, maybe we can help you get back into practice."

You couldn't help but blush, even though she couldn't see it over the phone. "That sounds like a plan."

Just then, you heard Isabella's excited voice in the background, likely showing off a pair of beam shoes she'd found. Natasha must have heard it too.

"Sounds like you've got company," Natasha noted.

Just as you were about to respond to Natasha, Isabella's excited voice carried through the phone in the background. "Mama, look at these beam shoes! They're so cool!"

You grinned and chuckled softly. "That's my daughter, Isabella."

Natasha's voice held a hint of warmth. "She sounds like a lively girl."

“She is,” You nodded. You give Isabella a thumbs-up and a smile. "Listen, Natasha," you began, "there's something I wanted to mention. There's a party tonight at this great club called Heatwave. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, I’ve been there once or twice,” Natasha replied.

“Well, I don't usually go out much, but I'll be there. It would be great if you could join."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Natasha's voice returned, filled with a sense of anticipation. "Heatwave, huh? I'll stop by."

Your heart skipped a beat at her response. It seemed that, despite your initial hesitation, the possibility of something exciting and new was on the horizon, and you couldn't help but look forward to seeing Natasha at the party tonight.

“What time should I be there?” Natasha questioned.

“I like to put Bella to bed before going out,” You informed her. “My mother will be watching her, so I’d say around nine. Does that work for you?”

“That works for me,” Natasha agreed.

“Okay then, Natasha,” You smiled, wondering if she could hear it in your voice. “I’ll see you then.”

“Great, see you then.” Natasha mirrored your excitement. You hung up the phone and tucked it into your back pocket. You walked back over to Monica, trying to hide your excitement, but she noticed immediately.

She gave you a silent questioning look and you give her a thumbs up in return. This should be fun.

***********************

Back inside the recording studio, the band was wrapping up what turned out to be a successful recording session. They’d written one song so far and revised a few Natasha had in her back pocket for times like this. Which was the most progress they’d gotten in a year. Either way, it was a session that left them fulfilled. Natasha stood in front of the microphone, her voice still echoing in the room. She exchanged satisfied smiles with her bandmates before returning her wired headphones to their stand.

As they wrapped up their belongings Steve spoke up, "Alright, Natasha, we nailed it today. What's the plan for tonight?"

Natasha leaned back against the soundboard, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Oh, you know me, Steve. I'm a creature of habit."

Steve chuckled, "Yeah, we all are, aren't we? It's one big codependent family."

Natasha nodded, her red hair cascading around her shoulders. "True, but you guys like it that way."

Steve smirked, "And you do too."

Natasha sighed playfully, "Alright, you caught me. I have a thing."

The moment she mentioned 'a thing,' the rest of the group became intrigued. Tony, Bucky, and Wanda started bombarding her with questions, eager to know more. They were known for their tight-knit bond, often spending their evenings together.

Tony asked, grinning, "What kind of thing? Spill the beans, Red!"

Natasha tried to deny it, but under the pressure of their excited curiosity, she finally admitted, "Okay, okay! I'm going to Heatwave, a club downtown. I'm meeting up with a new friend."

Immediately, it was settled - if Natasha was going out, they were all going out. Tony's eyes gleamed with mischief, "Sounds like a party! Can we come too?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, thinking about the guys' tendency to get a little rowdy. Then she relented, "Alright, fine. We can all go."

Steve high-fived Tony, and Bucky and Wanda exchanged excited glances. "This is gonna be awesome!" Steve exclaimed. Though he wasn’t much of a partier he loved exploring new places.

Natasha couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm, "Yeah, let's hope it's good, then."

With the decision made, the band members packed up their instruments, ready for another night on the town.

*****************

As you stood before the bathroom mirror in your finest party outfit, face and hair all done up, the room around you painted a stark contrast. The soft notes of Beyonce’s “Yes” played in the background as you prepared for your night out. The bathroom was a chaotic scene, messy and disheveled, with makeup and hair curlers scattered haphazardly. Clothes lay strewn on the floor and over the edge of the bathtub. The countertop was cluttered with various cosmetic products, their caps discarded carelessly.

A hairbrush, half-buried under a pile of clothes, seemed to have given up on its role in maintaining order. The floor bore the evidence of spilled powders and makeup brushes discarded in haste.

Isabella, standing in the doorway, disapproved of this sight. Her usually tidy nature couldn't help but frown at the disarray. With her wide, disapproving eyes, she silently conveyed her thoughts to you. “Why must it be so messy in here?”

“Must? I knew I was creating a bougie child,” You laughed to yourself, applying the final remnants of your makeup.

“I’m not bougie. I just go to a good school,” Isabella quipped. She stood with her arms folded her expression showing her unhappiness with the looks of your room.

"I know I pay the high tuition bill remember?" You mutter. Sierra Canyon was a school worth every bit of the $35,000 tuition. Even if it did hurt you to sign that check every year. “Well, I’ll pay you twenty dollars to clean it up,” You offer.

“Forty and we have a deal,” She counters.

“Forty?” You asked incredulously.

“Inflation, Mama,” Isabella explains as if it’s obvious. “My favorite toys aren’t cheap anymore.”

“I see,” You mumble. “You drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal.” You turn back to the mirror.

You did a spin to get Isabella’s final say. You wore a black backless draped split dress that reached mid-thigh, perfectly complemented by your sleek, hair slicked into a bun with two small bangs framing your face. The finishing touches of makeup were precise, accentuating your features with a subtle, smoky eye and a deep red lip.

“You look really good,” Isabella nodded.

“Not too trampy?” You asked and she shook her head.

“Not,” Isabella said.

“You know that was kind of a test and you failed?” You sighed. “Your dad lets you watch reality TV at his place again?”

“Maybe,” Isabella pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key. She was not one to tell.

You couldn't help but smile. You bent down to Isabella's level and planted a series of gentle kisses all over her cheeks, as she mostly wiped them off with a giggle.

“Oh, Isabella Marie, my little artist," You chuckled, feigning scandalization. "You've ruined my masterpiece!"

Isabella just laughed, her eyes sparkling with admiration for you. She reached up to touch the necklace you were wearing, a subtle gesture of appreciation.

You took Isabella's hand and said, "Come on, it's time for bed."

“I really should try to convince you to let me stay up later,” Isabella commented as she allowed you to drag her out to the living room.

You made your way to her bedroom, where you tucked her in with great care.

“Did you brush your teeth?” You asked as you rearranged her pillows.

“Yep,” Isabella nodded. “And I washed my face.”

“Good girl,” You praised her.

As you smoothed the covers over Isabella and adjusted her stuffed animals, Isabella reminded you with a bright smile, "Mama, remember, I have Lenny’s skating birthday party tomorrow. You said we'd go together."

You leaned in and kissed Isabella's forehead, making sure to wipe her face free of your makeup, as your heart warmed by your daughter's excitement. "Of course. We’ll be there. Now sleep, I love you.”

“Read me a story?” She begged in anticipation of your answer.

“One story,” You warned her before walking over to her bookshelf. You grabbed Hair Love by Matthew Cherry, one of her favorites these days. You sat beside her, offering her your best voice as you began to read to her. Isabella leaned into your body. When you were done, her eyes drooped with drowsiness as she whispered a contented, "Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, my precious girl. Sweet dreams." You turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in a warm, cozy darkness. With one final kiss, you left Isabella to her dreams.

With your preparations complete, you rushed out of Isabella’s bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Time was of the essence. In your hurry, you grabbed your purse and a bottle of water from the fridge. With a sigh of relief, you twisted open the cap and took a long, refreshing sip.

As you did, your mother entered the kitchen, her gaze appraising your outfit with a discerning eye.

"You're going out looking like that?" Her mother's tone was a mix of concern and disapproval.

“What don’t you like my outfit?” You turned to face her with a determined look. Your mother sighed but said nothing. "Yes, Mom. I've already put Isabella to bed, and I'll be back by two at the latest."

Your mother's expression softened, but she couldn't hide her worry. "Y/n, you know I worry when you go out so late."

You smiled reassuringly. "I know, Mom, but I never go out anymore. It’s all mom's life and work. I just want to have some fun with friends tonight. I promise to be careful."

“That only makes me feel slightly better,” She shook her head.

"I'll leave my phone on in case of an emergency, okay?" You promised her.

Your mother nodded; her eyes filled with maternal concern. "Alright, but you better answer if I call."

You laughed softly and hugged your mother. "I promise. You can count on me."

With a final smile and a quick kiss on her cheek, you left the kitchen, hoping to catch your Uber before it was too late.

************

As Natasha and the rest of Velvet Rebellion arrived at Heatwave, the vibrant thump of bass and the lively chatter of the crowd spilled into the street. The atmosphere was electric, and it was clear that the club lived up to its reputation. There was a line wrapped around the entrance, everyone attempting to get to the same point.

Natasha was sure they would be able to get in unscathed. However, as they approached the entrance, it became evident that someone had tipped off the paparazzi about their plans. As soon as they exited the car, flashbulbs began to pop, and reporters shouted questions. Natasha and Wanda, not yet accustomed to such situations, swiftly made their way inside, their confidence unshaken.

The boys followed closely behind, with security personnel discreetly positioned around them. However, the security was mostly unnecessary. Velvet Rebellion wasn't a superstar band, and they had no intention of acting like one. They were here to enjoy the music and the vibes, just like any other patrons.

Once inside, the pulsating rhythm of the club enveloped them. Heatwave was a mix of hip-hop, reggae, rock, and everything in between. The diverse crowd danced and mingled, creating an intoxicating blend of cultures and energies. The dimly lit club was a sanctuary for adults, a place where the music was loud, and the energy was contagious.

Natasha and her bandmates moved deeper into the club, losing themselves in the music and the seamless fusion of genres. The vibes were indeed immaculate, and they were ready to savor every moment of the night, leaving their fame behind for a while and simply being themselves - music lovers enjoying a night out.

Wanda, swept up in the excitement of the club's atmosphere, leaned in closer to Natasha and shouted over the thumping bass, "Hey, Nat I'll find us a booth! Tony's going to grab drinks for everyone!"

Natasha nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before deciding to excuse herself to the bathroom. The path to the restroom was a maze of dancing bodies and neon lights. A few girls recognized her and attempted to approach her for autographs or selfies, but Natasha simply smiled and waved, preferring to do things in peace. She could feel the presence of her security guard, Mike, behind her as she stepped into the bathroom. He waited outside of course.

After freshening up in the bathroom, Natasha emerged and found herself back in the crowded club. As she navigated the sea of people, she accidentally bumped into someone. Before she could react, her security personnel stepped forward, ready to intervene. However, Natasha recognized the person she had bumped into and quickly raised a hand to stop her security detail.

“Mike, it’s okay,” Natasha nodded to him.

It was you. A hint of amusement danced in your eyes as you noted the security presence. You couldn't help but think of the time when you, too, needed security. Back when your father was at the height of his career. Now not so much.

Despite the loud music, you managed to engage in a conversation, leaning close to hear each other over the thumping bass.

Natasha, with a playful smile, observed you, her eyes raking over your bad in a way that sent chills up your spine. "You look stunning tonight. That dress suits you."

"Why, thank you, Natasha. You look great too.” You lightly touched her arm. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too.” Natasha shouted over the music. "Life's been busy."

You nodded in understanding, "Tell me about it. It's been a whirlwind."

Natasha's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What's new with you? How have you been?"

You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing against Natasha's ear as you shouted above the music. "Lots of work, but tonight, I'm here to let loose. What about you? Any new songs in the works?"

Natasha nodded with a grin. "Always working on something.”

“That’s good then,” You smile back. You blink at her through your thick lashes before your eyes scan the room. “I see you brought your friends.”

“I have,” Natasha stepped a bit closer, though it was subtle, and you didn’t notice. You liked feeling the warmth radiating from her. “They wouldn’t let me come alone.”

“Gotta love them,” You joked. “Care to dance?” You ask.

“Lead the way,” Natasha takes your hand as you drag her onto the dance floor. She pretends she’s not checking out your ass but when you look back you nearly catch her. Funny.

Just as you and Natasha hit the dance floor, the DJ transitioned into a surprising mix of "What Is Love" by Haddaway and "In Da Club" by 50 Cent. The blend of the '90s dance classic and the early 2000s hip-hop anthem was unexpectedly catchy, and the crowd roared in approval.

Natasha was a fantastic dancer, her movements fluid and precise. You were equally impressive, managing to keep up with Natasha's rhythm effortlessly. Your bodies moved in perfect sync as you joined the sea of people on the dance floor.

The atmosphere was lively, energetic, and incredibly fun. Laughter and cheers filled the air as the club-goers embraced the unexpected combination of music with enthusiasm. The dance floor seemed to vibrate with the collective joy of everyone present.

You couldn't help but enjoy having Natasha so close. Her skin against your fingertips felt like heaven. The way her hands rested gently against your back. It was intimate, warm, and sensual despite the tempo of the music.

As the music continued to pulse through the club and once you were all danced out, bodies slick with sweat, you led Natasha to a booth where her bandmates were already seated. Their faces lit up with excitement as they spotted Natasha. It’s then you noticed Monica was already sitting amongst the rockstars somehow having made it past security.

“There you are,” Monica smiled sweetly. “You two were on fire out there. I was just making friends with our new family.” She said despite the quizzical looks. You reciprocated her hug as you whispered low into her ear.

“I hate you so much,” You growled.

“I love you too,” Monica laughed.

"Natasha, this is Monica," you said, introducing your best friend to the redhead.

Monica extended a friendly hand and smiled, though there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Natasha."

Natasha returned the smile warmly, "Likewise, Monica."

As everyone settled into the booth, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Monica was cautious but kind, warming up to Natasha as they chatted about various topics. The club atmosphere had a way of breaking down barriers, and it wasn't long before they were all laughing and enjoying each other's company.

Somewhere along the way, the group decided to order a mix of different foods and drinks, sharing bites and sips as the night wore on. On the booth, Natasha sat next to you, the two of you sharing a closeness that was hard to ignore. During the lively conversations and the infectious rhythm of the music, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that someone in the crowd had their phone out, possibly recording you. The thought bothered her, but you kept her engaged and distracted, your charm and energy captivating.

There was a break in the peace Natasha felt as her sharp eyes caught sight of her ex-girlfriend, Carol Danvers, making her way towards the booth. Natasha knew that this could potentially lead to a problem, so she decided to intercept Carol before things escalated.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Natasha sighed. She was not expecting this to happen tonight of all nights. You watch the two of them walk away before turning your attention back to the group. It was none of your business. "Carol, hi, let me talk to you.” Natasha wanted to take action before the mess. The last thing she needed was a problem when there was none.

She gently guided Carol to a more private corner where the music was lower, allowing them to have a conversation without distractions. As they stood facing each other, Natasha's demeanor was polite but distant. She wasn't fond of talking to Carol but wanted to ensure she was okay.

“I see you’re having fun,” Carol rubbed her sweaty hands against her jeans. Her eyes looked a little bloodshot, the deep bags being covered by concealer and heavy makeup. In all honesty, Natasha could tell Carol was not in her correct frame of mind. Whether that was due to lack of sleep or something else wasn’t her responsibility. Carol's voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, "You look good."

“Thank you,” Natasha sighed and shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolution. "Carol, it's not worth it. We've been through this."

“I know,” Carol nodded. “I just wanted to say hello.”

Natasha found Carol’s meek demeanor unsettling. It was so unlike her. Again, not her problem.

“Look, it was good to see you,” Natasha peaked back at the booth to see you were laughing with Monica about something. “Take care of yourself.” Natasha rubs a hand over Carol’s arm before walking away. She was not in the mood to be dealing with this right now. When she sits down again, it takes a moment for her to reacclimate with the group, her feelings of dread and the aftermath of the breakup all taking over again.

You noticed the change in her demeanor and decided to check in on her.

With genuine concern in your eyes, you asked softly, "Natasha, is everything okay?"

Natasha tried to feign a smile, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... old memories, you know?"

You nodded, understanding that sometimes the past had a way of sneaking up on you. You decided to lift the mood by embracing the party spirit. As fans approached you for pictures, only allowed with the say-so of security, you graciously obliged, even though you weren’t used to so much attention. Having a famous family meant everyone assumed you were someone to know too. The smiles on their faces and their gratitude brought a spark of joy to the night.

However, Natasha's mood didn't seem to improve. You could see the lingering discomfort on her face and sensed that Natasha might need a change of scenery. You leaned in closer to Natasha and asked, "You sure you're okay, Natasha? If you want, we can get out of here."

Natasha appreciated your concern and gave you a small, genuine smile. "Isn’t this your friend’s party?”

“Alicia? She’ll understand,” You grinned. “I’m a mom.” You shrug.

“How many times have you used that excuse?” Natasha questioned.

“Once or twice,” You laughed.

“I think that might be a good idea then." Natasha leaned over to whisper to Wanda that she was leaving. Wanda narrowed her eyes between the two of you but ultimately said nothing.

“Monica, I’m leaving with Natasha,” You informed your best friend. “I love you.” “Love you too,” Monica smiled briefly. “Call me tomorrow and tell me everything.” She said a bit lower.

“I will,” You roll your eyes.

As you made your way towards the exit, Natasha felt grateful for your understanding and support. As you neared the club's exit, you leaned in closer to Natasha and suggested, "Let's use the back exit. It's a quicker way out, and we can avoid the paparazzi."

Natasha nodded in agreement, appreciating your thoughtfulness. She followed you towards the inconspicuous back exit, with Mike, Natasha's security guard, close behind. The corridor was dimly lit, and the sounds of the club faded away with each step.

Walking side by side, you and Natasha found a comfortable silence between you. Natasha appreciated the quiet respite after the club's raucousness.

Then, without hesitation, you reached out and gently took Natasha's hand. It was a bold move, and Natasha's heart skipped a beat. The connection felt warm and reassuring,

Natasha looked at you, her eyes softening with gratitude. Your fingers entwined, as you continued down the dimly lit sidewalk together, taking comfort in the simple act of holding hands, a gesture of comfort and support.

“Downtown Los Angeles is not exactly the safest place to hang out at night,” You point out.

“Did you have anywhere in mind?” Natasha questions. “I’m not really ready to go home yet.��

“How about here?” You point to the restaurant just across the street. It was settled.

You and Natasha walked into the small Japanese food restaurant and were greeted by a soothing ambiance of sleek and modern dining. The interior featured clean lines, polished wooden tables, and elegant, dimmed lighting that created a cozy yet sophisticated atmosphere. The walls were adorned with tasteful Japanese-inspired artwork, adding to the restaurant's aesthetic appeal.

Despite the late hour, they were still open, and there weren't many people left in the restaurant. The subdued chatter of a few diners in hushed conversations added to the tranquil atmosphere.

The restaurant staff welcomed you and Natasha with warm smiles, happy to accommodate your late-night visit. You were ushered to a well-appointed table with comfortable seating, creating a sense of intimacy in the otherwise empty space.

Once seated, you took the lead in order, your familiarity with the menu evident. You chose the baked crab hand rolls, a delectable choice known for its rich flavors and delicate textures, and edamame with a sprinkle of salt for a simple and satisfying appetizer.

Natasha decided to indulge in a sushi sampler, intrigued by the restaurant's offerings. She also ordered drinks for you to share, wanting to continue the evening in a relaxed and enjoyable manner, free from the distractions of the outside world.

As you waited for the food to arrive, you turned your attention to Natasha, your expression carrying a hint of concern.

"Natasha, "You began hesitantly, "Can you tell me more about Carol? Should I be worried about her showing up like that?"

Natasha sighed, recognizing the need for honesty. She leaned in, speaking softly, "Carol is my ex-girlfriend. We used to be really close, and she was a good person, but lately, she's been caught up in the wrong crowd. I've been trying to keep my distance from all of that."

Caught up in the wrong crowd could mean a host of things in the industry. Drugs were usually the most common. Though you didn't press for her to elaborate.

You listened attentively, her concern deepening. "Do you think she's going to be a problem?"

Natasha could see your question for what it was. Was she going to be a problem in whatever potential the two of you could have?

Natasha shook her head, her gaze reassuring. "No, nothing like that. She's just... lost, for now. I don't want you to worry about it. I'm doing my best to stay out of any trouble, especially now."

You nodded, appreciating Natasha's honesty and the effort she was making to ensure your time together was free from complications. You reached out and gently squeezed Natasha's hand, silently conveying your support.

You leaned in closer and admitted, "I understand, Natasha. My ex and I co-parent Isabella, and it wasn't always easy either. But we've found our way." You shrugged.

Natasha appreciated the understanding and felt a connection with you as you shared your experiences.

Then, the conversation took a different turn, and Natasha's curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in with a playful glint in her eyes and said, "Alright, enough about my drama. I want to know more about you. You downplayed your singing career at the party. Backup?”

“You’ve done your research,” You chuckled at the playful teasing but then became more serious as you responded, "You're right. Singing has always been my love, my passion. But the demanding career and the lack of privacy that comes with it gets to you after a while. That's why I love being a publicist. It allows me to stay in the industry that I adore but from a different angle, more behind the scenes. It gives me room to breathe and a sense of control over my life."

Natasha nodded in understanding, appreciating your candor. She could see the sincerity in your eyes as you spoke about your career and the choices you had made. It was clear that you had found a balance that worked for you, and Natasha respected you for it.

When the food arrived, you immediately dug into your meal. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked Natasha, "Do you and your band have a publicist or a manager?"

Natasha smirked playfully, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Is it that obvious? I guess it's the many times Tony's been arrested.” Natasha began to list. “Or the time I punched paparazzi for trying to take a picture at an awkward angle.” She grimaced.

You couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's observation. "Well, those incidents might have given it away a bit."

Natasha's smile faded slightly as she confessed, "Honestly, I know we need someone to manage us, but I've never felt entirely comfortable with the idea. It's like giving up a piece of our freedom and creativity. We've managed so far, but I know it can't go on like this forever."

You nodded in understanding, recognizing the challenges that came with managing a successful music career independently. You asked, "Do you have anyone in mind for the role, someone you might trust enough to bring into the fold?"

Natasha thought for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "Possibly. It's a big decision, and I want to make sure it's the right fit for us, you know? We've been doing this our way for so long that it's hard to let go."

“Well, when you’re ready, I’m your gal,” You offered your services. “I also may have a few wild cards that would work perfectly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha sips from her cup.

As the night drew to a close, you found yourselves waiting on a quiet street corner for your Uber to arrive. The bustling energy of the club was a distant memory, replaced by the calm of the late-night city.

Natasha looked at you with a genuine smile and said, "I had a lot of fun tonight, y/n. Thank you."

You returned the smile, your heart warmed by Natasha's words. "I did too, Natasha. It was great getting to know you."

The streets were mostly empty, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. There was a moment of silence as you stood together, the unspoken tension of the night hanging in the air.

Then, as if guided by an invisible force, Natasha leaned in and softly pressed her lips against yours. It was a gentle, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but smile.

Breaking the kiss, you teased, "Well, that's a surprise ending for the night."

Natasha chuckled and replied, "I couldn't resist."

“Don’t worry, I liked it,” You grinned. You leaned forward, kissing Natasha again, lingering when your lips pressed before you pulled back.

The distant sound of the approaching Uber pulled you back to reality. Your ride had arrived. You exchanged one last lingering look, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had shared that evening.

With a soft goodbye, you climbed into the waiting car, and Natasha watched as it drove away into the night. As she walked away, Natasha couldn't help but smile, feeling grateful for the unexpected and unforgettable night she had just experienced.

---> next part

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #black widow x female reader #natasha x you #rockstar nat

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