#something that came out during rehearsal time.

[90sbee]

when a woman does something stupidly tender to me and i am haunted by gay thoughts for her for about 3 years

[lover-of-mine]

.

[conflictofthemind]

Take Me To Church-Gate

A few weeks back, I received a tip that Noah and Finn came into Atlanta for a couple of days to rehearse a scene alone together that never ended up being filmed. This was around the time of the convention that Finn ended up missing in early June (and we initially theorized was for the playground scenes).

I since received confirmation of not only this, but that the rehearsal in question was for a scene at the UD church set. The filming never went through because Noah got an eye infection / sty, so the shoot was rescheduled for early August. If you've seen me mentioning looking forward to August, this is what that was about.

The Eye Infection:

Let me link this post to begin with, barring the 'James' stuff who has proven to be false. I heard about the eye infection and my alarm bells rang immediately - I have a friend myself who wears contacts occasionally and whenever they get sties, they're always caused by the contacts. When has Noah worn contacts before in the show? When Will is being possessed by the mindflayer in Season 2.

The church is an interesting location, because it most definitely has to do with Henry as well. When the original countdown for TFS was being posted, there were images of a church - a location that may have been changed during development. The characters most likely go there as part of the continuing Henry investigation.

And we know Henry was exorcised at some point, but it failed. The sign going into the church is also a likely clue to this, referencing Mark 9:29 - a verse about a failed exorcism.

Conclusion for this part: Will very likely becomes possessed again while in this church. My source tells me they usually only do big rehearsals like this for scenes involving action, too.

My opinion is that Will was never fully exorcised either. I mean, he still has a clear connection to the mindflayer with all the tingles on his neck and the possible literal psychic connection he has to Vecna as well.

It's Byler, Too:

I suspect that Jamie has some part in the scene as well (given they scheduled it during his latest block on set), but the focus is on Will and Mike - being the only two other main characters on set at the time, and the only two rehearsing.

But going back to the church thing.... I wonder what kind of symbolism is created by bringing two gay characters who both have a lot of internalized shame into a location that is honestly the source of said shame? It's honestly not even symbolism. It might just be referenced in plain text. Looking back at that church sign:

"This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer"

"This kind" really evokes the dehumanising language used by homophobes to refer to gay people. And the driven out by prayer part, well that really evokes conversion 'therapy' practices of praying the gay away. So what if this is where Will and Mike finally admit their love for each other, and kiss. And what if that is actually what's able to drive the 'demon' away - gay love.

Especially during the Satanic Panic arc we are sure to see come full circle with the reckoning of the Hellfire Club in Season 5.

An arc which Mike is surely at the centre of as well, being not only a Hellfire Member in the past, but being family to the new disappeared child in town.

And it's not like Mike's love is what's been shown to us time and time again as the way to break Will out of his mindflayer trance. Oh, wait.

Consider it incredibly fanfic-y, but it's on the table now. An action scene at the church involving Byler where Noah is wearing contacts - Will becoming possessed just like Henry again and being made to fight Mike as not only part of the plan to get all of the Wheelers, but also as something that would break Will's spirit permanently. They're all alone with nobody to help save Mike. But the plan is thwarted through the power of love, and in a place that represents a lot of shame for gay men (especially in the 80s) - they finally come together. And it is love that frees Will from his trance. Whether through a confession or true love's kiss. It would be so dramatic and atmospheric.

Additional evidence:

Jopper's Season 4 reunion and kiss inside the Russian church, of which this would be a parallel.

The whole idea of "we kissed, as though nothing could fall. And the shame was on the other side" from David Bowie's Heroes - the shame being in the actual church from the rightside up, but they're alone together on the other side / in the Upside Down.

It is also very likely that this scene is from Episode 5 or 6. I've asked and nobody seems to know which episode it is from, but following the logic of Episode 4 being when the characters enter in groups into the Upside Down, and here Byler are all alone, it is definitely after some time has passed and groups have split further. They're definitely not having any kind of confession in the first half of the season, so this timing sounds positive.

Multiple rehearsals. Noah contacting his acting coach recently for advice. Them even having to cancel an entire shoot because of a sty indicates close-up shots for sure.

Anyway. I'd really love to see people's thoughts on this. I feel like there's even more I could get into in follow-up posts, especially if other people chime in with their thoughts. I have been buzzing about this scene for weeks now. I want to start another gate for old time's sake, so please use #churchgate if you want to make your own posts about this!

[clonecaptains]

Does He Know?

a jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader fic

warnings: giving this one an M rating for a very brief mention of masturbation; and some thematic elements like cheating (not jake or reader), some swearing, alcohol mentions; she/her pronouns used; no use of y/n

word count: 3.6k

summary: jake has been in love with you forever, but you belong to someone else. someone who doesn't treat you right. it all comes to a head when secrets are revealed at your friend's wedding.

a/n: this is a little different - it's from jake's pov! also credit goes to my bff @cowboytylerowens for naming reader's boyfriend!

--------------------------------------------

This isn’t easy for him. Not when you look the way you do. A flattering cocktail dress hugs your figure, it’s your favorite color. He knows it’s your favorite color, it’s the color you wear the most. The color you feel most confident in. He’s dying to tell you how beautiful you look because right now your body language reads that you are a little shy about the bold dress choice.

He could tell you, but it’s not the same. Not the same if you were his girl. And you’re not.

You’re not his girl.

There’s a party at the Hard Deck tonight. Bob is getting married, the rehearsal dinner finished an hour ago. The pilots are throwing him an additional party because he was apprehensive about a crazy bachelor party. The atmosphere here is loud, but it’s not anymore than normal. Maybe a little extra excitement and happiness for their friend.

You’re here because you work at the Hard Deck. Penny took you in several months back when you needed a fresh start. And after some time, you became friends with the pilots who frequent the place. Jake’s had a crush on you from the moment you walked in. He’ll never forget that moment, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. He feels a similar feeling in his gut when he saw you in your dress tonight.

It kills him that you’re not his.

It’s worse because missed his chance.

You’re dating another pilot who got to you first. His name is Robbie, callsign Scythe. He’s been a rival of Jake’s since he got here, and taking you is another thing added to the list.

 Scythe doesn’t know how Jake feels about you, but he has noticed he’s gotten in Jake’s head. During flight training and regular work things Jake has excelled at – Scythe is just that much better. And he makes sure to let Jake know he’s noticed.

Jake used to be this way, getting in the other pilots heads. He still does but only in fun and to get his fellow pilots to do better. It eats at him a little seeing Scythe act the way he does. Just knowing he’s one step ahead – in everything.

Jake beats himself up about it, about you. He had plenty of chances to ask you out. To make his move. He knows fire when he sees it, and he really thought he felt it with you. But when Scythe swooped in as usual, Jake’s chance was gone.

So, there you are, looking like something out of a dream. And he can’t do a thing about it. That’s why he’s sitting at the bar with his back to you. Scythe has his arms around you “teaching” you how to play pool. He can hear your giggle, and it stings. He has no right to feel this way he thinks. He has no ‘claim’ over you – but he doesn’t know how to just turn off how he feels. How the sound of your laugh is downright musical to him. How your eyes and your smile have his heart squeezing in his chest.

This beer can’t nurse his wounds fast enough.

“Oh, I love this song!” Jake hears your voice perk up when a song starts playing overhead. When he tunes in, he hears that it’s “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield. A little on the nose. Too on the nose. He looks over to the jukebox to see Coyote with a smirk and a shrug. Jake huffs out his nose, rolls his eyes, and takes a long drink of his beer.

Coyote’s the only one who knows. And while he played that song in simple jest, he does feel for his friend. He’s seen the shift in Jake since you came along.

The night goes on and Jake has done what he could do to avoid seeing you. He spent most of it at the bar, but then he remembered why he was here. This isn’t about his love life.

He cracks a few jokes with Bob. He finds he enjoys this company of people, and he almost forgets he was feeling sour. Then he hears your voice over the music and the crowd. It’s hard not to zero in when he hears you.

“Robbie! Stop it.” He sees Robbie get a little handsy with you against the pool table. He’s clearly drunk now and you aren’t enjoying it.

“It’s Scythe,” he tells you, and Jake watches you frown.

“Hey!” Jake speaks up, he doesn’t want to see you upset. He knows you could do better than Scythe. Jake doesn’t know if he is the best for you but if given the chance, he’d do his best to try. “She said stop.”

You look embarrassed, and Scythe grumbles out something about not needing to be told. He looks like he’s going to be sick, and he runs off towards the bathroom, leaving you and Jake alone by the pool table.

“He’s such a dick,” Jake huffs out, he’s not trying to bash your boyfriend necessarily, but he aches for you and it’s coming out in ways he’s struggling to control. When he gets near you, he forgets how to speak, and almost always puts his foot in his mouth. “He’s not good for you.”

“And you know what’s good for me? I thought you only cared about yourself,” you reply, embarrassment taking over and Jake can tell he’s upset you, so he starts to back off. But not before he hears the telltale bell ring up at the bar. He doesn’t even have to look to know if it’s for him. He can only imagine how it looked from the bar having a heated discussion.

‘Don’t disrespect a lady.’ He knows the rules. He doesn’t feel like arguing.

The back of his neck feels hot walking towards the bar to pay for drinks. He knows everyone’s eyes are on him, and normally he’d like attention – but not this kind. He’s quick to make his exit after paying.

He barely remembers his drive home. All he can think about is you and how he didn’t mean to embarrass you. He needs to get over you, but he doesn’t want anyone else.

There’s about a million things swirling around in his head. He feels a headache coming on. A hot shower and bed are his plans for the rest of the night. And trying not to think about you.

But damn it if he can’t stop thinking about you in that dress. And how you’ll be in another one tomorrow. Fuck.

He doesn’t feel good about it, but he lets his mind wander. Thinking about your smile. Your eyes. The way the dress hugged your body. Your laugh. The soft swell of your boobs, the curve of your butt.

Fuck. He lets himself get caught up in the moment. He wishes he could take you home. Peel that dress off you and make you see stars. To make you laugh, to take care of you.

Still in the shower, he comes hard in his hand. He doesn’t feel good about it.

And once he’s gotten in bed, it takes him forever to get to sleep. He wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat thinking about you. He knows he’s in love with you. You haven’t left his head since you first walked in the Hard Deck.

Flying was just about the only thing that could distract him enough from you. Until recently.

He has to get over you. He debates telling you how he feels, but he’s sure he’d make a fool of himself. And he’s done that enough.

Jake wakes up and decides to focus on the wedding. That’s the goal for the day. He’s in it, and he has places to be. He can’t let the thought of you being there distract him.

 He won’t lie that he is a little excited to see you even though nothing will happen.

He just doesn’t want to see you hurt when it all comes down to it. He doesn’t want you to break up because of him – he wants you to be happy. And if Scythe makes you happy? Then so be it.

But that’s easier said than done.

He wants to be the one to make you happy. To get you to smile. That cute shy one.

His mind is wandering again. And he needs to get ready for this wedding.

He loves getting the chance to wear his dress uniform. It’s crisp and clean when he pulls it out of the closet.

Like most things in his life, there’s order and neatness. Except how he feels about you. Maybe that’s why you’re under his skin. You’re the one thing he doesn’t know what to do with.

Flying is easy. Keeping a routine is easy. But you? You’re in his head and he doesn’t know which way is up.

Maybe having fun at this wedding will keep him busy. He knows he looks good in this uniform, maybe he can flirt a little bit, get his mind off you.

He hasn’t been to a wedding in a while, and he’s happy to be there with his friends. He’s in a good mood. He tells himself he’s fine, that he doesn’t care that he hasn’t seen you yet.

Until he does. It’s not until the ceremony has begun. He’s standing up in the line of groomsmen, and he sees you out in the audience. You look absolutely beautiful, and it’s a punch to his gut.

It’s hard not to watch your face during the ceremony. He wishes he could kiss you. The soft romantic look on your face while you watch two people pledge their love for each other. Scythe is barely paying attention to you. And Jake can’t decide if he really is just an asshole who doesn’t know what he has, or if he’s just so intensely jealous of him. Jake knows if it were him, he’d have kissed your cheek at the very least to make you smile and remind you of the love you have.

After the ceremony is over, and things get started at the reception following – Jake is glad for the break. He needs some air, so he heads for the bathroom to splash water on his face before mingling.

He shoves the bathroom door open with one hand and heads right for the sink. Grabbing a few paper towels, he wets them – then rubs his face and the back of his neck. He’s managed to calm down for a moment when he hears a couple giggling in one of the stalls. He smirks at first, someone’s getting lucky.

Then the couple comes out of the stall. Jake’s anger boils up in him again when he sees it’s Scythe and another woman.

“Bagman!” Scythe seems almost happy to see him.

“Scythe,” Jake replies, his head feels like it’s going to explode. “So did y’all break up then?” Jake asks, he mentions your name. There is no way he’s going to let this one go, not when he knows it’ll hurt you.

“No,” he scoffs. The damp paper towels in Jake’s hand are getting squished in his fist.

“You mean, she’s out there in that dress looking like that and you’re in here?” he motions to the woman he’s with.

“She wouldn’t put out. But this one here,” he lewdly kisses her, “will. Several times. And she’s not going to find out about this.”

Jake is fuming. Things like this always happen at weddings, he knows that. But he can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. He knows this will break your heart.

“Wait, are you sweet on my girl?”

Jake’s nostrils flare, his anger giving him away.

“You’re sweet on my girl,” Scythe continues, talking of course about you. Jake doesn’t like how he sounds with your name on his mouth.

“She’s hardly yours if you’re treating her like this,” Jake says and yanks the bathroom door open to get out.

Now he’s seeing red. His job is high intensity but it’s easy for him to shut off his emotions up in the air when it’s all business. He has to go out here now and eat a meal with his friends and pretend like you aren’t about to get your heart absolutely shattered.

He can barely stomach the food. From his table, he can see you and Scythe at yours among some other friends. You have no idea what’s just happened, and Jake can’t take it. Scythe makes eye contact with him and raises his glass in a mock cheer at Jake.

“What’s going on with you?” Coyote leans over to Jake, he can tell something is wrong. “You look pissed as hell. We’re at a wedding!”

Jake leans in to his best friend, “I caught Scythe and someone else in the bathroom.”

“Shit.”

Coyote knows as well as Jake. You need to know, you need to be told. But it’s going to hurt, and Jake doesn’t want to be the one to bring you that bad news. The rest of the meal he sits on it.

It’s when the bride and groom are doing things like cutting the cake, that Jake decides to go talk to you. He has no clue what he’s going to say. He goes up to the bar to get a drink to calm him down, when he sees you nearby.

“Hangman!” you call him, and his heart jumps in his chest. Excited to hear your voice, but guilt at knowing what he knows. It’s such a mixed bag of emotions he feels dizzy with it. Or maybe it’s just how beautiful you look. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”

“What are you sorry for?” he asks you, he’s been through so much in the last 24 hours he couldn’t pretend to know.

“For accidentally getting you in trouble and buying all those drinks. Let me get you one?”

“It’s an open bar,” he teases. He’s finding his rhythm.

“Still,” you reply with a laugh. There’s your smile he loves. He tells you his drink order, humoring you.

“Having a nice night?”

“Yeah!” You tell him sipping on your own drink while you wait for his. “I want to dance but I have no clue where Robbie, I mean Scythe is.”

“Want to dance with me in the meantime?” Jake offers you, his hand. He’s not sure if you’ll take it, but when you do, he gives you a big grin. He couldn’t hide it if he tried.

He leads you towards the dance floor, and you join other couples in a slow dance.

He finally has you in his arms and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Your hand on his chest is burning through his uniform.

“I really am sorry about last night,” you say again. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Well, I probably deserved it, I am cocky.”

You share a laugh, then there’s a few moments of quiet. Just enjoying the dance and the music and good company. But his brain won’t leave him alone. He won’t ruin this nice moment, but you need to know at some point.

“Does he really make you call him Scythe?”

“Well, he-“ you pause. “He likes it.”

“You’re too nice to him. And everyone. Except me apparently,” he teases.

“Well, you said it yourself- that you’re cocky-“ You don’t get to finish your sentence because there’s a commotion happening nearby.

A couple stumbles out of a photobooth, and Jake sees it’s Scythe and that same woman from before. Jake calls your name, he doesn’t want you to see it but it’s too late.

“Robbie???” You leave Jake’s arms and head towards your boyfriend. He tries to give you the ‘it’s not what it looks like’ excuse but you don’t buy it for a second. Jake watches your heart break before his eyes, and he feels a little pride when you grab someone’s drink to splash it in Scythe’s face.

You take off, Jake can tell you’re crying. Everything in him tells him not to follow, to give you some space. But he doesn’t want you to be alone.

He follows you, he doesn’t see exactly where you went, but he hears a door close. You’ve stepped into a closet, and he can hear your sobs through the door.

His heart hurts, it’s killing him. You’re in so much pain – he can hear it in your cries. He waits for a moment, to let you cry – even though he wants to hold you now. He wants to give you a moment.

But when he hears you breathing heavier, he raps on the door with one knuckle. He gently calls your name and waits for you to answer.

“Hangman?” you sniffle.

“I’m here,” is all he can think to say right now, but it’s the truth.

The door opens and you look awful. Your eyes are puffy and snot all down your face. Jake spots a box of tissues behind you in the closet and grabs it. “C’mere,” he says reaching for you. He hands you the tissues and you wipe your eyes and nose.

You start to cry again, “how could I be so stupid.”

“You didn’t know.” Jake tries to comfort you as best he can. He’s wracking his brain.

“I did know. I knew. I didn’t want to accept it, but I knew.”

“I- saw him. With her tonight earlier and I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”

“I should have ended it a long time ago,” you say with a heavy sigh and sit down on the floor.

“Why didn’t you?” Jake asks, sitting down next to you. He leans his head against the wall, listening.

“I was in over my head, he was fun at first.”

Jake thought that hearing you talk about him would make him jealous. It hurts him more to think about you going through something like this than his own pride. Maybe in a small way he feels better knowing it wasn’t just in his head about how Scythe was as a person.

“You wanna know something?” you look over at him. He leans forward to look at you. Damn, you’re pretty.  “I only said yes to dating him to make you jealous. I wanted you to make your move.”

Jake’s heartrate starts to pick up. Is he hearing what he thinks he’s hearing?

“I was nervous, you made me so nervous. I didn’t know what to do and so I said yes to him and then I got in a messy situation. And I didn’t know how to climb out.”

“I made you nervous?” a slow smile forms on his face. Cheeky. You elbow his arm with a shy little laugh. He’d eat you up right now if he could, you’re adorable.

“You still do,” you bite your inner cheek.

Jake reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry all this happened, should have just asked you sooner.” He elbows you back playfully, “but you could have asked me out…”  

“Hangman, honestly,” you laugh and shove his shoulder. “I could barely talk to you as it was! This is stroking your ego too much.”

“Damn straight,” he laughs back, cocking his head as he speaks.

 You take a deep breath, the you tell him, “Help me up.”

You start to stand, and Jake is quick to jump to his feet to help you. You grab him by his jacket and pull him with you into the closet. Your lips on his in an instant. He’s quick to follow you, and he’s closing the door behind him and kissing all over your face and neck.

“Hangman!” you squeal between kisses.

He pulls back to look at you, “it’s Jake.”

Your eyes well up just a little bit and you exchange smiles before you kiss each other again. This time you bump teeth and are holding onto each other giggling in a supply closet.

His kisses get more heated. He shoves your dress strap down and plants open mouth kisses on your bare shoulder.

“You want to use a line so bad right now I know you do,” you giggle into his neck. “About how you’ll be better than him.”

“Well? If it’s the truth?” Jake gives you a little smirk. But then he watches your face fall.

“That’s one of the reasons I should have ended things,” you tell him. Your bodies are so close, you’re fully pressed up against him. The buttons on his dress uniform are digging into you. “He was moving too fast, and I wasn’t ready.” Your lip trembles and you start to cry again. “I really did like him and then he made me feel so bad about myself.”

“Listen,” Jake slowly puts the shoulder strap back up your arm and gives it a little kiss. “I just want you. Doesn’t matter how fast or slow. You’ve been in my head for months. Just being able to call you mine?” You slowly start to smile at him. “If that’s what you want of course.”

“Jake,” you squeeze his arm. Then reach to touch the hairs on the back of his neck. “Why do you think I pulled you into this closet to make-out a little bit?”

He grins and leans in to kiss you some more. His hand cradling your head, and your hands in his hair.

“We should probably get back to the wedding,” you gasp suddenly. “People might be wondering where we are.”

“Let ‘em wonder,” Jake kisses you again, hardly believing this right now.

“I want to dance with you again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grins and opens the door. You both smile at each other adjusting your hair and rumbled clothes. Jake has lipstick all over his face, and he’s not sure if he wants to wipe it off.

“C’mon Lieutenant,” you smile tugging his arm.

“So, I really made you that nervous?”

“Shut up Seresin!”

[hyuckmov]

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 2 of 3

wc: 18k (yay!) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), a bit of fluff warnings: wet dreams, jerking off, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, making out, praise kink, strength kink (? he's strong...) crying during sex, dirty talk, aftercare...? petnames (baby, princess), and ... names needs to be read after part 1 i think! a/n: shorter warnings list lmfao anyway.... i....this took me awhile but i really hope u enjoy this and the way it reads. let me know what you think and please be kind :) thank you thank you THANK YOU to every single one of you on my taglist and if you've sent me an ask, reblogged, or left a comment. i could not have finished this without u

haechan almost always knew of the hurt he caused — especially to you. 

he knew what he was doing each time he showed up around you at a party, love bites staining his skin and hair messy and wild. he noticed the way you recognised the perfume on him with a crinkle of your nose, or the slight flicker of sadness in your eyes when his phone would vibrate against the bedside table, wandering to the names on his phone. he could feel the way your shoulders tensed when he smiled blankly at you, track your movements as you looked away when he was cozying up with someone else. 

and most of all – he knew that beyond that, you couldn't go to him for all your hurt. and that was what would be most painful, the knowledge that everything you had to suffer was unjustified, feelings not tied to reason, because he never made you any promises.

haechan almost always knew of the hurt he caused — and he always hoped that his touch could be a good enough apology. 

all throughout rehearsals, when they took the trip to the venue, back to when he had woken up that morning, something had stirred in his chest. he was never nervous before shows, but this time he fiddled with his guitar mindlessly, wandering over to the bar and ordering just a few drinks to hopefully dull the way his heart was racing in his chest, alcohol burning a path down his throat. he picked at the way his hair fell over his eyes, re-doing his makeup before the show with the black eyeliner that he couldn't hold without thinking of you. his bandmates watching him carefully, not knowing what had changed. he wouldn't be able to tell them if they'd asked. 

it was only when the girl in the bathroom had stumbled away on shaky feet, leaving one last slick touch on his arm as a goodbye, when all his feelings that had ached in him that day came crashing down in his chest, that crushing weight he couldn't ignore each time he tried to breathe. 

you had kissed him — and it felt like a promise. 

it was this thought that now stung at him, as he watched the numbers on the screen of the elevator flick higher and higher. he had made his way to your apartment as if on autopilot, driving down streets now too familiar. he always knows the hurt he causes you — and he feels it now, like retribution, because even now he has no right to be angry at you. no right to blame you for his hurt, because while he had never made you promises, in reality you hadn't either. 

but the reality was he was here now, knocking on your apartment door. 

"y/n?" 

there's warm light seeping out under your apartment door, he can see all your shoes on the rack outside. jaemin's not home, but you definitely are. 

he knocks again, a bitter taste in his mouth. 

"y/n, i know you're home." 

his hand curls into a fist, and he hits it against the door, twice. he thinks he can hear something beyond the door, a clink of something like keys, so he raises his voice, the tone of it rough. 

"are you happy now?" 

mark has told him he gets vindictive when he's hurt or scared, has urged him to think before he speaks. 

"does it make you feel like you have the upper hand? standing me up?"

but haechan can't distinguish what he's feeling right now. 

"because i don't care at all," he spits, lies he'd never rehearsed, the alcohol mixing with thoughts he didn't even know he had, to inflict the cruelest hurt. "at least i know the girl i fucked didn't feel any different." his voice dips low, cold freezing over each syllable. "i hope you know even if you went, i still would've picked her. it didn't make any difference." 

the night is still, and quiet. his words seem to swell in the air, ringing around in his head. he stands in front of the door, head lowered, hand still lingering on cool surface, breaths dragged out of his lungs painfully. he waits for so long, that he wonders if he was speaking to no one at all — if you'd been asleep, if he imagined the sounds beyond the door.  

but then there's a soft click, and the door drifts open. 

the moment haechan sees you, he feels it like a shot to his chest, because something was terribly wrong. 

it's not just the tears running down your cheeks. 

your face is blotchy and red, dark circles under your teary eyes, your hair mussed up and tangled. you're wrapped in layers of clothing despite the cool summer night, your body still trembling with cold, and when you speak, your voice is so hoarse and broken that it makes goosebumps break out over his skin — and an achy tone he never wanted to hear from you ever again.

"it didn't make a difference?"  

his lips part. he tugs on his jacket, trying to to close it, to pull up his collar a little higher, but it's too late — your eyes are already reading the marks on his skin, drinking in every last detail of him. 5 minutes ago he had wanted nothing more than for you to open the door and see him exactly like this — lipstick smudged lips and fucked out eyes, the smell of fake roses clinging to each fibre of his clothing, the rips in his jeans tugged this way and that.  

and all at once he knew — you had wanted to go, and he just accused you of the worst thing. you were going to go, and now he was forcing you to look at him like this. if the trip here made him feel vulnerable and bruised, he knew it must have felt like this for you too on the nights he didn't ask for you — the two of you sharing feelings that you weren't supposed to have, that you couldn't justify.  

now haechan sees the way your face crumples, tears gathering on your waterline. you lift your hands to wipe them away, and it's like he can feel the way your chest shakes with wounded sounds and choked sobs, your fingers clenching into fists as you bite your lip to keep from bursting into tears.  

"y/n-" he breathes. "are you…is everything —" 

"s-so you didn't mean it? when you invited me?" you're trying to steady your breathing. every second that passes where he's watching you fall to pieces in the doorway feels like it's searing into haechan's skin, the heavy feeling in his chest increasing tenfold with guilt. he swallows, as he watches you take a few deep breaths. "i thought… i thought it meant…when you invited m-me you said you weren't making empty promises —" 

"i wasn't." he bites his lip, taking a step towards you. "y/n —" 

but you back away. "i was going to go, haechan. i was really going to go –" 

"i know." he knew now. 

" — but i've been sick since yesterday, and it wasn't getting any better, i couldn't leave the house –" 

"why didn't you tell me?" he desperately wants to run away, but he knows it's worse for you. 

your voice is small. "i don't have your number."

it had slipped his mind. it was something so stupid, something so small – how he never wanted to give you a way to talk to him, or give himself an easy way to access you, didn't want things to be too easy. all of it had slowly built up to that feeling each time he glanced at his phone that night, clutching the lifeless device in his hands. 

the last thing he should do, if he ever wanted to see you again, is blame you. he bites back his question of why you didn't ask jaemin for help, wrapping his jacket around his body self-consciously, running a hand through his hair.  "i forgot," he whispers. hurt flickers across your face again. 

"i d-don't know why i thought this would be different." you wipe at your face, biting your lip again to keep from trembling. "i hoped that maybe, even if i couldn't show up, you'd come here and take care of me. when i heard you outside the door…" 

the words have a bitter bite to them, and you spit them out like you hate the taste in your mouth, hate every memory associated with his care. 

"i'll take care of you," he pleads, quickly, stepping towards you. 

he doesn't know what he expected, if you'd showed up. maybe he'd play for you, and leave with your hand in his. maybe he could have taken you in his car, or in his soft sheets at home. brought you out for a late dinner, sit with you and let you pry him open as you always did. or maybe he'd say nothing at all, and nothing would have changed – he didn't know. 

his touch has always been his apology, always his way of reaching you through the only sure thing the both of you wanted from each other. but the look on your face tells him that the brush of his fingertips against your skin is only cruelty. 

"you're fucked up if you think i'm letting you take care of me now," your voice is grating, rough on his skin. 

"but i-"

"you'll hold me like this? force me to stare at the marks on your chest? breathe the perfume that isn't yours?" your tone is harsh and accusatory. he takes it all. "what were you going to do, if i showed?" 

and for once, haechan can't help but be honest. "i don't know," he mumbles, and he sees the words hit you like a strike to your face.

"you knew i wanted more," you whisper. "you knew i wanted to be close to you, but you always…you always –" 

"wanted?" he asks, quietly.  

"you can't think i still want to know you, after everything. whatever person lies behind all that…" your tears have stopped, your voice unfeeling. the numbness in you mirrors his own. "i want nothing to do with him." 

he can't think of anything to say. he reaches out a hand, and for a moment you let his fingers graze your arm, fear and hurt in the way they curl around your wrist, begging you to hold on to him too. you're scaring him, and he doesn't know how to go back, but he knows he deserves everything you're saying to him. deserves the way you shake free of his hold and close the door, his feet stumbling over themselves as he backs away. 

you said you didn't want to know him, that you didn't know him at all. but he can't help thinking that's not true, because you knew him enough to know exactly how to hurt him through the walls, through the boy he pretended to be, right through his chest and past his ribcage, right into his aching heart. 

—

ever since your fever broke, your life had been quiet. 

you go to all your classes. you cut down on coffee by getting sleep at night. you take walks with jaemin around the neighborhood, falling back into old routines. movie nights, and grocery trips. he was coddling you, and you felt it every day — coming home to warm meals, the way he was more forgiving over little disputes. you didn't deserve it, watching him slip out of the front door quietly, camera bag slung over his shoulder. 

you didn't deserve it, because you ached to follow. 

some part of you was still trapped inside your room, heady and aching, desperately trying to reach him. needing his apology, needing him to recognise the way he hurt you. you couldn't look for answers in your memories, but you played each scene back in your mind like a looping film reel, letting images suffocate you — his jacket falling open, love bites marking his skin, all the times he's slipped from your grasp. and yet, other fragments come back too — the warmth of his hand on yours in the car, the slight tilt of his head as he brought his gaze level with yours, seeking you out when things got too much. his quiet answers in the dark, the slow smile that spread across his face that made you glow, knowing you'd made him happy. 

"he got off lightly," you tell jaemin one night, the both of you on the floor by the couch. ice cream and wine drip condensation on the table-top, and the both of you are too heavy with the rush of sugar and alcohol, the clock ticking in the silence of the room as you sit.  

"you just want to see him again," he'd replied, quietly. "don't you?" 

"i just wish we could have talked." your voice is small. you and haechan never truly talked, except for some nights in the dark, lying in his arms afraid to breathe, afraid of breaking the tenderness that swelled in the room, afraid of turning on the lights to see who you were holding in the shadows.

"and then what? you'd be together?" jaemin glances over at you, and the concern in his eyes makes you shrink back even more. you were supposed to be doing better. everything in your life was right, it was exactly the way it should be — but why did you feel empty? 

"then i'd at least have closure," you mumble. "i'm never going to get any answers unless i talk to him." 

a brief expression of discomfort crosses jaemin's face, but it's gone when you blink. 

"i just don't want you to see him again, and forget all the ways he hurt you." 

you don't say a word. both of you knew that it was something too likely to happen. 

—

it's dark in haechan's room. the boy liked it shadowy, black-out curtains drawn over the windows, the air cool from air-conditioning, an air humidifier spewing light blue mist in the corner. the boy sitting in bed had his guitar in his lap, picking at the strings quietly, his phone face-up on the bed next to him, recording his ideas. he was swaddled in a large hoodie, swallowing his frame, shorts riding high on his thighs as he curls into himself. 

he doesn't look up when mark shuffles in, closing the door behind him quietly, blinking as his eyes adjust to the low light. 

"jaemin's outside." 

haechan nods. "i heard you." his voice is a soft sound, boyish. mark has heard it enough growing up, that he knows haechan is scared. he knows haechan is waiting for answers, waiting for the verdict.

"he says he'll only continue to work with us if you stop seeing… y/n." 

the name trips in his mouth, clumsy. it feels strange to use it, especially around haechan, who knows you more than any of them do, like he's saying something he's not allowed to, a boy using an expletive he doesn't understand. haechan's body tenses when he hears your name in mark's voice, predictable, almost laughable — the slight tightening of his nimble fingers on the neck of the guitar, slip of his fingers on the guitar pick. 

"okay." and the boy goes back to playing. 

"you'll stop seeing y/n?" 

"yeah." mark moves closer to the bed, sees haechan's lower lip caught in his teeth. 

"haechan, stop." 

the boy shakes his head roughly, plucking at the strings a little harder. 

"what happened? what happened between you and y/n?" 

"i'll stop seeing her." 

"stop acting like i don't know you," mark mumbles, finally sitting down on the bed. haechan stills, as mark pulls the guitar away from him, his hands going limp as he lets mark set it down at the foot of the bed. "i hate it when you do that."  

"i'm sorry." a beat, then haechan buries his face in his hands, pulling at his features, before letting his arms drop down to the bed again. "could you…could you at least tell her?" 

"tell her what?" 

"that jaemin told me to stay away." haechan fiddles with the hem of his shirt, head still lowered. "i…i shouldn't be the one avoiding her. she should be avoiding me." 

"is there a difference?" 

"yeah." he mumbles his words, plush lips barely forming each syllable. "because i hurt her. i can't hurt her and then ignore her…that's…that's not right."

"so you want to keep seeing her?" 

"i just want…" his voice is hollow, and when he looks up at mark — the dim light in the room catching on the features of his face, mark can finally see the way his lips were raw, skin torn and bitten. his eyes, usually sharp and piercing, are puffy and swollen from crying, dazed pupils blinking up at him. "mark, i don't think i've ever hurt someone like this before."

mark wonders what he could have done, but he doesn't ask. "do you want to make it right?" 

"i don't know how." he swallows, throat bobbing. "i don't know if i can." 

"maybe avoiding her isn't the best thing…" mark starts, putting a hand on haechan's arm, but haechan flinches. 

"the band will kill me. jeno will kill me." mark opens his mouth to argue, but already haechan is leaning back against the headboard, head lowered and looking down at his lap. "i'll do it. i won't see her again."

"it'll be fine" mark reassures, softly. "in a few weeks, after a few more people, you'll forget all about her." 

neither of them really believed it. 

—

as jaemin sits on the couch — jeno sprawled on an armchair with jisung perched on the armrest, mark sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, he thinks about how these boys have become his close friends. he fits in with them in a way he never has with his other clients — evenings spent photographing them, understanding them through the lens of his camera. cycling trips with jeno, bringing out mark's competitive streak as they drank in the kitchen, babying jisung and taking care of him when the other bandmates weren't around to do so. 

and of course, getting to know haechan — teaching him how to use a camera, chatting with him easily about the city. if jaemin was to be honest, haechan intimidated him a little with how guarded he was, every sentence he spoke to jaemin felt like it'd been turned over a million times in his head, each word careful and poised. he also disappeared for long periods of time, sometimes never there during parties. 

now jaemin knew what the time had been spent on. who he'd spent it on.

"we're really sorry." it's mark who speaks up first. jisung nods in agreement, while jeno looks on. 

"i don't need you to be sorry," mumbles jaemin. "it's not your fault." 

"still…" mark scratches the back of his close-cropped hair tentatively. "he mentioned it."

"what did he say?" 

"he didn't tell us everything," jisung says, voice hushed. his hair falls over his eyes as he ducks his head in thought. "mostly just told us to stay away." 

"did he sound like he wanted them to be exclusive?" 

mark and jisung exchange a glance, but it's jeno's voice that answers just as mark's lips part. 

"no." when jisung bites his lip, jeno raises his eyebrows, annoyed. "are you kidding? he just said he fucked her more often, and that we should fuck off." 

jisung looked wounded. "he didn't say that." 

"but that's what he meant." 

"mark?" 

jaemin calls out to the boy, bringing him out of his thoughts. mark was staring at his own hands, a frown creasing his face.

"haechan agreed," he says, slowly. your name lingers on the tip of his tongue as he says it, like he's tasting the sound, the unfamiliarity of it in his mouth. "i…i think i might know what's going on with haechan, but it's up to him to explain, not me." 

"so he won't see her anymore?" 

the words come easily to jaemin. he knew it was the deal he was going to make the moment he texted mark to ask if they could talk. he was willing to lose his growing friendship with the rest of the boys if it could give you peace, if all of you could go back to the way things were. 

he think back to how he found you — struggling to head out of the door the previous day, barely able to make it to the door, the fever burning up your brain and making your bones ache. he thinks of coming back home to you after he'd went to the pharmacy to get you medicine, slipping his shoes off at the door and immediately knowing that something had changed, from the tears streaming down your face. 

"how did this happen?" 

"he came to see me" you mumble, struggling with the sleeves of the thick sweater you were trying to pull your arms through. the moment you straighten, you wince as a dull pain throbbed through your head, hunching over again as stars blinked in your vision. 

"haechan?" 

he sets down the bag of medicine on the kitchen counter, picking up the thermometer and pointing it at your forehead. the light on the screen blinks red, and his eyebrows furrow, the displeased expression on his face only growing stronger. 

"why did you open the door?" he asks, slowly. "i thought we talked about this." 

"i thought…." your voice is scratchy, as pressure seems to rise inside your skull, pain that made your eyes tear up. it's laughable that you thought he would take care of you, and instead he ripped you to pieces. tears well up in your eyes again, and your lips part, only to let out a small sob. 

he grips onto your arm, gently but firmly, steering you back towards your room. you don't have any strength to fight back, it felt like the temperature in the room was at freezing point even though jaemin was only wearing a thin shirt and shorts, and the ache in your bones made every movement shoot pain through your nerves. even after lying down on your bed, swaddled in blankets, the dim light slightly easing the pain in your head, you were too weak to lift your head, stretching your fingers out over the blanket and crawling towards where jaemin's hand rested on the sheets. 

he held your hand and listened to you talk, knowing you needed to let it all out. he didn't judge, he didn't make faces. just listened with his eyes closed as you told him about meeting haechan, the way he pulled you away from everyone else and how you'd followed. he observed you quietly through his lashes as you sniffled, breaths breaking up your words. 

the story got harder to tell when you recounted moments of his tenderness — when he'd call you his, when he took care of you, when he'd promise to be harsh with you but never went through with it, the way his face fell when you cried. you stuttered and hesitated through it all, because you didn't know if any of it was real or just imagined.

jaemin knows he could have hurt you further — broken every last illusion, pierced through the image of haechan you had in your head. but he didn't have the heart to, so this was the best he could do — making sure it stopped. 

"it's done," mark nods, but he looks unhappy. 

jaemin doesn't feel the weight lift from his chest like he thought it would. he feels jisung move to sit next to him, a hand on his shoulder as he observes his face. 

"i'm really sorry," he mumbles, lips barely moving. 

"it's not your fault," jaemin replies, leaning back against the cushions, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

—

haechan is dreaming again. 

except it's more memory than dream, the way you're laid up against the pillows, fingers tangled in his hair as he leaves kisses on your inner thighs. it's so vivid, the way you taste, the twitch of your muscles as you tense around him, the small gasp as he pulls away to sit back on his knees. 

"please-" you whimper, needy from being teased. scrabbling, you bring your knees to your chest, hands trembling as you hook them on your thighs, tears smearing your cheeks with a dewy glow. you were trying to keep your voice quiet, small sounds barely escaping your lips as you bit down on them, pleading with him through murmurs and barely coherent words. his shirt on your body crinkled everywhere from how he'd been grabbing at it, the long sleeves falling over your palms. it was straight out of a wet dream, which it now was, as you begged him to fuck you, your wet folds slick with spit and arousal as you bared yourself to him, pleading with him to sink into you. 

in memory, he croons. he gives you what you asked for — pressing your weight into the mattress as he pushes into you, feel you pulse around him as he goes in hard and deep, feel your body trembling against his. 

but in dream, he can be honest enough with himself to admit that it scares him when you cry. that his stomach twists when he hears you beg, like missing a step on a staircase, a second where he's rushing into nothing — not knowing if he'd made you like this, not knowing if he was hurting you. from the girl shaking against him, clumsy hands finding purchase on his shoulders, and you now — hips rocking into nothing, desperate for him. 

"i'm here," he whispers, gently taking your hands and slowly lowering your legs down to the bed. he kisses you until your breathing calms and slows, your hands now on the sides of his face, caressing his cheeks. he likes how you touch him as if you could ever bruise him, loving brushes of your fingertips, urgency making your fingers curl into his skin, hesitant scratches on his shoulders that your hands skitter away from. 

in dream, he pushes into you slowly, watching the way your lips part, breath caught in your chest, eyes fluttering closed as you take him in. wet sounds fill the room as he begins to move his hips, your face shyly tucked into his chest, your ankles sweetly hooked against his lower back as you melt together. the feelings in his chest intensifying the pleasure he feels from you wrapped around him. his eyes meet yours as you blink up at him, and it's so real — the way you glow against the sheets of his bed, eyes all soft and sparkling with tenderness. 

but then he wakes in the same bed: the feeling of you under him, the crash of his heartbeat in his chest, all of it hanging in the dark, a lingering tattoo on his body. 

—

so it's almost like a dream, when he opens the door to the stranger's bedroom, to see you slumped on the floor. 

the din from below echoes through the hall, the sounds of the overwhelming crowd seeping into the room and reminding him of why he was here. he'd been looking for a quiet place to be alone — the constant eyes on him making him feel self-conscious and jumpy. 

back at the apartment, jeno had said he wasn't being like himself, that he hadn't been himself in a long time, the memory of his laugh ringing in haechan's ears as he climbed upstairs. when has a crowd ever bothered you? when have you ever hated attention? 

he didn't know the answers. 

now haechan stands in the doorway, not believing his eyes. there was no way you'd known he would be here, alone. you're curled in on yourself on the floor, leaning against the bed with your knees tucked to your chest, eyes shut. your body is still, and for just a while longer he lets himself watch you for just a moment — drink in every single detail he'd missed even if it felt like teasing open his own wounds with fingers caked in salt. the rise and fall of your chest, your hair mussed up and falling over your face, the slope of your shoulders, your arms. 

and suddenly he's back in his bed, your weight the only thing he was sure of against his chest, drunk on the soft sounds you made, lips barely forming his name. 

you don't know he's here yet. he could walk away, leave you by yourself. but something in him told him he couldn't leave you like this in the middle of a party, barely conscious in a stranger's bedroom. before he knows what he's doing, before he can fathom the consequences, he's kneeling before you, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and draping it over your body. you reek of alcohol, stirring when you feel the weight of the leather on your body, your tongue numb and heavy in your mouth, eyelashes feeling stuck to your cheeks as you struggle to open your eyes. 

"y/n?" haechan whispers, choking on the sound of your name. 

"haech-" you trail off, fingers coming up to rub your eyes sleepily, the jacket slipping slightly. "haechan." it's the way you say it, like your tongue is too afraid to form the syllables, like something you can't bear to say. 

"i-i'm going to find someone," he mumbles, backing away from you, clumsily trying to get to his feet. "you stay here, i'll –"

"don't go-" the words almost get lost from the way you're slurring, lips barely moving, shaking your head as you reach for him again. your fingers slip on the sleeve of his shirt, before curling and holding on tight. "please don't leave." 

"i…" pain flickers over his features. he bites his lower lip, body moving towards yours instinctively, your hand crawling up his sleeve and grasping for his arm, fingers digging to the bone as you tremble. but then he feels your breath on his neck, and he pulls away again. 

"what happened, y/n? did someone hurt you?" he feels like a hypocrite. 

"no," you say, meekly. "i think i just had too much to drink." 

"did you come with jaemin?" 

you shake your head, nuzzling into him in a way that makes his heart pulse painfully in his chest. "i don't know anyone here." 

he still thinks he should get help from any of the girls downstairs. even as you meld yourself a little closer to him, he's almost certain you wouldn't be acting this way if you were sober. 

"y/n, i can't. please just let me call jaemin–" 

"want you here." you reach for him again, trying to pull him impossibly closer, fitting his body against yours. "don't want jaemin to see me like this." 

it dawns on him that besides jaemin, he was the only one you felt comfortable around like this. it wouldn't be the first time he's taken care of you when you were vulnerable or weak, and his body reacts out of habit — pulling you into his arms, his hands gently patting your back as you blink back tears in the crook of his neck. but it still didn't feel right, knowing he was the one who had caused this, and yet he was here holding you.

"let me talk to someone downstairs – i'll see if they can take you home," he murmurs. you bury your face deeper in his neck, shaking your head. "just 5 minutes, okay? i just need 5 minutes —" 

"don't want someone to bring me home," you rasp, and his gut twists painfully when i feels your tears damp on his skin. "i don't want to go back to my place. i want to go with you." 

"you're going to regret this," he says, softly. to him it's the truth you're not sober enough to see, even if it hurt to tell you. "you don't really want this, y/n." 

"is it because you want to find someone else?" your words are soft-edged, lips forming the words carefully, but it pierces him all the same. "is it- is it because you want to bring someone else home?" 

"no," he answers, quiet. "i haven't…not in a while." 

"so you just don't want to be around me?" 

his mind is racing, desperately trying to think of how he could help you, but his mind was coming up with nothing. that same feeling he always had around you — protectiveness intersecting with the ache in his chest everytime your eyes met his, all of it roaring in his ears, louder than the cacophony from any party. for all the times he's claimed he knew what was good for you, he's begun to realise that he has a terrible grasp on how not to hurt you. 

"you don't want to be around me," he corrects, but his fate is sealed when you let out a small sob, muffled against his shirt. 

and he takes you home. 

—

you watch him through your lashes, as he swipes a cotton pad on your face, cleaning off your makeup. 

"close your eyes," he mumbles, a slight pout forming on his lips from how hard he was concentrating, trying to be gentle with you. his touches are far too light, and you're sure your makeup is still on your face, but you let your lashes flutter shut anyway, feeling a featherlight brush against your eyelid as he holds it against your eye. dropping the used pad into a small bin, he brings a warm, damp towel up to your face, the material of it soft against your skin. 

"can you brush your teeth?" he holds a toothbrush up to your face, but he withdraws it once your hands come up to hold it, completely misjudging the distance and landing on his shoulders instead. "open," he coaxes, parting his own lips so you'd mimic him. he smiles fondly as you open your mouth wide, a hand coming up to hold your face in place. "good girl," he mumbles, and you preen at the praise that shines through your drunken haze, following his instructions to rinse out your mouth.  

there's a short pause. having brushed out your hair, removed your makeup and brushed your teeth, the only thing to do next was to get you to bed. 

your legs squeeze around his hips, your back against the mirror on his bathroom counter. "haechan," you mumble, tipsiness making you swallow your words. "don't…my clothes…" 

"i'll leave them on," he promises, ignoring the way your tight dress looks uncomfortable and unclean to sleep in. "don't worry." of course you don't feel comfortable around him, not after everything.

but for some reason, you're shaking your head, two clumsy hands closing in on one of his and guiding them to your back. "take them off. please–" you add, when he hesitates. "please help me."

"of course," he murmurs, familiarity sparking in his fingertips as they grasp for the zipper, a sense of dejavu in how he drags it down your spine slowly, your back arching slightly. you look at him, drink in the proximity like the first taste of rain after a heatwave — the pretty cut of his eyes, the way his pupils float upwards as he focuses on your back through the mirror. the round tip of his nose, and finally the plushness of his heart-shaped lips. it feels like reprieve, the ache in you finally soothed by the way his breath fans over your cheeks, a gentle balm on an open wound. you lean forward slightly into him as if drawn by a magnetic field, one of your hands coming up to trace the arches of his cupid's bow. 

"y/n?" you can feel his lips move, soft like rose petals on your fingertips. "what are you doing?" 

"you haven't called me baby all night," you blurt out. "or…or princess." your thumb dips to brush against his lower lip, before he's catching hold of your hand and pulling it away from his face gently. 

"i shouldn't," he mumbles, pressing a light kiss to your fingertips before letting go. "i can't."

your dress has gone loose around your body, and you push the sleeves off your shoulders with your hands, letting the fabric drop to your waist. you observe him, watching the way he swallows, throat bobbing when his eyes dart to your chest, lace draped over your curves. 

"haechan," you murmur, but then he turns, hands now fumbling with a pile of his clean clothes. he holds out a clean shirt to you, bunching it up at the collar to slip your head through it, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. 

"i want that one," you say, softly, pointing to a long sleeved shirt you'd remembered wearing before in the room he'd shared with the boys. something flickers in his eyes, his hands curling into fists before he picks it up. he's putting it over your head, the soft cotton hanging off your shoulders, his hands coming close to your body to guide your arms into the sleeves, until you can't take it anymore. 

"haechan, don't you want me?" 

his lips part, his hands stilling, slowly unfurling his grasp on you and placing his palms on the counter. "y/n…" 

"why aren't you-" you look up at him, biting your lip, your tongue too slow to form the thoughts your mind was racing with. "why haven't you touched me yet? do you not want me like this?" 

his heart splinters and fractures. you were so used to it — used to all his touches leading to kisses, kisses leading to him all over your body. "you're drunk." it's the only thing he can say. 

"i know what i'm doing," you fire back, but your words lilt and smear together. "ask me anything and i can answer you right now." 

but all he does is resume putting your arms through the sleeves, your limbs pliant against him as always, and soon you're completely covered up, and he can breathe a little easier. his strong arms grip your waist, and you're like a ragdoll in his grip as he guides you to stand, the dress at your hips falling, the shirt brushing the top of your thighs. 

it gets worse when he sets you down in his bed. in another universe, this might be a moment of bliss for him, something romantic and sweet in the way your body curves against his pillows, sinking down into them and blinking up at him hazily. but guilt still thunders in his chest, his vision split by lightning bolts of fear. you would wake up hating him. he would never stop hurting you. you would never want to see him again. 

your arms slide up his, grasping for him. "please," you plead, your voice small. "what did i do wrong? why don't you want to touch me?" 

"you didn't do any wrong," he murmurs, as he lets his weight sink into bed next to you, feel you curl up against him. just for a minute he tells himself — just until you fall asleep. your weight on his chest feeling like someone had doused his body with warmth, a comfort that made his eyes prickle with tears. "y/n, you're perfect," he whispers, the words melting into the dark.

"don't say that." he feels tears wet against the soft fabric of his shirt over his chest. "stop saying my name." 

"baby," he amends. "sweetheart, go to sleep." 

you hum. "haechan." 

"don't," he echoes. 

"what's wrong?" you mumble, your question heavy with sleep. 

he grips onto you tighter, holding you fiercely as tears cloud his vision. 

"i'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "i'm so so so sorry." when you don't respond, he nuzzles into your hair, freckling wet kiss on your forehead. "i'm sorry," he repeats, long after you've fallen asleep. 

—

you wake up to the sound of laughter ringing out against the walls. 

the room is as dim as it was last night — dark curtains drawn and the lights turned off. time seemed to have come to a standstill, you couldn't tell if it had been days or weeks or even months since you'd fallen asleep. your body ached, still heavy with sleep while your mind cleared — it had been a while since you've slept this well.

blinking your eyes open, you slowly sit up, feeling sheets warm and soft against your skin. you sit there, dazed, getting your bearings as you survey the unfamiliar room again. your clothes, folded on a small couch next to the window. your jewelry on the bedside table, your phone plugged in to the charger. 

the only thing you recognised was the long sleeved shirt unmistakeable on your body, the familiar smell of perfume and body lotion in every fiber of the sheets.

stumbling over to the bathroom, the warm light brings back every memory — the party, the drinks, stumbling upstairs into a room as your consciousness slipped away, and then haechan, haechan, haechan. haechan leading you out of the party, taking you home in his car, taking care of you. your fingers ghost over your forehead, where you swear he kissed you just before you woke up.

you turn off the tap. in the silence, there's another round of giggles, bright like a child's, and then —

"baby, don't move!" 

haechan's voice rings lighter than you've ever heard it, and the smile in it is evident. this is a voice without shadows, fondness in every lilt and inflection. with something like urgency, you dry your hands on your shirt, padding out of his room, hesitantly blinking into the sunlit living room. 

you almost don't believe your eyes. 

haechan is sitting on the couch, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and pink lips stuck out in a pout. sitting on the floor, cross-legged between his knees, was a little girl — her hands busy with a doll, while her own hair was being meticulously braided and arranged by the boy…whose head snaps up the moment he hears the creak of the door. 

"you're awake," he blurts out, and the girl looks up. 

"hi!" she waves shyly, leaning forward towards you, but whining as the motion tugs on her hair instead. "hyuck! it hurts…" 

his eyes finally dart away from yours. "i'm sorry," he murmurs, lightly massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers. 

"you're making it messy —" 

"right, sorry." he grabs a sparkly pink hairbrush and combs through her hair gently, beginning to rebraid. the girl goes back to her doll, settling back down and quickly losing interest in you. 

his eyes flick up to yours again, the tiniest hint of blush on his cheeks. "did you sleep well?"

you nod, feeling like you'd walked in on something you weren't supposed to. 

haechan studies your face, a strand of hair falling from his grasp before he tucks it in diligently. "are you hungover? there were painkillers on the bedside table, i don't know if you saw…" 

"i'm fine," you croak out. 

"and there's breakfast on the table," he murmurs, ducking his head back down to focus on the impressive french braid he was attempting. he looks back up when he feels you staring, as if fixed to the ground beneath your feet. 

"is she…?" 

"this is my baby sister," he answers, smiling softly. "sorry, i didn't know she was coming over today. her kindergarten is near here so sometimes i walk her to school." and then, with a nod towards the table, "please eat — i made too many sandwiches." 

the girl smiles, mumbling softly to herself. "hyuckie makes the best sandwiches." 

you can see 'hyuckie' blush at that, his lips pressed together tightly to keep in his smile as he pokes the little girl's cheek softly, going back to the braid. you cross over to the dining table, feet shuffling slowly, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from the two siblings, watching the fondness in haechan's eyes. quietly pulling out a chair, you sit down and pick up a sandwich, holding it gingerly between your fingers. 

a hushed voice breaks the silence, and you turn to see his sister, cupping her lips against haechan's ear whispering so loud that her words fill the room. "is she your friend?" the girl asks, pointing her pinky finger at you, head tilted with curiosity. haechan's head tilts too, but his eyes wander over to yours as he hesitates. 

"yes, she's my friend," he says, slowly. "we're…good friends." sliding the hair ties from his wrist, he finally finishes tying off the braid, before giving the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder. "you can play for 5 more minutes okay? hyuckie needs to talk to his friend." 

her round eyes blink at you as she slowly gets to her feet, before tottering over to the window, where another pile of dolls lay. haechan clears his throat, before shuffling over to you and sitting down in a chair next to yours. 

although he adjusts himself to face you, he keeps his distance – legs drawn in under the chair, hands placed carefully on his knees in a way you'd never seen him do before. it feels like the space between the both of you spans for entire oceans and continents, an invisible force field that holds weight against your limbs, keeping you from leaning in, incapable of even moving your fingertips. 

"are you sure you're okay?" 

he looks at you — his expression soft like wax melting around a candle wick. 

"do you…do you remember how you got here?" 

you nod, taking a deep breath. "the party?" 

"i'm sorry that you're here like this," he says, quietly. "i didn't know you were going to be there, i wasn't trying to corner you, i swear." 

you nod, dazed. 

"are you upset with me? for bringing you here?" at the conflict in your expression, he adds on, hurriedly, "i-i know it wasn't the best thing to do. i could've called jaemin, or mark, or anyone downstairs…it's just that i didn't know…i didn't know if it would be okay–" 

" — i'm not upset," you cut him off, the pressure easing as you raise a hand jerkily to place it over his. "i believe you. thank you for taking care of me last night."

he exhales slowly, and when he speaks he sounds even more troubled than before. "you…you shouldn't thank me. you shouldn't thank me for anything."

his eyes dart over to his little sister, checking in on her, and the sense that you're intruding on something creeps up on you again. 

haechan had been right — there was so much of him you didn't know. you hardly recognised the boy sitting beside you, despite a vague sense of comfort and familiarity in the slightest traces of his expression, the look in his eyes, his thumb absentmindedly stroking yours. it scared you. 

you withdraw your hand, pushing your chair a little further from his, the scrape of it dissonant in your ears. "so, uh, i'll just wait downstairs for the taxi if you don't feel comfortable —" 

"taxi?" he looks at you, confused. 

"i…i should go now, right?" 

"i wasn't going to ask you to go," he says, his voice small. "i was…i was hoping we could talk." 

"talk?" you echo. after weeks of nothing? "now?"

"i mean, not right now-" he glances over at the clock, wincing. "but can you stay today?" 

there's a pause. you don't think you've ever been able to read him — you've spent days second-guessing every emotion you thought he had, the meaning behind each expression, whether he ever told the truth. but something about him like this makes you hesitate, made your breath catch in your throat. all the ways you've tried to learn how to be immune to his words and his touch slowly melting away, because that was your defense against the version of haechan you thought you knew before. 

"i'll understand if you say no," he says, quietly. "but i have things i need to say to you. please." 

you don't know what to do. 

"hyuckie?" 

you both turn. haechan's baby sister is waddling over, her fist clenched around her hair ties as the last remnants of the french braid unravel from her head. she sniffles. "it fell." 

haechan's eyes dart back to you quickly, before refocusing his attention away. "it's okay-" he soothes, taking the hair ties from her as he swipes the pad of his thumb on her cheek, brushing off the teardrops that have begun to spill from her lashes. his lips jut out into a pout, his head tilting to meet her gaze. "let's just tie it up and go to school, hm?"

"but i want it in a braid…"  

"i can't finish it in time," he says, gently, touching the strands of her hair. "i'm sorry. i promise, we'll do it next time, okay?" 

her lip wobbles. "but…"

"let me help," you say, suddenly. 

he turns, round eyes wide. "what?" 

"i'll do her hair. you still need to get her things right?" 

he nods, a little dazed. "really?" 

"i'll stay," you murmur, and you slip the hair ties from his loose fingers and sling them around your wrist. "i need to talk to you too." 

you can feel his eyes on you as he coaxes his sister towards you, the girl shyly hiding her face in your hands as you swiftly braid two pigtails down her back. he still watches you out of the corner of his eye as he packs her bag, noting the way you listen to her babble on about her days at the school, the way you help adjust the straps of her backpack onto her tiny frame.

he looks at you like he's never seen you before. you think you know the feeling. 

— 

the bed dips under his weight as he sits down. 

"hey," you hear him murmur, and you stir. his hair falls over his face, and he's changed out of his clothes, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perches on his dainty nose. it's foreign, and new…until he pushes back his hair boyishly with an open palm, flicking his head like a puppy after a swim, and the skip in your heartbeat feels all too familiar in your ribcage. 

"did you get her to school?" 

he nods. "i got us lunch too. and stopped to get groceries." studying your face, he leans in. "i didn't want to wake you up so soon. do you feel better?" 

you hum. the morning now seemed like just a dream — haechan and his sister, the breakfast sandwiches. he'd left to walk her to school, telling you to rest in his bed until he got home. now, late afternoon light seeps into the room through the open door, until haechan gets up to close it, once again sealing the room in cozy darkness. 

"may i…?" he lifts up the corner of the covers, and you nod, easing yourself to the side as he gets into bed, leaning up against the headboard, his eyes trained on his lap. you lay on your side, that same feeling — as if you couldn't reach out and touch him, as if he existed in a world of his own without you, slowly settling in your body like a familiar ache. 

but then there's a shift — and you can feel his gaze warm on your skin. you blink up at him, his pupils focused on yours, pools of the darkest molten brown sucking you into his world. he wets his lips with his tongue nervously, taking a shuddering breath. 

"y/n, i'm really sorry." 

your heart squeezes a little in your chest. "for?" 

"for what i said that night…when i thought…when you didn't show up." he takes another breath. "and for not trusting you, for going to your place after i...." his fists clench the fabrics of the sheets, twisting it in his hands. 

you bite your lip. "haechan —"

" — i'm not done." he swallows, voice dipping low. "you were right. i knew you wanted more, i always knew exactly when i hurt you. but i never tried…i never tried to change anything. i'm sorry." his hands reach towards yours for a second, but he hesitates, dropping them back on his lap. 

"what would you have changed?" you ask, softly.

"i could have stopped seeing you," he murmurs. 

you smile, sadly. "i'm not convinced that would have hurt any less." that was something you knew for sure. 

"and i don't think i could have stopped myself," he admits. 

"haechan," his eyes move to yours. "why did you invite me?" his breathing picks up, and you want desperately to comfort him, to curl up on his lap and soothe him, but you knew the both of you were afraid of what would happen if you touched. knew the possibility that you'd try to find answers in skin-on-skin, lips-on-lips, and the possibility that it would all be lost in translation again.  

"i'm sorry, –" he looks at you sadly. "i think i was just trying to get you to stay. i…" he chews on his lip, glasses sliding a little lower on his slender nose bridge as his head dips. "i regret what i said, but some of it was true. i don't know what i would have done, and i don't think i was ready for…for what you thought it was." 

you nod, cheek rubbing against soft sheets, thinking about what he said. "haechan, i don't regret not going. i only wished i'd done it intentionally." 

"yeah?" he whispers. the sound sticks in his throat. 

"if you hadn't found me yesterday…would you still have looked for me? talked to me? i'm not hurt that you didn't find me sooner-" you cut in, when you see the guilt on his features, the parting of his lips in apology. "time apart….time apart was good. i needed it to clear my head. i….i couldn't stop myself around you." 

he doesn't say anything, for a while. "jaemin came over," he says, slowly. "and he said i couldn't talk to you or he would stop working with the band and it was decided for me." 

"he what?" 

haechan shakes his head. "i don't blame him. i'm not going to pretend that i couldn't have still talked to you if i really wanted to. i'm selfish enough to do that, i'll admit. i didn't reach out because i didn't know what to say, and i didn't know what i wanted." 

"and now?" 

he closes his eyes. "time apart was good," he murmurs, echoing your words. "it gave me a chance to go back to a time before." 

your breath catches. 

" — but i couldn't. i don't think i can take it any longer. i missed you, y/n. i miss you now, even as you're here." 

"you miss me?" 

something bothered you about it, hearing him say those words. when he'd pulled you away repeatedly in the weeks you've known each other, when he came for you time and time again, was that missing you too? were things different now? 

"i miss spending time with you," he says, almost timidly. "not just…not just sex. everything. i know it's selfish…" his eyes blink open, and he pushed his glasses up, avoiding your gaze. "i didn't mean to pressure you to come back. you can forget i said that." 

he shakes his head, trying to clear it. 

"i just wanted to tell you i'm sorry for hurting you." 

you'd never dared hope for a real apology from him. some part of you expected, or even secretly wished, he would find you again after that night, lie through his teeth to win you back. and in the weeks that followed, you took his silence to mean he didn't even care enough to do that.

and now here you were, sitting with him. after days and nights, he's had time to really mean his words — he wasn't himself, which is maybe why you believed he was telling the truth.

you think you know now, why he refused to let you in. why he hadn't wanted to take your first time, something so intimate and romantic that it would have pierced right through the layers he'd built up around himself. why he drew away so many nights when your touch lingered on each others' skin, when you wanted him to stay. 

"haechan," you say, quietly. "i need you to understand that i…that i've learned how to be hurt by you. i don't want to go back to how we were before." 

he nods, quickly. "of course." 

"and…you say you knew i wanted more. so you know that i wanted to be with you…romantically, right?" 

"i know." the words are so quiet, you barely catch them. 

"if…if i come back, i don't think i want that anymore." you say, gentle, but firm. jaemin was right — you couldn't let yourself forget all the ways he hurt you. "i associate us with too much hurt. i can't trust you with my heart, can you understand that?" 

there's silence. he's nodding, but when his lips part, he's wordless. 

"haechan?" 

"i understand," he murmurs. "i'm…i didn't…" he breaks off, fiddling with the covers, lip caught in his teeth. "whatever happens next will only happen on your terms," he says, softly. "i only want to do what you want to do, okay?" 

your brow furrows. "but haechan, if you don't feel comfortable with something –" 

"i'm fine as long as you still want to see me," he whispers. 

"if you don't want to let me in, i won't push anymore." you realize you truly mean it when you make the offer out loud. even if it hurt to know that you may never see him like this again, you press on, jaemin's advice resurfacing in your mind again. "you don't owe me any more of yourself. if you want it to just be sex, we can do that – but you have to commit to it too. so no more getting jealous, or —"  

" – that's not possible." 

"you're not making any sense." you should've been hurt, but sitting here now — looking at him, the way he melts into his room, fuzzy at the edges, soft curves of his face, you can't feel any of it. finally, you're beginning to see that he's just as lost as you are. his head is still bowed low, taking in every word you say like a weight he carries upon him. 

"it's not possible because you already know me. you know enough of me that i couldn't perform with you in the crowd, can't be myself around you at a party. i can't stand there onstage, do things like eyefuck girls and play the guitar and pretend to be someone else, while feeling your eyes on me. you'd see right through me."

he sounds like he's on the verge of tears, his voice achy and raw. and as you look up at him, tears are smudging on his waterline, his cheeks glistening as he sniffles. 

"i said i'd be fine with anything," he breathes shakily, as he starts to cry, sharp inhales punctuating his words. "and i am, i really am. i-i'm not in the position to set terms. it's fine if you don't want to know me, but i can't pretend we're just strangers anymore. i won't be able to." 

words you'd said to him — you can't think i still want to know you, after everything. 

for a moment, you entertain the idea that you've hurt him too. 

"i don't think i can pretend either," you murmur. "i hated it when you pretended like you didn't know me. like you'd never seen me before." 

i'm s-sorry, he chokes, but the syllables scattered across his sobs. he claps a hand to his mouth as his breathing speeds up even more, tears wetting his shirt, achy sounds muffled against his palm. and finally you sit up, limbs still clumsy and heavy from sleep, and you wrap your arms around him, and arm slung over his chest, another around his waist, just like you wanted to all this time.

his breath shudders against your palms, warm body against your skin. you bury your face in his neck, breathe in the familiar smell of him that changed no matter who he was or whoever he was pretending to be, until his breathing slows and his sobs come to a shaky stop. 

"i missed you too, haechan," you breathe. he shakes his head. "i did-" you insist, but he shakes his head again, a hand coming to touch your arm on his waist, squeezing tight. 

"not haechan, donghyuck," he whispers. 

"donghyuck," you correct, stroking the side of his cheek lovingly, your fingertip stained with his tears. "i missed you." 

"i missed you too." he says it like the words are dangerous, hushed and quiet. "are you…are you really coming back to me?"

"do you think we can be friends?" you ask, tentatively. not lovers, not strangers. this was the only in-between you knew that could do justice to the ways you knew each other, the only way you could see yourself holding on to him now.

he looks at you for a long time, until you forget your question. his nose is tinted pink, his eyes still watery as he drowns in his thoughts. 

he swallows. "are you sure?" he asks, softly. "your first time being with someone…and it's not even a real relationship." 

"you're doing that thing again," you murmur. "where you tell me what's good for me. how i should do things." you soften when you look up, seeing the guilt in his face, as if he had been caught red-handed. "i'm asking you again," you say, slowly. "do you think we can be friends?" 

this time, he nods. "yeah," he murmurs. "friends who…"

you nod too, feeling your cheeks burn, and then you lean in — slotting your lips against his. 

for a second, he doesn't kiss you back, and your stomach swoops. 

but then his mouth is moving against yours, soft and gentle. a close-lipped kiss, just the feeling of his soft lips on yours, the brush of your noses together, your eyes slowly fluttering shut to focus on the feeling. and even though you'd just agreed — even though you were the one who suggested it, a part of you wondered if you could ever only want to be friends with lee donghyuck.  

—

you sit at the dinner table, and haechan's entire body aches with a longing that crests over him like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from his lungs. 

he recalls the way he'd felt earlier, walking back across the park from the kindergarten, stopping by the grocery store and wandering the brightly-lit aisles, turning over pasta sauce and soup stock in his hands. the knowledge that you were in his home, sleeping, that he would turn the key in the lock and you would be waiting for him — burned down his throat like alcohol, a bonfire in his stomach. it felt like playing pretend. he was afraid to even drive you back to your apartment, to walk you to your door, to look at you too long in the moments after. and yet here he was, tipsy off the sweetness of being able to come home to you. 

after the talk, neither of you had gone much further than kissing. 

"i missed you so much," he murmurs – his voice crumpling under the weight of his own words. 

"do you want to show me?" your tone is lightly teasing, dipping low as you keep your smile on your face. the warmth coursing through your body has nothing to do with the blankets pooling around your thighs, and everything to do with the boy sitting across from you — doll-like legs with miles of silky skin splayed out over the sheets, back slouching against the headboard, all crumpled in and soft and worn. 

if you had gone to the bar weeks ago, let him guide you to this home, to this bed, you might already be familiar with this soft mattress in a whole different way.  

neither of you can deny the way your minds wander there still, despite everything. him missing your body framed against his, you craving the sink of his chest, the curve of his waist.  

there's silence, as his words register in the boy's head, pain flickering over his features. if he was feeling more like himself, he would pulled you in, caged you under him. tugged at that side of you that was always so pliant and easy for him and watched you unravel under his fingertips. the words are on the tip of his tongue — i'll show you. did you miss me too? kiss me. stay with me.

instead, his fingers withdraw, and gently touch the soft cotton of his shirt's hem, warm light flickering in his eyes. "not like this," he murmurs quietly. "not…not now."

you let out a breath, tension dissipating. "yeah," you'd murmured. "you're right." 

you'd gone to take a shower while he prepared dinner. there was something terribly domestic about all of it — you padding into the living room again, each fiber of your being smelling so much like him. the way he turned from where he stood guarding the soup bubbling on the stove to see you in one of his shirts, a towel draped over your shoulders. the feelings he hadn't learned to pin down, hadn't had the time to sort, intensified in his chest, an ache lodged inside him. 

friends. he'd introduced you to his sister as his friend, watched you braid her hair and laugh with her softly, heard your sweet voice wishing her good luck with school. the nights he'd spent with you by his side — talking about the band, about his tattoos. asking about how he did during the show, seeking your praise, wanting to know so badly how he appeared in your eyes. the way you somehow reached right through him and made him listen, made him stop. was that friendship? 

now with all the plates cleared and washed, the sounds of your clothes tumbling in his washing machine in the background, the smell of black nail polish prickled his nose as you leaned over. your fingers brushing his, holding them in place. 

"should i make it a little messy?" your voice is light. 

"it's usually messy because i get my sister to do it," he tells you, softly. "you don't have to mimic how it looks." 

you nod, a small smile on your face as you dip the brush back in the bottle. there's silence, for a while, as he watches you, studying the way you look with your head bowed, feeling each careful touch of your fingers, and then — 

"do you want to talk about rules now?" 

you look up at him just briefly before going back to the task. he swallows. 

"sure." 

another pause. and then quietly, "you can't get jealous anymore, you know that right?" 

"i know," he murmurs. "you told me to stop before…but i didn't. i'm sorry." 

you nod. "you can't be possessive of me, either." 

he hesitates. "so…no marking?" 

slowly, you let go of his left hand. "you can still leave hickeys and bruises," you mumble. "just don't…don't call me yours you know?" 

he didn't know if he could do that. "okay," he says, softly. "i'll try." and then, slowly and carefully, he asks, "are you going to keep coming to our shows?" 

the slide drag of the brush on his nail stops. "do you want me to?" 

he bites his lip. "i want you there," he says, slowly. "but i don't know if i'll be okay with having you in the crowd." 

"oh." 

"maybe you can watch from backstage. or the wings. i want you to," he adds, when you look troubled. "please." 

"are we still a secret?" 

his lips part. he wanted to say yes — but it was the way you'd asked it, like it was something you feared, that made him hesitate.

"because," you continue. "it didn't feel good, keeping it from jaemin. and as i said, i hated it when you pretended we were strangers." 

he felt your hands leave his, capping the bottle of nail polish as you leaned back in your chair, tucking your knees to your chest. he keeps his hands splayed on the table, taking a deep breath.

"no more secrets," he agrees. "and stop going to those parties, y/n. if you want to see me, just tell me." 

you raise your eyebrows. "we're not exclusive," you point out, slowly. "i don't go to the parties just for you. haechan, if you don't think you can do this…" 

"i can," he says, hurriedly. "i'm sorry. if i see you at a party…i'll say you're my friend. i'm sorry, it's just that i…i'm just…."

"it's okay." giving him a small smile, you get to your feet, shuffling over to the kitchen. you don't hear him come closer as you fill up a glass of water on the kitchen, only know of his presence as his hand touches your shoulder carefully. 

"don't go," he murmurs. his arms slide around your body, gently pulling you towards him, and you turn slightly so you can see his face.

"i'm still here," you respond, softly. 

but he shakes his head. "don't go." 

you turn around in his arms and your lips brush, his own parting against yours, seeking permission. all the time he wonders when he'll stop kissing you like he's swearing an oath — devoted in the way he wraps his lips around yours, patient and true in the way his tongue moves against yours, and even now, something loving in the way he murmurs your name into the cavern of your mouth. his hands move carefully on your skin, nail polish still drying on his fingertips, and if either of you question the way you kiss, you keep it to yourselves. 

—

it's different, watching haechan perform, when he's not performing for you. 

you saw the way his eyes flitted through the crowd, making and breaking eye contact so fast it was hard to keep track of, each twitch of his expression rehearsed and calculated. a teasing part of his lips, sinful face fluttery and slack as the music crashed all around him, like he could physically feel it. he was right — you didn't see him the same. you knew it was the performance, that he was really the one trying to please the crowd, riding off the pleasure of attention. but despite seeing through it as he had said, it still had you feeling tightly wound inside, pressure building up inside you, a craving for his touch intensifying with each time his hips shifted against his guitar. 

and even worse was the way your heartbeat would trip over itself every time haechan's eyes flickered over to you. never during a song, but in the moments between — mark's voice speaking through the mic, the rest of the boys checking on their instruments or interacting with the crowd. he would look over at you briefly, almost shyly, his heart-shaped lips creasing into a smile. 

"friends?" 

the moment you'd arrived home, you had pleaded with jaemin not to be upset with haechan, but it turned out you didn't need to. haechan had left a message the night of the party, and when you'd walked in looking more well rested and collected than you'd had in days, jaemin knew that you had been safe. you'd reassured him too, when he asked if keeping you from him only made things worse. both of you had needed that time to come to this conclusion. only time would tell if it was the right one. 

"so you're going to be friends with benefits?" jaemin raised his eyebrows. "was this his idea or yours?" 

"mine," you mumble. feeling the need to defend yourself, you raise your voice just slightly. "i just think that…i want to keep seeing him, and i want to get to know him…but i don't want him in that way. anymore," you add, when jaemin bites his lip.

"did you really lose feelings, or are you just not ready?" he asks, quietly. 

you force a laugh out of your chest. "you think i'd still have feelings for someone who hurt me that much?" you try to say it sarcastically, but you don't have the heart to. the words have no bite, and instead truth echoes in the spaces between.

"that's not the worst thing in the world, y/n." his voice is steady, and calm. "it's okay to take your time. if you remember that lying to yourself will only hurt more." 

but there are things to soothe the ache. 

"did you like the show?" 

haechan roughly tugs off his jacket, letting it slump off his shoulders and onto the floor. the moment the last song ended he'd rushed off stage and right to you, eyes blazing under his heavy makeup, the both of you stumbling into one of the small storerooms backstage. 

a single small lightbulb barely illuminates the small space, bathing you in warm light and shadow. shelves of boxes line most of the walls, except for a sliver of space that currently presses against your back, your fingers touching the cold surface. 

"it was good," you murmur. 

"yeah?" 

he's still hungry for more. you can see it in his eyes — for all his good girls and you're perfect, you knew he craved to be adored too. 

"you were right," you say, softly. "it feels different, watching as your friend." 

his smile falters.

"i…i like it more," you continue. "being in the wings…makes me want to get your attention." 

"you have my attention now, princess," he points out. he touches a hand to your waist. 

it's almost scary, how you slip back into old patterns. a heady rush filling your senses, slowly dragging you under. this is why i couldn't stop, you think, as he leans in ever closer, his eyes glazed over as his gaze slides to your lips. 

there's a beat. 

"i forgot to ask," he mumbles. "no possessiveness right?" 

your mind clears, just a bit. you nod, breathlessly. 

"what else?" he asks. looking at you, timidly, he asks. "can i…are pet names okay? can i still call you baby?" 

"baby's fine," you whisper. 

"princess?" 

"hmm?"

"no," he smiles fondly at you. "i was asking if calling you princess was okay." 

you want to bury your face in your hands. or his chest. "princess is fine." 

his smile grows wider, before he suddenly turns serious again. "are we starting anew?" he asks, hesitantly. "can i…can i bring up things from before? or are we pretending that this is our first time…" 

"no more pretending," you murmur, feeling like a hypocrite. "why? did you want to bring up something?"

"kind of," he nods towards the door. "just thought you're going to love this," he says, slyly. "hearing stage crew and bandmates walking by, knowing that at any point someone could hear us, someone could come in…"

and now you do bury your face in your hands, and when he reaches around to hug you, you lean against his chest, feeling his laugh vibrate against you, feeling you with warmth. 

"it's okay," he murmurs, as his hands slide down to squeeze your waist. "i won't play with them this time, baby. today's all about you, hm?" 

his hands falter, perhaps realizing the words were too tender, a little too loving for what you both claimed this would be. 

"lets try not to do anything…romantic?" you mumble. 

you regret the words as soon as you say them, your teeth biting into your lip sharply. 

haechan's face has shuttered down. you can't read his expression, as he nods, taking your hands in his and kissing them. 

"please." you look at him, this time taking the dive, feeling yourself free-falling towards that familiar desire, letting the current swallow you whole. "i need you." 

in spite of everything, haechan's lips are as gentle as they've always been. 

his lips brush yours, once, twice, before he locks in his kiss, hands trembling slightly as he touches the side of your face, cups you in his palms. you want to ask him what's wrong, pulling away slightly, but he makes a wounded sound from the back of his throat, pressing you against the wall, his head dipping to kiss you fiercely. his tongue slides against yours, and he groans low against your lips. 

your hands fumble on his shirt, skimming his broad shoulders, strong arms. he pants into your mouth when your drag your nails down his chest, breaking away. tugging his shirt roughly over his head, he grabs your hands and places them on his chest before leaning in to kiss you again, this time working his way down your neck, his wet kisses making your body shudder as you cling onto him for support. 

"please," you murmur, wondering why he was staying so silent. "please-" 

but he shakes his head, fingers tracing your jaw, tilting your head up so he lap his tongue over a newly formed bruise. the room is silent save for the sound of his lips, but you crave his voice, his words guiding you through everything, the lilting cadence of it. 

"haechan-" a foreign feeling spikes in your stomach as he ignores you, continuing to kiss his way down to your collarbones, fingers tugging your collar wide open. it felt like he wasn't there at all. 

he breathes heavy against your skin as he curls his hands around your hips, holding on tight. still he doesn't say a word, or even make a sound, as his caress the back of your thighs.

"stop-" you blurt out. roughly, you take his hands in yours, gripping them by the wrists. 

he lifts his head. 

"haechan," you start, but he just looks at you. your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. 

"haechan, you're scaring me." your voice is panicked and tight, the tension so overwhelming that tears begin to blur your vision, your chest rising and falling faster. 

"baby?" he asks, alarmed. "what's wrong?" 

"please talk to me," you beg, wiping away the tears on your cheek. the ache has soothed slightly at his voice, but you need more. "why…why aren't you talking? you always…you always used to-" 

"i'm sorry," he whispers, pulling your body into his, wrapping his bare arms around you. "i'm here," he soothes, in your ear. "i'm here," he mumbles again, and again, until your breathing calms down. 

"i'm sorry," he repeats, kissing you softly. "i'm here now, baby, okay?" 

you nod, and now you guide his hands to your thighs, feel the way his breathing hitches.

"can i…?" 

"please," you say, breathlessly, and his hand cups your warm core. 

"fuck," he blurts out. you were so warm, the seat of your panties completely soaked through. he slides them to the side with nimble fingers, inhaling sharply as he strokes your folds. 

"how are you so wet? fuck-" 

"take them off," you plead, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your skin. immediately, he tugs your panties and skirt down roughly, almost frustrated, barely waiting for you to step out of them before encouraging you to spread your legs wider as he strokes you, fingers dipping to catch at your entrance, your swollen clit. 

"so fucking wet," he marvels, groaning slightly as he swipes his fingers softly . 

"from watching you perform," you say, softly. 

the words send pleasure thrumming low in his navel. "yeah?" he murmurs, eyes meeting yours. 

slowly, he drops to his knees, and suddenly you feel hypersensitive — his breath on your thighs, hands gripping you tightly. he suckles a kiss close to your core, and you whine, loudly, the sound too loud in the small space. 

he looks up at you, sultry eyes framed in dark eyeliner. "let me hear you, baby," he coaxes, easing your legs open. he sticks out the tip of his tongue, and gives your clit a gentle flick, your hips bucking into his face before you can stop yourself. "i've been dreaming about this," he sighs, before he closes in and suckles on your clit. 

he lapped at you like all he'd done in your days apart was think about how best to do it — alternating between suckling on your clit, licking your folds with his tongue wide and flat, and prodding at your entrance. one hand keeping you pressed against the wall, his other slips around your entrance, sliding in one long finger, the way your walls suck him in making him moan, vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. you can feel the jut of his finger joints, the pad of his finger curling against your walls, while his tongue focuses on your clit, drawing shapes and letters expertly. 

you slump further against the wall, the pleasure making your legs shake, unable to hold yourself up, your hands tangled in his hair, knotting them around your fingers. 

"i can't stand-" you're cut off by a moan, as he bites into your thigh, licking up the wetness that stains them, a mix of your arousal and his saliva. "please," you wish you were on a bed, wish both of you had had more patience to go somewhere and do this right, feel the whole weight of his body on yours. 

"cum," he pants, sucking on your clit with his plush lips as he coaxes another finger into your warm, now mimicking a vibrating motion with his hand as he pushes in hard and fast. he doesn't break away even as he moans out, now curling his fingers languidly against your walls. "fuck, baby, i need you to cum now because i can't wait any longer-" 

his tongue presses onto your clit, and the pressure pushes you overboard. his hand the only thing keeping you upright, pushing roughly into you, he eats you out until your orgasm is over, kitten licking your clit as his head moves this way and that. you open your eyes and see him staring right at you, desire pulsing in his pupils, eyes blown out and dark. 

"good?" he breathes, both hands now gripping you tight. you nod, swallowing and gasping. his face is smeared with you, mouth and nose shining and glossy. he licks around his lips, mouth hanging open as his eyes glint. 

"more?" he asks, and you nod, gasping, falling to your knees. now, you're finally able to touch him, as your body crashes into his, causing him to nearly tip over from how he kneels, sitting back on his ankles to draw you into him. you kiss him deeply, letting his lips wrap around your tongue just the way you loved it, feel his hum vibrate against your own chest. 

his hands ghost under your shirt, and you help him pull it off, his hands cupping your breasts with his familiar touch, sucking kisses down your cleavage as you gasp for air. his hands roam your body indulgently, as if he was afraid you'd dissolve if he wasn't mapping your skin with his palms, his tongue, his lips. one hand trailing up and down your back, unclasping your bra, while the other squeezes the back of your thighs, resting his hand on your ass. 

he suckles on your nipples like he had all the time in the world, as if you weren't in a cramped store room feeling as if you were about to explode from his touch alone. gentle tongue drawing circles around the bud, eyes staring up at yours with devotion. your hips move against his, and his eyes flutter shut as he sighs, his hips starting to grind up against you as well. 

"turn around," he mumbles. "now, princess." 

"i want to see you," you protest, hands gripping onto his arms as he slowly walks forward on his knees, pushing you towards the wall. 

"i'm sorry, baby-" he kisses you, placatory and sweet. "we'll go again in my bedroom later, okay? need you like this now."

you let him maneuver you until you're facing the wall, legs spread apart as he kneels in between. trying to soothe you, he rubs a hand over your stomach, reminding you of his presence the entire time he rids himself of his jeans and underwear, rolling on a condom, tension building with every small sound, until you can feel something thick and heavy press between your legs. 

"haechan-" you pant, your back arching just slightly as you lean towards the wall for support, feeling his hand squeeze your hip. 

"i know," he mumbles, making slight shushing sounds as he eases himself against you. "i know, baby." 

even though he was behind you, you knew the face he would make as you felt his tip slowly push past your entrance, the way his eyebrows would float upwards as his eyes went unfocused, lips parting in a lovely 'ah- ah' that he tried hard to contain behind hisses and bitten lips. part of you still wants to see it, but all thoughts are lost as he fully sheaths himself into you, feeling him deep inside from the position. his hand on your hip creeps over to your navel, and he pushes gently over where he was buried inside you, the pressure somehow intensifying as you feel full from all sides. 

slowly, his body presses you further into the wall, and you gasp as the cool surface brushes your chest. he kisses the nape of your neck, and your body trembles, shifting against him and whining as you clench around him from sensitivity. behind you, haechan mumbles out a string of curses, hips jolting forward unsteadily before he stops himself. 

"please move," you whisper, and he moans, finally thrusting into you. he finds a rhythm that's slow and deep, feeling full and stretched out each time you throb around him. a particularly harsh thrust has you whining, your hips tilting towards the wall, trying to get away, but suddenly the solid weight of his body presses against you ever harsher as he rolls his hips, his chest pressed to your back. he feels stronger, and sturdier than he ever did before, as a hand creeps down to your clit and begins to rub slow and lazy circles, his body attuned to yours. you jolt away from the simulation, ass suddenly jolting back against his length, making you cry out again, sandwiched between pleasure. 

"don't run from it," he coaxes. "just take it, hm?" 

you had nowhere to go as he fucks himself into you, wet sounds filling the small space, and you're sure the floor is wet with your arousal, can feel your next climax approaching fast, making you forget about the ache in your knees and in the way your head pressed against the hard wall. you begin to shake in his hold, trying to fuck yourself back on his cock while he bullies your clit relentlessly, but once again his chest presses into you, strong arms holding you firmly in place as he overflows your body with pleasure, a hand slowly grasping yours and squeezing.

"i missed you, baby," he says, quietly, voice surprisingly steady despite the way he was ramming into you. "i really missed you." his lips brush the shell of your ear. 

you cum unexpectedly, crying out, squeezing tight around him as all the muscles in your body tense. your hand squeezes tight around his as the other rubs quick circles on your clit, working you through your orgasm. you can feel him still behind you as he cums too, whining in a pitch and tone you'd never heard from him before, desperate and achy as you clench around him again from the sound, so sensual that it rekindles a fire inside you despite the soreness in all your limbs. 

your weak hands fumble against him, scrabbling against his strong grip. he pulls out with a hiss, helping you turn around to face him. in the semi-darkness, you can see the concern pooling in his eyes, bright and scared. 

"was it too rough?" he asks, breathlessly. his hands skim your frame, pulling you onto his lap. 

you shake your head, nuzzling into him. you're torn between watching that silvery glow in his eyes, makeup smudged around all his corners, and burying yourself deep inside his chest until you can feel his heartbeat on your cheek. 

"baby? are you alright?" he rubs gentle circles on your back, as you nod. "use your words, please," he says, softly. 

"you got stronger," you blurt out. 

"did i hurt you?" he moves against you, something protective in the way he holds you that makes your body sing with warmth. 

"no," you say shyly. "i loved it." 

you lift your head just quick enough to catch the way his face crumples. before you can ask, he leans in and he's kissing you again — soft, gentle, sweet and almost shy. when you part, he looks dazed, eyes drifting down to your lips and wandering back up to your eyes. 

"you deserve better," he says, quietly. 

he looks down, at the way you're sitting in his lap, and then tilts his head sharply to look around the store room, as if he meant you deserved better than this for your first time back with him. as if this was about sex at all. 

you take a deep breath, and shake your head. "haechan, you're exactly what i deserve." 

the name rings out in the space. it seems to ground him, and he shakes his head to clear it, slowly untangling himself from you as he gets ready to help you up. 

you swallow. "take me home," you tell him. "take care of me." 

he does exactly as you say. 

—

attention simmers on your skin, a palpable heat you're unable to shake. 

girls circle the kitchen island like sharks, eyes glinting under the fluorescent lights, but they're never able to come close as it's so clear haechan's focus is entirely on you. haechan's back is turned to the party as he sits on the counter, long legs spilling over and the muscles in his thick thighs accentuated by the way he sits, denim stretched tight and each gaping hole making you doubt your decision to come to the party here, instead of going over to his home. 

it was his party, and he should go. the fans would be upset if he didn't at least show. now you were seriously regretting it, as you ducked your head to avoid the glare of another crowd as they passed by, while haechan knocked back another drink. 

he had been alight with energy ever since the show ended — agreeing amiably when you suggested going to the party, his smile only wavering when you reminded him he couldn't get jealous. and while your eyes wandered around the party, drinking in the scenes you hadn't seen in awhile, he was doing everything in his power to keep your attention on him, camera strap hanging from his neck as he clicked through the photos, pointing out the parts where jaemin had helped him, explaining the stories behind the pictures. 

"i didn't know you were into photography." it's a stupid statement, that you want to retract immediately. of course you didn't – you didn't know much about him at all. but it makes him smile a little proudly, clicking on the dial to speed through the photos. 

"yeah well, i've never taken a photo of you." he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. "i know for sure because when we…you know…when we weren't seeing each other, and i missed you…" his cheeks are burning up, his mouth barely moving as he tries to fumble through the rest of the sentence, plush lips swallowing his words. "i couldn't find any photos of you. on my camera or in my phone or…" he trails off. 

your heart thrums harder in your chest. "yeah?" 

"do…do you have photos of me?" he asks. timidly, softly. his eyes trained on his camera, unseeing, breath held in his chest waiting for your answer.

"of course i do," you murmur. you hope he can hear the smile in your voice, know that it's for him.  "rockstar." 

his fingers twitch, and he looks up at you, a searing intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before, flames licking at your cheeks as you hold his gaze, a warmth that sparks down your spine like fireworks. the sounds of the party fade away, sealing you in the vacuum of his attention.

"y/n,"  his voice drops an octave, all the softness drained out of it. 

"haechan?" 

"let me take a photo of you," he murmurs. "please." 

"now?" 

"no, not now," he says, slowly. "you know what i mean, princess." 

but you never get to clarify, because someone taps you lightly on the shoulder. haechan's eyes flicker behind you, all the intensity faded out, and it feels like your lungs fill with air again as you turn to see jisung, holding two cups in his hands, one of which he's holding out to you. 

you're torn between crushing guilt, and relief that he doesn't hate you. 

"j-jisung," you splutter. "jisung, hi." 

"hi, y/n." he smiles, nudging the cup towards you again, and you take it. almost against your will, your eyes dart over to haechan, but his face is impassive and neutral, camera laying forgotten on his lap as he turns quickly to survey the party behind him. was he trying to offer you privacy, or was he upset? 

you sip from the drink, trying not to make a face at the overwhelming sweetness that floods your tastebuds. the boy had barely put any alcohol in it. your hand almost inches towards the cup haechan made for you, wanting to balance out the taste, before you stop yourself. 

you didn't want to hurt his feelings again. 

"it's been a while," you say, sheepishly. "and again, i'm really sorry about last time."

"it's okay," he says, cheerfully. "haechan already apologised. besides, you can make it up to me on our date."

jisung's words have a physical effect on haechan. you feel him tense up behind you, body going stiff as he turns back to watch you, eyes trained on the side of your face. 

"you still owe me a date." you don't know if it's determination, or sheer recklessness, that inspired jisung to say this to you as you stood in the kitchen with haechan just inches away, the side of his thigh still brushing your waist. "are you free tomorrow night?" 

you try your best not to look at haechan. he had no right to care, you didn't owe him anything. you didn't know what you wanted to see on his face either way — whether his jealousy would make you angry, whether his sadness would hurt you instead. 

"i am," you agree, hesitantly, and jisung's close-lipped smile blooms. 

—

"you know there are other boys out there right? that there's a world beyond the band?" 

"shut up, jaemin," you mumble, checking your reflection in the dressing room mirror one last time. 

"this is good for you." his tone has changed, as he leans against the locked door. "jisung is nice. i hope it works out." 

tonight's show had been different. jaemin had reluctantly confirmed that it wasn't just your imagination — the way haechan was quieter throughout, more self-conscious in his performance, eyes barely scanning the crowd, taking longer glances at you throughout the show. jisung's confidence, on the other hand, poured off him in waves, his jacket unzipped, gums showing as he smiled wide. 

"i know." you sling your bag across your body, adjusting your skirt, as you turn to face him, taking a deep breath. "i'm really giving him a chance, jaemin. i'm…i'm taking this seriously, even if you don't believe me." it wasn't a lie. you barely knew anything about jisung, and jisung barely knew anything about you — but he was always sincere and sweet, quietly brave under his shyness. you couldn't forget the way he looked at you even with haechan by your side. it made you want to give him a chance too.

"i believe you," he reassures. "good luck, okay?" the door unlatches with a small click, and he gives you one last wave before heading out into the corridor. 

your eyes dart back to your reflection one last time before you turn back, satisfied with your appearance, and start towards the door. you barely take a step before there's a creak, and you think it's jaemin coming back, or perhaps jisung, wondering why you took so long. 

but of course, things are never easy. 

a familiar face enters the room, pushing the door open wide. he doesn't bother to close it, just takes you in for a second — eyes sweeping your frame, taking in your jewelry, the hints of makeup on your skin, your clothes, your neat hair. dejavu crawls over your skin, remembering the first time you'd met jisung, the way haechan had cornered you in the dressing room after, too. you tense your shoulders, preparing for the fight. 

"you look nice," he says, quietly. 

your lips part. "haechan-" 

but before you can speak, he's blurting out his next words. "j-jisung's going to love it," he stammers out, shadows flickering in his gaze as he swallows, throat bobbing. "i… i just came here to say good luck." at your surprised expression, his lips curve up into a sad smile. "that…that's what friends do, right?" 

"yeah." your hands grip onto the sling of your bag tightly, afraid of what your hands would do if you let go. 

"i'm going to go now," he mumbles. "i…have fun, y/n." 

there isn't a trace of sarcasm in his tone, his eyes soft and fond. he leaves before you can say another word, not closing the door behind him. you can hear his boots all the way down the corridor, can hear him disappear up the stairs. 

you try not to think about his voice, as you take the back exit out of the venue, see jisung standing in the warm summer night, smiling under a streetlight. try not to dwell on the fact that haechan might have actually wished the best for you – no more layers of pretense under pretense, no more feelings without reason. 

it's easier said than done.

—

two hours pass, your food gone from your plates, only the dregs of your drinks left in their glasses, before jisung finally clears his throat. 

"this isn't working out, is it?" 

"i'm sorry," you say, biting your lip. you'd walked to see a movie, something jisung had picked out, but had been mind-numbingly dull to you. you settled to watch his reactions instead, the way his hands flew over his eyes at the more intense scenes, the way he bit down on his fingers when the tension spiked. it was cute, but less so when he started asking you questions about the movie, and you had to admit you didn't remember any part of the plot past the first 20 minutes. 

late night dinner hadn't been better, each topic running itself to the ground quickly, your opinions and lack of opinions causing each conversation to crash to an uncomfortable halt. good things take time, had been jaemin's text to you when you asked for help. you were sure that jisung and you weren't acting like your true selves, the prospect of the date altering the way you talked and responded to each other, until you'd finally come to the conclusion that perhaps you just weren't compatible. 

"i really thought this would work out," jisung says, a tinge of sadness coloring his words. 

"i wanted it to," you confess. selfishly, you had almost been excited at the prospect of things working out with jisung — needing confirmation that you could still feel for others. excited for the date leading to the next, to fall in love with surety. 

excited to find the first relationship, the first 'you and i' that haechan seemed to think you deserved. 

"it's okay," jisung reaches out, pats your hand clumsily, shyly, as if surprised that reaching towards you meant he actually got to touch you  "i didn't know much about you when i asked you out, anyway. just thought you were really pretty." he looks mortified again, and it makes you laugh — everything about him still endearing.

"do you want to just be friends?" you ask, gently. 

it's like a weight lifts from the conversation, and he sighs, relieved. "yeah," he echoes. "friends." 

the silence that follows is a lot more peaceful. jisung slumps slightly in his seat, like the tension has left his body. his deep voice somehow still manages to sound timid when he speaks up next. 

"since we're friends…" 

you nod, encouragingly, taking a last sip of your drink. 

"can i ask…do you like haechan?" 

you nearly choke. jisung was looking at you carefully, although he smiled at the expression on your face. 

"a-are you sure you want to talk about this?' you stammer. 

he shrugs, but there's something unreadable in his expression. "i'll always be curious about it, and i guess this is my chance to ask." 

you don't have the heart to answer him directly. 

"i…i used to," you say, slowly. "but that was when i didn't know him." 

"know him?" he asks, confused. 

you nod. "yeah. i didn't really know him as a person….just…knew the performance, i guess." 

jisung still looks confused, but he nods along. "well, do you know him now?" 

you think of the sunlight in his living room. the faint dimple on his cheek as he showed you a photo of his sister running towards the camera, her face alight as she called out for her big brother. his arms around you in the kitchen, as he asked you to stay. the slope of his neck as he turns towards you at the end of a song — the fading sound of his guitar as his eyes sought yours. 

"maybe," you say, softly. 

"and?" jisung prompts. "could you like him now?" 

you don't answer him aloud, but your unspoken words ring in your head. 

—

it's different this time, haechan tells himself, as he grips his phone in his hands. 

it's different this time, because he knew where you were. he knew why you weren't calling. 

he slumps back against his bed, his body heavy with alcohol but his mind racing wild, each thought outpacing the next. 

the apartment was silent and empty. both jeno and mark were gone for the night. haechan hadn't bothered to go to the party, knowing that he would feel jisung's absence like a pain lodged in his ribs. he wonders if jisung will bring you home, here, whether you'd let him, even if he knew jisung wasn't the type of boy to go further than hand-holding on the first date. he thinks of it anyway — of hearing your sounds through his bedroom wall. whether it would make you needier to know haechan was listening. 

he feels like a loser. he's never felt more uncomfortable in his own skin, more unclean, more ashamed. but then again, there's no one around to know, as he lets his mind wander a little farther, away from you and jisung, away from his phone, sinking deep into the last time he'd touched your skin, images and sensations jumping out eagerly at him when he closed his eyes. flicks through moments that caused a heat to lick down his spine, the familiar hum of pleasure buzzing low in his navel — your legs on his shoulders, your hands in his hair. your taste, the patterns he would draw on your body so you'd shake just the way he liked, the spot on your neck he could kitten-lick to feel you tense up all around him. 

that night, even after he'd fucked you in the store room, you had been insatiable. 

he'd tried to touch you like the other girls he used to play with — never speaking much, preferring to use his mouth for other things, let their own imaginations run wild with what he could be thinking behind his hooded eyes. he'd taken you with your face turned away from him, pleasure without intimacy, sucking bruises as a keepsake for you after the night ended, not as if you were his to keep or to lose. 

let's try not to do anything romantic. 

but then you'd begged him to talk to you. told him to take you home. he'd hated it — hated the way you folded for him, like someone had given him powers he couldn't help abuse. do you know how tender this is for me? he'd wanted to ask, as he was touching you again in his sheets back home, racing to meet your every demand before you asked for it. 

your legs parted for him as he entered you, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure to watch your every expression, the look he'd been dying to see — your eyelashes fluttering, lips parted silently, the sharp gasp as he found your soft spot, your hands scrabbling against his skin. he held your gaze even as he let you wrap your legs around his waist, ankles locked in a sweetheart's cross behind him as he pushed your legs even higher, letting him in deeper. he'd never imagined himself with anyone like this before — a position so full of love and closeness, feeling your body and ripple against his, leaning in to kiss your lips softly, kiss away your desperation. 

he'd almost gone crazy when you found your voice amidst all the pleasure. 

"donghyuck," you'd breathed, saying the name like a prayer. "feels so good." 

he had stilled, slowing to a stop, even though he was painfully hard in you. his heart racing in his chest, pounding so hard he felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

"you," you mumbled, slowly grinding your hips against him. "you make me feel so good, 's like no one else-"  

"yeah?" he picks up the pace again, tilting your body at an angle now so he could go even deeper, watches the way your face changes. he was the one who pulled that sound from your chest — sated but desperate at the same time, needy but satisfied. "i make you feel this good, right? i'm good for you, everything's for you-" he babbled, not making sense to even himself, your praise burying itself deep inside him like a siren song. 

you'd choked out more praises, pretty words tumbling from your parted lips, your eyes never leaving his. 

"more, hyuck-" you pulled at him, nails scratching down his back. "hyuck-" 

it's like he can hear your voice, as his hand slides down to his hip, down to his leaking cock. 

he jerks himself off like that — to the images of you pressed under him, your voice calling his name. he does it fast, with no finesse — tugging roughly, the slide too dry, but he doesn't care about drawing out the pleasure, doesn't think it matters if you're not here with him. 

he feels even filthier after he finishes — peeling off his soiled shirt, as he stumbles to the bathroom. he knows he won't hear from you tonight, that you wouldn't do that to jisung, but still he keeps his phone unlocked with the ringer on next to his bed as he lays down again. 

maybe he would wake up, and you would tell him he could never see you or touch you again. his mind wanders in another direction now, away from your body, away from pleasure — to the ways you made his heart squeeze tight in his chest. when you said his name. when you'd comforted him as he was crying, the kindness in your eyes despite all the ways he hurt you. sitting on the kitchen counter, thinking of ways to keep you with him as your eyes wandered off. look at me, he'd wanted to beg. think of me. just me. 

he goes to sleep thinking about how this could be the last night before you'd really only exist in memory and fantasy, before everything changes.

@neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @makiswrld @itskkung @simpforarmihn @aryraaaa @rbf-aceu @laubyrinthine @yujuvly @nctevia @hyuckenjoyer @guhhfgbbj @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @kasperneo @eneiyri @toroufriteh @cauliephays @jisoung @niinjo @wonaoi @yuskitty @strawbabyz @readingisgodly @daegalfangirl @minkyuncutie @feat-sun @chaoticstrawberryland @shawnyle @sofix-hc7 @scftharu @spageddy @adorejaehyn @manooffline @02mrk @tyongspice1 @runahways @neosdaisy @hotmessexpress35

[sadiestarrs]

Cherry Red

Warnings: swearing, mean ellie, mentions of sex

A/N: i got this idea from another fic umm. it is proofread, but criticism is always accepted!! this one lowkey hurt. also i made edits to this fic but tumblr decided to glitch and delete them all so if this is bad, my apologies 🙏😞

Plot: ellie is a guitarist and the most popular in her group, but the attention has become too much, especially for you

Word count: 1115

Standing in between hundreds of screaming girls was not where you imagined yourself five years ago, especially not when you got with Ellie. Back then, she was practising guitar, doing small gigs at cafés and jazz bars late into the night. You attended everyone, that’s how you met her. Your friends had invited you on a night out, and she immediately caught your eye, playing one of your favourite songs.

From that day on, you’d showed up every night you were free and soon started to get noticed. One thing led to another, going on a few dates, sharing mutual friends, watching them create a band, and finally seeing them achieve their goals, a sold-out stadium. But now was when it set in. You were never claustrophobic, but your position made you think otherwise.

Bodies swarmed around yours, the screaming increasing when Ellie started her solo. You weren’t mad at how many people liked her, not at all – even though you were technically her first fan.

Something wasn’t right about this concert, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. You felt it in your core. A strange, sickening feeling.

Your vision tried to steady on Ellie, who was focused on each chord and strum of her guitar. The guitar you bought her. Despite being a broke college student, you still wanted to show Ellie that you cared and believed in her career, so you bought her the same cherry red guitar she held in her hands at that moment.

It was as if she loved the guitar more than you, funnily enough. It hung on the wall above your shared bed. She would dust it regularly, making sure that the strings were tuned, only using it during concerts. When she practised, it would be her older guitar, the same one she used the night you met her.

Now as you watched her kill the solo, like she did every time, you waited for the end, the moment when she would find you in the crowd during the last chord, almost dedicating the song to you. But it didn’t happen. Her eyes scanned for someone else. Her hand reached for another girl.

Up on stage was someone you had seen before, long jet-black hair, dark eyeliner, ripped jeans and a crop top. Her ex. She had brought her ex on stage. The band knew about you, how could they let this happen? How could they–how could she embarrass you like that?

Her ex takes the guitar and begins her own riff, something they had definitely planned behind your back. Questions rampaged through your mind. You were at almost every practice and rehearsal. Were they meeting up separately? You choke up, watching the scene unfold in front of you.

Ellie whispers something in her ear, holding her by the waist as she nods in response. The crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering. It was meant to be you on stage. She was meant to hold you. Her ex takes the neck of the guitar, turning it upside down and smashing it into the floor.

You lose count of the number of times they pass it between them, causing more damage than the last. A strong urge to empty your guts washes over you, pushing through the crowd, not caring who gets elbowed in the face.

The dressing room is filled with buzzing from outside, but it’s 100% better than watching your girlfriend smash a prized possession you bought her. Every answer your mind came up with wasn’t good enough. It didn’t make sense. Why? Why? Why?

Why would she do that to you? Your relationship had been strained for a few days after an argument over rehearsals. You barely spent time together any more, she was always out practising, even missing the dates you had planned.

This started a conversation about whether she cared about her career more than the relationship. You didn’t want to believe it but all your worries seemed to come true. Her added fame and success made things more difficult.

The time when she gave a group of VIP fans a tour backstage and bonded a bit too much with one of them sparked through your brain. It reminded you of what was happening on stage before you left. And now the show was over.

✦

Her bandmates come into the room before her, filling the space with awkwardness when they see you. None of them speak, going through the motions of drinking water, packing away instruments, and checking their phones without so much as an apology.

All of them knew about this but didn’t feel the need to tell you. You blamed them as much as you blamed Ellie. To think that you were the reason they were in that position now. If it wasn’t for you bringing them together, another band would be in their place.

“So no one wanted to tell me what Ellie was planning?”

Your question is met with even more silence, everyone looking awkwardly between themselves.

“We didn’t know—”

The door is pushed, followed by Ellie, now smiling with her ex directly behind her. She senses the tension in the air and motions for the others to leave. The three of you stand in silence for an eternity before Ellie finally says, “I can tell that you’re mad.”

Mad? That was the biggest understatement. Her ex doesn’t make eye contact, still standing behind her, hands folded across her chest.

“Are you fucking stupid?”

Maybe it was harsh, but there was no other way to convey your emotions. “Can I explain myself before we start throwing insults around? It was a prank. That wasn't the actual guitar.”

From a supply closet, she brings out the case and unzips it to reveal the guitar, still in perfect condition. No thought formed properly in your mind. Nothing made sense. It was a sick prank, something that made you physically ill.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Ellie?”

“This conversation won't go anywhere if you keep insulting her.” She had the audacity to speak to you. This was her fault, not just Ellie’s. What sane person would do something like that?

“This conversation is between me and my girlfriend. You know what? You two can have each other.” You push past them, slamming the door in the process.

Why was this happening? Did you piss off God? Were you paying for a mistake you made years ago? Whatever it was, it didn't make sense. What went through Ellie’s head to do that to you?

No one bothers going after you. Fortunately, you're able to grab a cab and go back to the hotel.

Where you were staying with Ellie.

[heartfullofleeches]

Consider, male secretary darling, summoned by accident to work in an office of demons ☝️🤑

Male secretary darling who starts off his new career as a jobless nobody down on his luck searching for whatever opportunity is handed to him. The ad that popped up in his email said it was a janitorial position. Pay was pretty decent too- Not much information beyond that and a phone number, but he's sure the finer details will be laid out once he makes the call.

"Jan-it-or? Ohhhh, yea we just put whatever on those ads so people will answer. You'd be surprised by how quickly your kind try to quit. What you'll be doing is far easier than whatever that is!"

"What is the job then?"

"Well, you already seem good at talking over the phone. Do you think you can manage a coffee machine?"

"I guess."

"And do you think you would good in a skirt?"

"....I guess?"

"Perfect! Then your employment begins....immediately. Happy to have you apart of the team!"

That was weird- Darling goes to hang up his phone only to find the four corners of his bedroom morphed into the walls of an office lobby. Fright and panic ensues, intensified by the unholy beasts sitting on either side of him. What appears to be a woman missing the top part of her head applies another coat of lipstick to her plump lips on his right- a lanky figure wrapped in medical bandages rehearsing its resume to a decapitated head in its many hands on his left-

This is all a dream?

" 'fraid not, fresh meat. You are one of few mortals to have the privilege to work here at our lucrative place of business. Us demons need some way to manage all the work we do up top with your kind. Our glorious boss came up with the idea for our company eons ago- Modern times call for modern changes and all that."

"Can. Can you explain the reason by the skirt thing you asked me about?"

"Company policy. Best to leave it at that."

The higher ups take an immediate liking to their new toy. For one thing, the fear wears off after his second day on the job. He really needs the money after and they can't be that much worse than his old colleagues. An additional bonus is how well he wears that skirt of his. The way it clings to his figure, how it rides up his thigh when he picks up something a coworker "accidentally" dropped on the floor. A soul with a body that appetizing was ripe for the picking-unfortunately company policy forbid them from striking a deal with their favorite mortal. Hardly any of them want to get rid of Darling with how willing to please he is- doing everything he can to fulfill their needs in a professional sense. If only that meant joining them or a date or allowing those with tails to sneak the appendage beneath his skirt during office hours.

Even the big boss himself has a soft spot for the new secretary- Dialing back his authoritive demeanor in favor of greeting the human with the gentleness he deserves.

(I'm rocking with this, y'all want more?)

[babyleostuff]

PHOTOGRAPH | JEON WONWOO

based on "photograph" by Ed Sheeran

SYNOPSIS | Wonwoo knew dating as an idol would be almost impossible, yet he was ready to take the risk. Unfortunately, you were the definition of "right person, wrong time". PAIRING | idol!wonwoo x fem!reader GENRE | angst WORD COUNT| 2.8k

natalia's note | this is wonwoo's pov from this fic, though it can be read as a stand alone

Wonwoo never cared about relationships - he thought goodmorning texts were overrated, planning dates seemed too tiresome, and he didn’t see the appeal of letting someone else wear his hoodies and sweaters. Besides, he was too busy with work and it was hard to focus on anything else than the neverending schedules. He couldn’t remember the last time he got more than five hours of sleep. 

At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

Dating in the industry was hell on earth, he knew that. Wonwoo had witnessed careers end and lifes get destroyed just because people fell in love. So, he made a promise to himself that that would never happen to him - he wouldn’t allow himself to fall for anyone, and spare himself the trouble of a broken heart and a ruined career. He didn’t care that he had no one to cuddle at night, no one to hug, no one to kiss, no one to call during tour. 

And then you came, and changed his entire world. You became his everything, his little ray of sunshine - you were the first person he looked for in the crowd during their concerts, the first person he ran to on the backstage, the first person he called after they won an award. For the first time in his life he felt complete. 

“I’m sorry. It wouldn’t have worked out either way.”

He didn't even want to imagine the look on your face when he said it. Through the fucking phone. 

Wonwoo was on the verge of throwing up, but he knew that if he didn’t end it now, he’d never do it. He spent the last week crying before falling asleep from exhaustion in the night, and quickly wiping the tears that rolled down his cheeks during the day - he knew what he had to do, or both of your lives would get destroyed, and that’s something he’d never be able to live with. 

“Wonwoo, can I talk to you?” He didn’t know what to expect when their manager approached him in the middle of their rehearsal, but he definitely didn’t expect to hear that he had to break up with you, or his work and your safety would be on the line.

Wonwoo pulled the phone back from his ear, and with a shaky finger pressed the red button. 

That would be the last time he’d ever talk to you. 

We keep this love in a photograph We made these memories for ourselves Where our eyes are never closing Hearts are never broken And time's forever frozen still

Wonwoo didn’t bother with picking up his suitcase from the trunk, he knew Mingyu would pick it up for him. It generally seemed that he couldn’t be bothered with anything other than drinking himself into oblivion and crying until he passed out from exhaustion ever since he broke up with you. All of that just so he'd try to erase every possible memory he had of you together. 

With heavy shoulders, and a headache, Wonwoo shut the door to his room behind him, enveloping himself in the darkness. Usually, you’d already be there, dressed in one of his hoodies, lying on his side of the bed because you fell asleep while waiting for him. He’d tuck you in, making sure you were warm and comfortable, before he’d take a quick shower and unpack some of his stuff, so he wouldn’t have to worry about it in the morning. 

The absence of you in his bed didn't hurt as much as what he saw on his bookshelves and desk, though - countless photos of you from trips, nights spent together in your apartment, photos from parties with the guys and their girlfriends, and pictures he took especially with you in mind. 

His favourite one had to be the one from Japan, when you and the rest of the seventeen girlfriends flew out to Tokyo and surprised them after they won the daesang. You were all huddled on the floor of the hotel room, trying to fit in the picture, as all of you had your arms wrapped around each other, smiles on your faces. Wonwoo could practically hear your laughter, as DK almost knocked the table down, because Seungkwan pushed him to be sure he’d be in the frame. 

“Move your ass, I want to be in the picture!” Seungwan yelled, digging his elbow into Seokmin's stomach. 

“You are, you idiot. Can’t you see that half of your face is in the frame? Stop hitting me!” DK yelled back, pushing Seungwan in return. 

Neither of you knew what was ahead of you at the time, and Wonwoo couldn’t stand the look of love in your eyes, he couldn’t stand the way he was shamelessly staring at you with nothing but adoration, like none of the other twenty people in the picture existed. 

“Fuck!” Wonwoo yelled, slamming the photo against the floor, breaking the glass. 

“Wonwoo, are you okay?” Mingyu knocked on his door a second later, making him wonder how long his friend had been standing there. “Just leave me alone,” Wonwoo said, his voice breaking, as the first tears started falling. He was surprised he was still able to cry, considering how much he was doing that for the past few days. 

“Leave me… alone.” 

So you can keep me Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet You won't ever be alone

“I miss you.” 

Wonwoo couldn’t see your face, but he knew you were pouting. He giggled to himself, and nuzzled his face further into the pillow like a lovesick teenager, smashing his glasses against his face in the process.

“I miss you too, baby,” he said, picking up his phone from the bed, as if it would make him feel any closer to you. “But I’ll be home in a week.” A week too long. 

He could hear you sigh angrily, as you started your usual rant about why overseas schedules shouldn’t be longer than five days, giving him a recap of the list you have written down in your notes app. “You can laugh as much as you want, Jeon Wonwoo, but I’m suffering here.” 

There was nothing else for him but to laugh at your sulking tone, he loved how you didn’t have any limits when it came to him and dissing his schedules. “Do you have the book I gave you before I left?” Wonwoo asked, and immediately heard some shuffling, as if you were getting up from the bed. 

“Of course, but I’m not in the mood for reading,” you sighed. To be honest, you were rarely in the mood for reading - you preferred being read to. Specifically by Wonwoo. Definitely not because you were addicted to his deep and velvety voice, at least that's what you were telling him. 

Wonwoo knew better. 

“Go get it and open it,” Wonwoo said with a soft smile on his lips, laughing when he heard your annoyed groan.

He waited patiently for you to find the book and discover a photo booth picture you thought you had lost a while ago. You took it on one of your first dates, and Wonwoo knew how much you loved that photo, so he was over the moon when he found it laying under the bookshelf when he was cleaning your room. 

“How? What? Wonwoo?” you gasped, and he couldn’t help but laugh at your surprised reaction. 

“I found it some time ago, but forgot to tell you.”

He heard you sigh quietly, and from what he could judge it wasn’t a happy sigh. “Now I feel even more alone.” 

“Baby,” Wonwoo murmured, his tone matching your sad one. “We only have a week left, you won’t even notice when I’ll be back.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

And if you hurt me That's okay, baby, only words bleed Inside these pages, you just hold me And I won't ever let you go

“You said you’d be home!” 

This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go, not at all. You had been planning this date for a while now - it wasn’t anything big, just a homemade dinner and a movie, but any moment spent together was special for you, so it didn’t really matter what you did. And what could be better than to prepare a nice meal together and then eat it cuddled under fluffy blankets, while watching a bad movie you could both make fun of. 

If only Wonwoo’s practice didn’t run late. 

“I’m sorry, but I told you my phone ran out of battery," he said, pointing at his dead phone helplessly. “And we really were busy, baby. You know how the comeback season is,” he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. 

“I know, but if you really cared about me you’d make sure to at least text me. I was waiting for four hours Wonwoo, it’s literally 1 am!” You said, your tone getting angrier and angrier. 

Wonwoo understood why you were angry, he wasn't surprised, but he thought that maybe you would be a little more understanding. On the other hand, he knew how much you were looking forward to this date, he was waiting for it himself, and the fact that he didn't even text you certainly didn't make the situation better. 

“Sweetheart, please,” he tried reaching for your hand, but the second his fingers touched yours you pulled away. 

“You're a bad boyfriend Wonwoo, you ditched me like I was nothing.” 

Your voice was full of venom and Wonwoo couldn't help the slight pain he felt in his chest. Your words when you were angry always hurt him like hell, but he didn't expect to hear something like that. He knew you didn't mean it, of course you didn't - you were angry, tired, hungry, and Wonwoo knew it was pointless to blame you for your words. He loved you too much to do it. 

But before he could say anything, he felt your arms around his neck. 

“I’m so sorry, Wonwoo. I didn’t mean it, I’m so stupid,” you mumbled into his neck. “I love you, I’m sorry,” you kept repeating. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he ran his hand over your arm, cradling the back of your head with the other. “We both messed up a bit, but it’s okay, baby.” 

“I'm just afraid that one day I'll say something stupid enough to make you leave me,” you whispered, as if you were afraid that if you said it a little louder, your words would become true.

"Just hold me, baby, and I promise I'll never let you go."

Now Wonwoo would give anything to hear even the worst insults about him from you. He tilted the glass to his mouth, which turned out to be empty - just like the whiskey bottle he had taken from Mingyu, not that the younger minded. Or maybe he did, but Wonwoo didn't care much. He snorted and put the empty glass on the night table, from which he took a photo framed in a black frame instead.

Your faces were covered with a white face masks and your heads were adorned with pink cat headbands, and even though you were definitely too close to the camera, to the point where the photo was blurry and unclear, Wonwoo could still see your wide smile perfectly. 

It was from the date Wonwoo surprised you with a few days after your failed one. It was one of the best nights of his life.

Oh, you can fit me Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen Next to your heartbeat where I should be Keep it deep within your soul

“You know my ex boyfriend got me this, right?” You raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him sceptically.

“Baby, you were sixteen then,” Wonwoo flicked your nose. "I will not be jealous of your great love at the age of sixteen."

You muttered something under your breath, frowning at him adorably. “If you want, I can buy you a new one,” he said, pointing to your necklace.

“No,” you muttered, not looking at him. Cute. "I like it."

"Exactly, so stop whining and let me put the picture in," he couldn't help but smile as he looked at the photo of himself in your necklace, resting right above your heart.

“You picked out the worst picture of me there is, I hate you,” you groaned, hitting your head against his chest.

“Well, I love it, and that’s what matters. Now,” Wonwoo grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles. "I’ll always be with you."

When I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me Under the lamppost back on Sixth street Hearing you whisper through the phone "Wait for me to come home"

Wonwoo looked around his bedroom with droopy eyes (was it from crying, alcohol or tiredness he didn't know), which less than three weeks ago was full of life - full of you. 

The knowledge that he would never see you again weighed on him like a stone on his heart, but even so - Wonwoo didn’t want to forget you, no matter how much it hurt. He wasn't even sure he could even if he wanted to, you were present in every corner of this room - your pillow still smelled of your perfume, there were your skincare products on his desk, which you never kept in the bathroom for some reason, and your sweater was still lying on the back of the chair in the corner because you were too lazy to put it in the wardrobe. 

Wonwoo grabbed his phone with a trembling hand, its screen lighting up and displaying a wallpaper with a photo of you that he took right before he left for the tour. You were in bed, your hair messy and dishevelled, your eyes still closed and your lips in a sweet pout - you didn't even know he took the photo, but Wonwoo couldn't help himself. 

"Won, you said you'd wake me up," you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow and duvet that covered almost your entire head.

“But you're not sleeping,” he said quietly with a smile, brushing strands of hair from your face.

You murmured something, pulling the covers over your head. Wonwoo couldn't help but laugh at your silly antics - he loved how clingy you got whenever he had to leave early in the mornings, you were like a cuddly teddy bear that wanted all the hugs in the world. “You know what I mean. I wanted to help you get ready to leave,” you complained from under the covers.

"I love you, baby, and I love it when you help me, but right now I'd much rather have you get some sleep."

“But I'm going to miss you,” you groaned, poking your head out from under the covers.

“It's only a week and a half,” he said and kissed your forehead gently.

Unconsciously, Wonwoo raised his fingers to his lips. Was that really your last kiss?

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, running a hand over his face. There was one more thing he had left of you - your voicemails. With a shaky finger he pressed on the last voicemail you sent him, a day before he broke up with you. The second he heard your voice it was like he magically sobered up - his mind was clear as day, and it immediately took him back in time to when the only thing he looked forward to was coming home to you. 

"Hi baby, I know you’re sleeping already, but I just wanted to record a little message, so you have something nice to wake up to. These first few days apart are so hard, I really miss you, especially at night. I got so used to our little bedtime routine that the house feels so quiet and empty without you, like something is missing, you know? You’re going to call me a hypocrite, but you know what else I’m missing right now? The light from your computer when you game late at night and I can’t sleep because of it. Or how I have to beg for you to come to bed for at least two hours, before you finally do. (laugh). I really do miss your bed hair, though. Now with them being so long too, you look so cute. (laugh)."

"But you know, last night, and don’t make fun of me, but I had to put on your hoodie to sleep because I missed your smell, I thought about the first time you left for tour since we got together. I remember how you walked me home after our date because it was late, and you were so adorably awkward. You still are. Anyways, we stood under that lamppost right by my house, and we were talking for a bit, and I remember how sad I was that you had to leave. I know you were too but didn’t want to show it, my strong baby. And then you kissed me. (pause) I will always remember how you kissed me under that lamppost. And how you said “wait for me to come home”. "

"I’ll always wait for you, Wonwoo. No matter what."

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo

[vivwritesfics]

Daddy Ricciardo

Just some Danny Ric marriage/parent headcannons. Fluffy AF

Have you ever met somebody so in love with their girlfriend that it consumes their entire being?

Well, if you're friends with Daniel Ricciardo, you certainly have

Daniel was utterly obsessed with Y/N when they were dating

He brought her along to every race and showed her off whenever he got the chance

Any Y/N fan pages were probably run by him

Daniel was obviously a man who couldn't wait to get married

Especially to Y/N

You know that bit from The Office when Jim shows off the ring he got the moment he and Pam start dating?

That would have been Danny if he got the chance on drive to survive

No, Daniel got the ring on their six month anniversary

He already knew she was the one

But six months felt like the perfect timing

He didn't propose right away

Things kept getting in the way

But then, there was the perfect storm

Y/N had just come to watch a race

She hadn't been to the last one and had hardly been on the phone to him

Danny thought something was wrong

When she came to the race, Daniel was overjoyed

But then, in the hotel room after the race, she'd gone all serious

"Danny, I've got something to tell you. But I need you to promise me one thing," she said, grabbing a hold of his hands

"Anything," he replied, utterly concerned

Y/N sucked in a deep breath, calming her nerves

"Don't freak out."

When she told him, Daniel didn't freak out

He took in the information silently

Why would he freak out?

This was going to be the best day of his life

Two little words, that was all Y/N had said to him

Two words with so much weight to them

When Y/N was done and looking ready to start crying, Daniel slipped from the bed and pulled the ring box out of his pocket

He got down onto one knee and opened it

"You've just made me the happiest man in the world. Want to make me slightly happier and marry me?"

Y/N found a dress, her dream dress

Three weeks before the wedding, that dress no longer fit

The joys of being pregnant

Sobbing, Y/N made her mother take her shopping for a new dress

Before the wedding, at the rehearsal, Daniel had said he wasn't going to get drunk

If his soon to be wife couldn't drink, then he wouldn't either

But Y/N had insisted

Her soon to be husband was cute when he was drunk

So, Daniel had a few

He had more as the reception went on

Max and Christian were there, drinking alongside him

By the end of the night, Y/N was sat at the table, hand on her bump, cheeks rosy as she laughed at Daniel

He had pulled Max in for a dance and the Dutchman couldn't say no

He literally couldn't say no, because drunk Daniel wasn't listening

The honeymoon was gorgeous, like a dream

They went to the Maldives, stayed in a luxury resort

Four months later, Y/N was going into labour

It was, quite frankly, terrifying

Fifteen hours later, Charlie Ricciardo was born

He was his fathers pride and joy

Where Daniel used to show off Y/N, he now showed off Charlie and Y/N

His camera roll was all pictures of Y/N and his son

As Charlie got older, they started taking him to the races

He had little headphones to wear as the cars went around the circuit

He'd wave (aka, Y/N would hold him on her hip and wave his hand for him when his daddy came into the pits)

Charlies first word was car

Daniel was driving at the time, during free practice

He was so pissed that he missed it

Daniel was the fun parent

He was the one who let Charlie stay up past his bed time and let him have chocolate and fizzy drinks

In moderation, of course

But then Charlie did something scary

"Mummy, I want a brother," he said

Y/N couldn't reply

She had to turn around and pour herself a glass of wine

So, he asked his father

Daniel was so happy to hear it

If Charlie wanted a sibling, he was going to get a sibling

So, Daniel brought it up with Y/N

"Danny, no," she said the moment he suggested it. "When I was pregnant with Charlie and you were travelling for work, I was struggling so much without you. I can't do that again"

Daniel tucked some hair behind her ear

"Don't worry, Angel. I can talk to Christian and get the last few months of your pregnancy off," he said. "Keep you and Charlie travelling with me until then"

That sounded amazing to Y/N

She loved her little family and it only seemed to be growing

She jumped onto her husband

"Get ready for the night of your life, honey badger"

[sillyuin]

can i request for svt x grovelling??? I REALLY WANNA SEE HOW THE MEMBERS WOULD BEG FOR ANOTHER CHANCE TO THEIR S/O 😭

Hi anon! sorry it take me so long, I've been really busy with work but here it is.

How svt apologizes after breaking up 💔 (ot13)

Yuin's note: this is purely fiction and my p.o.v. Being honest, as a spanish native speaker I never heard of the word "grovelling" before and I thought I didn't handle the concept properly 😭 but I tried. Any advice is really appreciated.

Scoups, Mingyu, Dino. He’s almost whining for it.

You’ve lost the count of the notifications that came to the phone, and blocking him just doesn't feel right at all (at this point it seems like a good option tho lol). After reading some pity messages you decided to call him and... Oh boy. You didn't need to look him in the eyes to realize he was about to cry, he insists a thousand times that everything has been his fault and that he will do whatever is necessary to make things up.

Jeonghan, Joshua, Minghao. Tries to keep it cool but is not.

After some days with zero contact, you received an unexpected call and he’s inviting you go for a walk; it’s a bit awkward because it feels too quiet but you accept anyways. There is definitely something fishy going on. He seemed very stoic and, respectfully, he apologizes if something he did or said offended you, asking for a peace agreement. But you know him very well and you don't give in, until he's flustered enough to open up about his feelings and begs for another chance with you.

Jun, Dokyeom. Wants to say a lot but his head is a mess.

His mind has simply left this astral plane because, the moment you accidentally ran into him during an outing, he completely froze. He tries to be friendly and makes an effort to address you but his voice is so, so shaky he can’t even say a coherent sentence, making this situation even more uncomfortable. When you decided to leave as quick as possible, It was like the ideas in his head finally connect and asks for your forgiveness in the most desperate way possible, then he breaths and starts speaking out while his face blushes with embarrassment.

Seungkwan, Hoshi. Wants to say a lot and says a lot.

The phone has rung several times during the day and after countless missed calls, you decide to answer just bc you’re tired of this situation. However, as soon as you answer, there's no time to say hello properly when he starts talking as if this were a rehearsed speech. He had never said so many things to you in this lifetime. “I’m sorry for the time I didn’t close the toothpaste” “I’m sorry for making a midnight snack and leaving the kitchen a mess” “I’m sorry for the time I…” And so on for a long time.

Wonwoo, Woozi, Vernon. Straight to the point.

Too straightforward for his own being lmao. He just comes to your apartment with an nice gift and apologized in the most direct way possible, willing to listen to you, no matter how long it will take. Literally left everything behind just to see you :(

[that1fanficwriter]

Fluffy Thoughts on Mike Faist

AN: I love these photos. I thought I was going to have to scour the internet for the perfect ones but I saw these right away and was like “yup, that’s it. Those ones.”

He’s a morning person. He’ll wake up, give you a kiss, go for a run, and once he gets back he showers which is usually when you wake up.

You always oogle him when he comes out of the shower, just the towel wrapped around his waist. He blushes but secretly likes it. And let’s admit, he does the same thing to you all the time.

One of Mike’s favorite things is when you make breakfast together. You’ve just gotten out of bed; only wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties and he’s wearing whatever comfortable clothes he put on after his shower. Usually a pair of loose shorts or sweats, occasionally a shirt.

Making breakfast together mostly comprised of each of you trying to distract the other. So it usually took twice the time it should’ve to make eggs and toast.

You loved how Mike danced. If you were both free in the evening, no scripts for Mike to read, no work for you, you would put on music and make him dance with you.

He always pretended to be reluctant for a few seconds but you both know how much he loves dancing, especially with you. You get so lost in each other that sometimes you end up dancing for hours.

When he’s rehearsing in NYC you often drop by on his lunch break with some food for him and you’ll eat together.

I personally headcannon that when he was in Dear Evan Hansen if he was having a particularly hard day that you would go over to the theatre before the show to cheer him up, repaint his nails, whatever he needed that day. You’d stay in his dressing room during the show just to be there for him. The walk home would be quiet and solemn but you didn’t mind, knowing that the constant companionship was what Mike needed in that moment.

Now, if you’re a dancer or a performer you and Mike met each other while in Newsies. I know it’s cliche but you both were in the ensemble and were the understudies for Jack and Katherine.

While in the show you would both often get to the theatre early to rehearse your scenes together or you would mime along to the scenes you weren’t in while the show was going. After a few months in the show and constantly rehearsing with each other you finally got up the courage to ask Mike if he wanted to grab drinks after the show one night.

The night at the bar you both only had a few drinks but you both were so caught up in the other person that you ended up going back to Mike’s apartment. Nothing crazy happened as some of your castmates, his roommates came home, but you both ended up falling asleep whilst sitting on his bed talking about your aspirations in life and whatever else you decided to discuss.

Once you move into an apartment together you both agree to have a weekly date night in. You don’t always do the same thing. If you’re both feeling fancy sometimes you’ll cook a meal together but most times one of you will pick up something, open a bottle of wine, and you’ll both sit on the sofa enjoying your time together, catching up, planning the future, or just watching a movie.

Mike is one of those people who is deceptively strong. It works much to his advantage because he’s also a hopeless romantic. Every time he sees you after being apart for even a day or two, he loves to pick you up on a hug and spin you around.

[ichorai]

airbag ; steve rogers.

track one of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; steve rogers x reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

words ; 4.3k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, kind of avengers tower au?

warnings / includes ; mentions/descriptions of injury, alcohol, lots of lovesick fluff, rest of avengers are mentioned, natasha and tony Meddling, reference to spider-man & sandman :)

main masterlist.

Steve considered himself a romantic of sorts. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked bringing you flowers, he liked taking you to the theater, and he liked walking you home—all the way up to your door and listening for the lock, so he knew you’d be safe in there. 

It was only fitting how cliché it felt when he realized he was in love with you. Firework-igniting kisses and butterfly-filled tummies and face-splitting grins. Everything described in those movies you enjoyed watching—but so much more.

Steve Rogers wasn’t a man to waste time. After all—enough of that had been done while he was frozen in the ice. If he was going to start something, then he was most definitely going to go all the way and finish it, too. 

Almost immediately after your first anniversary, he bought a ring. It was simple and classic, maybe a bit out of style but hey, you seemed to be into that. You were dating a century-year-old. 

It was December then, soft snow lining the streets and piling upon naked tree branches. During the drive to the fancy restaurant he’d found (courtesy of Tony), there were children building snowmen and sledding down shallow hills. You smiled watching them, eyes rife with fond warmth, and Steve knew then that he had to do it. He had to propose to you tonight. 

Inside, you wouldn’t stop telling him how underdressed you felt, but Steve reassured you by saying a simple, “You look perfect, I promise.”

And he wasn’t lying. You did look perfect to him.

Dinner consisted of several decadent courses, with the waiters serving platters the two of you could barely even pronounce. It was delicious, nonetheless, and the chef had even come by to shake the hand of the Captain America.

During the last course—a silken slice of chocolate cake for dessert—Steve slipped his hand into his suit’s pocket, the velvet box smooth beneath his fingers. He replayed the question over and over again in his head, rehearsed a million times prior to the dinner.

Will you marry me?

And just as he was about to pull the ring box out, another diner pushed his chair back just far enough to accidentally knock into a waiter passing by, holding a plate of spaghetti. Completely sauced, to top.

To Steve’s horror, the plate tipped, almost in slow motion, and fell with a wet, splattering noise all over your outfit. You’d let out a small yelp of surprise, the spaghetti was hot, but not enough to burn. Steve stood up a second too late, hand falling away from his pocket as he rounded the table and placed it on your shoulder, asking if you were okay. 

“I’m okay,” you told him gently, reaching over to grab a few napkins at the center of your table.

You didn’t get mad, of course you didn’t—it was part of the reason Steve loved you so much—instead, you were kind and patient, reassuring the flustered waiter that it was alright. “Mistakes happen,” you said. Another waiter came by a few minutes later with a few damp cloths so you could wipe the rest of the spaghetti sauce off.

Needless to say, the chef insisted that the meal was on the house that night, much to Steve’s chagrin.

The drive back home smelled of marinara sauce and oregano, but the heavy weight in his chest at the failed proposal seemed to lighten when you joked about how the five course meal ended up being six.

Natasha knew about the ring. Steve wasn’t quite sure how—he’d never explicitly told her—but then again, he wasn’t surprised. Nat seemed to always just know things from the smallest of details. It was why she made such a brilliant spy.

“So,” she’d said once she stumbled across from Steve in the Avenger Tower’s lavish gym, a sly grin stretching over her lips, “when are you popping the question?”

There was a pause to his movements—the dumbbell he’d been curling hovered in the air, his muscles tensing. He thought about it for a little longer, considering asking her how she knew but—he seemed to sense that Natasha would wave it away with a laugh and a light, “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Instead, he told the red-head, “I’m working on it.” 

Natasha leaned against a treadmill, arms crossing over her chest. The smile on her face seemed to grow even wider. “Uh-huh. How long have you had the ring?”

Steve resumed doing his reps. The burn felt nice, even if it was only barely there. “Long enough.”

There was a soft tenderness to Natasha’s eyes, and she bumped a fist into his bicep. “Take Y/N hiking. Far away from the city, where it’s quiet.”

Again, Steve paused his exercise. Slow, he put the weights down, thinking over her words. 

“That’s actually—that’s a good idea, Nat.”

“Of course it is.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Thanks, really. I just want things to be perfect.”

She dipped her head once, before climbing onto the treadmill. “Send pictures. I’ve got a bet going on—Clint would want proof.”

Steve spared her an amused roll of his eyes. With a wave and a hurried goodbye, Steve rushed out of the gym to take a quick shower. The weather app on his phone (that he took an embarrassingly long time to find) told him the skies were going to be clear that afternoon—perfect for hiking.

Maybe, hopefully, perfect for proposals.

Half an hour later, you were ready to go, too, bouncing on the balls of your feet excitedly.

“I packed us sandwiches.”

“Did you? Oh, great—thanks, honey. We could have them as an early dinner.” He rubbed your shoulder and nudged you into the car. 

“I packed a bunch of snacks, too.”

Steve arched a brow. “Like?”

“Gummy worms, popcorn, chips, cookies. Oh, and Wanda actually made something for us, I’m not really sure what it is, but it smelled nice—”

Your words died away when Steve laughed, loud and chesty. Of course you’d pack just about the entire pantry. How you managed to stuff all of that into your travel backpack with room to spare was beyond him. You couldn’t help but break out into an infectious smile when he leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead. 

The drive out of the city to the hiking trail was long, and you nearly dozed off if not for the road getting progressively bumpier the closer you got. 

The sun was high in the sky by the time you arrived. You slipped out of the car with a pleased hum and stretched out your limbs, ready to get the hike over and done with. You might’ve been dating a superhuman, but you had no powers of your own. The pressure to keep up was something always in the back of your mind.

And that’s how the hike went—you were determined to stay on par with Steve, no matter how grueling the terrain became. Even when he suggested a break to have some of the many snacks you’d packed, you tossed him your bag and kept trekking on—you were worried that if you stopped, you would never get back up again. 

Really, you shouldn’t have overexerted yourself this quickly—the two of you were barely halfway done with the trail. Your feet were starting to drag, and your pace grew staggered. Just as you turned around to face your boyfriend and ask for a breather, your foot caught on a tree root that poked up above the trail’s surface, and you stumbled forward. 

Thankfully, Steve’s quick reflexes came in handy, and he darted forward to grab you before you could go rolling down the steep hills. 

He tugged you close into his chest, not yet registering your wince of pain. “Are you okay? That was a close one!”

When you pulled away, you gingerly tried to test your wait on the foot, but quickly lifted it back up with a grimace. “Oh, God. I think I’ve rolled my ankle.”

Steve stiffened, glancing further up the trail. It was maybe another two hours, but that was only with two fully-functioning pairs of legs. 

The proposal would have to wait another day, then.

He cupped your face, soft and gentle. “Wrap your arms around my neck from behind. I’ll carry you down to the car.”

“You sure, Stevie? I can try hopping down on one foot.” You tried to demonstrate, but nearly lost your balance again. All the jostling sent bolts of pain down your foot, which surely wasn’t a good sign, either.

He snorted, huff-laughing, other hand slipping over your waist to keep you still. “I’m sure. Come on.” He leaned down expectantly.

Relenting, you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and hooked the inside of your thighs over his waist, careful to keep your injured foot extended so it wouldn’t bump into him. It was beginning to throb.

“‘M sorry,” you mumbled, resting your cheek over his shoulder, one of your hands lifting to toy with his short, blonde hair. He began to walk down, and you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ankle. “Ruined our hiking trip. I was so excited.”

“It’s okay, honey. It was an accident! We can always go another time. Maybe a different trail, though.”

You apologized again, the whole way down, in fact, despite his assurances that he wasn’t at all tired. He really wasn’t—barely broke a sweat during the descent. Besides, he quite liked the feeling of your holding so tight onto him, your nose pressed into the side of his neck, your soft laughter brushing over his skin in one moment, your slight winces in the next. 

“I love you,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He felt a shiver traverse down his back, and briefly wondered if you felt it, too.

“I love you, too. That tickles, though.”

Your laugh was abrupt and ever so heart-warming. “Sorry.”

The movie, you’d told him, was a cult classic from the seventies. Steve couldn’t really remember what it was called. Callie? Cassie? It was an awful lot of blood. The arm he had wound over your shoulder squeezed you every time someone screamed in the film—which was… startlingly often. 

Proposing in the middle of a gorey movie wasn’t exactly the romantic vision Steve had in mind, but since the previous attempts really didn’t work in his favor, he wondered if keeping it casual was the best way to go. So when you asked if he could come over for an abrupt movie night, he readily agreed—and brought the small, velvet ring box with him.

It was tucked safely in the pocket of his slacks, on the side you weren’t pressed up against. The weight was a constant reminder of what he wanted to ask you—occupying his mind away from the movie he should’ve been paying attention to.

He’d propose once the credits started rolling. Yes, that’d be best, right? Wouldn’t want a horrified scream interrupting his profession of undying love to you.

And so he watched. He watched and watched, absentmindedly wondering what on earth the movie was even about. He dragged his knuckles up and down your arm. When a particularly gruesome scene unfolded, Steve glanced over at you. 

To his surprise, your features were softened with sleep, only barely illuminated by the crimson glow from the television, your lips slightly parted and eyes shut. 

With gentle movements, Steve reached over to guide your head onto his shoulder. Your hair tickled his cheek, and he let out a soft puff of a sigh before smiling. He kissed your temple, nose resting over your forehead. 

The proposal would have to wait another day.

Tony’s parties were always an affair that Steve looked forward to. He wasn’t a party-goer by any means, but he found that the grand events were a great way for him to catch up with all his colleagues, acquaintances, and work associates he otherwise wouldn’t have spoken to for months to come. 

And, of course, your excitement always seemed to rub off on him. You were buzzing about the room with what looked like twenty different outfits hanging off of your arms, holding them between you and the mirror with a scrutinizing look.

“Tucked or untucked?” you asked, more to yourself than him. He wasn’t given the chance to respond, anyway, since you chucked the shirt somewhere behind you and promptly started looking for another.

When you’d finally settled for appropriately formal attire, and Steve slipped into a button-up dress shirt (which was his one and only option, much to your envy), the two of you set off for Tony’s.

The party was already in full swing by the time you got there. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what the event was for—an anniversary or birthday, maybe? Fundraising gala? A celebration of some sort of scientific breakthrough Steve couldn’t even begin to comprehend? It was always a toss-up with Tony.

You were greeting people here and there, stopping to chatter amicably about what you’ve been up to, how work was going, the latest shows you’ve been catching up with…

And then you kissed his cheek and told him you were going to go grab some drinks. Steve watched you go with fond eyes. You looked incredible tonight. 

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his reverie, and Tony Stark’s smug face came into view. 

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, sly and knowing. What did he know?

“Hey, Tony. We only just got here. What’s all this for, by the way?” Steve crossed his arms and glanced around for any telltale signs.

A smirk flitted across his expression. “Just thought we all needed a bit of social activity pumped into the team. It’s a great place to… get your courage up, hm?” Tony smiled, and Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Did Natasha tell you?”

Tony snorted. “We all know.”

“Great.” Steve slid his hand into his pocket and traced the smooth grooves of the ring box. “Is everyone expecting me to propose tonight?”

“No, pfft—we don’t want to pressure you or anything…” Tony pointedly glanced at a stage conveniently placed front and center of the room. “But if you need some, what should I call it… assistance, the stage is all yours to use.”

Steve balked. Proposing at a party was one thing, but proposing on a stage in front of hundreds of people was completely out of the question. 

Or was it? 

“I’m not going to propose on a stage. That’s more your style.”

With a shrug, Tony rolled his eyes. “I mean, Pepper hasn’t left me yet, has she?”

Steve chose not to grace him with a response, but frown-smiled when Tony grabbed a flute of champagne and shoved it into his hands. He was gone the next second, off to greet a new round of guests. 

Thirty seconds later, you appeared by his side, positively beaming, but slightly out of breath. There were two chilled glasses clutched in your hands, almost sloshing over with how quickly you bounded to him.

“Oh, you already got a drink?” you asked, grinning. You clinked both glasses against his, chiming, “Cheers!”

And as you were downing the sugary alcohol in your right hand, Steve ran a finger along the ring box again. 

Maybe… maybe it really wasn’t a bad idea. He looked back at the stage. There was a microphone stand on there. Has it been there since the beginning?

He turned his head back to you, and you told him about Banner inviting the two of you over for dinner some time. Just as he was about to reply, his phone started buzzing in his other pocket. Deftly, Steve slipped his hand away from the box and went to pick up the phone—Sam’s caller ID staring up at him.

His friend’s voice sounded strained through the phone, and Steve gripped your hand and led you to a more quiet hallway, away from the crowd and the thrum of music. 

Sam hurriedly told him that there was trouble downtown—something about Spider-Man and a very sandy guy. 

“Sandy?” 

“Yeah. Dude’s made of sand.”

“Oh.” Steve paused, brows furrowing. “I’ll be there in twenty. Can you keep it together till then?”

“Don’t have another choice, do I, Cap?” 

With that, Sam hung up. Steve looked to you, crestfallen.

“Honey, I gotta go.” 

Your voice was light and airy, despite your slightly crestfallen and confused countenance. “Sam’s in trouble?”

“Yeah. I’ll—” There was an uncertain pause. Steve leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

Your brows pulled together. “I love you, too. Stay safe, Steve.”

It was something you just had to accustom yourself to—when your boyfriend was a superhero, his priorities encompassed far more than you. But you understood, as you always did, and let him hurry away with a stiff lip. 

The hospital was packed. Claustrophobically dense. You hurriedly wove through the crowd of anxious people hovering around the information desk, having already gotten the text which room Steve was in.

A few twisting hallways later, you pushed through a door and just about collapsed with relief when your eyes landed on Steve. 

He was badly bruised. Hues of deep purple and faint blues were blossomed all over his face. One of his eyes was swollen, his sandy-blonde hair was tousled, and his bottom lip was split. He was wearing a hospital gown, and you felt nauseated wondering just what other injuries he was hiding beneath the fabric. 

But he was alive. That was the least you’d hoped for.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you only then registered that Bucky was there, standing by the bed, expression grim and steeled. His blue eyes darted away from his best friend’s face to meet yours.

“I’ll give you two some space,” he murmured with a tight edge to his voice. Bucky patted your shoulder and whisked off before you could say anything. 

“Steve?” you croaked, drawing nearer to the bed. Your throat felt tight. “Oh, God…”

Despite his entire face aching, Steve managed to tug one of the corners of his lips up into a meager smile. “Hey, honey.”

His voice sounded hoarse and overused, but was still utter music to your ears. You just about collapsed onto the side of the bed, reaching out to gently brush the back of your shaking knuckles over what little of his face wasn’t bruised.

“I heard what happened on the news,” came your tearful whisper. “I was so worried you…”

Something softened within the blue of his eyes. “I’m still here.”

You dipped forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and his tired eyes slid shut. 

“Has a doctor checked on you yet? Any permanent damage I have to look out for?” You pulled away so you could roam your eyes over his form once more.

“Just a few bruises. Bone fractures. Nothing I can’t recover from,” he replied, though he winced when he tried to shift and sit more upright. You placed a hand on his back and helped him move, cautiously slow.

“Take it easy, old man,” you warned. “Don’t want you to pop a hip.”

Steve wheezed out what seemed like a laugh. Then, his eyes darted to the bedside table, where some spare clothes were neatly packed in a bag. Bucky had brought them, making sure to hide the ring box safely underneath a few layers.

Should he? Now, when he had the chance?

“I have something to ask you…” he began, tentative, dragging his eyes back onto you. You tilted your head pointedly, beckoning for him to go on. 

Just as he was about to say the words, there were three rapid knocks to the hospital room’s doors and they creaked open immediately after, two nurses shuffling in, clipboards in hand.

“Hello, just here to run a few more check-ups!” one of them chirped. “It’s not often we get a super admitted in here.”

Steve just about physically deflated. Your brows kinked, and you patted his cheek fondly.

“I’ll come by later—gonna go see if Sam is okay. You should rest, Stevie. Love you.” With one final kiss to his cheek, you got up from his bed and made space for the bustling nurses. He barely managed to lift his hand to wave you goodbye before you hurried out of the room, back into the packed hallways.

A month had drifted by since he wound up in the hospital (and discharged the very next day). It was pleasantly breezy that day—gusts of wind tousling his now-overgrown hair and whistling sweetly in your ears. 

Steve bent at the waist to place the bouquet of flowers down in front of the headstone. If it were any windier, he was sure it would’ve blown away. But it stayed put, the petals only barely swaying to and fro, and he righted himself back up.

“Sarah Rogers,” you whispered, eyes trailing across the smooth grooves of her name indented into the slab, voice thick with fondness. “What did she look like?”

Your arm wounded over the small of his waist. The two of you had visited the cemetery a few months prior, where you helped him scrub all the moss and dirt from her headstone. He told you about many of his adventures with Bucky before his time frozen in the ice, but very little about his mother. 

A wistful smile touched the corner of his face. Now fully healed, much to your relief. 

“She was blonde. Blue eyes. Crow lines, I think. Really faint, but they appeared every time she laughed.” There was a nostalgic warmth to his tone. 

“Took after her, then.” You beamed down at the grave. “She must’ve been beautiful.”

Steve leaned into your grasp and kissed the very top of your head. “She was. She would’ve loved you, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“She would’ve thought you were perfect. She saw a lot of terrible things in her lifetime, but you—you would’ve made her laugh a lot.” A pause. The wind hummed a disjointed tune. “She always believed in me, even though she was terrified for me all the time. Worried herself sick. If only she knew I’d end up here…”

Your head landed on his bicep. “She knows. She knew from the very beginning.”

The blonde smiled at you again, and you couldn’t help but notice his crow lines, too. It was comforting to know that there was so much of his mother in him.

“You ready for lunch?”

“I’m starving.” you told him, before blowing a chaste kiss to the headstone. “See you soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

Steve began to lead you away, and he couldn’t seem to scratch the smile from his lips. The two of you started walking back home, taking your sweet time. You were saying something—something about a nice lasagna you had frozen in the fridge—

But Steve could barely hear any of it. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He had to tell you now.

“I love you,” he interrupted. The words died on your tongue and you regarded him curiously, as if he’d grown a second head. 

Apparently, there was a near manic look to his eye that prompted you to worriedly query, “Is something wrong, Steve—?”

Instead of answering, Steve stopped walking. He dropped down onto one knee, brandishing the ring box from his pocket, flicking it open. The realization broke across your features just a second later. Your eyes widened, and you reared back in shock.

And the words—the words just came tumbling out. Not at all what he’d scripted for months on end, but something entirely different. Something raw and unfiltered—purely from his heart. “I love you, more than I can ever put into words. You’re just—amazing, perfect in every goddamn way. I don’t want to go another day without calling you mine. I want to be yours, honey. All of me, every single bit of me, with all of you. It’s been an honor being your boyfriend. Really, it has, but I’m… I’m ready to be your husband, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

There were tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You were only but a streak of color before you were yanking him forward, practically burying his face against your chest. He didn’t care that there was a rock digging into his knee. Barely even felt it. 

The next moment, you were pulling away to yank him back up, kissing him like he was the very air you needed to breathe. 

“Is that a yes?” he asked against your lips, slightly muffled. He was smiling, because he already knew your answer.

You nodded into the kiss, refusing to pull away. “I’d marry you a million times over, Steve. Again and again and again, until you get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you,” he whispered, forehead leaning over yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you broke apart minutes later, reluctantly, though you had permanent smiles etched across your faces the entire way back home. The ring fit you perfectly.

When the news broke to the rest of the Avengers, they all erupted into an array of groans and cheers, and multiple wads of cash were passed around. Natasha sent the two of you a pleased wink. You two just landed her a combined total of a hundred bucks, but some secrets were simply better left unsaid.

[callmeagardengnome]

˚ʚ sore thumb ɞ˚ | CHOI SAN

pairings ᯓ idol!san x boxer! fem!reader

genre ᯓ soulmate au, one-shot

synopsis ᯓ tied by emotions and injuries, you and your soulmate have been through quite a roller coaster - especially when he can feel each and every punch you receive.

c.w ᯓ SLIGHTLYY angsty but it does have hella fluff. also this is during the BOUNCY era!

w.c ᯓ 2.6k

author’s note: sorry for the kinda late upload! took me a while to write this.. also ignore the weird ass timeline, this story is definitely not really true to the actual irl events

not proofread!

masterlist

you’ve always known that boxing was your calling. the thrill of getting in the ring, the sounds of gloves hitting the bag - the adrenaline that you got from the sport was.. addictive.

from the moment you stepped into the gym, you were hooked. while you weren’t that good at first, you continued to work day and night, training and perfecting your technique.

fortunately enough, you managed to climb the ranks. you became a pretty big name in the boxing world. people loved watching your matches, not just calling you a boxer, but an entertainer.

san, on the other hand, experienced your matches in a different way.

for years, san had been dealing with the sensation of getting punched in the face, or if it wasn’t that, his fists were the ones feeling the damage. not only that, he was completely oblivious to you and your job.

the both of you found out about your soulmarks early in life. frankly, it was pretty obvious. you started to feel emotions that weren’t your own and had sudden bursts of pain that came without warning. when your parents brought you to various specialists, all their answers were the same - it was a soulmark.

while san felt happy that he had an easy-to-spot soulmark, he couldn’t help but feel.. annoyed.

he often found himself wincing during rehearsals, clutching his sides as phantom pains shot through his body. san had been reasonably concerned and confused when the punches first started. there would be days when mysterious bruises would appear out of nowhere or where he would feel the sudden urge to dodge an unseen pinch flying towards him.

this led to san wondering - what were you doing? why were you getting into fights so often? were you a criminal? or could it be martial arts?

san eventually came to the conclusion that you were in some form of combat sport. after all, the punches that you received seemed controlled, and the bruises that you got were repetitive.

“again?” san would mutter under his breath, rubbing his sore ribs. this would happen almost every day, each time feeling as though it was happening to you for the first time.

though, sometimes, he would roll his eyes, somewhat amused, as if he was speaking to someone directly. “really? you couldn’t dodge that one?” he said, shaking his head with a smile.

as time passed, san found himself growing more attached to you. though he didn’t know who you were, he felt your emotions. he felt the anxiety you felt before every match and the rush of victory you experienced after a successful fight. he became oddly protective of you, even if he didn’t know why.

unfortunately, everything changed when you trained for an upcoming championship match. you were having a pretty intense training session, pushing yourself harder than before. as you landed a powerful punch on the punch bag, you felt a sharp pain shooting through your hand, making you drop to your knees.

“shit- what did i just do..?” you mumbled to yourself, staring at your twisted hand in shock. the pain was unbearable and overwhelming, throbbing in waves and spreading up your arm. the realisation hit you - something was wrong. not only for you, but your soulmate.

at the very moment, san felt the pain explode in his own hand. he was in the middle of rehearsal, practicing the choreography for ATEEZ’s new comeback. the sudden pain caught him off guard, making him shout in surprise.

“woah, what happened?” hongjoong rushed over immediately, his face laced with concern.

“i don’t know, hyung-“ san winced, his hand shaking. “my hand feels like its broken.. i- i can barely move it.” the other members gathered around him, completely stopping their rehearsal.

“san, that looks pretty bad. do we need to get you to the hospital?” seonghwa asked, kneeling beside him.

san shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “i think i’m fine.. just give me a moment.”

he was far from fine. the pain felt too real, too intense. you must have really injured yourself - badly. his mind started to race with worry. what happened? why did this feel 10x more painful than anything he’s ever felt? and most importantly, were you okay?

“come on san, we should at least get it checked,” wooyoung insisted, helping him to his feet.

meanwhile, you rushed to the hospital, cradling your injured hand. the both of you were left with the same diagnosis - a broken hand.

for you, it was devastating news. boxing was your life, your soul. putting in on pause meant that your whole life was on pause. the injury meant months of recovery and falling behind in the sport you love.

you also felt extremely guilty. not only did you cause yourself pain, your soulmate was definitely experiencing the consequences of your actions.

“great,” you sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “i just injured two people.”

despite your friends and trainers trying their best to support you, you couldn’t shake off the sadness you felt. what you hated though, was the fact that your soulmate could feel the range of emotions your were experiencing.

“why am i so careless,” you thought to yourself as you lay in your bed. “he must think i’m a mess.”

while he didn’t think you were a mess, san was struggling with the new injury. with the new comeback approaching, he needed to change the way he danced, finding ways to work around his broken hand.

sure, it was a inconvenience, but all san could think about was you. during this period of time, he constantly felt waves of sadness crashing over him. san could feel how guilty and depressed you were over your hand. the only thing that made it worse was that san could do nothing to help you.

san desperately wanted to reassure you, tell you that he’s fine and that you shouldn’t worry about him. but since neither of you knew one another, all he could do was imagine what he would say if he could reach you.

“whoever you are,” he whispered to himself. “don’t be too hard on yourself. we’re in this together.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

a few months go by and you eventually recover from your injury. you started to slowly ease back into boxing again, regaining the spark that you temporarily lost in your life.

KQ soon decided to postpone the comeback to a further date, wanting san to have a speedy recovery. the pain eventually subsided, allowing ATEEZ to continue with their promotional activities for the comeback.

with the group entering the ‘BOUNCY’ era, KQ wanted san and wooyoung to watch some boxing matches to try and get a realistic shot for their music video.

the two men sat at their dorm’s living room couch, scrolling through the different videos on their tv.

“which one should we watch..” wooyoung said, clicking the remote controller. “ooh.. how about this one? it’s live streaming right now.”

san shrugged, not really caring on what’s on the screen. his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the recent preparations for the comeback. he was about to reach for his phone when he suddenly heard the commentator’s voice booming through the tv speakers.

“and now, stepping into the ring, the undefeated boxer making her much awaited comeback after a hiatus - ‘____’!”

san froze mid-reach, but it wasn’t your name that caught his attention - it was the sudden surge of energy and adrenaline coursing through his veins. it was a familiar feeling that he felt all those times whenever you were in the ring.

wooyoung noticed san’s focus on the screen, giving him a look. “hey, you okay?”

san nodded, his eyes glued to the tv as he watched you step into ring. “yeah, i’m fine. i just feel like i should watch this match.”

you stood in the center of the ring, hearing the crowd cheering your name. it felt surreal to be back, reclaiming your place in the boxing world.

when the match began, you moved with precision, every punch given with the techniques that made you a popular boxer in the first place. the first few rounds were intense, with neither you or your opponent giving in. you wanted to show the world and your soulmate that you were no longer held back by your injury.

as san watched the match unfold, he felt every jab, every dodge, every emotion that you were feeling. it was as if he was in the ring with you, experiencing the fight through your eyes.

and then it happened - the moment that confirmed san’s questions. you landed a strong uppercut on your opponent, making her fall back. the crowd erupted with applause and san felt an immense pride that wasn’t his own.

he realised then, that you were his soulmate.

san took a deep breath, facing wooyoung in surprise. “i think.. i just found my soulmate.”

wooyoung’s eyes widened. “what? you mean-“

“yeah,” san said, leaning back into the couch. “it’s her. i can feel it. i’ve been feeling it the whole time.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the fight ended with your victory, with various sponsors and offers reaching out to you afterwards. while you appreciated it, you felt that maybe it was a good idea to take a few breaks from boxing every now and then.

one day, your manager told you about an interesting offer. a company called ‘KQ Entertainment’ reached out to you, wanting you to help choreograph a fight scene for their music video.

“why me?” you asked, genuinely curious. “i’m a boxer, not a choreographer.”

your manager shrugged, a smile appearing on her lips. “they mentioned wanting authenticity and your name came up. they said that the scene could benefit from your expertise.”

you paused, taking in the proposal. the idea of working with a k-pop group intrigued you. it was something different from your normal routine. a break from boxing didn’t mean that you had to step away from it completely. you finally made up your mind, accepting the deal.

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

“wait, what?” san exclaimed, getting up from his chair.

“yeah, your soulmate’s going to teach us some boxing moves,” hongjoong said with a grin.

san began panicking, not expecting to meet you so soon. he didn’t expect his company to reach out to professional boxers, let alone you, to help choreograph the scene. he eventually calmed himself down, preparing himself on what to do when he finally meets you.

the day of meeting ATEEZ arrived and you found yourself entering the lively building. you were introduced to the staff and the directors, who eventually led you to the studio where ATEEZ were. while you have heard of them before, you didn’t know what to expect, feeling slightly nervous.

the both of you started to feel anxious, both just from your own emotions, but from each others. when you entered the studio, san couldn’t even believe that you were real.

as more introductions went around, one of the members caught your eye.

“hi, i’m san,” he chuckled nervously, extending his hand.

the moment you shook his hand, you felt an intense wave of emotions that wasn’t yours. it was as if the world paused for a moment, allowing the two of you feel each other’s feelings.

san, too, seemed taken aback. his eyes widened slightly as his hand started to shiver in shock.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you managed to say, trying to keep your composure. after all, you didn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of celebrities.

“likewise..” san muttered, his grip lingering longer than necessary. “i’m really looking forward to working with you.”

“booo just kiss already,” wooyoung shouted playfully.

you raised an eyebrow, looking between san and wooyoung.

“sorry about that, he loves to make things awkward,” san said, turning to you with an nervous smile.

the both of you stared at each other for a moment, unable to take your eyes off each other. there was something about him that made it difficult for you to look away.

you laughed, ignoring the blush rising up your cheeks. “it’s all good.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the rehearsal for the scene went by quickly, with san and the other ATEEZ members eager to learn the different moves.

“san, try to keep your guard up here,” you instructed, demonstrating the move. when you reached over to adjust his arms, you felt the same wave of emotion crashing down on you once again. was this a coincidence?

you eventually let them do their own thing, wanting them to try out the moves without guidance. yet, there was still something at the back of your mind - the weird feeling between you and san. it was unlike anything you’ve felt, almost as if it was.. meant to be.

as you started to think about the implications, you thought of an idea. sure, it was a little silly, but it would confirm your suspicions of san being your soulmate.

you decided to bite your tongue, slightly harder than needed, seeing if you could get a reaction out of san. as expected, he yelled out an ‘ow!’, looking at you briefly before quickly returning back to practicing.

that was it - he was your soulmate.

you waited for the rehearsal to be over, walking over to where san was. he turned as you approached, his eyes lighting up with an excitement that made your heart skip a beat.

“hey-“ “hi-“ you both said at the same time, sharing a small laugh.

“thanks for helping us today, we really appreciate it,” san smiled.

“of course, no problem,” you said nervously, trying to cover the flustered state you were in. no matter what though, san definitely knew how you felt in that moment.

you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “can we talk..?”

san’s eyes softened, looking around for places to talk at. “absolutely, let’s go somewhere quieter.”

he led you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the hectic noises of the building. san leaned against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought about the right words. “i think i know what you’re going to say,” he began. “you felt that earlier too right? that whole emotions thing?”

“yeah..” you nodded. “are you thinking what i’m thinking..?”

san smiled, his gaze holding yours. “i think we’re soulmates.”

hearing him say those words filled you with joy you didn’t expect to have. it was one thing to suspect him of being your soulmate, but it was another thing to have him actually confirm it.

“i’ve known for a while,” san admitted, scratching his head. “but i didn’t say anything at first, i didn’t want to scare you away.”

“well, i’m glad you told me,” you chuckled.

his smile grew, “and i’m glad you understand.”

standing there, you felt a peace wash over you. the bond you shared was no longer an unspoken part of your lives, but a truth.

“so what happens now?” you asked.

“i’d like to get to know you better,” he replied, leaning closer to you.

his words were sincere, making you feel flattered that someone like him wanted to know you, or even spend time with you.

“i’d like that too,” you said, a smile spreading on your face.

san leaned even closer to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i think we have a lot to learn about each other..” he said trailing off.

“mhm,” you agreed, grabbing the collar of his shirt. you pulled him in for a gentle kiss, which he gladly reciprocated more fiercely. the both of you could feel each other’s emotions, even the sounds of your heart beating.

the both of you pulled away, laughing, feeling weak and giddy from the kiss. “we’re going to have so much fun together,” he smiled, whispering it into your ear.

any and all feedback appreciated <3

other fics

series taglist [OPEN] - @cara-rey @hwasbabygirl @chngbnwf @passerbyforfun @butterfliesinthenightsky @ismelllikechlorine247 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @forever-atiny @arki-sha

[maevebabyy]

CHANGE OF PERSPECTIVE

sophia laforteza x fem reader

a/n - first fic whoo!!!! sophia’s a performing arts teacher and reader is a basketball coach. i wrote this half asleep pls 😭😭

wc - 3.7k

the air in dream academy was full of tension as the school year kicked off with principal son announcing the reallocation of the school year’s budget in favour of the basketball team.

ms. sophia laforteza, the young but fiercely dedicated performing arts teacher, was known for her passionate commitment to the arts, having already won quite a few high-school performing arts awards despite her short time teaching at dream academy. so it was understandable why she had gotten frustrated when she first heard about the budget cuts.

while you, the varsity girls basketball coach and one of the phys-ed teachers, were all about winning games and boosting school spirit. you had built up and maintained the team’s impressive win-loss record during your time as head coach – winning state championships two years in a row now, making dream academy a distinguished school when it came to women’s basketball.

the two of you had been at odds for as long as anyone could remember, each believing their program deserved more funding and recognition for their efforts. at least, that’s what you thought it looked like on the outside. daniela, your baby sister, was the only one who you told about your (obvious) crush on the drama teacher.

-

it was unusual to say the least, sophia usually gave off a very cool and calm demeanour around her students, wanting to set a good example. but right now, sophia was livid. waving her hands around like she usually does when she’s worked up or excited, this time, it was the former. her students could only watch amusedly as they stretched out their muscles.

“this is ridiculous! how can they prioritize a sport over the arts?” she fumed to her students in the theater.

one of her students, lara – a high-school senior and daniela’s best friend, starts giggling at how worked up her performing arts teacher had gotten.

“damn, coach really does get you worked up, doesn’t she?”

a few other students giggle at lara’s observation. this, alongside many others, were one of the many perks of being a young teacher. sophia’s students felt like they were learning from an older sister, rather than a teacher. it made sense though, sophia was only 22 and leading a bunch of high-schoolers into the world of performing arts.

sophia huffed lightly, bringing her hands to her forehead as she rubbed it, “well, yes, lara, how does coach y/n deserve more funding? we killed it last year with our plays!”

lara stops a giggle from escaping, snorting in the process, “it’s not even a whole lot. dani told me they only received a little more to afford those new team backpacks they’ve been whining about. wait, shh though! It’s supposed to be a secret!”

the drama teacher rolls her eyes again, of course you’d spend the extra money on flashy new team backpacks. if it had been her it would have gone towards something more useful like new mic packs, or better props.

“a little goes a long way, lara.” sophia remarks, shaking her head.

another student voices out their opinion, a teasing grin on her face. “coach y/n seriously has a lot of influence on you, teach”

it was the highschool junior, megan, she was both a cheerleader and a part of the school’s performing arts club. a wider teasing grin appears on the redhead’s face, “sooo, enemies to-”

before the junior is able to finish her sentence, sophia quickly cuts her off, clapping her hands together.

“alright! enough stretching, run your lines for rehearsals!” a bright and wide smile on the drama teacher’s face as she purposefully ignores the tease she was about to receive.

-

meanwhile, you reveled in the news with your team, sharing the good news with your players. your focus solely on the upcoming season.

you gather your team around at the end of practice, your players keeping eye contact with you as you rounded everybody up. making eye contact with your baby sister, you tell her with your weird sibling telepathy not to pull anything funny to ruin the surprise.

“okay girls, that was a great practice! especially you yoonchae. you’re improving quickly” you grin widely, praising the korean girl. “in fact, all of you girls have been working really hard for this upcoming season.”

you gesture for one of your players, manon, the team captain, and the only other person to know about the surprise aside from daniela to come up and stand beside you.

with a wide grin of her own, manon reveals the new team bags you had hidden behind you in a box. “ta-da! coach actually got us those new team bags we’ve been talking about!”

you grin widely as the girls excitedly rushed forward to grab their own bag which donned their school colours and sported their number and last name on the bag. watching them try on the bag for themselves and count out how many pockets the spacious bag had.

“i assume you all like it then?” you chuckle, crossing your arms as you watch your team nod, shouting out their thank you’s.

“let’s have a good season this year, girls.” you grin.

-

a week had passed since then, and principal son had called in the both of you into his office. you sat across from sophia who was on her phone as you both waited for the principal to finish talking on the phone. the secretary in the middle of the lobby typing away on his computer, completing desk work.

waiting in the lobby with sophia was suffocating– but in a good way. sure, she might’ve sent you some weird questioning looks, but damn she’s pretty. her jet-black straight hair framing her sharp features perfectly, her perfect posture even when sitting down, the way her soft smile immediately warmed up the room when she found something funny on her phone. before you could keep studying her face, your attention is brought away from the drama teacher as you hear principal son’s voice who had just opened his door. “come in.”

walking behind sophia, you take the seat beside her as principal son sat in his office chair behind his desk in front of you two.

“i’ve got a special opportunity for you two.” he grins, eyeing the both of you before continuing. “we want to host a community workshop day for the younger kids in our high school’s area who may potentially end up enrolling in dream academy.”

principal son pauses to gauge our reactions, chuckling to himself as he sees the confused looks. “since you two run our two biggest programs, i want you two to work together on this. it will primarily revolve around the arts and sports, though primarily basketball in terms of sports since we do the best in that one.”

sophia speaks up from the chair beside you, “when exactly does this community day happen?”

“you two will have about a month to prepare.”

both of you immediately shot up your eyebrows in surprise. “a month?” you ask, eyes widened.

“you heard me clearly coach.” son chuckles to himself, “i’ll check in every once in a while.”

just as quickly as you and sophia were in that room, you suddenly find yourself back out in the lobby. you face sophia slowly, “so… a month?”

sophia groans, “don’t start-”

“we kinda have to…”

sophia silently curses, you were right. the two of you desperately needed to start brainstorming soon if she wanted a community day she could be proud of. “fine, swing by the mpr as soon as the bell rings at the end of the day.”

“but-”

“you don’t have basketball practice today do you?” sophia cuts in, leaving no room for argument.

you shake your head no weakly.

“okay, i’ll see you then.”

before you’re able to respond, sophia quickly walks away from you and towards the mpr. 

you hear a soft whistle behind you, coming from the secretary. “really got a thing for the feisty ones?”

you flush lightly, stuttering, “it’s not like that, sohey.” you take a moment to regain your composure, “besides, i think… self confident would be the more correct term here.”

-

eventually, the bell rings exactly at 3:30 and you find yourself already by the mpr doors, hesitating to go in for whatever reason.

“you got this y/n, c’mon, don’t be weird- it’s just a quick meeting, yep, with just the two of you-“

“what’re you doing n/n?”

you let out a quiet yelp as you are surprised by your baby sister who snuck behind you.

“nothing dani…”

daniela quirks an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. “mhm… sure… just waiting by ms sophia’s door right?”

“dani? i don’t like that smirk-“

“you’ll thank me for this later!” in an instant, daniela pushes you into the mpr, giggling.

you stumble into the mpr, almost tripping. as you regain your balance you’re met with sophia’s questioning stare. feeling nervous under it, you feel the need to explain yourself.

clearing your throat, you reply. “didn’t wanna be late is all.”

“mhm. what was that scream outside? it sounded serious.” sophia raises an eyebrow, a small smile threatening to lift up.

“ah….” you’re silent for a moment. “there must’ve been a fight, totally.”

“and, as a phys-ed teacher, shouldn’t you stop them?”

“nah, where’s the character development in that?”

sophia huffs lightly, disgusing her small giggle before returning to that cold demeanor she’s used to keeping around you. “alright, come here, i’ve drafted some ideas for the community day.”

that afterschool evening had gone on for longer than the two of you expected. sophia surprisingly tolerating your presence for more than two hours. 

after tweaking and modifying the initial plan sophia came up with, you both finally agreed on something.

“this’ll work.” you grin warmly, unintentionally making eye contact with sophia, who was reciprocating your smile and gaze, but only for a moment before returning back to her stern self around you.

but wow— even if it was just for a moment you could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating momentarily there, the butterflies going berserk in your stomach. 

“better not mess this up, y/n” sophia scoffs.

admittedly, sophia was still hesitant to work together with you, but seeing as she had no choice, she accepted.

-

as the days rolled on, the community workshop day loomed ever closer. the tension between you and sophia had shifted; while you still had your disagreements, there was a sense of camaraderie slowly forming. you were finding common ground in your shared goal of making the event a success, even if you couldn’t quite shake the competitive edge.

one evening, as you helped out during a rehearsal, you caught yourself watching sophia again. she was guiding her students through a scene, her passion shining through every gesture. it was hard not to admire her��her energy, her dedication, the way she inspired those kids to be their best. you couldn’t help but think about how different she was from the cool, collected teacher everyone else saw. here, she was vibrant and alive, and it struck a chord deep within you.

“seriously, n/n,” daniela nudged you, breaking your train of thought. “you’re staring again.”

your little sister had started accompanying you to these rehearsals, wanting to get a ride home from you instead of taking the bus home.

you turned to her, feigning nonchalance. “i’m just observing.”

“observing? right. you’re practically drooling,” she teased, her voice light but full of mischief.

you groaned, brushing off her comments. “i’m not. and could you be quiet about it?”

“oh, please. everyone can see it, dear sister, you’re not subtle. just ask her out already,” dani insisted, a grin plastered across her face.

“not happening,” you shot back, though the thought had crossed your mind more than once. “she’s too focused on her students, and i’m… well, i’m the basketball coach.”

dani rolled her eyes. “you’re both teachers. just because you’re rivals doesn’t mean you can’t also be… whatever else.”

as you tried to come up with a witty retort, the rehearsal wrapped up, and the students began to disperse. sophia caught your eye, giving you a nod of acknowledgment.

“see? she’s looking at you,” your baby sister whispered, elbowing you in the side.

“shut up,” you replied, trying to suppress a smile.

“y/n! can you help me with this?” sophia called, gesturing toward a stack of props.

you obliged, walking over with a bit of hesitance. as you helped her carry them into a storage room and sort through the items, the atmosphere shifted again. “thanks for helping out,” she said, her tone warmer than usual. “it’s been nice having you around.”

“yeah, well, i figured it’d be good to lend a hand,” you replied, trying to keep your voice casual. “we’re in this together after all.”

sophia looked thoughtful for a moment, her gaze piercing yet soft. “i know we have our differences, but i appreciate your effort. i just want to make sure our students get a memorable experience.”

“i get that. i want the same for my team,” you said, hoping your sincerity showed. “maybe we can find ways to highlight both programs.”

a brief silence hung between you, the tension from earlier fading into something more comfortable. “that’s the plan,” she said, a hint of a smile creeping onto her lips. “we’re a team, after all.”

just then, the door swung open, and daniela reentered, eyes gleaming with mischief. “hey, i just had a thought—why don’t we mix things up at the community day? like a mini talent show where the basketball girls have to perform something artsy? we could host it in between the different workshops.”

sophia’s eyes lit up at the idea, while you felt your stomach drop. “what? no way—”

daniela cut you off, grinning. “think about it! a fun way to bridge the gap between your two programs! i know my big sister here would be more than willing to do whatever you want miss sophia!”

sophia seemed intrigued, leaning forward. “it could be a great way to showcase teamwork. and we could have them work together on the performances!”

“absolutely not,” you interjected, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “i’m not getting on stage.”

“come on, n/n! it would be hilarious! and i’m sure the other girls wouldn't mind” daniela insisted, nudging you playfully.

sophia chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “i think it sounds like a great idea.”

“yeah, well, you’re not the one who has to perform,” you muttered, crossing your arms defensively.

sophia’s laughter echoed through the room, making your heart race. “don’t worry, we can make it fun. besides, it’ll be great for school spirit!”

“fine, but only if i can do a slam dunk in the middle of my performance,” you shot back, joking.

“deal,” sophia replied, smirking.

-

with the date approaching in less than a week, the two of you began meeting more frequently. it was strange how much time you two spent together, and despite your initial hesitations, sophia found herself looking forward to those moments. each planning session revealed more layers to you—your humor, your dedication, and that rare softness that broke through your brash exterior.

one afternoon, while going over logistics for the event, you couldn’t help but ask, “so what’s your favorite part of teaching?” it felt like a risk to the two, stepping out of the bounds of your usual playful bickering.

sophia paused, her expression thoughtful. “honestly? it’s seeing the kids transform. watching them come out of their shells during a performance or find confidence in themselves. it’s like a light bulb goes off.”

you nodded, impressed. “that’s really cool. i can see how much they look up to you.”

sophia’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she brushed off the compliment. “thanks. but enough about me—what about you? what drives you as a coach?”

you shrugged, feeling a wave of sincerity wash over you. “winning is great, but it’s more about seeing the girls grow, too. watching them realize their potential, support each other, and build a team—that’s what i love the most.”

sophia smiles softly to herself, though it goes unnoticed by you. maybe there as more in common between you two than she thought.

-

on the eve of the event, you and sophia decided to meet one last time to finalize the schedule and make sure everything was ready for tomorrow. you both settled into the mpr, the tension between you now more comfortable, laced with a sense of friendliness.

“i can’t believe it’s finally happening tomorrow,” you said, looking around the room filled with props and equipment. “feels weird.”

“yeah, i just hope it all goes smoothly,” she replied, biting her lip, her brows furrowing in concern.

“you’ve worked hard. the kids love you, and the performances will be amazing. trust yourself,” you encouraged, your tone sincere.

sophia glanced at you, her expression softening. “thanks, y/n. that means a lot coming from you.”

just then, a loud crash echoed from the back of the mpr as a student accidentally knocked over a stack of props, causing both of you to jump.

“great! just what we need before a big event,” you said, rushing over to help.

as you both started picking up the scattered items, your hands brushed against each other. the moment lingered, and you both froze for a heartbeat before quickly pulling away, a rush of heat spreading across your cheeks.

“uh… sorry,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “guess we’re a bit clumsy tonight.”

“yeah, clumsy,” she echoed, though a soft smile tugged at her lips. “just a lot on our minds.”

you chuckled, relieved at the lightness returning to the moment. “right. what’s our first activity again?”

sophia reached for the clipboard, flipping through the schedule. “we start with some icebreaker games before splitting into workshops. your girls will lead a few drills, and then we’ll have the mini talent show later.”

“can’t wait to see my team actually do this,” you chuckle.

“don’t sell them short. you might be surprised,” she replied, a teasing glint in her eye. “they might just steal the show.”

“or bring it crashing down,” you countered with a laugh.

-

the day of the community workshop finally arrived, buzzing with excitement and nerves. the gym was transformed into a vibrant hub, with colourful decorations and stations set up for various activities. you could hear the chatter and laughter of kids filling the space, making it hard to believe that just a month ago, you and sophia had been at odds over budget cuts.

as the event kicked off, you looked over at sophia, who was in her element, directing her students with a flair that made you admire her even more. the icebreaker games were a hit, with kids mingling and having fun, but the real challenge loomed ahead—the mini talent show.

the talent show began, and the kids showcased their various talents—singing, dancing, and acting, each performance more impressive than the last. sophia cheered enthusiastically for each act, her passion evident.

when it was finally your team’s turn, you could feel the weight of expectation. you had arranged for a fun skit that would highlight teamwork, incorporating elements of basketball with a comedic twist. you could see the nervousness in your players' eyes as they shuffled onto the makeshift stage, but you also saw the determination flicker behind them.

“okay, girls! remember what we practiced” you chuckle lightheartedly, hoping to boost their spirits.

the skit started off a bit shaky, but as your players found their rhythm, the laughter from the audience built. you caught a glimpse of sophia’s delighted expression, her laughter ringing out above the crowd. it made your heart race—she was enjoying this, and you wanted to keep that smile on her face.

-

eventually, the night came to a close as parents and their children began filing out of the gym after a successful event. you and sophia found yourselves amidst the remnants of the community workshop. the atmosphere buzzed with the afterglow of laughter and excitement, but now it was just the two of you, surrounded by colourful props and decorations.

“alright, everyone, you can head home! great job today!” you called out, shooing away the last few lingering students. “seriously, don’t worry about the cleanup. we’ve got it covered.”

sophia smiled, watching the students file out, their faces still glowing from the event. once the doors swung shut, a comfortable silence settled over the gym. you glanced over at her, taking in the way she brushed a stray hair behind her ear, a hint of relief in her expression.

“looks like we’re officially on cleanup duty,” you said, picking up a few scattered props.

“yeah, but it was worth it,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with the remnants of excitement. “everyone really had a great time.”

you hear sophia giggle softly, pausing her clean up duties. “you know, i really thought we wouldn’t be able to pull this off. i practically hated your guts a month ago.”

you chuckled lightheartedly in response, “i was a bit nervous at first, too. you were so closed off before this workshop thing.” you pause, picking up a few more props. “I’m glad we moved past it though.”

she rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile on her lips. “well, i guess you’ve seen a different side of me. and maybe i’ve seen a different side of you too.”

as you both continued cleaning up, the atmosphere shifted. it felt lighter, charged with a new kind of understanding. “so, what do you think we should do next?” you asked, trying to sound casual while your heart raced.

sophia looked thoughtful. “maybe we could plan another event? we could make it a tradition.”

“sounds great,” you agreed, your mind racing with possibilities. then, gathering your courage, you added, “or… we could hang out outside of school. grab a bite to eat together sometime?”

her eyes widened slightly, and you could see the gears turning in her head. “are you asking me out, coach?”

“maybe i am,” you said, stepping a little closer, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

a slow smile spread across her face, illuminating her features. “i’d like that. i’ll take you up on that offer, y/n.”

a/n - i got lazy at the end sorry LOL

[imaginidol]

Mingi: Dance Practice

!!mentions of nsfw!! 18 + !! do NOT interact if you’re not comfortable with smut!! okiee here is another naughty atiny request I’ve got for mingi!! this one may be a bit longer than the previous ones but if you stick with it I hope it’ll be worth it ?? 😭 (pls send feedback LMAO) if you’re interested I have a hongjoong ver. smut jongho ver. smut and a san ver. smut, wooyoung ver. smut and a yunho ver. smut ;)

You walked into the dance studio where you and the usual team of ATEEZ backup dancers practiced. Everyone was scattered around the room, stretching and warming their muscles before the rehearsal ensued.

Mingi walked in, wearing a gray hoodie and black sweatpants with large over-ear headphones hanging around his neck.

“Good evening,” he calls out to the room, and a crowd of voices sing a polite chorus of good-evening-Mingi’s in return.

His eyes quickly search the room through the wall mirror until they finally locate you.

A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the sight of you. Part of ATEEZ’s current title track called for a very sexy 10-second choreography portion in which each member had a backup dancer partnered to them. You just happened to be picked for Mingi, and you were by all means grateful for the opportunity.

“Okay,” Hongjoong clapped his hands and called for first position.

The practice went fairly smoothly for the first two rounds. Hongjoong called a five-minute break before moving onto the third practice round, and Mingi decided to use this opportunity to talk to you.

“How you feeling?” Mingi grabs your hand and spins you in a circle, watching you twirl in content.

“It’s hard, and it’s definitely interesting, but I think it’s fun,” you pant. “What about you?”

Mingi smiles, taking a sip of his water. “I think it’s fun, too. I think we’re the best duo out of all the members,” he teases.

“There’s no way,” you smirk, nodding your head towards Jongho and his dancer, “those guys easily eat it up every time.”

“Oh, yeah?” he turns, seeing as Jongho placed his hands around his dancer’s waist, practicing the move again even during their break. “We could definitely beat those guys. We should practice more, one-on-one.”

You smirk, nodding in agreement. “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“Hmm, we could find out,” he says, crossing his arms. “You free to practice tonight?”

“Hmm,” you think, contemplating your transportation assortment to return home afterwards, “could you give me a ride home if I did?”

The boy nods, settling his eyes steadily on you now.

“I could do that for you, definitely.”

—

A few hours after everyone has left for the evening, you and Mingi stay back rehearsing your part a couple times alone.

“Fuck, that could get fun any day,” Mingi pants after the third practice round. He proceeds to pull his hoodie over his head to take it off, revealing a hot peek at his abs as his undershirt went up.

You tried not to stare, but he caught you looking through the mirror before you could turn away.

He scoffed as your cheeks turned a soft shade of red, and proceeded to walk over and plop himself on the floor next to you.

“Wanna take a break?” he asks, nudging your elbow as he lay on his back against the floor.

“We could take a break,” you mutter, deciding to also lie on your back for a moment.

He takes notice, and extends his arm in your direction, offering it as a pillow for your head.

You smile, scooting closer to the boy and resting your head against his shoulder.

Your mind wandered for a moment as you came to the sudden realization that you were practically hugging Mingi… on the floor… alone… during after-hours.

Before you could hobble away to avoid any misunderstanding, his voice softly interrupts the silence.

“Can I tell you something?”

You turn to face the boy, meeting his eyes.

“I like the way you dance.”

Your face felt hot as a reddening wave of butterflies erupted from your stomach up to your cheeks. His eyes grew slightly more hooded as he fixated them on you, a sly smirk crossing his face. The boy winked, and you felt your heart skip several heavy beats trying to read Mingi’s micro expressions.

“I like the way you dance, too,” is all you can foolishly reply, failing to think of any other viable response to the way he was looking at you.

He reaches a finger towards your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. He nodded his head, testing to see if you’d pick up his subtle gestures, and you most definitely had.

You close your eyes as you feel yourself leaning closer to Mingi, bringing a hand up to his jaw as you felt his lips slowly enclose around yours.

You slowly begin to make out with him, feeling your kisses grow messier as each became more and more intimate than the last. He was the first to bring his tongue into it, slowly lifting his body in the process until you were practically underneath him.

He only pulled away for a moment to search your face for any signs of discomfort, but was only greeted by your gentle smile as you reached to wrap an arm around his neck.

“Hey,” he grins. His silver snake chain had found its way out from under his tight shirt and was now flimsily hanging above you.

“Hey,” you giggle back.

“You’re a good kisser,” he whispers.

You smile cheekily at the sight of Mingi hovering over you, one of his arms still cradling your head from the hard floor and the other resting around your waist.

A sudden deep and private desperation for Mingi overwhelms your body, and you can’t help but want to indulge yourself lips-first into the beautiful boy in front of you.

“I can do more than just kissing,” you hear yourself whisper out loud.

Did I really just say that!?

Mingi’s eyes widen at the sudden and unexpected response, a slow smirk forming at the ends of his mouth as he mentally interpreted your words and request.

“Come to my dressing room,” he whispers, tilting his head subtly towards the door.

—

Mingi is the first to take his shirt off as he hovers over you against a soft sectional couch. You sit quietly as you watch the boy’s shirt slide off his arms to reveal a firmly toned torso adorned with his silver snake chain that sparkled under the dim light of a table lamp.

The sight of Mingi’s naked torso is enough to begin stirring heat inside of you, and you feel yourself becoming wet with each touch of his hands against your body.

You outstretch your arms and wrap them around his neck, pulling him into the wide wing of the sectional couch with you. Your lips greet each other warmly, firm kisses bringing your bodies closer together.

“Hey,” he mumbles into your lips. His arms reach towards your hips as he swings your legs around his waist. “You sure you wanna do this?”

You smile warmly at the boy in front of you, planting soft kisses against his jaw as you began removing your top and bra while he helped you slide out of your leggings with ease.

Mingi places his hands between your thighs and slowly spreads your legs as far as you’d go, taking pleasure at the sight of your gracious body in all its glory.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “you’re so beautiful.”

He dives between your legs, his warm tongue caressing the tip of your clit as he blazingly set off every electric nerve of your body.

A soft moan escapes your mouth as the boy traces the curves of your flower’s lips before diving deeper beneath them. You felt yourself getting wetter at the feel of his tongue inside of you, a soft and delicate pleasurable joy overwhelming your insides and lower abdomen altogether.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you whimper, secretly hoping he’d eat you out for a good minute.

Several soft moans later, you pull his head up from underneath you and gently wipe his bottom lip clean with your thumb.

“My turn,” you smirk, offering him your position on the couch.

You begin trailing a line of soft kisses from his jawline all the way to his bellybutton, fixating your eyes into his as you gently began unzipping and removing his pants and boxers.

You wrap your hands gently around his hardening member, jerking him off slowly and firmly as he leaned his head back against a cushion.

You started deepening each stroke with ease as you picked up the pace, pulling sloppily at his hard cock while enjoying the sight of his scrunching face overjoyed with pleasure.

You’re steadily jacking him off when the first grunts start gradually emerging from somewhere deep within his throat. You smile devilishly as you lean in and wrap your lips around his member, pushing it deep into your throat with every persistent motion.

Your performance really begins to emit as you pick up the pace, sucking and slobbering all over his dick as far in as you could manage it. Tears began forming at the creases of your eyes with every vertical stroke of your mouth as you tried desperately not to choke on his size.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, arching his lower back as the throbbing sensation of pumping blood began pounding into every vein of his cock.

You pulled your mouth away, leaving a sloppy mess of saliva and cum behind as you proceeded to climb onto his legs, positioning yourself around his cock to ride against him slowly.

Now that fucking did it for Mingi.

You hadn’t gotten more than ten strokes in when the boy clasped his hands around your ass and turned you over, fumbling you on your back as he climbed over your body.

He began thrusting into you, and he was thrusting hard.

With every rough push into your velvety inner walls, you released a lusty moan, each growing slightly louder than the last.

“You’re… so… fucking… good…” he huffed with each deepening stroke, the sweat glands around his body glossing his clear skin under the dim light.

A jet stream of tears now fully sloshed out of your tear ducts, your quiet moans now full screams of Mingi’s name coming in a loud, looped repetition.

Mingi’s full concentration failed to take alert of the gentle knocking against his dressing room door, your loud moans drowning out any potential chances of catching it in time.

Which is why, it takes him by surprise when the door flings open and in walks Wooyoung.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen as he covers his face, shrieking in embarrassment and fumbling to locate his car keys somewhere on the vanity mirror.

“Close… the fucking… DOOR!” Mingi yells out angrily as he continues to shamelessly fuck himself into you.

“I’m so— I’m so fucking sorry—” is all Wooyoung yells as he retrieves his car keys and fumbles towards the door knob.

“Get the fuck OUT!”

Wooyoung makes a dash towards the door, slamming it behind him as he ran out, not stopping until he eventually got to his car.

Now Mingi was angry.

His whole vibe was thrown off, and he really needed to release.

He pulled your legs from the sides of his waist and wrapped them over his shoulders, now fucking into you at full throttle.

If it wasn’t possible for Mingi to thrust this fucking deep inside of you before, it most definitely was happening now.

You let out desperate screams as Mingi manages to successfully and repeatedly hit your G-spot. Your body tightens, your sweat glands release, and your lower spine arches so far back when you feel the sudden burst of immense bodily rapture as an orgasm ensues, leaving you in a heated, electric trance as your insides release and relax around Mingi’s thrusting member.

Mingi lets out a loud groan as his final ejaculation of hot cum seeps all over your lower abdomen, streams of the warm liquid discharging in large amounts inside and all over your thighs.

“FUCK,” Mingi moans, fighting any more dominant urges over you and instead collapses on the couch next to you.

You both take a minute to ease your breathing, closing your eyes as you reminisced the last half-hour of intimate excitement.

“Princess,” Mingi pants, turning his head towards you, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you offer your best smile, though you could feel already that you wouldn’t be coming into the studio for a few days. Your legs would surely give out by the morning, and you’d be lucky if you could manage to walk anywhere tonight without hobbling around too awkwardly.

“Hey,” Mingi turns, cupping a hand around your jaw.

“Hey,” you smile back.

“Can I tell you something?”

You giggle softly, endearingly looking into the gentle eyes of the boy lying next to you.

“I like you,” he whispers, “I really, really like you.”

You lift your hand towards your jaw where he’s cupped his palm around you, pulling off his fingers and instead intertwining them around yours.

“I like you, too,” you say.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he mumbles, “I really want you to be mine.”

You nod gently, closing your eyes for a second to think about your response.

You open your eyes and see that he’s already lovingly staring back at you.

“I could be yours,” you whisper, “I’d be good at that, too.”

maybe a small sfw pt.2 in the future? :)

[dragon-kazansky]

The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Prepare to meet my plot device lol

Chapter Three - Third wheel

You're sitting at your piano in the empty theater mindlessly playing notes. The melody is new, something no one had ever heard before. You had taken the opportunity of no one being here to come to your familiar friend and play the tune in your heart.

You were so lost in the melody that you hadn't heard the door open and close. Nor did you hear the footsteps coming down the aisle of chairs.

The call of your name as your music ending shortly, unfinished. You sigh and look up to see the manager of the theater waiting for your attention.

“Yes?”

“I hadn't heard that one before,” he says, smiling at you.

You sigh again. “Of course not. It's new. That's not why you came in here is it?” You ask.

He laughs. “No. It isn't. I want to introduce you to someone.”

You can feel yourself wanting to groan. He knew how much you hated actually talking to people, but you wanted to keep him happy. He was, after all, your only chance to perform.

You stand from the piano and hop down from the stage. Jack, the manager, rolls his eyes at you. He often tells you off for doing that during rehearsals.

You now take notice of the man behind Jack. He's about your age, sandy brown hair, green eyes. You look from him to Jack.

“This is Noah. He's a singer.” Jack states.

You nod and look between them both wondering why he wanted you to meet this man. Plenty of people come and go from this theater, you don't usually meet them all personally.

“Noah has a request and I think it's a fabulous idea,” Jack goes on. “How would you feel about playing for him while he sings? You could be a duo!”

You stare at Jack. Noah is smiling softly from behind him. He takes a step forward and you turn your attention to him.

“I adore your talent. I have seen you perform several times and every time I hear you play I feel like all my worries melt away. I want you to play while I sing. I think we could go quite far together, perhaps even be good enough to see the world.”

Those were some strong words.

“I play solo,” you say.

“Hey now, give him a chance,” Jack says. “Look, you're our best performer here. Most of our audience come to see you play your piano. I think it's time to switch things up and try something new.”

“I don't want to try something new. I want to do what makes me happy,” you tell him.

He says your name with a smile, but you don't hang about to listen. You flee the theater and seek refuge in your dressing room.

You're alone in your dressing room for a good few minutes before you hear a knock on your door. You expect it to be Amelie perhaps seeing if you're in here, but usually she just comes in. You don't say anything for a while, preferring to stay alone if it isn't her. However, the door opens and someone comes in. You turn and find yourself face to face with Noah.

You frown.

“I'm sorry, but I couldn't leave knowing I'd offended you. Please just hear me out.”

You sigh softly and turn around in your stool. Noah takes a seat on the table behind him. “I know music is your passion. I've seen you perform many times. To be able to sing while you play… that would be a dream.”

“I play solo.”

“I know… you said that. I just… I think we could be good together. Imagine what magic we could create together. How many people would come to see us?” He smiles wide, excited by the thought.

It is clear popularity is important to him.

“I don't care. Music is all I care about.” And making Lestat happy with your music, of course. After that evening with him, he has been on your mind a lot.

“You can still play your music, just allow me to sing over it. Let me voice meld with your melody.” He speaks sweetly. Almost too sweetly.

“No.”

Noah sighs and then nods. “I understand. I'm sorry I disturbed you.”

Noah takes his leave. You sigh and slump down at your dressing table.

That following Friday you're waiting to get onto the stage to play your beloved piano, especially knowing Lestat would be watching. Perhaps he would permit you to go to his house again to play a duet with him. You certainly hoped so.

While waiting for your name to be called Noah comes up beside you. He adjusts his cufflinks mindlessly in the corner of your eye. You do not spare him a glance, keeping your eyes focused on your favorite instrument ahead of you.

“Good luck tonight,” he says.

You didn't need luck. You just needed your music.

“I'm sure you'll amaze the crowd tonight.”

You once again don't respond to him. Noah chuckles. You hear your name being called and you take a deep breath before walking out onto the stage.

Upon reaching the piano you turn to the crowd, but you're not really looking at them. You're only looking for one face. You spot him up in the boxes. You smile softly when your eyes land on him. He must notice your smile because he smiles too. Knowing Lestat was there was a comfort to you.

Lestat appreciated your music. He understood it. He understood you.

You take a seat at the bench and take another deep breath. Your fingers hover the keys. You imagine for just a moment that Lestat is beside you on the bench. You think about that night in his house when you made music together and how happy you felt in that moment.

Lestat knows.

You begin to play, a smile on your face. You're so ready to give a performance to be proud of, to make this a night to remember, not only for yourself, but for your admirer too. You wanted Lestat to enjoy your gift.

However, this would be a night to remember for all the wrong reasons. As you get into it, you're interrupted by a deep voice singing behind you. Not once missing a note you glance behind you to see Noah enter the stage. He walks to the center and sings with all his might. You stare at him with pure confusion. You did not agree to this.

Catching Jack’s eye off to the left side of the stage you can see him shaking his head at you. He doesn't look the least bit sorry. You turn your eyes back to the piano and try and focus on the music. However, that attention grabbing voice is making it difficult for you to enjoy your music.

Noah was owning the stage. People weren't listening to your music any more. They all had their eyes on Noah. Now, a crowd watching you wasn't your desire, but it was the thought that they were paying mkre attention to him than your magic that irritated you.

When you finished the piece you expected him to leave, but he didn't. He accepted the applause and then looked at you, urging you to keep on playing.

You stared at him with a frown.

“Play,” he says quietly.

You grit your teeth and begin playing the next piece. He smiled back at the crowd and then began to sing. For the next half house he sang though every piece of magic you played. He had taken your moment for his own and you hated it.

Up in his box, Lestat glared at the man. He gripped his arm rest so hard it began to splinter. Who was this fool who dared take away from your beautiful melody?

Lestat could read your thoughts. This was not something you wanted. You were upset that this man had taken it upon himself to perform with you without your consent.

That would not do.

The half hour of your performance felt so much longer to Lestat. He was eager to leave his box and go down to your dressing room, however, you were still playing and he didn't want to miss a moment to lay his eyes upon you, no matter how grating that voice was. Could this even be considered singing?

As soon as the show was over Lestat left his box quickly.

You hurried down to your dressing room as soon as you were free from the stage. You began to pace around the space of the room quickly. Amelie was first to enter. She was quickly to start chatting.

“I had no idea he was going to do that. I know you said no to his request, so I knew you had no intention of that happening. I am so sorry I didn't stop him, but it was too late. When I realised what he was doing I couldn't stop him, not without making a scene.”

You don't reply, just continue pacing.

The next one to enter is Noah, followed by Jack. You glare at Jack. “What was that?”

“That was me showing you how good we could be together,” Noah says.

“I wasn't asking you!” You glare at him and turn back to Jack. “I play solo.”

“I know, but surely it wasn't so bad to give it a chance.”

“You humiliated me!”

“You two work so well together,” Jack argues.

“No. No we don't.”

Jack calla your name softly, but it's Noah who speaks up. “Look, sweetheart, do you have any idea how adored we were? We had then on the edge of their seat.”

“They were on the edge of their seat because they were straining to hear the piano!” You bite back.

Noah laughs.

Amelie steps forward and rubs your arms with comfort. You lean into her embrace and let her soothe you.

“We could go global,” Noah comments.

“No. No, I refuse to let you spoil my moment. It's my music.”

“Look, that was the most popular you had been since you started performing here,” Jack tells you. “You need to let Noah worl with you. Surely you don't want to be stuck here all your life.”

“I like it here…”

Silence fills the room as they all look at you. Amelie is still trying to comfort you. Noah and Jack are staring you down. They want you to cave in.

There's a knock at your door and then a familiar voice. “If I may interrupt.”

You feel relief when you see Lestat slink into the room. He instantly makes his way over to you, pushing past Noah to reach you. You smile as he comes over. Lestat stands in front of you and uses his finger to tilt your chin up. He smiles.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

You nod your head slightly.

Lestat smiles and drops his hand. He joins you at your side. Amelie is shocked to see him here but doesn't say anything. You feel Lestat place his hand on your lower back.

“Who are you?” Jack asks.

“Ah, I apologise.” Lestat grins. “Lestat De Lioncourt. The sponsor for this pure talent in the room.”

“I've never met you,” Noah says, looking him up and down with a deep frown.

“I said for the talent,” Lestat retorts. He then turns to you with a smile. “Shall we go, mon chéri?”

You simply nod your head which makes him smile. Just as you're both about to make your exit, Noah steps forward. “I'm sorry, but who are you? Where are you going?”

“I don't think that's your business. Come, dear, let us go.” Lestat guides you out of the room.

As you leave the theater he puts his coat over your shoulders and walks with you down the street. There's silence between you for a little while, but then Lestat breaks it.

“Who was that man?”

“I don't really know. Jack, the manager, introduced him to me earlier in the week. He's called Noah. Claims he's a fan of my music and wants to sing to it. I tried to tell Jack I play solo… but Noah took it upon himself to join the performance tonight.”

Lestat looks displeased.

“Are you alright?” You ask softly.

He turns to you and smiles. “Yes. Do not fret. I shall not let that man take away your sparkle.”

“You told Jack you were my sponsor. I don't have a sponsor.”

He grins again. “You do now.”

You look at him in wonder. “Why?”

He chuckles. “Is it not obvious?” You shake your head. He chuckles again. “I want you to bloom.”

A warmth floods your chest as the thought that this man you have only known a short while cared so much about your passion. The smile on his face almost made you believe he knew just how happy hearing those words had made you.

“Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me,” he tells you. “This is my gift to you.”

Lestat walked you home and did not leave until he was certain you were safe inside. Even then, he took his time heading back. He was not about to let some pathetic human man ruin your beauty.

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop @sitkafay @bigbaddie45 @bluscryn

@secretisme4